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rosella35 · 5 days

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Came at the speed of light ;w;

Scared

Part 25 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. This chapter gets so gay. Warning to readers: a tiny gets injured in this.

“…and now whenever I go in one door, he goes out the other. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding me on purpose! I don’t understand you men, Mr. Piccoli. You have no idea what behaviour like that does to a girl!” Said Miss Wilkins through the phone.

Joe had no idea what behaviour like that did to a girl, but he certainly knew what it did to a boy. Joe eyed the man who was avoiding him from where he sat down the hallway. It was as if his newfound physical proximity to Harry had driven the two of them apart in every other way. Meanwhile, Harry grabbed his medical bag and prepared to head out.

“Yeah… I hear ya’. I don’t understand it myself.” Joe said. “Tell your father the doctor’s on his way. He won’t be long.”

Bidding Miss Wilkins farewell, he hung up the phone and whistled for Harry. The doctor’s back was turned to Joe, who watched as his shoulders rose with what seemed to be unease. Joe tapped his foot against the table impatiently as Harry took his sweet time turning around to face him. When he eventually did, the giant seemed to be downright nervous, which made Joe nervous by extension.

“Do you want down from the table?” Asked the giant who was obviously stalling.

“Well I sure as hell don’t wanna be put on the roof.” Joe quipped.

Joe watched Harry internally panic for a moment until he finally worked up the nerve to reach out his hand. When Joe stepped into it as he had a hundred times before, there was one major difference: now whenever Joe climbed into Harry’s hand, Harry was as fearful as a young child handling a live animal for the first time. Their interactions had been like this for the last three days, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“…right. Well… if this is a simple chest cold, I’ll be back in a couple hours. If it isn’t, I won’t be back until later tonight." The second he set Joe onto the floor he started backing away. "I uh—I have to hurry, actually. Take care!” Harry said.

"Harry, wait-"

The floorboards shook as the doctor bolted from the scene like a startled deer, throwing Joe off balance. All the little man could do was cross his arms and look on in disapproval. How rude of Harry to leave so suddenly! Joe didn’t even have a chance to tell Harry where he would be going that day, something that could cost him his life if his last trip to Calloway’s was anything to go by!

The last thing Joe wanted to do was return there, but a deal was a deal and fine clothes were fine clothes. Gone were the days of wearing ten year old rags, he had decided. If he had to be a borrower of any sort, he would be an enviable one, a respectable one, winning the approval of tinies and giants alike, and maybe even Harry too.

With any luck, it might even be enough to get Harry to stop running from him.

The month of May was much too fleeting for Joe’s liking, and as dusk fell over the docks he wished there was a way to beg it to stay. Although Joe could hardly enjoy the weather out in the open at his scale, there was something about late spring’s ephemeral nature that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. The last few rays of the sun coloured the lake a beautiful blue, and waters that had once held a monstrosity mere days ago now sat placid and calm, sloshing lazily against the gravel. The scent of fresh grass and spring flowers perfumed the night air as it grew cool and crisp. This giant’s sunset was a borrower’s sunrise, and what a spectacular sunrise it was!

As Joe sat in the dinginess of Calloway’s and waited for the tailor to deliver on his promise, he wished he were watching it instead. The booths were closer to gull’s nests than they were proper tables and chairs, and the twigs always prodded him in the worst possible places. The unpleasantness of it all doubled when a plate of rancid offerings was slid under his nose.

“Say, Cast-iron Joe! You wouldn’t mind taking this off my hands for me, would you?”

It was the voice of Gutters, of course. Joe stared into the plate the way a traumatized war veteran would stare off onto the distance. On it there was a soggy trimming of spinach, an even soggier crumb of bread, and – crown jewel of the dish – egg whites. Two slices of them, each ice cold and utterly joyless.

Joe had no choice but to accept the offering. Anything less would be tantamount to admitting that he was a pet.

“Thanks, Gutters. You’re a real pal.” He said.

The lanky man smirked at him as he slid into the seat across from him, head bobbing with suppressed laughter.

"Saw your owner looking for ya' a few nights ago." Said Gutters.

It took everything in Joe's power to suppress the primordial terror that came over him. He kept his eyes locked onto the sad eggs and prayed that Gutters wouldn't smell his fear as adrenaline surged through him.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Joe lied as his heart thumped in his chest.

"Really? You don't know? Rumour has it there was a big guy on the beach calling your name." He said.

Joe shot Gutters a look of pure, concentrated rage. He stabbed his fork into the eggs and twisted it.

"Must've been looking for his dog or something. The hell is it with you, Gutters? You and your pet tiny conspiracy. Can’t you find something better to do?" Said Joe.

"Hey, easy! I'm just looking out for ya', Joe. I know you won't believe me, but I used to be you." Gutters said.

Something about the way Gutters spoke to Joe reminded him of the circus manager: it was a voice rife with insincerity, one clearly in search of a desired reaction. He knew exactly what Gutters was doing. Gutters was testing him, and Joe wasn't having it. As his fear gave way to calculated determination, he found he wasn't scared of losing his ear anymore. He feared losing his agency, an agency he constantly had to fight for, against regular giants, against Harry, and now against his fellow tiny.

"I don't remember asking for the help." Joe stated.

With those words, Joe locked eyes with the man across from him and saw that they were full of contempt. Gutters simply sighed in response the way a parent would sigh over a misbehaving child. Then a strange sadness seemed to possess him, one Joe had never seen before, and for one ghost of a second all the insincerity left his voice to the point Joe was thrown by what he said next.

"Just remember something for me, will ya'? If they say they love you, maybe it means they love you now, but that could change by tomorrow. They think we're stupid, Joe. They always will. They're evil." Gutters warned.

Joe tilted his head back and looked straight down his nose at Gutters. Oh, Joe knew damn well the giants were evil. He was well aware they thought tinies were stupid, too. What Gutters didn’t realize, as far as Joe was concerned, was that he was treating him no differently than any giant would.

"You obviously think I'm stupid too if you're gonna sit here and lecture me about how to live my life. What makes you any different?" Joe's voice was deadpan as he spoke. “You can sit here and act like you know what’s best for me all you want, pal, but my business is my business.”

Joe could tell by the look on Gutters' face that his opponent was stumped by this response. Victoriously, Joe took one, performative bite of his cold eggs and forced himself to swallow them down as Gutters' once rational demeanour twisted into something ugly and dark. His hand shot towards Joe faster than lightning, but Joe, who was done being talked down to by anyone, for any reason, didn’t break eye contact when it snatched his collar and pulled him in.

“Listen here, you cockroach! You might be able to lie to everyone else, but you’re not gonna lie to me! I saw what I saw.” Gutters growled.

Joe’s hands curled into fists. Joe was not a fighting man, but he was cornered and angry, which in turn made him capable of anything.

“You don’t scare me.” Joe hissed, not blinking once as he stared into Gutters’ icy eyes.

He was on the verge of throwing one of those fists when the tension was broken by a low laugh that drifted over from the bar counter.

"You can't see your own hand in front of your face, Gutters. Everyone knows that." Calloway said without even looking up from the glass he was polishing. "You're just jealous he's got himself a rich boyfriend."

"I saw what I saw." Gutters repeated.

“The hell you keeping tabs on Joe for anyways? You like him? Jealous or something? C’mon.” Said Calloway.

Joe, still halfway prepared to fling Gutters across the table, breathed a sigh of relief when his nemesis released him.

“…fine. Learn the hard way. Idiots like you are beyond helping.” Gutters said.

When Gutters released him unceremoniously and retreated to the other end of the bar, a lead weight may as well have been lifted from Joe's chest. The captain sidled up to Joe’s booth soon after, and his presence was as welcome as a breath of fresh spring air. He poured Joe a glass of spills, though after his experience the other day Joe wasn’t about to risk drinking it.

“Don’t let him get to ya’. He’s just taking his own baggage out on you, that’s all. How’s the sweetheart?” Asked Calloway.

“The uh… oh.” It took Joe a moment to remember the lie he had been telling. “Well, he'll let me sleep near him and everything, but now he won’t talk to me.” He explained.

Calloway cackled as he dusted off the twiggy booth.

“That right? Is this guy uh… unseasoned, by any chance?” Calloway's voice was low and conspiratorial, and a raised eyebrow arched over his eyepatch.

Joe nearly spat out his eggs at the question. It was something he had neither considered nor wanted to consider, but now that the subject had been brought up he knew it was going to live in his head rent free.

“I don’t know!” Joe stammered. “Haven’t asked him.”

Captain Calloway nodded.

“Well he’s acting pretty unexperienced if he can barely handle sleeping in the same room as you. See, that’s why the tailor needs to hurry up and get here. Get yourself into something nice, ease him into it, then he’ll be all over you!” The captain said.

Joe, meanwhile, was covering his face in sheer embarrassment and resisting the urge to rip his skin off completely and crawl out of it.

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” Joe groaned.

Captain Calloway gave a half-hearted shrug.

“That’ll still be 200 scraps regardless. I’ll give you the unsolicited advice discount.”

The tailor had arrived just in the nick of time, and Joe had escaped with an elegant fabric bag and whatever was left of his dignity. The lake and the bucket arm seemed to pity him today, for after that dreadful time at Calloway’s they didn’t even bother trying to take his life. Even the snatcher and the turtle were absent that night, and the streetcar was calm as could be.

Things were shaping up to be a little too easy, but Joe pushed that thought aside as he scampered from the trolley in a direction he thought led to home. Traveling as a miniature was an inexact art, especially where the streetcar was concerned. Sometimes Joe could head straight home without hassle; other times he would end up in the general vicinity of home and improvise. The latter was the situation he found himself in after getting off on Gerrard Street and wandering onto the edge of Riverdale Park. With the night growing older, he looked for a landmark as he always did. Tiny Town in all its electric glory would do just nicely considering it was very well lit at night.

Lit up with torches, Joe noted.

He squinted at the angry mob of miniatures that spilled out of the town's gates and watched as it descended upon a single fleeing individual. Though he immediately felt uneasy, his feet automatically carried him closer and closer to the spectacle. When he was near enough, he could see that a man was running at light speed across the field as the crowd pursued him. So hasty was the target of the crowd's ire that he didn't appear to notice a dip in the ground. It tripped the escapee and he landed violently, too shaken to get up. Joe's stomach twisted into knots as the leader of the gang loomed over the victim. He didn't tear his eyes away until the ringleader of the mob knelt on top of the target, pinched the man's ear, took his knife and-

-Joe could have sworn it was O'Grady wielding that knife.

That was enough for him. He turned around and sprinted as fast as the newly marked tiny had, taking care to watch his footing for fear he might be the next victim. Bolting into the darkness that swallowed him, he fought back tears as he wondered what evil force was possessing his fellow miniature.

When he stopped to catch his breath, a new idea came to him. Maybe tinies were just as evil as the giants were. The giants may have invented Tiny Town from what Joe could tell, but it was the tinies who invented marking. Oddly enough, Joe found himself equal parts disgusted and comforted by this thought. It meant he had nothing to lose by living as he did. It re-enforced what Joe had known to be true deep down all along: that he wasn't just a stupid borrower. He could understand the evils of war and suffering just like anyone else. He could look his own potential ruination in the face and decide it was a risk worth taking.

Faced with that grisly sight outside of Tiny Town, Joe had no choice but to make peace with his new understanding of evil.

The clothes were high self-esteem in fabric form. It was the latest in townie fashion: a light blue-grey suit not unlike the ones the giants wore, with a hat and shoes to go with it. Clean as a whistle and dressed to kill, the reflection that stared back at Joe from the blade of the abandoned butter knife may as well have been that of a completely different person. As he tilted his hat this way and that, trying to get it at a perfect angle that would complement his cheekbones, he wondered if Mr. Dawson would be impressed.

With that passing thought, all the horror of the night crept back over him like a cursed miasma. Although Joe had made it back home to the safety of the kitchen, he was still small and alone in a house endless and empty, and an eerie feeling came over him. He kept expecting something, or someone, to find him and attack him, to grab him by the neck or to cut off his ear - the specifics didn't matter. For years he had lived in the Stinson House without this vulnerable feeling coming over him. Then again, maybe it had always been there, and Joe had tuned it out in order to function. Now that he was sleeping in Harry’s room, he was beginning to understand what real safety felt like. It was another form of forbidden knowledge, he supposed, another thing he would miss so much in its absence that he could never bear to part with it in the first place.

The sound of Harry’s key in the front door exorcised the sense of trepidation immediately, though Joe still hid behind the cookie tin out of principle. Light after light went on in the hallway, then the parlour, and then finally the kitchen, until the darkness was purged completely and only the giant remained. Although some part of him debated remaining hidden and saving the surprise of his new clothes for later, another more tender part couldn’t resist being with Harry in that moment. For three days now Harry had been avoiding him, but Joe, especially now, couldn’t bear to avoid Harry.

So he stepped out from behind the tin and whistled as the contemplative giant leaned over the sink. As had been the case for the last three days, Harry’s eyes widened and that look of unease came over him. Now there was a new development: the giant’s face turned bright red at the sight of him.

Unseasoned. The word crept back into Joe’s mind. Calloway had a point, he realized; Harry wasn’t acting all that different from some of the lesser-experienced boys of Joe’s own size that he had toyed with. Surely, though, Harry didn’t find Joe attractive. That would be absurd!

When the giant said nothing at the sight of him, Joe took a few more cautious steps forward as the moment grew increasingly awkward. Heart-rate rising, he cleared his throat and said,

“Waddaya think?”

Harry kept on staring.

“Uhhhhhhhhh… I uh…” Sputtered the giant who was not at all thinking.

Harry rubbed his hand over his face and collected himself. Joe’s heart swelled with pride when he saw that a familiar look of wonder had returned to the doctor’s eyes. He felt oddly powerful in that moment, as he so often did at Calloway’s whenever he was drunk and flirtatious. Pretending he was there instead, he gave Harry his coyest smile and took his hat off to the giant.

“I took your advice and went clothes shopping. Thought you might wanna admire the stitching.” Joe said, thoroughly enjoying Harry’s reaction.

Absurd as it was, imagining Harry as just another flustered boy he was hitting on at a bar seemed to be helping. At the very least, the giant hadn’t turned tail and run yet. Joe kept drawing closer.

“You can have a look if you want.” He offered.

“I… okay.” Harry said, his voice wavering with surprise.

Still thoroughly malfunctioning, Harry extended his hand to Joe who noted that it was visibly shaking. Joe climbed in, careful of it at first. When he saw that Harry’s hand was clean, he didn’t stand in it, or sit in it for that matter, but lounged in it as though he owned it, then smiled up at the jittery giant who dutifully carried him upstairs.

“So how’d the visit go?” Asked Joe.

Harry shook his head gravely.

“It wasn’t a cold. Miss Wilkins’ father came down with tuberculosis. I spent the day arranging for him to be taken to the sanatorium and comforting the family.” Harry said.

Joe had no idea what to say to such a thing. In his ten years as a hermit, it was a rare occasion when he had to comfort anyone. He tried his best for Harry's sake.

“Are you all right after that?" He said.

“I'll live. It's part of the job." Harry assured him.

"Yeah, well, it's a shit job." Joe said. "You sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm sure. At least one of us had a good day by the looks of it.” Harry replied.

Joe suppressed his nervous laughter. Thought of the gruesome occurrence at Tiny Town had melted away when Harry showed up, but now it came back again in full force. He wanted to deny it away, to bury it, to pretend everything was all right. Instead, when he disembarked Harry’s hand, he stood before his new bed on the nightstand and debated with himself over whether or not to talk about it. Ultimately he decided that he wanted Harry to know. He wanted the giant to understand that tinies were also capable of evil. Maybe if he did, he would finally stop sheltering Joe.

He couldn’t turn around to face Harry when he said what came next.

“Saw a guy get marked today outside of Tiny Town today.” Joe could feel the giant’s concerned eyes on his back. “A whole crowd chased him down. I don’t know what he did. I just ran. Maybe I should’ve done more to help. Tinies are just… we’re evil, Harry. We’re just as bad as you are sometimes.”

Joe was fighting back tears again as he turned to face Harry. The giant was sitting on the bed with his chin in his hand, looking deeply worried.

“I’m glad you came home in one piece.” Harry said.

“We gotta do something about that place, Harry! Find out what’s going on. The professor might know… I should call him.” Said Joe.

“Do it tomorrow when the poor man’s awake.” The giant advised him. Then his brow furrowed. “...why didn’t you tell me you were going there?”

“You left before I could! You ran off so fast today I didn’t even get a chance to bring it up!” Joe exclaimed.

Harry’s face fell.

“…I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry for running off on you like that.” He said.

Joe had said enough about Tiny Town, he decided - more than he could stand to say. He didn’t want to dwell on the horror any further, so he shoved it away and turned his ire against Harry instead.

“Yeah, well, you should be. What’s gotten into you lately, anyways? You don’t talk over breakfast, you won’t read with me, any other time you’re busy with your files, and when I try and say anything you run out the door!” Joe ranted at Harry, who had gotten up and started rifling through his dresser. “You’re gonna leave right now, aren’t you?”

Harry froze.

“I uh… I have to get changed.” Harry insisted.

Joe crossed his arms.

“Then do it when I’m done telling you off. This is important, Harry.” Joe said. “You still scared you’re brainwashing me or something?”

Harry shook his head no. As the giant clutched his pajamas and cast a defeated look off to the side, a strange feeling of satisfaction came over Joe. It was there on the nightstand, dressed in his finest, that Joe embraced his twisted nature. He wanted Harry, and by extension he wanted to know about Harry, to learn who the real Harry was. He couldn’t do that if the giant was constantly hiding from him.

“I’m just… not good at taking compliments, I guess.” Harry said.

Joe tilted his head at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“The other day, you were drunk at the time and you ah… said something very nice to me.” Harry explained.

Joe couldn’t help but laugh. The horror and anger fled from him again at the sheer ridiculousness of Harry’s statement.

“That’s what you’re wound up about? Really!?” Joe cried.

The embarrassed giant nodded at him and Joe, little devil that he was, immediately took aim at Harry’s weak spot and fired away.

“Well what did I say? Did I say you were smart or handsome or kind or something?”

Joe watched in delight as Harry grew so worked up his only usable hand started to fidget. The giant sank back down onto the bed and sat there as Joe smiled with cruel joy.

“…I’m not going to repeat it.” Harry said.

“Did I say you have a nice ass? ‘cause we can add that one to the pile.” Joe continued.

“What!?”

“I said what I said.”

Poor Harry looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Joe, meanwhile, was laughing in sadistic glee as Harry looked at him helplessly.

“What are you so afraid of?” Joe threw the question at Harry in the same deadpan fashion he had done with Gutters earlier.

“You.” Harry admitted.

“Me? Little old me? Really, Harry?” Joe said.

Harry? Afraid of him? This knowledge turned the entire world on its head. All this time he hadn’t thought it possible for Harry to get flustered at him. He had imagined the doctor a cool seducer, even, hellbent on getting Joe riled up. Learning it was the exact opposite changed everything! So Harry wasn't a seductor. He was a precious, darling innocent ignorant to the wonderful world of boys. Was that really why Harry was blushing at him so intensely?

Joe had no better option than to test his theory. He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it over the metal lighter on the nightstand, then took off his waistcoat and tie for good measure. What he was about to do was thoroughly unprecedented. His inner, sexually confused twelve-year-old was screaming at the mere thought of it. Still, it had to be done, for Harry’s sake and for Joe’s as well.

First he took a few steps back and judged the distance from the nightstand to Harry’s left knee, then he sprinted at full speed and launched himself toward it. Harry jumped and yelped when he landed – predictably – and Joe scrambled to stay balanced as the giant panicked. Within seconds Joe was swept into Harry’s hand, and as he lay there he gave the doctor the best puppydog eyes he could muster.

“Harry, there’s a lot of awful shit in this world you need to be afraid of, but I’m not one of ‘em. You know that.” Joe assured him. “Tuberculosis, Tiny Town, that’s shit worth being afraid of. Not me.”

“…right.” Harry said.

He couldn’t stop smiling up at Harry. The giant was innocent, painfully so if the dumbstruck look on his face was anything to go by. Joe wouldn’t dare corrupt that innocence, but he would use his newfound knowledge to bridge the growing gap between them. He sat up.

“But hey, here’s an idea: if you wanna be scared you can go ahead and be scared, but that’s no reason to avoid me. Wanting to run away is normal but we’ve been through too much shit for that. Just do it scared.” Joe said.

“I’ll try to do that.” Harry sighed.

With that, a timid smile came over Harry and his thumb started stroking Joe’s face the way it used to. Joe, triumphant, leaned in to Harry’s touch. He was proud of himself, for in an odd way Joe had caught the giant, had lured him in and cornered him. Harry had no excuse now. He would have to stop running and start enduring.

“By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to show you…” Joe said.

Next chapter coming soon!

#AHHH #I can’t get the smile off my face #Joe can read Harry like a book and I am so here for it #cannot wait to see where this goes!#what does Joe have to show Harry???#I need a few days to process this #g/t writing #taolaw

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rosella35 · 16 days

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TAOLAW brainrot is too much for me rn, just overheard another table at the restaurant I'm currently eating in mention the name "Herman" and my serotonin just spiked up because my first thought was HARRY fucking AVERY and not SOME RANDOM GUY WHO HAPPENS TO BE NAMED HERMAN

#THIS #taolaw

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rosella35 · 17 days

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Haven’t made any art in a while (unless you count writing) but I think I can call myself a fellow Aussie G/T artist 🇦🇺

Ok is there any other Australian Gt artists out there? I know of Australian Gt fans but not artists.

I want to find my peoples!

#g/t community #g/t downunder

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rosella35 · 18 days

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Stahpppp I can’t get over how good the TAOLAW fanart is getting this is exactly how I pictured Joe! ;w;

In other news, I can’t wait for him to show off his new clothes to his big sexy giant XD

Some outfit studies for the little rascal. >:) [Joe Piccoli belongs to @fireflywritesgt. I'm just a humble fan!]

#taolaw #the art of love and war #gt author #fireflywritesgt

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rosella35 · 19 days

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Oh nooooo @fireflywritesgt you just had to tempt me with a new chapter and then proceed to rip my heart out - (I’m kidding I literally live for this story right now), but boys, I can’t exactly say this without sounding like a hypocrite but just 👏communicate 👏your 👏feelings! Poor Joe feeling misunderstood like that and poor Harry struggling to get his words out, I hope they have a much-needed heart to heart soon and start to accept how much they love each other. The way you write how difficult that can be is so real though; so much vulnerability on both sides. Go find Joe at Calloway’s, Harry! I dare you!!

The Right Thing

Part 22 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. Elder financial abuse CW! They're idiots, your honour.

It was not endearment that Doctor Harry Avery felt when he woke that morning and saw Joe sleeping peacefully beside him on the nightstand. What he felt instead was nothing short of self-disgust. Inviting Joe into his room had been an act of selfishness, after all, for lately an irrational fear had gripped Harry and refused to let him go. It was the fear of suddenly losing Joe, and it was this fear that had driven Harry to suggest the sleeping arrangements that he did. He couldn’t be certain what had triggered it; maybe it was the photo of Georgie Joe had momentarily stepped into, or the way Davidson Sr. had eyeballed Joe at the circus, or how Joe had returned muddy and half-dressed from Tiny Town. Joe Piccoli was a very small man who lived in a very big world, a violent one at that, and the thought of losing him was keeping Harry up at night yet again.

Yet as he watched Joe snooze on the nightstand, buried in the plushness of the hand towel, Harry couldn’t help but feel as if he had taken advantage of Joe somehow. This was too real, too close for comfort for Harry to process. Joe could sleep in the upstairs bedroom so long as Harry slept downstairs on the couch. Joe could even fall asleep in Harry’s hands without issue so long as Harry spent the night in a different room. It was the prospect of Joe sleeping in the same room as him that felt odd to Harry - after all, Joe did not know what Harry was. He was not aware of the proclivities that Harry had. Surely Joe would be disgusted with Harry if he knew about the secret he harboured! Joe himself was especially vulnerable due to his status as a miniature. What right did Harry, sinner of the Oscar Wilde sort that he was, really have to lure this tiny, unsuspecting man into his bedroom the way that he was?

With all of these thoughts colliding in his mind, Harry did not awaken Joe when the mourning doves announced that it was time for breakfast. He did not pick him up and carry him downstairs. He did not so much as touch the little man at all for fear he was secretly indulging in some sick, twisted perversion on an unconscious level by doing so. Instead, he went down to have a smoke and thought about their day at the circus.

What did it say about him and Joe, Harry wondered as he mindlessly puffed away on his cigarette in the crisp morning air, that the circus mogul he had encountered the other day immediately assumed that Joe belonged to Harry? Was that what most people would think? As the doctor listened to the birdsong and reflected on his entire relationship with Joe to date, one question and one question only plagued him: is this the right thing to do?

When Harry was done brooding and returned inside with the morning paper, he was not met with an answer. He was met instead with a winded Joe who was now standing at the base of the stairs.

“I climbed all the way down.” Joe puffed. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I thought I’d let you sleep in.” Harry lied.

Joe tilted his head at him, then scurried down the hall and over to the dining room table. Harry followed suit, set the paper down and reluctantly placed Joe onto the table, studying him for a moment.

“I got a couple things you can see, but one of them isn’t finished yet.” Joe said.

“A couple of what?” Asked Harry.

“Artworks, remember?” Joe’s brow furrowed.

“Right.” Harry said.

“So what’s for breakfast?”

Joe Piccoli was not Harry’s pet. But Harry still fed him like a pet and chauffeured him like a pet and gave him a bed to sleep in like a pet. Why wouldn’t the circus manager see a pet when he looked at Joe? All Harry saw was a friend and neighbour, but he couldn’t help but wonder if some dark part of his psyche was unconsciously idealizing his entire relationship with Joe. Joe, who was relying on him for food, comfort and safety. Joe, who Harry could squash like a bug if he were so inclined to. Joe, who after his horrible outing in Tiny Town, clearly had nowhere else to go.

Harry was a degenerate, a menace to society – or so society itself told him he was. Knowing that, how could he be truly certain his intentions towards Joe were pure?

“Joe… can I ask you something?” He said.

Harry watched as Joe turned to face him and blinked in confusion.

“What?” Joe replied.

“Did you really want to sleep upstairs last night?” Harry asked.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Joe was scowling at him now.

“Did you want to?” Harry pressed.

He watched with dread as Joe’s cheeks began to turn red.

“Yeah… I did. I’ve been having bad dreams lately. What’s the problem?” Joe said.

Harry let out a long sigh.

“I don’t like the way you said yes after you said no.” Was his blunt response.

Joe narrowed his eyes and tossed his hands in confusion.

“What? Am I not allowed to change my mind? Downstairs, upstairs, what does it even matter where I sleep?” Joe ranted.

Harry should have stopped there, but the feeling of guilt he had woken up with compelled him to press further.

“I just… don’t you find that associating with me may not be healthy?” Harry asked him.

“What are you talking about!?” Joe growled. “I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been in my life thanks to you!”

Joe ventured right up to the edge of the table, his face contorted into an expression between anger and confusion. Harry just stood there, not knowing what to say. Joe was right: he had been at death’s door when Harry first laid eyes on him, and now he was the picture of health. In any other circumstance it would be something Harry took pride in, but now it was part of the problem: Joe’s life, quite literally it seemed, depended on Harry.

“I’m not certain this is a position either of us should be in,” Harry rubbed his forehead as Joe paced about in irritation, then added, “one where I could take advantage of you, I mean.”

Joe stopped short at those last few words. To Harry’s surprise, he began to laugh, then looked up at him with a disbelieving smile on his face.

“Let me get this straight. You think you’re taking advantage of me?” Joe said.

“I think I could, yes.” Harry said.

Harry spoke in the most dire tone he could muster, but Joe kept on laughing. Harry could only assume that Joe, borrower that he was, incorrectly figured he had the upper hand because he was materially benefitting from their relationship. He certainly didn’t expect Joe to understand the nuances of the power imbalance between them. Joe, meanwhile, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“…what’s so funny?” Added Harry.

Joe just smiled that boyish smile back up at him.

“You are, Harry. Oh, you’re funny.”

“Joe, this is serious.” Harry scolded him.

Joe straightened up and shrugged at him.

“Well, what are we gonna do about it, Harry? Stop being friends? Should I go back to eating bugs? What are you even gonna get out of worrying about this stuff?” Joe asked.

Harry hadn’t thought that far. He was less interested in finding a real solution than he was in sitting around and feeling bad about the problem, so that was what he did.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Why can’t we talk about it now!?” Joe exclaimed.

When the household received the first of many phone calls of the day, Harry pointed to the ringer box in the hallway and said,

“That’s why.”

He had just enough time to watch Joe’s face fall before he turned towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

“You giants never listen!” Joe shouted after the doctor as the ringing of the phone drowned his voice out.

“…I don’t like the sound of this one, Harry.”

Harry didn’t look away from the case record he was in the middle of opening. Joe kept airing his grievances as he sat on Harry’s shoulder nonetheless.

“He says his mom is going senile and should be put in the asylum, but I had to fight with him to get him to bring her in so you could talk to her. Told me he wants a letter from you telling them to send her there. I dunno, Harry, something ain’t right about this guy.” Joe said.

“No need to make assumptions, Joe. I’ll look into it myself.” Harry responded.

“Yeah… sure you will.” Joe paused for a moment, then said, “…I just don’t get this stuff, Harry. I mean-when someone ain’t right in the head, you don’t lock ‘em away. You love them, Harry. That’s what me and my brother did.”

A knock at the door robbed Harry of the chance to hear more of Joe’s story. He went out and set the little man down on the phone table.

“It’s going to be all right. Trust me.” He said to Joe.

When he turned around and entered the hallway, he was met with a familiar face. It was the woman who had been painting in Withrow Park the day Joe had stowed away in Harry’s medical bag, only now instead of smiling at Harry her eyes were downcast. The man who was presumably her son stepped in after her, and appeared for all intents and purposes to be an archetypal middle-aged Bay Street businessman. He quickly ushered his elderly mother to the couch in the parlour before she could so much as greet Harry, then gave the doctor a firm handshake.

“Wilfred Tucker, and this is my mother Evelyn.” Said the man with the radio announcer’s voice. “Please excuse her, she’s very frail.” Wilfred’s voice lowered into a whisper and he added, “I suspect what we’re here to discuss may upset her. If you and I could meet privately first, I think it would be of much help to her.”

Harry nodded and received the man into the examination room. As he glanced back at the nervous old woman sitting with her head bowed on the couch in the parlour, he was starting to understand what Joe meant.

“So what seems to be the problem with your dear mother?” He asked the son.

“I believe she’s losing her faculties. She’s leaving food out at night. Not outdoors, not for the animals, but inside along the baseboards. Knitting tiny clothes nobody could ever wear. Talking to herself… if you ask me, she’s gone mental.” Wilfred said.

“Mmm-hmm…” Harry scribbled single-handedly as he took note. “And you want me to refer her to the asylum?”

“For her safety, yes.”

Harry eyed Wilfred with no small amount of suspicion. All of the things Ms. Tucker did were things Harry himself would do if someone caught him living with Joe. He wondered if something practical like a group of miniatures taking up residence was a more likely culprit, but he was uncertain if he should say such a thing to the son. If there were indeed miniatures, it seemed like a good way to get them all exterminated.

“How is your mother’s speech and memory?” Harry asked.

“She’s becoming increasingly incoherent. Why, she can barely hold a conversation!” Wilfred asserted.

“And her coordination?” Was Harry’s follow-up question.

“She’s very feeble. She can barely hold a pencil.” Wilfred insisted.

“Does she go outside often?” Harry kept on scribbling.

Wilfred simply laughed.

“Oh, she hasn’t gone out in years! That’s why I think the asylum would be good for her. She would finally have some company.” Wilfred declared.

Doctor Harry Avery, who had seen Ms. Tucker painting in Withrow Park a little over a month and a half ago with his own eyes, had written only one word in his notebook: LIAR. He closed the book and smiled at Wilfred.

“Right, this should be an open-and-shut case, but for posterity’s sake I must also assess your mother directly before rendering a decision.” Harry said.

When he got up to go to the parlour, Wilfred reached out to shake his hand again.

“Of course, doctor. Thank you so much for your time.” Said Wilfred, in the glib manner of a man who thought he had put one over on someone.

When Harry entered the parlour, it seemed that Ms. Tucker was already being interviewed.

“The miniatures in my house aren’t as talkative I’m afraid, though they take the food and gifts I leave them. It took years of trying before they would do that.” Said the voice of Ms. Tucker.

Inching closer, Harry could just make out a second voice.

“I’m sure they appreciate it. Talking to you giants isn’t something we really do ‘cause you can get in a lot of trouble for it. The fact they’re even taking stuff says a lot. They must really trust you.” Said Joe.

“I would like to keep it that way.” The old lady said. “If Wilfred finds out they’re living there I know what he’ll do to them. I would rather he think I’m crazy than find out about the neighbours, but we may not have a home at all by the end of it. I love him, but I know he cares about money over anything else, including me. He’s itching to sell the house.”

As Harry leaned into the doorway he could just make out the outline of Joe, who was sitting on the coffee table and chatting with Ms. Tucker.

“I’ve never liked that about most giants.” Said Joe. “The way they treat people. How they don’t care about the important stuff. Harry, he doesn’t always listen but he’s a good person. I hope he’ll listen to you.”

Harry cut the conversation short when he rapped on the parlour doorway. Ms. Tucker soon joined him in the examination room once her son was unceremoniously shooed out of it, and Harry looked her up and down as she sat before him. She appeared to have regained some confidence after speaking to Joe.

“Is that your friend?” She asked after their introduction.

Harry smiled into his notes. Hearing Joe being referred to as a friend provoked no small amount of relief in him.

“He is, yes. I understand you have a few as well.” Harry said, and quickly added, “I won’t tell your son about them.”

A hopeful look came across Ms. Tucker’s face as she nodded. It seemed as though that reassurance opened something up inside of her, and the interview went much more fluidly than expected. Harry learned that Ms. Tucker was a former schoolteacher who painted as a hobby. Her husband had predeceased her and Wilfred was one of four children. She lived mostly independently aside from the occasional check-in visit, enjoyed hiking well into her seventies and presently took regular trips to the park. She had a stint as an actress in Shakespearian theatre years ago and could still quote a few lines. By the end of their chat Ms. Tucker was vivacious and lively, making herself laugh as much as she did Harry.

When the interview was concluded, Harry had learned all he needed to know. He advised Wilfred that he would be in touch in the coming days after thinking things over. Once the two were seen off, he sat back down at his desk to contemplate the verdict he would render later that night.

“You’re writing to the asylum!?” Joe cried.

He stood before Harry on the desk, white faced and quivering with indignation. Harry sat back and let Joe get everything out of his system.

“You can’t do that, Harry! Didn’t you see her? She’s fine! There’s nothing wrong with her! I—you—”

Finally Harry cut in when he could sense the tears coming on.

“Do you want to know what I’m writing?” Harry asked.

His eyes followed Joe, who was stomping across the desk and tugging at his hair in rage.

“Not really!” Joe snapped.

“I think you do.” The doctor assured him. “Here’s what I have so far: Dear Sirs, I am writing to warn you of the questionable conduct of one Wilfred Tucker in relation to his mother, Evelyn Tucker.”

Joe stopped in his tracks as Harry read the letter aloud.

“Upon assessing Ms. Tucker personally, I have reason to suspect that his claims regarding his mother’s capacity are false.” Harry continued. “I would ask that you please treat any subsequent referrals Mr. Tucker may obtain in relation to his mother with utmost skepticism. Yours very truly, Herman Richard Avery, M.D.”

Joe breathed a sigh of relief that was so deep even Harry could see it despite his small scale.

“So this’ll keep him from sending her there?” Joe said.

“Hopefully it will. There’s only so much I can do.” Harry set the letter aside to dry as he spoke. “Seems like you two had quite the conversation.”

Joe lit up.

“Yeah. I wanted to ask her about painting but I got sidetracked.”

That feeling of unease hit Harry again as he wondered whether or not Joe was becoming too bold around the giants. He spent more time talking to them now than he did his fellow miniature.

“…speaking of, I had some art to show you if you’re still interested.” Joe deferently reminded him.

Harry tapped his pen on the side of the desk.

“You don’t have to show it to me if you don’t want to.” He said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He watched Joe’s frustration grow yet again. The art was another area of uncertainty for Harry. After the way Joe had reacted last night, Harry couldn’t be sure if Joe wanted him to see his art at all. Harry couldn’t be sure of anything Joe truly wanted, he realized. How much of his relationship with Joe was genuine, he wondered, and how much of it was Joe going along with Harry’s suggestions in the name of diplomacy?

“Harry, what the hell has gotten into you today? Why is everything such a big deal all of a sudden?” Joe was tensing up again. “I never said you were intruding. Can’t you just listen to me the way you listened to Ms. Tucker? I said I’d show you, didn’t I?”

“Well…” Harry opened his mouth and promptly inserted his foot into it. “…Ms. Tucker isn’t a miniature living in my house who relies on me for everything, is she?”

That really pushed Joe over the edge.

“No, this is my house, and I’ve lived here ten years without you just fine, thank you very much.” Joe admonished him.

The two looked at each other uneasily for a moment before Joe added,

“…what are you so afraid of all of a sudden?”

Joe. Joe was what Harry was afraid of, but he could never tell the little man that.

“Joe… doesn’t it bother you that when we sat down in front of that circus manager the other day, he treated you like you were my property?” Harry asked.

“Of course he did that, Harry!” Joe stepped towards Harry with open arms. “That guy was an asshole! Everyone’s property to him.” His arms fell limp at his sides as he said, “Ms. Tucker thought we were friends. Hell, I thought we were too, but now I’m starting to wonder, if all you’re gonna do is-is-doubt me like this.”

Joe’s words cut Harry to the bone. Scared as he was of not doing the right thing, he was even more afraid of losing Joe. As the tiny man walked off and sprung from the edge of the desk to the floor, it hit Harry that Joe was the first real friend he had made in the last ten years.

“Joe? Joe, wait-”

“Whatever, Harry. I’m going to Calloway’s. It’s in a floating thing by the lake. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Joe said.

All Harry could do was watch helplessly as Joe raced off. By the time Harry made it from the chair to the doorway, his best friend was already gone. He stared into the now-empty house in bewilderment, not knowing what to do.

Maybe he was sparing Joe in an odd way, he reasoned. Sparing the miniature from the pain that inevitably came with knowing him. Still, pushing Joe away like this was splitting Harry in two, and in spite of all his guilt and sadness and shame, he still did not know if it was the right thing to do.

If Harry Avery wanted anything in life, it was to live in a world where it was okay to want Joe.

Next chapter coming soon!

#g/t writing #taolaw #Joe and Harry

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rosella35 · 20 days

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Yes!!!! I’ve been so excited for the continuation of this story, Mark and Sal are such dorks - I love the way Sal makes Mark flustered just by breathing XD

The Shadow We Cast - 4

Two guys and too many beers leads to more shenanigans.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5 (Coming Soon)

Word count: 2998

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking), animal death (fishing/hunting)

It was beyond crazy to me that the most normal I’d ever felt was drinking beers with a weird little man who stood no more than, what, 6 inches tall at most? How many years had it been since the last time I had this much fun? The last time I felt like I could talk and laugh this freely? It just felt so… normal? The thought seemed ridiculous- I mean, the situation was anything but… and yet here I was, thoroughly buzzed and listening intently as if we were old friends.

Sal paraded around the table, reenacting some grand adventure I could only wrap my head around with the help of however many tallboys I’d downed over the past few hours. Tales of hunting monstrous beasts and climbing unfathomable heights. He wove wild stories of a world so foreign yet so familiar… quite literally a world in my backyard.

As I nursed another drink, Sal set the scene, recounting a day-long trek he'd made out to the lake. Mist rose off the water as loons called to one another, their haunting voices echoing off the calm water. He watched intently as they slipped under the water, barely even a ripple disturbing the surface of the lake.

As if he was painting a picture in my mind, I sat enthralled, feeling as if I could feel the crispness of the water washing away the heat of the sun as he spent the day swimming in the shallows. The way he spoke… It didn't feel like I was imagining his retelling from my perspective- but his own. His perspective felt like something … almost fantastical.

"I tried to lure some of the minnows, but I couldn't get close enough to spear them without them darting off.” As if still wielding a spear he eyed the non existent minnows, patiently following some unseen motion as he remained poised to strike. “The bigger minnows seemed slower, but they wouldn't come near shallow enough. I ended up using some of the dried grub rations I'd brought with me as bait, and boy did it work like a charm. I swam I bit farther out with the bait and-"

Spear raised, I could practically see the imaginary impact- watching as the massive fish- or minnow, thrashed against the sharpened twig. I was enthralled- the way his muscles moved with the motion was almost… intimidating, bringing forth thoughts of him human sized, spearing a monster of a fish while swimming in some dangerous Amazonian river.

“The damn thing was a bitch to swim with,” he groaned, annoyance clear on his face, “For one- it was heavy. But worse,” Sal huffs, “It was still moving.” Despite the exasperation on his face in recounting the ordeal, the man’s face couldn’t help but return to grinning.

“So then I’m swimming back, right? Honestly more like flailing with the stupid minnow in tow, but I’m keeping above water for the most part… but I keep hearing this clicking… almost squeaking noise? Weirder yet- it's coming from below me.” He pauses, lowering his voice and I’m quite literally reeled in by his story, leaning forward on the edge of my seat.

“Then- whoosh!”

Sal grabs at the air. My heart jumps in my chest as the man’s hand lashes out just inches from my face.

“This monstrous bastard of a creature - absolutely huge,” He pauses, shooting me a cheesy grin, “Second only to you, big man.” I snort and Sal picks right up where he left off, “It was all murky brown with thick these thick… whiskers? And it just sucks me into its mouth with this horrific gulp. Next thing I know I’m being dragged underwater, half in its mouth, pounding on its head just hoping it’ll let me go if I hit it hard enough.”

My breath hitches, a shudder running through me as I make the connection- A catfish.

“With nothing to lose, I stab it. The spear goes right through its eye and-” Sal pauses, making sure he has my full attention.

“And?”

“Nothing!” Sal laughs as if it was hilarious and not down right horrifying, “That stupid thing didn’t even flinch! I don’t know if it didn’t go deep enough or if I just missed any vital enough part, but it did absolutely nothing!”

He leans forward, no longer laughing as his face takes on a grim expression.

“At this point I start to get worried.”

“Start?!” I scoff. Sal dismisses my interruption with a wave of his hand.

"My lungs are burning, and the thing’s clamped down hard on my stomach. I'm stuck holding that stupid spear for life as it keeps doing this.. this…” He shudders, face twisting in disgust, “-weird gulping thing,” Sal shakes his head as if banishing the memory, “So I ripped that spear out and using everything I had I-” His fist came down, “- drove that spear right back into its head.”

Sal pantomimed a gruesome show- stabbing again and again in the world's most horrific display of charades as he brutalised the memory of the catfish.

“Finally,” He says, voice filled with a mix of relief and exasperation as if he’d just relived the whole ordeal, “it dies.”

I, stupidly, sigh in relief, as if somehow I couldn't have predicted the outcome with him quite literally standing in front of me.

“My lungs are on fire as I swim to the surface- and man, air never tasted so sweet.” Looking down at Sal, he's beaming, laughing like a kid as he recounts his victory over the massive fish. “And then it hits me- tasted!”

I furrow my brow, not quite following. Sal continues, frustration returning.

“No spear- and no fucking minnow! As if, after all that, air was gonna be the only thing I’d be tasting!”

After a brief pause I couldn't help but laugh. His smile grew even wider as he raved on, swinging his hands as he continued on about his harrowing ordeal.

“I refused to swim back empty handed after that shitshow- So I spent the whole afternoon dragging that giant bastard back to shore!”

Fuck. I stare at him, eyes wide. I can’t shake the disbelief as I try to think of what would be the equivalent feat- Dragging an orca back to shore? …Something bigger? I’ve never been an avid fisherman (nor did I have any plans to start) and really had no concept of how big the catfish in the lake got aside from the notion that they were definitely bigger than Sal.

“I get that monster to land- spend about 30 minutes on a fire that just won't start, until I'm finally able to start cooking that beast!”

He paces along the length of the table, his steps not nearly as sure footed as they had been a few hours prior. Even with his tiny frame I can easily make out the sheer rage simmering behind his eyes.

“And y'know what?” His voice, now starting to slur, is teeming with all the theatrics of a man at his absolute limit. I swallow, desperate to hold back a laugh I know is coming.

“What?”

“That fucking thing tasted awful!” Each word was spat with such ferocity it was as if he was trying to spit out the memory of the creature's taste.

There was no helping it.

With my inhibitions long since drowned, I laugh. I laugh louder than I have in years. I laugh until my sides ache- until tears prick at the edge of my eyes.

And he laughs with me.

“Pond scum! Tha' shtupid thing tasted exactly how pond scum smells!”

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over as he continues to rant and rave, but the sound of my laughing completely drowns out whatever critical opinions he was espousing on catfish edibility.

Wiping at my eyes, my brain takes a few tipsy seconds to focus back on the little man. Still shirtless, Sal had sat back, reclining with his back against one of the many empties as he lifted up what was arguably the equivalent to a very generous pitcher to his mouth with little effort- the relative ease of the action catching me by surprise as I imagined myself fumbling at doing the same.

He… he was built.

Quite literally a brick shithouse, if said shithouse belonged to Barbie.

Broad seemed like a fitting word. Broad chested, broad shoulders, broad smile- Hell, even his legs had a width to them. Sal looked as if he had stepped directly out of an instagram fitness post, with his … excessive biceps flexing under the weight of the shot glass, the act a paradoxical effortless display of effort. Even at his diminutive size, I could tell this man was anything but small. He-

He coughs.

My eyes dart away from his body in an instant, snapping back to his face… accompanied with heat rising in my own. As my eyes meet his, I’m again struck with the absolute absurdity of the situation.

I'm here… getting drunk… with a tiny man… He’s right there- arms reach in front of me…

And yet he still doesn't seem real.

My hand twitches at my side.

Touch him.

As my hand slides towards him, his gaze quickly flicks from my face to my hand and back to my face again. Confusion flashing across his features for a brief moment before his lopsided grin reappears. My finger tips barely graze him as he sidesteps my hand, shoving my fingers away.

Huh. There's a surprising amount of weight behind his push.

“Hands t'yourself, Big Guy.” Sal laughs, “You gotta take me to dinner first.”

It takes a moment for my brain to follow his words, and I snort.

“Is that not what I did?”

Sal blinks.

His own brain seeming to lag as realization dawns on him. After a moment's delay, he laughs.

Sal takes an unsteady step forward, the sway in his weight more noticeable than before. He’s still smiling, but a look of concern crosses his features as he stares at the ground in front of him.

“I feel weird.”

“You’re drunk.”

He looks back up towards me and I point to the drink. After a moment', Sal nods, seemingly cluing in. Maybe? I really couldn’t tell. For all I know, that nod might have been him nodding off with how stunted the gesture had looked.

“It…” He starts his sentence and seems to forget it half way through, taking a long blink in between words “... makes you dizzy?”

I lean forward to rest my head on the table, starting to feel all too alike.

“Mmm- yeah, when you’ve had a bit much.”

With that, I slid the shot glass away from him- An act which was apparently the most egregious party foul ever to have been committed. Shouts of protest erupt beneath me, as he trails after the glass.

With a laugh, I try to shoo him away, but man, the little guy can move. Despite the sway to his stride, Sal ducks my hand with ease.

“Dude,” I laugh, opting to pick up the glass, “You.. uh, you’ve had 'nough- you're gonna get sick.”

My words feel thick, almost sticky, in my mouth, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably be taking my own advice.

“'m fine.”

I snort. The man didn't even know what beer was all of two hours ago, and here he was thinking he knew his limits.

“'s if you’d know,” I chuckle. “You're stumblin' 'round.”

Sal narrows his eyes.

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” My words slur together, thick with condescension and alcohol as a smile down at him. I shove a finger to his chest, I give a little push. Sal shoots glare as he staggers back.

“See?” I chuckle, “You're totally shtumbling!”

Eyes wide, he stares up at me, brain seeming to short-circuit for a moment before a goofy grin plasters itself across his face. I feel my own face mirror his expression as we break out into drunken laughter.

The laughter hit me hard.

I laughed at Sal's near cartoonish drunkenness.

I laughed at how he stumbled with a push from a finger.

I laughed at the strangeness- the reality shattering strangeness- of his very existence.

This... this is really strange...

As our collective laughter died down I took in a deep inhale. I needed to know more. I couldn’t keep up the half assed charade of normalcy.

“Sal-”

In the brief moment I’d let my guard down, the tiny man quite literally pounces. I yank my hand away a fraction of a second before he lands, Sal stumbling as his weight falls forward. Before his face makes contact with the table, Sal seemingly just… goes with it? Just flowing with the momentum as if stumbling forward had been completely intended. With surprisingly little effort, his would-be fall morphs into a drunkenly graceful forward roll, carrying him to a stand- albeit, an unsteady one.

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, and before I’m able to react to whatever odd show of athleticism I’d just witnessed, he’s already at it again, eyes locked onto the shot glass like a cat locked onto a mouse. I move to shoo him away with my free hand, yet I’m met with nothing but empty space as Sal scrambles underneath the gesture.

Again, he tries for the glass.

Launching himself at my hand, I feel his hands graze my own before I lift the glass out of reach. Sal lands with a stumble, a lopsided grin sitting smugly on his face as he looks from the glass to me.

Sal lowers his stance, looking something between a sprinter at the blocks and a mountain lion set to pounce.

Seeing the gears in his head turning (albeit, slowly), I clue in. Before he gets the chance to scale me for the beverage, I make a grab for him.

And yet, despite my efforts, somehow Sal winds up on top of my hand. It was like trying to grab at water- with him just flowing out of my grasp. Abandoning the shot glass, I grab at him with my free hand- watching dumbstruck as he drunkenly pivots, turning to jump at my in coming hand.

I freeze- Trying and failing to keep my hand steady as Sal hangs off my fingers.

With my lack of reaction, Sal takes the opportunity to climb my fingers like some sort of rope ladder.

To my horror, he climbs all of them, heaving himself to a shaky stand on the side of my index finger- Hands on his hips and grin on his face.

I meet his gaze and he laughs, his expression smug as he wags his finger at me.

“Too shlow.”

Arms out in a stumbling balance act, Sal begins walking across the edge of my hand looking oddly similar to a failed roadside sobriety test. Pausing, he frowns, pouting in frustration before bending over. For a moment, I think he’s about to throw up. Instead, he plants his hands firmly on my forearm.

My stomach drops.

With no effort whatsoever, Sal switches to walking on his hands- somehow just as drunkenly. Swaying side to side, every “step” seemed to overcompensate for the last, looking as if he was perpetually on the verge of tipping over.

And then he did.

In a split second, I’m sober.

My hand darts out, closing awkwardly around his form with all the grace and fine motor skills of a man marginally less drunk. Unmoving and unblinking, Sal stares up at me, a strange sound escaping him… almost as if a hum got caught in his throat. I could have almost been convinced he was nothing but an action figure with the way Sal went rigid- if not for his heart beating wildly beneath my fingertips.

My own heart drummed in my ears, and for a moment, just a single moment, it didn’t bother me that he was sticky.

He swallows. The tiny, but very human action feels uncanny at his size. The rise and fall of his chest, the strangely sizable weight of him in my hands… all of it is just so… strange. He feels solid - tense beneath my grip. Fuck- even at his size he felt strong. My eyes trace over the myriad of scars that marred his skin, gaze lingering over the clear bite mark that covered his shoulder and chest…

I hadn't even noticed my thumb tracing over it until I felt him try and push the digit away.

“Mark-”

“Oh- sorry.” I adjust my grip into something I assume is more comfortable, opting to hold him in a way that left him semi-seated in my palms rather than awkwardly dangling from a first.

It's a weird sight, seeing a grown man sitting in your hands. Every small movement I make has him sway, his head drunkenly lolling back as he slurs a few indistinguishable words with a chuckle. Up close like this he looks just about as drunk as he sounds- red in the face and eyes struggling to stay open.

Adjusting my grip, I cringe.

He was more than just a little sticky.

His pants clung to my skin, peeling off as I moved like a Band-Aid being removed. The mental image sends a shudder down my spine.

I consider taking the opportunity to wipe off the concerningly sticky little man while I have the chance, though a more rational voice in the back of my mind argues that a good host doesn’t assault their “neighbor” with wet wipes.

Below, Sal grumbles something unintelligible, clearly displeased with me as he swats at my fingers. Though despite his attempts, my fingers lingered.

Ugh- He left a stain on my hand!

I glare at the dark smear of sauce he’d wiped off onto his pants, silently reconsidering the option of dousing the man in dish soap, let alone wet wipes, etiquette be damned.

Instead, I opted for another drink.

#the shadow we cast #Mark and Sal #g/t writing #feral little man

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rosella35 · 21 days

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…no. Doctor Avery wouldn’t do that, would he?

[ The Art of Love and War - Chapter 7: Unmarked.] @fireflywritesgt has captured me with their story and universe and characters and there's no stopping this madness.

First draft + final lineart. I'm not extremely happy with the final result, especially since they don't look like Harry and Joe at all. But here we go :')

#holy shit #this is perfect #the perspective is chefs kiss #taolaw #fireflywritesgt #giant/tiny #just you wait Joe the good doctor will grow on you soon enough

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rosella35 · 21 days

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Ahhhhh I saw this updated in the middle of work today and had to force myself to wait till I got home to take it all in… the way Harry put Joe’s coat and hat on for him to see him off, I just can’t! They both care about each other so much, I cannot wait for them to open up about how they feel on a romantic level - sign me tf up for the angst ;w;

Terror in Tiny Town

Part 21 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. Warning to readers: O'Grady gets increasingly xenophobic in this chapter...

The fingers surrounded Joe Piccoli like a swarm of insects, curling and grasping, twitching and beckoning. Most of the hands were young, some of them were old, half of them were absolutely filthy, all of them were reaching directly for him. Joe could not tell if the shiny bars in front of him existed to keep him inside or his audience outside, and they were doing a piss poor job at both either way. Every so often one would seize the pretty bow around his neck and pull, and he would have to fight against it with all his might as the fabric tightened to the point it threatened to take his head clean off. He managed to slip out of it, but not before one pair of hands got the bright idea to grab the chain around Joe’s leg instead, and tugged on that until his ankle bled. The faces behind these hands were a mystery, but the voices were not, though they did collapse into an amorphous wall of sound like echoes in deep water. He covered his ears as the noise assaulted his senses and horror hit him like a bolt of lightning when he discovered his left one was no longer there.

None of the hands were Harry’s. He watched and waited in desperation for the two hands he knew best in the world to come along and save him, to rescue him from the writhing mass and take him home to safety, to comfort him and cuddle him and tell him everything would be all right.

Harry wasn’t there. He was just on his way, Joe told himself, as the bars of the cage gave way and the abominable fusion of fingers closed in. He wouldn’t leave Joe like this. He wouldn’t forget about him. Harry was on his way.

He wouldn’t stop telling himself this, even after a victorious set of fingers curled around him and snatched him so hard he felt whiplash.

Awakening with a start, Joe lay there in shock in the blue light and struggled to come back to reality. He took a moment to process who he was, where he was, and whether or not the dream was real before finally embracing the waking world with no small amount of relief. It was the wee hours of the morning, and from the dim light of the missing floorboards above he could guess that it was a good hour or so before Harry would be awake. He wanted to go see the doctor, and he wished desperately that making his way upstairs wasn’t such an excursion; that he could walk right across the kitchen and climb the staircase like everyone else. As it was, if he left now, by the time he got upstairs Harry would already be up. Whether he made the journey or not, all Joe could do for the next hour was lie there on his bed of gauze, wrapped in his cotton swatch, and desperately wish for someone who wasn’t there.

He should have accepted Harry’s offer last night, he thought. When Joe had finished reading to Harry, he had prepared to be carried down to his room in the kitchen as always. Instead, Harry had looked at him with that mix of concern and pity and asked,

“Are you sure you want to sleep alone tonight?”

On top of that, he had offered to clear some space on the nightstand, to bring Joe’s bedding up or to provide more. Joe, as usual, had blushed at him and stammered out a refusal, in spite of the fact he had actually wanted to say yes. It had felt almost perverse to accept such an offer, especially since Harry was unaware of the way Joe’s brain was wired. Joe couldn’t help but feel as though agreeing to such a thing would be tantamount to taking advantage of Harry in some way. Now it turned out that Harry’s sixth sense had been right, for maybe if Joe had said yes he would have slept a little easier.

With nothing better to do, he pulled out his pencil and began to draw in the hopes that it would put the bad omen out of his mind.

“How are you doing today?” Harry’s voice sounded more doctor-like than friend-like over breakfast.

Recently Harry had convinced Joe to venture all the way out to the dining room table to eat. Joe sat on the edge of the plate of grapes that formed a makeshift centerpiece and slumped over his piece of French toast. He wished he could give a convincing answer as the sticky maple syrup ran over the stray cuff-link he was now using as a plate. All he could do this morning was prod at what, on any other day, would be the food of the gods. Today it was going cold.

“I’m fine, Harry.” He mumbled.

When the giant let out a light sigh, Joe didn’t bother looking up at him, for he already knew what kind of expression Harry had on his face. He listened to the rustling of Harry's newspaper instead and tried to shake off the lingering unease the nightmare had left him with. Harry let out an incredulous hm as he read the morning news, which only deepened the feeling of dread that was following him like a specter.

“Joe… that O’Grady friend of yours from the watchmaker’s… his first name isn’t Tim, is it?” Asked Harry.

Joe snapped to attention and looked up at Harry in shock.

“Yeah, that’s my friend. Tim O’Grady. Why? What’s wrong?” Said Joe, his voice wavering.

Joe didn’t wait for an answer. He set the cuff-link down and strode over to Harry’s elbow to read the paper himself.

“It says here he was involved in the Tiny Town brawl-” Harry said.

“Is he okay!?” Joe cut him off.

Joe’s heart rate spiked as he spotted the headline TERROR IN TINY TOWN from where he stood beside Harry. His last interaction with O’Grady hadn’t been the greatest, but the man was still his friend - the closest thing to a real friend he had in a fellow miniature. The last thing he wanted was for O’Grady to get hurt.

“-it says here he was just released from the Tiny Town General Hospital.” Harry continued. “Joe? Joe, where are you going!?”

A mouse can survive a fall of over twelve feet thanks to its small surface area, and Joe could survive a fall of about as much. Before Harry could stop him, Joe ran and vaulted clean off the table, then tucked and rolled when he hit the floor. He only stopped running at the sound of the screeching of Harry’s chair when the giant got up to follow him. Turning around, he craned his neck up as the shock waves of the giant’s feet drew nearer. For a moment, as he looked up at Harry from where he was on the floor, the old jitters came over him again and he froze in place. They abated slightly when the giant knelt down.

“I suppose you’re thinking of paying him a visit.” Harry said.

“W-well I—of course I’m gonna visit him. He’s my friend.” Joe asserted.

Joe couldn’t be certain what he expected Harry to say in that moment. The response he received, however, was the last thing he would have expected.

“It’s in Riverdale Park, right?" Harry began.

"Yeah?" Joe said.

"Want me to take you?” The giant asked.

Tongue tied, Joe stood there for a moment at a loss for words as Harry extended a hand to him. Of course he wanted Harry to take him. He wanted nothing more in the world after yesterday’s harrowing day at the circus and last night’s dream than to be cared for and looked after. The social forces at play had other plans.

“You can’t, Harry. They can’t see us together, remember?” Joe said and pointed to his left ear for good measure.

Harry slowly withdrew his hand.

“…right. I forgot about that.”

Joe braced himself against the shaking floorboards as the giant’s feet carefully stepped around him and disappeared into the kitchen. In a moment he came back with a hat, a scarf, and a jacket in his one good hand. Harry knelt close to where Joe was waiting patiently and set them down in front of him, then picked up the jacket first.

“Don't forget these.” Harry said. “It’s looking like it’s going to rain out. Here, put your arm out.”

Joe’s heart melted when the giant held out the jacket for him, and he slid the sleeve over one arm, then another. By the time Harry strung the scarf around his neck and placed the hat on his head (albeit crookedly) he realized he was smiling. Harry’s hand lingered when he was done, and his thumb stroked Joe’s face the way he had during the night of the storm.

“Come home safe, okay?”

“’course I will, Harry. I’ll be fine.”

When Joe reached the sagging mass of miniature wooden buildings in Riverdale Park and passed through the first of the two fences that surrounded Tiny Town, he was posed a curious question.

“You got ID?” Asked the fellow miniature guarding Tiny Town’s main entrance.

The entryway into Tiny Town was much larger than the door to the housing office next to it. It was made of thick wire, cage-like in construction, as though someone had taken a bunch of coat hangers and welded them into a barred gate. The gate was built right into the second, wooden fence that enclosed the city, and Joe could see that it was barred shut for good measure. Hardly any miniatures passed through it when compared to the sheer number who went in and out of the housing office, and to Joe’s surprise, he had been able to walk right up to the guard without even waiting. The man was a head taller than him and carried a big stick to boot.

“Eye-dee?” Joe blinked in confusion as he tried to discern what the guard was talking about.

“That card we gave you when you got in? Can’t let you in without it.” The guard said.

“Oh, I don’t live here. I’m just visiting a friend.” Joe explained.

The guard made a sound that was somewhere between laughter and wheezing.

“We don’t take visitors here, pal.” The guard pulled out his stick and jabbed it into Joe’s shoulder, pushing him back from the gate. “You’re either with us or you’re not.”

“Oh, but—sir, please, I’m here to see my friend. He got in a big fight and they just let him out of the hospital and-” the guard lowered his baton and for a moment Joe thought his pleading was working “-I just gotta see him, sir. He’s my best-”

Then the guard’s mitts shot out and grabbed Joe around the collar. The folks waiting to get into the housing office stopped and stared as Joe’s slim frame was flung so far away from the gate he nearly collided with the line. Joe hit the ground and his ears rung for a moment, then he sat up in a daze.

“Think you’re special? You’re not special! If you wanna get in here then you gotta stand in line like everyone else!” The guard ordered.

Well shaken, Joe scuttled backwards and stumbled to his feet with his face flushed, glaring at the guard whose eyes were now locked onto him. He had no scraps to his name, and nothing to trade with; not that these snobby Tiny Town tinies would care to trade at all, he figured. Joe pretended to mosey on down to the end of the line instead, if only to ease the watchful guard’s suspicion. He did not want to get into Tiny Town, and he did not want to stand in line like everyone else, which left him at a loss for what to do.

He started searching along the wooden fence that surrounded the city proper and paid special attention to the spot where he had run into O’Grady on his last visit. The narrow gaps in the wooden slats were too slim even for him to fit through, but he could vaguely make out the outlines of buildings, people, and movements on peering through them. He watched them in fascination as he moved along the perimeter, further and further away from the end of the line, until a dip in the ground interrupted his sightseeing when it caused him to trip and fall.

It was a hole. One that someone appeared to have dug and then covered with a layer of dead grass. Joe looked around to find that there was nobody nearby, and he debated with himself for a moment as he squinted into the pitch black opening below the fence. Scary as the guard had been, not knowing whether O’Grady was okay or not was even scarier, for at this point Joe had known the man for more years of his life than he had not known him. Accepting that he had no other real option, he crawled inside.

Joe may as well have taken a trip to the moon - that was how strange a sight Tiny Town was. He crawled out of the tunnel and stood still as a post while the creaky wooden apartment buildings sang as the May breeze rushed through them. All of them were so tall they were virtually skyscrapers in comparison to Joe himself. When he exited the alleyway where the hole had been dug, Joe was greeted by a paved street not unlike the kind the giants had, only at much smaller scale. The pavement existed in tandem with a series of raised wooden boardwalks that connected the various buildings together. Other buildings had makeshift bridges built across them, or hooks hung from the windows, as though the miniatures living there had not fully shaken their borrowing tendencies. Although “buildings” were something that existed to Joe in theory, seeing them now at his own scale, with windows he could look into and doors he could open and close, was eerie enough to make his hair stand on end.

Even eerier was the electricity. The same kind of Christmas bulb he had seen in Dawson’s office also lined the streets, mounted on poles this time. They weren’t turned on in the daytime, but other lights in the windows were. Harry’s electricity was difficult enough for Joe to adjust to as a miniature after a life under the floorboards, but seeing others of his kind in giant-like homes with giant-like utilities felt wrong somehow.

The sound of a voice to his right startled Joe out of his rubbernecking. Down the quiet street, a round older man appeared to be waving at him. Joe couldn’t make out a word of what the man was saying, though the language he spoke sounded familiar. It was not the Casa his mother spoke, or what little of his father’s Giardino she had passed along to him, but a secret third dialect that Joe had never encountered before.

One thing was certain: this man was very fearful of something. He raised an open palm to Joe, as if trying to stop him from doing something, and pointed to a white line that was painted on the street between them. Joe watched as the stranger stuck out his left hand, then struck its palm with the side of his flattened right hand. It was a gesture Joe knew well from his days of tagging along with his older brother on their borrowing missions: you must go.

So that was it! The man must have pegged him as a trespasser, he reasoned. Fearing the stranger might call the guards, he quickened his pace and hurried away from the man and the line, deeper into the row of buildings on his left. As the man’s shouting intensified behind him Joe powered into a sprint and turned at an intersection. Joe ran a ways and then stopped to catch his breath, but found it difficult when a cloud of dust fell down on him. He looked up to see a housewife beating dirt out of a blanket on a balcony above, each strike echoing across the walls of buildings that were bathing the ground below in shadows. She was the only sign of life that cut through the electric stillness of the dead-end street, and as the buildings closed around him like an impenetrable fortress Joe wondered how he was supposed to find O’Grady at all in such a maze.

So this was Tiny Town. In all his time trying to make it in, Joe had not known what he expected the place to be like. He had hoped for someplace lively and vibrant at the very least, with the same trappings a giant’s city had. Restaurants and speakeasies and libraries, all the things the giants spoke fondly of were what Joe had imagined Tiny Town to be, not this sad, sordid little ghost town.

Joe was just about to give up and return to the hole when a familiar sound rang in his ears. A sound that Joe had heard during his last trip to Tiny Town. A sound somewhere between a scream and an air raid siren.

It was the sound of Mary biting her brother.

Joe followed the sound and traced it to one of the units far above him and to the left. Against his better judgment, Joe took a deep breath and began to shout.

“O’GRADY!”

He was surprised by the loudness of his own voice as it bounced off the row of buildings. The screaming of the child above stopped at the sound of his voice. Joe watched the curious onlookers stir in the windows above, then tried again.

“OH GRADY-DEE!”

All the yelling he had to do in order to be heard by Harry was paying off in the form of incredible lung capacity. Joe’s face lit up as O’Grady scowled at him from the window above. Then his old friend’s eyes widened and O’Grady smiled back at him and waved.

“Finally got in, did ya wee bastard!” The Irishman answered him, his voice not nearly as loud as Joe’s. “Hold on! Keep your mouth shut! I’m coming down!”

After another five painstaking minutes, O’Grady finally joined him. He pulled Joe into a rib-crushing bear hug, and Joe could see that his head was still covered in bandages.

“I’m not here to stay.” Joe wheezed. “I’m just visiting.”

“Visiting?” O’Grady released him from his grip with no small amount of concern and the two started to walk and talk. “Best be careful they don’t catch you. ‘specially not the guard up front.”

“Relax, Tim. I’ll be in and out in no time! Just wanted to come see you.” Joe said. “You were in the news and everything. What the hell happened?”

“Damn Italians, that’s what happened.” O’Grady said.

“…Italians?”

That feeling of unease hit Joe again.

“They invade our end of the city, take our jobs, show up at our bar… did we invite them? No.” O’Grady was practically ranting. “And when we politely tell them to leave, what do they do?” O’Grady pointed to his bandaged head. “Watch out for them once you get here. They’re not good Irishmen like you and me, Joe.”

“Right… I’ll do that, Tim.” Said the Italian standing right next to him.

There was that feeling again: the sense that the Tim O’Grady Joe used to know had been replaced by something else, something much bigger than him. First borrowers, then Germans, now Italians; Joe had never known O’Grady to be a contemptuous person, but ever since he moved to the strange dystopia that was Tiny Town it was as if the Irishman’s life now depended on hating everybody else. Joe had no idea how to break it to O’Grady that he himself had been designated an Italian at Dawson’s desk, and he feared what O'Grady might do to him if he did. As he strolled along the boardwalk outside the building’s entrance beside the man who was supposed to be his best friend, Joe felt about as safe as he had felt when he was hiding from the snatcher in the pipe.

Not knowing what else to do, Joe changed the subject instead.

“So uh… where is everyone, anyways? It’s awfully quiet around here.” He said.

O’Grady laughed at him.

“Ah, right, I forgot. You don’t have a job!” O’Grady said to the medical office assistant. “They’re all at this place called work. It’s where they go to make scraps. I’m on medical leave, but I gotta go back tomorrow.”

Joe wrinkled his nose.

“I know what a job is, O’Grady.” He said. “What do you work as, anyways?”

“I push buttons.” The Irishman declared with great pride.

“…you push buttons?” Joe said.

“Mhm!” O'Grady confirmed.

“What kind of buttons? What do they do?” Asked Joe.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it's more important than whatever you're doing. I’m the best at pushing ‘em, too! Employee of the month three times running.” O’Grady said.

Joe thought about his own job. About Mme. Bélanger and Miss Wilkins – and even Ms. McConkey, senile as she was. Joe hadn’t been working as an assistant for long, and he hardly considered it work to begin with so much as free entertainment half the time. Nonetheless, although he would probably never see any of those people face to face, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was making their lives happier in whatever small way he could. Joe couldn’t imagine a future for himself where he did something as menial as pushing buttons.

“I dunno Tim, that sounds a little pointless don’t you think? Why do you need to push buttons in order to get scraps?” Joe said.

“Because that’s how life works!” O’Grady insisted. “You push the buttons, you get the scraps, you pay your rent, you get to live like the giants do!”

“I get that, Tim, but why can’t they just let you do that without the buttons and the scraps? Why even have money?” Joe asked him.

It was a question that had been lingering on Joe’s mind ever since O’Grady had introduced the concept of Tiny Town to him. The sheer absurdity of the buttons had finally compelled Joe to ask it out loud.

“Why even have money?” O’Grady parroted in falsetto. “That’s not how the real world works, lad! That’s borrower talk.” Joe’s left ear was nearly pulled off when O’Grady reached out and pinched it. “It’s the kinda shite a pet would say, expecting handouts from the bloody giants… you’ll never make it in at this rate.”

O’Grady let go of Joe’s scarlet red ear, and Joe clapped a hand over it and scowled at him.

“Well what do you know about giants anyways?” The words slipped out of Joe’s mouth on accident.

O’Grady tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Joe, who was starting to shake in equal parts fear and anger.

“The same thing I know about Italians: you can’t trust ‘em. Whose side are you on, lad!?”

Pets. Italians. Borrowers. Joe now understood that when O’Grady talked about any of them, he was really talking about Joe himself. He felt so torn up in that moment. So raw and devalued and hurt. He wanted to argue further, to ask O’Grady about the four armed giants who stood outside of Tiny Town, or to tell him about the plans he had encountered in a giant professor’s office, or to remind him of the fact that the only reason Tiny Town was built on a former garbage dump and not somewhere nicer was because a bunch of giants at City Hall had decided where it should go in the first place.

Joe wanted to bring up all of those things, but he knew that even if he did, it wouldn’t bring his old friend back. Now what Joe really wanted more than anything else was to go back to the new friend who was worried sick about him at home.

“I’m on your side, Tim. Really, I am! I’m just new to the whole Tiny Town thing, that’s all. Y’know, seeing as I’m just a dumb borrower and everything…” Joe trailed off.

“There is a little bit of a culture shock here.” O’Grady nodded. “You’ll figure it out if you get in.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to Joe. “Speaking of, see anything shiny lately?”

Joe gulped. He had indeed seen something shiny lately, a diamond in fact, but he wasn’t about to tell O’Grady that. What kind of a person would he be to deface a ring that belonged to Harry’s mother?

“Nope. Still looking,” Joe said, and sensing his opportunity to leave he added, “I uh… should probably get back to that, actually.”

Joe hurried off before O’Grady could open his mouth to protest, relieved that he wouldn’t have to hear another word from the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Joe Piccoli almost made it back to the hole in the fence without getting his face bashed in. Unfortunately for him, the three strangers who fell in step behind him had other plans. Before he had a chance to react, their ringleader snatched him by the scarf and flung him into the beam of a boardwalk so hard it shook. Joe blinked as he realized he was now face to face with a grizzled tiny’s scarred face and crooked teeth.

"Air tax." The strange Irishman said.

"...air tax?" Joe repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Joe choked as the man lifted him up and held him against the beam with such force that it thoroughly winded him.

"You're in the Irish ward, but you don't look very Irish to me, does he lads?" The leader of the gang turned to his two henchmen, both just as grizzled and scarred as he was, who shook their heads in disagreement. "If you're going to come in here and breathe our air, then you gotta pay the air tax."

"I don't have any money." Joe heaved.

The man's hands were squeezing the pressure points in Joe's shoulders so hard that the feeling was draining from his arms.

"Then I guess you don't get to breathe our air, do ya' laddie?" Said the man to the leader's right.

He pulled out a knife while the henchman on the left cracked the knuckles on his bare fists. As he watched the blade glint in the meager sunlight of the side street, Joe wondered if he was still trapped in last night’s bad dream. Certainly, bandits were a problem a borrower occasionally had to face, but he had never encountered a racket like this before - especially not in a place that advertised itself as a civilized place to be.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the edge of the blade stroked his neck and wished for Harry. Ear or no ear, if Harry were nearby all Joe would have to do is scream and the giant would come running. Now here he was, trapped and surrounded in a place he never should have gone to in the first place.

As Joe wondered which layer of hell someone with his particular flavour of perversion was destined to go to after he died, a curious thing happened. With all the force of a speeding train, a boot flew out from somewhere to Joe’s right and struck the knife-wielder in the head, causing him to drop his weapon. It was the boot of the older man Joe had encountered earlier, and Joe could see that he was now accompanied by a small group of friends. A flurry of stones and sand followed as they pelted the trio with anything they could find, and although Joe could only halfway understand them he could tell that they were unleashing insults and swears just by the looks on their faces. Then two of them ran directly across the white line that divided the street in two, and it was that action that caused the gang of Irishmen to lose nerve and let Joe go. Joe scurried blindly towards his defenders, right in the direction of the man he had encountered earlier.

Across the safety of the white line he watched the gang flee down the road. The older man lectured him in the unknown dialect all the while, and although Joe didn’t understand a word the stranger was saying, he didn’t need to. Joe could tell exactly what the stranger was getting at by the gesture he was making. He was tapping his finger to his head and scowling at Joe: you are crazy.

For one brief moment in time, the first time in Joe’s entire existence at that, Joe understood what it was like to have a real father. This sentimental moment was cut short when a familiar voice cut in.

"Hey! What'th going on over here!?"

It was the voice of the guard who had been at the front gate, now relieved of his duty over lunch and chewing on a hunk of sandwich meat. The guard stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his lunch at the sight of Joe. His expression twisted into one of pure rage.

"I know you..." The guard said.

Joe backed away slowly at first, then turned and ran at full speed when the guard pursued him. Within seconds Joe was caught by the edge of his sleeve. He wrestled and fought as the guard pulled him back, then shrugged his jacket off like shedding a skin. He kept sprinting, back across the white line and down what he thought was the right alley to reach the place where he hoped the hole still was.

A small black speck grew larger and larger as Joe closed in on the spot where the end of the alley met the bottom of the fence. With the footsteps of the guard hammering on the pavement behind him, Joe knew he had two options: he could dive into that hole and hope the guard didn't pull him out, or he could surrender and find out what Tiny Town’s prison was like. Taking option one, Joe flung himself straight into the darkened opening and crawled on his belly through the dirt. A heavy hand clasped around his ankle and yanked at his boot, but fortunately for Joe it slipped clean off. Blessed in that moment by his small stature, he kept on crawling until he was all the way across the fence. The guard was much too big to follow him, and when he emerged from the other side of the tunnel he knew he was home free.

Joe kept on running, past the line of hopeful miniatures and the chain link fence, halfway across the field until he dove and hid behind a raised knot of an exposed tree root. He sat there with no jacket, a missing hat and one good boot as it started spitting out, limp from exhaustion and questioning everything he had once thought he knew about society. He felt hollowed out in that moment as he reflected on his terrible morning from start to finish.

Then Joe remembered something that gave him a minor heart attack. He had lost a boot, and possibly his knife along with it! His hand flew to his one, good boot and to his relief he found the knife was still inside. He pulled it out and examined the signature O'Grady had engraved on the hilt when he had made the knife for Joe.

In a decision that would forever change the course of Joe's life, he contemplated throwing the knife away completely. As his own reflection stared back at him, he couldn't bring himself to do it. To let go of the knife would be to let go of O'Grady, the man who had been his best friend since age twelve. Deeply unsettling as O'Grady's recent behaviour was, to cut him off completely would be like cutting off a part of himself. It was something Joe was not emotionally ready to do yet. All he could do for now was feel hurt and betrayed, so that was what he did as he got up, trekked across the park and twirled the knife in his hand.

If there was one thing that eased the pain, it was the knowledge that Joe was not alone. Even if O'Grady was no longer a good friend to him, he still had somebody in his life who was.

"Joe? What on Earth happened!?"

Joe stood once again on the windowsill after his latest ride through hell. The front of his shirt was coated in mud, his left boot was gone, his jacket was missing, his hat had disappeared, and his scarf had flown off in the wind halfway through his journey home.

"I didn't pay my air tax." Joe said.

"Air tax...?" Harry echoed.

Harry reached up and carefully curled his hand around Joe, who eased himself into the giant's palm.

"I dunno what to tell ya', Harry. Tiny Town has an air tax." Joe chattered away as he lounged in Harry's hand. "The whole world's been going to hell lately."

"Is your friend okay?" Asked Harry.

"Physically he's fine. I dunno what's going on with his brain, though. He hates Italians now, and pets, and borrowers, and... me too, I guess, even if he doesn't know it." Joe curled up in Harry's hand and hugged his knees as he spoke. "I dunno what to do about it. It's like ever since he moved to Tiny Town he’s become a whole different person."

"I don't think there's much you can do about it." Said Harry. "Sometimes people change in ways we have no control over, and we can either accept it or find better friends."

"Yeah..." Joe trailed off as Harry set him down by the open floorboards and once again helped himself to Joe's wardrobe.

"Let's get you some clean clothes." Harry said.

Joe fidgeted for a moment as he fought with himself over whether or not to say what he really wanted to say.

“…hey, Harry?” He began.

“Mhm?”

“Thanks for being a good friend.”

Joe looked at his feet first, then up at Harry. When the giant’s face lit up into a smile, Joe didn’t regret saying a single word.

"So that's it, huh?" Said Harry of the romance novel's unsatisfying end.

Joe couldn't help but smile at the sound of Harry's voice. He seemed awfully disappointed by the tragic fate of the main characters.

"Yeah, the ending on this one isn't great. They're cowards. Could've at least said they loved each other." Joe said.

He closed the book and snuggled into the crook of Harry's neck.

"Have any better ones?" Harry asked.

"I do, but it's in French. I could try translating it." Joe offered.

"A French romance novel?" Harry sounded uneasy at the prospect. "...please tell me they keep their clothes on."

Joe cackled in response.

"Oh, they do... for the most part. You might like it, actually. It's about a spy who falls in love behind enemy lines." Joe said.

"Hmm... sounds promising." Joe struggled against the shifting mattress when Harry rolled over to face him. "You'll have to show me your art first though, won't you?"

Joe began to blush as he looked into Harry's eyes. He had forgotten all about the deal he had made. Now he was tempted to fight, to argue, to renegotiate, but the giant looked so innocently curious that he couldn't bring himself to do so. Joe had become very protective of his art over the years, fearing that anyone who saw too much of it would learn too much about him by extension. In spite of that, the sense of safety Harry brought with him had a way of melting Joe down and lowering his guard.

"I-uh-I'll show you tomorrow." He said.

"You could show me tonight when I take you back downstairs." Harry suggested.

Joe's heart raced. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go!

"I... I'll sleep up here then!" Joe blurted out.

Now Joe had done it! He couldn't sleep near Harry; the giant would find out he had something wrong with him if he did! Petrified, Joe had no hope of taking his words back, and he sat mortified with himself as Harry rolled back over.

Then the worst possible thing happened: Harry sat up, took his one good hand, and scooped Joe into it. Joe, embarrassed, lay there splayed out in the giant's palm and looked up at this beautiful man with his beautiful face as his heart pounded away in his chest. That bastard had him right where he wanted him yet again! Smiling, Harry lowered his hand onto the nightstand and the disgruntled Joe sat up and slid off of it.

"In that case, you can sleep here then... let's see if I have anything you can use as a bed." Said Harry.

Joe, meanwhile, screamed internally as Harry searched the room. What would O'Grady say to this? Or Captain Calloway? Or Gutters? Hell, what would his mother say!? One side of his nature hated himself while the other, darker part admired the curve of Harry's shoulders and the slope of his back while the giant was facing away from him. Then Harry disappeared into another room, and Joe was left alone with himself to reflect on what he was doing.

He was taking advantage of Harry. That was what he was doing. Harry thought Joe was a normal miniature, after all. Joe had tried all his life to be a normal miniature; it was why he had hidden away for ten years in the first place. He knew that if he lived around others, knowledge of his tendencies would eventually spread, so he had lived alone instead and not bothered a soul. Quietly he had romanticized the giants between his ears while fearing them deeply in person. Since meeting Harry, that line between fantasy and reality had blurred in a way that was making Joe increasingly uneasy with himself.

He could not sleep downstairs despite all that, he realized. Not after last night's dream and the awful events of the day. He knew he wouldn't feel safe down there. He would lie awake and suffer as he obsessed over the ills of the world. Joe sat on the nightstand and hung his head like a dog, ashamed once again that his need for security kept running up against his mind's faulty wiring. Surely Harry would be disgusted with Joe if he knew the truth of what he was!

He sat straight at attention when Harry returned, and he saw that the giant was carrying a square dish and a hand towel.

"Here we go." Harry said.

He set the dish down on the nightstand next to the lamp. It was quite a handsome thing, made of white porcelain with a gold trim around the edge. Three of its sides came up to Joe's thigh, but the back of the dish was much taller and stretched well over Joe's head. This side was reminiscent of a rear wall and sported an embossed art nouveau fleur-de-lis. Joe had seen this dish before holding soap in the bathroom, and a calming scent still lingered on it.

Joe watched as Harry folded the hand towel and set it inside the dish. The giant placed one half of the towel in the bed of the dish to serve as a mattress, then folded the other half over, presumably to cover him like a makeshift sleeping bag.

"Let me know if that's too stuffy. I can get you something lighter." Harry said. "Hopefully this'll help you sleep better tonight."

Now in no position to refuse it, Joe got up and crept towards the makeshift bed. The towel looked so crisp and so comfortable it beat even the gauze he had downstairs. A wave of emotions hit Joe as he sat down on it and looked up at Harry, who was smiling back at him.

Joe, sleeping next to Harry. Like a pet. Or like something even worse than that. Something he still couldn't admit to himself. Something disgusting and backwards and wrong. As always, he couldn’t say no, not with the natural proclivities he had. One night, Joe decided, cursing himself as per usual. He would sleep upstairs for one night, and he would be very normal about it, and then for Harry’s sake he would never do it again.

Joe couldn't help but wonder where the line was between love and taming upon sinking into the softness of his new bed. How easily he succumbed to the will of the giant! As Joe bid Harry goodnight and drifted into a nightmareless sleep, he couldn't help but wonder if Harry would bend to his will in the same way if the tables were turned.

Next chapter coming soon!

#taolaw #g/t writing #harry and joe

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rosella35 · 22 days

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I just binge read “The Art of Love and War” by @fireflywritesgt 10/10

I am having some major brainrot 🧠 rn so I made some memes! Hope you enjoy! 😉

#y’all know I’m in #TAOLAW cult #the art of love and war #g/t writing

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rosella35 · 23 days

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If June, Mark, and Rose had a “so you live with a tiny person” support group…. How would that go?

In Need of Support

A non-canon short with some mild spoilers 💕

-----

Mark groaned, head in his hands as he continued to babble, his words spilling forth like a dam had burst. He'd been quiet at first, listening intently as Rose had explained her living situations, but it wasn't until she had let a complaint slip about her tiny roommate's disdain for touch and all the complications that came with it, that he had felt the compulsion to share his own complaints.

And he had many.

Now, half an hour later, here he was, drowning both himself and the two other unfortunate women in a sea of frustrations he'd let spill forth.

"-AND HE JUST CLIMBS ON ME WHENEVER!" Mark shakes his head in disbelief, eyeing the pair of women like they'd have some miraculous solution, "Oh but God forbid I try and pick him up- then its a personal space issue!!" Running his hands through his hair, Mark huffs, trying, and failing, to sound less hysteric. "To top it all off he's... he's-" Mark makes a strained noise, face contorted in a grimace, as he grits his teeth "-he's always covered in something."

June and Rose exchange a glance at one another, Rose taking a sip of her coffee in attempt to hide the snicker that's been building since Mark had first begun his rant.

"He just shows up on my countertops- my clean countertops- covered in blood, or mud, or the sludge from my gutters-" Mark's voice steadily raises in pitch as he lists of the various substances. Once again Rose moves to sip her coffee. "Just last week he showed up head to toe in slime!!" Rose takes another sip. "And when I asked him what it was, you know what told me??" Mark laughed, though the laughter seemed like the kind of laugh one does when their 10 seconds from committing a felony rather than how one laughs at a joke. June shook her head, while Rose shook in general, desperately try to keep her own laughter internal as she takes yet another sip.

"HE SAID IT WAS 'SLUG SEASON'!! WHAT THE ABSOLUTE F-"

That was it. That was all Rose could handle. Her own internal dam breaks, spilling forth a mixture of laughter and coffee. Rose sputters her drink making a less than graceful exit as she half wheezed, half laughed the mouthful of coffee straight onto the floor.

Mark's rant trickled off, the near silence that followed filled only with Rose's hacking giggles and the occasional less than sincere apology.

Taking a breath, Rose wiped her mouth with her sleeve, before promptly joining the others in the awkward silence.

Rose pats her legs, clucking her tongue as she looks from side to side in hopes one of them will take the attention back off of her.

"Sooo..." She begins, before June interrupts, her words gushing forth even faster than Mark's had,

"I made out with a tiny vampire I found in my room and got way too into it and I,uh, bit him- and now he's been causing havoc in my room and I can't get rid of him, but also he's really hot, so I don't even know if I want to but he keeps stealing and breaking things and I don't know what to do."

Rose can't help the expression that slides onto her face. If it was anything even remotely similar to the expression Mark wore... it was not subtle. Maybe having an annoying little roommate who didn't like to be carried wasn't so bad.

#this made me choke on MY coffee XD #Mark and Sal are just meant for each other honestly #g/t writing

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rosella35 · 26 days

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Okay, so I’ve been meaning to post something about this for over a week now and figured using it as a very productive way of procrastinating on writing an assignment is the perfect time.

G/T community, and to all the incredible people who have supported my writing of Borrowed Courage over the years:

Go read @fireflywritesgt s ‘The Art of Love and War’. I cannot stress this enough.

This story has been my hyperfixation for the past week and will in all likelihood stay that way for many more to come because it’s just that damn incredible. Even if you’re not a huge G/T fan, I continue to be blown away by Warren’s writing style and the way they capture every character’s personality and emotions so beautifully. I only wish I could do this so well.

Joe and Harry, my god. Those two have been rotting away inside of my head all week because I just can’t get enough of their relationship and its complexities. This story is practically preying on my love of psychology and exploring those tricky and taboo themes of prejudice and power imbalance that got me into G/T in the first place. The way Warren has slowly built up the lore of their world and the culture of the miniatures captivated me from the moment I started reading. It’s the kind of thing I love exploring in my own writing, but done in a way that’s completely authentic, and a whole new spin on the classic borrower trope - I just love it!

So yeah, to sum it all up in one sentence, please check out their story, it honestly does not disappoint. But also to Warren, thank you for sharing your world with this community. I’m sure I’m not the only one you’ve inspired with your writing, and I look forward to more of Harry and Joe’s misadventures in the future! ☺️

TL;DR:

Read The Art of Love and War by @fireflywritesgt it’s very good

#gianttiny #gtcommunity #gt author #g/t community #tinypeople #theborrowers #g/t writing #writers appreciation #theartofloveandwar #Harry and Joe #go read this please

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rosella35 · 27 days

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Ahh thank you so much for the lovely feedback, I appreciate you 🥹❤️

ahhh i’m seeing the hype behind Borrowed Courage … it’s written very well!

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rosella35 · 1 month

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Kaleb's Bad Day: Part II

Part II of my little thing featuring Kaleb's existentialism and Brooke being... considerate? Consider this a teaser of what their relationship will be like two months after the events of the main story...

I hope you enjoy!

Content warning: contains swearing and themes of prejudice.

****

After checking briefly that the coast was clear, Brooke sucked in a breath and exited the girls bathroom. She walked down the empty hallway with as much purpose as she could muster, though her heart still pounded loudly in her chest. She could feel a second, much smaller heart pounding against her body as well, fluttering even faster than her own. Kaleb sat hunched up at the bottom of her jacket pocket, his tiny, shaking hands gripping the thick denim on either side of him to steady himself.

After the two of them had recovered from their embarrassment in the bathroom and Kaleb had readjusted the toilet paper around his waist, Brooke had taken it upon herself to put the rest of their plan in action—anything to get her mind off of what she’d just witnessed. Obviously, Kaleb had protested against her planned hiding spot for him, complaining that it would be too obvious. To prove her point, Brooke had stood in front of the mirror by the sink, demonstrating how little Kaleb’s tiny form actually stood out from inside the pocket. After seeing that, Kaleb had shivered but said nothing, and dropped down into the pocket without a word.

If anything could have reminded him of just how small he was compared to a human, it was that.

A few minutes of walking later and Brooke cleared her throat, a sound that Kaleb felt as well as heard from his position. “We’re at your locker.” She announced. When no movement could be felt from her pocket other than Kaleb’s slight weight, Brooke frowned. “Oh, c’mon, are you really gonna sulk for the rest of the day? Your clothes are in there, right?”

Carefully, she lifted the flap of the pocket up, watching the small borrower inside shield his eyes from the sudden change of lighting and peer up at her cautiously. Curled up as Kaleb was, her pocket almost looked roomy, a thought that had never exactly crossed Brooke’s mind before. “If you don’t wanna move yet, then at least tell me your locker combination.”

“It’s 1-2-6-4.” Kaleb replied, voice quieter than normal.

“1-2-6-4…” Brooke muttered to herself as she fiddled with the lock. Moments later, the door came loose with a faint click, and she pulled it open, revealing Kaleb’s untidy collection of belongings. Brooke stared at the locker’s contents for a moment in bemusement. At first glance, it looked like your everyday teenage boy’s locker: a disorganised pile of notebooks, pens, and crumpled worksheets. What drew her attention though was the assortment of knick-knacks Kaleb had managed to cram into one corner—stray buttons, rubber bands, bits of string and wire, thumbtacks, screws, aluminium foil, and even an empty plastic soy sauce fish from a packet of sushi. Brook wrinkled her nose. “Sheesh, it’s like a dumping ground in here. You do know we have bins on campus, right?”

Kaleb gave a sheepish shrug from within the confines of her pocket. “What’s that saying you humans use? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure?”

She groaned. “You’re obsessive.”

Not bothering to wait for his snarky reply, Brooke leaned into the locker so her chest was out of sight of anyone passing by and reached a hand into her jacket pocket, closing her fingers around the borrower inside as gently as she could muster. Kaleb couldn’t help but shudder slightly as he felt the all-encompassing pressure of those digits against his torso. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to being handled by humans, despite how many times Brooke had proven herself to be careful in the past. Kaleb fought against his instincts to squirm against her grip as he was brought out of the pocket and into the relatively spacious interior of his locker. Once inside, he took a moment to adjust the toilet paper around his waist, before glancing across at Brooke, whose giant frame blocked out the expanse of the hallway beyond.

“Thanks for the lift.” He said, shifting awkwardly under her gaze and trying to mask the unsettling feeling of being watched with a half-assed smile. “You can close the door while I get changed. I’ll knock twice when I’m done.”

“Right.” Brooke nodded. The human girl spared the empty hallway a quick glance, before pushing the locker shut with a creak.

The second the door clicked shut and darkness swallowed up the locker’s interior, Kaleb let out the breath he’d been holding in. His eyes adjusted instantly to the nearly pitch-black space, taking in the stack of notebooks, school supplies and trinkets he’d only ever interacted with at human size. It almost felt surreal seeing them now, like he was a stranger getting a glimpse into the unreachable world of Kaleb the human. Those thoughts nagged at Kaleb’s mind as he sought out the small pile of borrower clothes he kept tucked away at the back of his locker. Wasting no time, he tugged on a simple short-sleeved navy shirt, capri pants and tan shoes, and tapped lightly on the metal door to let Brooke know he was done.

Kaleb shielded his eyes as light flooded back into the locker and his world opened up again to reveal Brooke’s gigantic gaze. From outside, the human girl smiled slightly, glad to see him back in his usual borrower getup. Anything to get her mind off his bare chest, and… well… Brooke’s crude thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the sound of the school bell echoing through the hallway. Kaleb jumped at the volume, tiny hands clamped over his ears. “Crap.” He winced, glancing around nervously. “I forgot we still had recess before next period.”

“Me too.” Brooke said, before realising the implications. “Oh, shit.” Acting on instinct, her hand shot out to wrap around Kaleb’s midsection, and she quickly lifted the flap of her jacket pocket to drop him inside, out of sight. The borrower yelped at the sudden transfer, disoriented, though his breath hitched as the noise outside suddenly picked up, hundreds of humans beginning to swarm the halls in their mad dash to the cafeteria. He drew his knees to his chest automatically, feeling smaller than ever. Despite knowing full well that no one would ever suspect Brooke Tucker of all people to have a borrower hidden away in her pocket, the layer of denim separating him from the outside world didn’t feel thick enough.

Brooke, meanwhile, slammed Kaleb’s locker shut before anyone could see what she was doing, and started off down the hall. She passed by her own locker on the way to retrieve her packed lunch—with her parents’ current financial situation, joining the line for the cafeteria felt like a fleeting memory—before hesitating, wondering where she should go.

From inside her pocket, Kaleb’s ears were pricked, listening intently to the sea of voices and squeaking of giant sets of shoes on the vinyl floor outside. It was always disorienting to travel by pocket and even more so when he wasn’t able to see what was going on around him. With a sigh, he shifted into a more comfortable position with his back against the wall of Brooke’s chest, hearing as well as feeling the pounding of her giant heart through the denim. Suddenly, the commotion outside ceased, and Kaleb frowned to himself, wondering where exactly his human chauffeur had ended up. Tentatively, he lifted the flap of the pocket, though froze when he felt the pressure of her hand on the outside, covering it. “Hang on.” Her voice rumbled through him.

Kaleb’s stomach lurched uncomfortably as he felt her take a seat. Finally, once she was settled, Brooke lifted the pocket’s flap to allow her borrower passenger to take in their surroundings.

Immediately, Kaleb pressed himself back into the depths of the pocket. “We’re outside?” He gulped, blinking up at the blue sky he rarely ever got to see from his regular size. “I thought you’d go to the library or something.”

Brooke leant back against the trunk of the tree she’d chosen to sit under. Her face was dappled with the shadows of the rustling leaves above as she stared down at him, confused. “No one ever sits here, so I figured it’d be safer. I guess I could find us a spot in the library though, if you really want.”

“Oh.” Kaleb said, hiding his flushed face. It was rare for Brooke to consider his needs like that. “No, it’s okay.” He said hurriedly, trying to hide the flutter of nerves that always came with being outside in an unfamiliar place. “I don’t mind staying here.”

“Sweet.” Brooke said simply, turning to get out her lunch. Unwrapping her somewhat squished sandwich, she hesitated, sparing her downsized classmate a thoughtful glance. “Uh, do you want some of this? It’s just PB and J, but if you’re hungry…”

“Sure.” Kaleb smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

Unsure how to go about sharing her lunch with a borrower, Brooke broke a small portion off her sandwich and held it out to him between her pinched fingers. She tried not to think about how she’d used her bare hands to touch his food, or how stale the bread her mum had used to make the sandwich probably was. Luckily, Kaleb didn’t seem to mind at all. To a borrower, food was food, and the novelty of actually being able to eat while at human school wasn’t lost on him. He accepted the squished clump of bread and condiments with a grin, nodding his thanks.

It didn’t escape Brooke’s attention that Kaleb hadn’t asked to leave her pocket since she’d sat down. “You can come out, if you want.” She said, looking out at their surroundings. The tree she’d chosen was far enough against the perimeter of the school grounds that no other students were in sight, other than a group of boys playing soccer on the oval nearby. Even if somebody did come over, Kaleb would have plenty of time to duck out of sight before they arrived.

Apparently that wasn’t enough to convince the borrower in question. “I’m fine just staying here.” Kaleb said dismissively. “I don’t wanna risk anyone seeing me.”

He supposed it was a version of the truth. In actuality, there was a larger part of Kaleb that was absolutely terrified by the thought of being stuck out in the open without his borrowing gear. It was one of those realities of his kind that he would never expect any human to understand, let alone Brooke. To him, venturing outside unequipped was like a death sentence, something even the most hardened of borrowers wouldn’t dream of doing. Just as humankind had survived by creating their tools and weapons and inventions, a borrower’s grappling hooks, sewing needle swords, and thumbtack daggers were like their lifeline. Without them, Kaleb would be the perfect prey for a crow or stray cat, or worse, an overly curious human who just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Which leaves me all the more dependent on Brooke right now. That unhelpful part of his brain reminded him.

“Fair.” The human girl said. “I don’t exactly wanna be caught eating lunch with a borrower, either.”

Kaleb smirked, internally glad she hadn’t pressed the issue. “Doesn’t really suit the exterminator’s daughter reputation, huh?”

“I will leave you here.”

They were silent for a moment, and Kaleb took a bite of his makeshift sandwich, chewing thoughtfully and trying to ignore the sound of Brooke doing the same albeit at a larger, far more unsettling scale. “I never thought I’d see the school like this.” He admitted as a way of distraction, gazing over at the red and yellow brick building in the distance. From his current perspective, there might as well have been an ocean of grass separating it from where Brooke was sitting; a reality that was both humbling and unnerving at the same time. Kaleb found himself wanting to try and explain it to her, whether she chose to listen or not.

“I’ve always kinda seen coming here as like my second life, where I can live the way any other human teenager would without being in constant fear of danger or being caught.” He said, arms draped over the lip of Brooke’s pocket as he brooded. “But right now, when I’m like this, it’s hard to explain. It makes it so obvious that the person I become when I’m human-sized—my whole identity when I’m at school—it’s all fake. Just a lie I built to protect this Kaleb. The real me.”

Kaleb stared at the outline of his hands, so tiny in comparison to the human whose pocket he leant out of, and even tinier when held out in front of the backdrop of Westmount State High. When Brooke said nothing in response, he sighed, speaking more to himself than anything. “But still… Even though Upsize is a pain to deal with, and clearly it doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to, I can’t imagine going back to the way things were before I started using it.”

Her borrower neighbour’s honest words stirred up a torrent of emotions inside Brooke; something that had been happening more and more frequently lately. I should’ve known he’d start getting all existential on me, her thoughts were screaming. Deep down, she knew that she and Kaleb were beginning to reach a bit of a stalemate with their empty threats and bickering, but a part of her still found comfort in those interactions. She could keep her guard up that way, and maintain a certain degree of separation from being genuine with him. Still, Brooke couldn’t deny that other part of her—one she tried to keep sealed away—that yearned for connection. If someone had told her two months ago that she’d be finding that connection from Kaleb Finch of all people, she would have laughed in their face. And yet here they were, and Brooke couldn’t help but agree with his words. She was sick of pretending, too.

“You basically just summed up why so many humans like playing video games.” Brooke mused, swallowing the last of her sandwich and leaning back against the tree trunk with her legs stretched out in front of her. She laced her hands behind her head. “When you’re playing as a character and really immersing yourself in their world, it’s easy to forget how shitty your own life is behind the screen.”

Now it was Kaleb’s turn to hesitate, not expecting such an earnest answer. Brooke surprised him more and more with those these days. “My life isn’t shitty.” He said. “It’s just…” He stared down at his hands again.

“Small?” The human girl offered with a smug grin.

Kaleb hid his own smile behind the material of her pocket. “I was going to say dull, but I guess that’s a more obvious way of putting it.”

“To be honest, I forget too.” Brooke said. “That you’re actually a borrower. You fake being human so well it’s kinda scary. But then I come home and you’re suddenly popping out of some random hole in the wall and scaring the shit out of me like it’s the most normal thing ever.” She gave a half-hearted, knowing sigh. “I get it. For you, the difference between who you are at school versus home is literally huge, and honestly, I don’t even want to try and imagine what that’s like. But you’re not really as alone as you think. Every human who knows what’s good for them puts on a face at school to protect themselves. It’s just part of fitting in until you’ve figured out the kind of person you want to be.”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right.” Kaleb said, looking up at her dinner-plate-sized grey eyes as they gazed out across the grassy oval. He could see that the Brooke at school was a different person too, in a way. She always seemed sadder, more wistful. Hidden behind that trademark smug look of hers was the pain of understanding what it felt like to be marginalised. It made Kaleb wonder how much of that was his fault.

“I just wish I could tell everyone the truth.” He blurted out before he could fall into that particular pit of self-loathing.

From his position, Kaleb could feel as well as hear Brooke snicker. “Seriously? Like the whole class?” She asked with an amused grin. “You reckon you could trust them all? Even Amy Snyder?”

I trust you. Kaleb wanted to say. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He agreed instead, but found himself hesitating when two figures kicking a soccer ball across the oval caught his eye. Kaleb blinked, surprised at how small they both looked from this distance, even though he knew it was only a matter of perspective. The borrower sighed. “I’d want to tell Thomas and Marcus.” He amended. “I’ve known them since I started here back in middle school. It’s exhausting, lying to them about everything. I didn’t really notice it until I started opening up to you.”

Brooke hummed in agreement. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, I guess you do find every opportunity to tell me some weird borrower fact that I don’t actually care about.”

When Kaleb shot her a withering look, the human girl tried again, though not without smirking first. “You’re worried they’ll look at you differently once they find out what you are, right?”

Kaleb’s gaze dropped to the inside of her jacket pocket, where he began to fidget with the overlock stitching lining the edge. “Well… yeah.” He said quietly. “I mean, you did, didn’t you?”

“I… did. I mean, I do.” Brooke had to admit. He’d gotten her there. Glancing down at his tiny, sulking form, she sighed, trying not to think too hard about how much she meant the words that came out of her mouth next:

“But is that really a bad thing? Yeah, I admit I still think borrowers are shit-talking little tight-wads, and I bet you still think me and my family are just another bunch of human bigots… but at least that means we both understand each other a little better, right?”

Kaleb froze in place. Tactless as she was, he could see Brooke’s intentions as plain as day, how this was her own roundabout method of cheering him up. It made him smile, properly this time, and he met her giant eyes, opening his mouth to reply.

But then the bell rang again, signalling it was time to go back to class.

****

Fourth period was as dreary as ever for Brooke, who sat in her usual spot up the very back of the classroom so she could doodle in her notebook in peace. Although she was by no means flunking out of the subject, she definitely didn’t harbour the level of care towards maths that the borrower stowed away in her pocket seemed to have. Feeling her eyelids droop out of boredom, Brooke hid a yawn behind one hand while she sketched the outline of a guitar with the other. She hadn’t felt Kaleb’s tiny form shift against the inside of her pocket in a while now, figuring he was busy listening intently to Mrs Crowley taking questions about their upcoming exam as promised.

Brooke rested her elbow on her desk and propped up her head with a hand. At the front of the classroom beside the whiteboard, the clock ticked away at her tauntingly. She blew the bangs out of her eyes with a huff. The sketch of her old guitar had killed exactly ten minutes of class time.

Only eighty more to go. She thought miserably, reminded again of Kaleb and his abnormal appreciation for maths.

After triple checking that no one was looking, Brooke decided that now was as good a time as any to check on the borrower in question. Maybe seeing him taking rigorous notes using the tiny scrap of paper and pacer lead she’d provided him earlier would spur her into actually engaging in the lesson herself. So, as quietly and non-discreetly as she could muster, Brooke pinched the flap of her jacket pocket between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it up to peer inside. She was fully expecting Kaleb’s tiny hand to immediately try to bat away her intruding digits, and for him to let out a string of curses for interrupting his note-taking (which she probably deserved).

Instead, Brooke was met with a very different sight.

Her borrower classmate lay fast asleep at the bottom of the pocket, paper scrap and lead all but forgotten. The human girl watched his tiny chest rise and fall steadily, undisturbed by her relatively giant eyes gazing in. His body was curled up, free of the tension it had harboured since shrinking down hours ago. The near-permanent shit-eating grin had been wiped from his face, his features softened and relaxed. Brooke’s gaze lingered on his slumbering form for a moment longer, before she let the pocket flap fall back into place.

So much for catching those stupid exam tips. She thought to herself.

For some reason though, Brooke wasn’t as annoyed as she imagined she’d be. If anything, seeing Kaleb let his near-impenetrable guard down after everything he’d been through that day made the human girl’s chest swell with unexpected warmth and that all-too-familiar emotion she wouldn’t dare acknowledge out loud.

The corner of her lips tugging upwards into a smile, Brooke let out a sigh and turned to a fresh page of her notebook, writing the title “final exam tips” at the top.

“You’re welcome." She whispered as she got to work.

#gianttiny #g/t community #g/t writing #theborrowers #tinypeople #g/t #borrowers #g/t au #borrowedcourage #kalebandbrooke #borrowerfic #sizeshifter #sizechange #shrinking #angst #existentialism

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rosella35 · 1 month

Text

Kaleb's Bad Day: Part I

*clears throat* It's been a while, G/T community!

I don't get as much time for writing anymore with my uni degree in its final years, but this is a one-shot I've been working on for an obnoxious amount of time now based on a prompt I got a while back: What if Kaleb, my borrower character, shrunk in class?

To set the scene since the last time I updated Borrowed Courage was in 2022 *sobs*, Kaleb and Brooke live in a world where the borrower race was discovered 10 years ago and unbeknownst to humankind, many borrowers use a drug called "Upsize" to temporarily grow to human size and blend into society. This one-shot is canon but probably won't be added to the main story for timing reasons. It's set roughly 2 months after Brooke first discovered Kaleb's secret identity as a borrower.

Part II will be up tomorrow - I hope you like!

Content warning: contains angst, swearing and nudity (not graphic).

****

“Alright. For the rest of today, I want you to work independently through the exercises in chapter two of your textbooks. I’ll be floating around if anyone has any burning questions.” Mr Bell instructed the class. From his seat at the back of the room, Kaleb gritted his teeth in frustration. On any other day, he would be more than happy to follow his teacher’s instructions; learning about human history was one of the things he’d enrolled in school for in the first place. From a young age, Kaleb had been fascinated with the way the giants that owned the world had came to be that way, while his kind— the borrowers— had spent their lives hidden away in the shadows. Today, though, he was only half paying attention. Kaleb ran his hands through his scruffy brown hair, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the incessant pounding that seemed to reverberate all the way from his skull to his fingertips.

Something was off.

It wasn’t uncommon or him to be getting headaches from going consecutive days using Upsize, the drug that allowed him to attend human school at five feet nine instead of five inches tall. Even so, they hardly ever set in this early in the week, and were never an issue unless he was moving around too much. This one felt different. It had barely set in twenty minutes ago and was already driving him crazy. With a pained sigh, Kaleb tried to preoccupy himself with opening his textbook to the designated chapter. It felt weird to consider, since borrowers didn’t get sick nearly as often as humans did, but… maybe he was coming down with something.

From the seat adjacent, Brooke Tucker glanced up from her own work to frown across at him. “Are you good?” She whispered, leaning forward with her hand on her chin.

Kaleb immediately stiffened, surprised she’d even noticed his discomfort. Am I that obvious? “I don’t know.” He said uneasily. “My head is killing me.”

The human girl’s brow creased in concern, an expression she rarely ever directed at him. If he weren’t so distracted by the pain, Kaleb probably would’ve been flattered. “Could be a migraine.” She suggested, before adding in a lower voice. “Do borrowers even get those?”

“Yes, we get migraines.” He whispered back, rolling his eyes. Since she’d discovered Kaleb’s true identity back in September, the human girl had made it her mission to find every opportunity to tease and mock him about being a borrower. Still, Kaleb couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about this particular headache felt familiar. No way. That’s impossible. He dismissed, turning back to his textbook. “It’s probably nothing.” He assured her.

That was when he felt it.

BADUMP.

A sudden wave of pain reverberated through his body, making him sit bolt upright in his desk like he’d just stepped on a live wire. It was a sensation Kaleb knew all-too-well, because he’d experienced it every afternoon after school for the past four years.

His Upsize was about to wear off.

“Shit.” He hissed, feeling the colour drain from his face. His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of why this was even happening. It was like one of his worst nightmares come to life. He should’ve had more time. He always had more time. Had Rodney messed up his dose?

Kaleb ground his teeth together, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to dwell on the ‘why’. He had to get out of sight, and fast.

BADUMP.

The room spun as he was hit with another rapid full-body ache, and Kaleb almost collapsed out of his chair. He felt himself start to shiver uncontrollably, the primal fear of being seen overwhelming his senses. “Kaleb, what the hell’s going on with you?” Brooke’s voice echoed somewhere beside him. “You’re making a scene.”

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. Kaleb didn’t have to look up to know that the whole class was staring at him, a tingling feeling that sent his borrower instincts to flee into overdrive. He glanced across at Brooke, gazing unblinking into her judgemental grey-green eyes like they were his lifeline. In that moment, he made a decision.

“Why’re you staring at me like that, it’s creeping me—”

“Come with me.” Kaleb blurted out.

That was all the warning Brooke got before he’d clamped his hand around her wrist and launched out of his seat, dragging her along behind him.

“Sorry Mr Bell, we’ll be right back!” He announced in a rush of adrenalin, practically stumbling out the classroom door. Brooke, who had been too bewildered to react to their sudden exit, finally came to her senses as they entered the empty hallway. She ripped her hand out of his grasp, ears reddening in second-hand embarrassment from what had just gone down.

“What the fuck was that about?” She hissed, though her expression shifted to concern when he leaned heavily against the wall several paces in front of her, clutching his head. For the first time, Brooke noticed the raw, unsuppressed fear in his eyes.

“I can explai—” Kaleb started, but broke off with a startled yelp when he felt the shrinking process finally kick in. He could only catch a glimpse of Brooke’s startled expression before the ground rushed towards him and he was swallowed up by his human clothes that were suddenly hundreds of sizes too big. Within the span of a few seconds, he found himself back at his original five-inch-tall height and buried beneath the course folds of his t-shirt, chest heaving from the lingering adrenalin and body frozen in terror as the reality of his situation dawned.

Brooke, having witnessed the whole thing, did a double take. “What in the—” One second Kaleb had been standing there in front of her, and the next… Her eyes fell to his unoccupied pile of clothes, and she swore, realising what had just happened.

“Kaleb? Brooke? Is everything okay with you two?” She froze at the sound of Mr Bell’s voice from inside the classroom, his footsteps growing closer and closer.

Panicking, Brooke scrambled to scoop up the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes, quickly locating the squirming figure buried within, and shoved them behind herself. The second he felt her fingers close around him and lift him blindly into the air, Kaleb’s heart leapt into his throat. He shivered involuntarily, the sensation of powerful human hands around his entire frame serving as a stark reminder of how little control he had over their current situation. All he could do was make himself as small as possible in her grip and trust Brooke to handle things with the teacher.

“Y-Yep!” The human girl said, turning around just as the Mr Bell poked his head out the classroom door. Her hands tightened protectively around Kaleb’s smaller form under the clothes, feeling his tiny heartbeat flutter like a bird’s against her fingers. She cleared her throat awkwardly in attempt to compose herself. “I mean… actually, Kaleb wasn’t feeling well. He went ahead to the nurses office, but would you mind if I go too? J-Just to make sure he’s okay.”

The teacher gave her a strange look, and Brooke held her breath, waiting for him to notice the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes behind her back and effectively blow her cover story. After a moment though, Mr Bell’s expression softened to concern. “Oh, of course you can.” He said with a nod. “I hope he feels better soon. Don’t worry about missing the rest of the lesson. I’ll email the two of you supplementary work later today.”

She managed a strained smile. “Thank you.”

The moment he disappeared back inside, Brooke took off down the hall, her mind stalling on what she was supposed to do next. There was no way she could actually take Kaleb to the nurses office without exposing him, and it would be too suspicious if she just up and left the building in the middle of class. She cursed. There was really only one place that would give the two of them some privacy, which made her uncomfortable even thinking about, but Brooke didn’t really have a choice.

Resigned to her fate, she made beeline for the girl’s bathroom.

Locking herself inside a cubicle, Brooke let out a relieved sigh. She sat down heavily on the closed seat of the toilet, turning her attention to the bundle of Kaleb’s human clothes in her lap and the tiny muffled voice she could suddenly hear through the fabric. “Can’t breathe—!”

Eyes widening, Brooke loosened her hold around the clothes. It seemed silly now, but in her haste to get to somewhere private, she’d almost forgotten that Kaleb had been with her the whole time, buried underneath the layers of denim and cotton. She was about to reach in to try and pull him out, when she realised that somewhere amongst the folded material, Kaleb was not only borrower-sized but naked. Face heating up at the thought, Brooke sat back against the toilet and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Okay, you’re safe to come out. We’re alone.”

Sure enough, it wasn’t long after she’d spoken that Brooke noticed a miniature head of scruffy brown hair poking out through the of one of the t-shirt sleeves as Kaleb revealed himself at last. He blinked rapidly in the harsh fluorescent lighting, scrambling to cover himself with his blanket-like clothes. Without his usual shirt and tan jacket combo, he seemed almost smaller than usual, his bare shoulders slim and pale and his breaths short and fast. Fragile was the first word that came to mind. Intuitively, Brooke knew that compared to humans, borrowers really were fragile and vulnerable, but those were never words she’d associated with Kaleb. Now though, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that his entire body trembled like a scared animal in her hands.

That didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him. “What the fuck, Kaleb!” She hissed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Kaleb flinched instinctively, his hazel eyes shooting up to meet her now much larger grey ones. Brooke’s angry expression faltered. Shit. He looked terrified— even more so than the time she’d found him on the apartment roof all those weeks ago. She swallowed, turning away uncomfortably. That look in his eyes… It didn’t suit him at all.

The two of them didn’t speak for several minutes, awkward silence permeating the cubicle. Kaleb took that time to try and compose himself, his full-body tremors slowly dissipating as he tried to calm his pounding heart. It wasn’t easy to do by any means, but he appreciated Brooke’s patience. Finally finding his voice, he tilted his head to meet her eyes.

“S-Sorry.” He said, holding the material of his shirt around his nude frame with white knuckled hands. He licked his dry lips. “No one saw… did they?”

Brooke sighed, making a conscious effort to shift to a gentler tone of voice. Now probably wasn’t the time for their usual teasing banter. “No.” She reassured him. “Just me.”

Kaleb visibly relaxed at that, minuscule shoulders slumping under the thick material of his shirt. “Thank god.” He breathed, almost too quiet for her to make out. So he hadn’t been seen by anyone else in the class. Just knowing that was enough to ease a significant portion of his built up anxiety. With a clearer head, Kaleb finally paused to take in his surroundings, and his jaw immediately dropped when he caught sight of a toilet roll as long as he was tall. “What the—” He exclaimed, looking up at her with an aghast expression. “Is this the girl’s bathroom—?!”

Brooke held back a snort as his tiny face turned beet red with embarrassment. Much more like the Kaleb she knew. “You didn’t exactly give me much time to think of a better place to go.” She pointed out, sitting up straighter on the toilet seat. “And while we’re on that topic, what the hell happened to you? Isn’t your wonder drug supposed to last the whole day?”

Kaleb flinched at that and peered down at his smaller form, pathetically dwarfed by the clothes that had fit him perfectly less than ten minutes ago. Already, without the disguise that was his human height, he was starting to feel like the fraud he was; just another borrower trying and failing to carry himself with the same level of confidence and liberty as a human. “I-I don’t know.” He mumbled. “Maybe my uncle messed up the dose.” He wrapped the the fabric of his shirt sleeve tighter around himself, feeling more exposed than ever. “This has never happened to me before.”

“Clearly.” Brooke said. “If I hadn’t been there to cover for you, you’d’ve been screwed for sure.”

She felt him shiver at that fact, almost making her regret her choice of words. “You’re right.” Kaleb looked up at her again, his expression earnest. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.”

Brooke blinked. That was unexpected. She shifted in her seat and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush. With their current size difference, that was unlikely. “I-It’s fine.” She said. “So, uh… what now, then? Do you have any more Upsize you can take?”

Kaleb pursed his lips. “I don’t keep any spare pills at school.” He admitted quietly, shuddering again despite the course fabric around him. “With Upsize, you need to wait at least an hour after shrinking before you can take another dose. It’s supposed to give the medicine a chance to leave your system, kind of like a cool-down period.”

“Right, of course that’s a thing.” Brooke sighed. She tried racking her brain for an alternative solution. “Well then, can someone come get you? Surely Evie would. I bet she’s bored out of her mind back at the apartment without having me to spy on.”

Instead of laughing at her poor attempt at a joke, Kaleb looked horrified. “I can’t just leave early!” He exclaimed. “I’ll miss maths next period. Mrs Crowley said she’d be giving out final exam tips today!”

Brooke couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re kidding.” She started, holding back a disbelieving laugh. Looking closer at his tiny, pleading features though, her smile faded. “You’re not kidding.” She deadpanned, groaning. “Come on, Kaleb. How the fuck are you supposed to come to class like this? You don’t even have any clothes!”

Kaleb’s cheeks heated up and he pulled the shirt sleeve a little tighter around himself as he was reminded of his current nudity. “I can get clothes.” He insisted, his usual confident demeanour returning in full force. “I have a spare set in my locker. Climbing gear, too.”

Brooke would have face palmed herself if her hands weren’t still cupped around his tiny frame. She regarded him quizzically. “Well that’s great, but isn’t your whole thing supposed to be not getting seen by the rest of the class?”

Kaleb shook his head. “I don’t have to actually come to class. You could just, y’know, let me off into the air vent and I can listen in from there.” He suggested, giving her a clumsy shrug from amongst the bundle of clothes.

Brooke just stared down at him, completely lost for words. “You’re crazy.” She muttered. “You’re actually fucking crazy. You literally almost shrunk in front of our whole class, and now you want me to just let you go off into the walls so you can catch some stupid exam tips?”

“Brooke.”

She didn’t hear him, her voice rising in annoyance as she continued. “And then what? Am I supposed to just stay back and look for you after class, like that’s totally not suspicious at all?!”

“Brooke.”

“Ugh!” She wanted so badly to bang her head into the cubicle door. “Why do I even get myself into these situations? I swear, ever since I found out about you and your stupid little secret, my life’s been a fucking disaster—!”

“BROOKE!”

She broke off with a start at his exclamation, caught off guard by how loud he’d managed to sound despite his obvious disadvantage in size. Brooke bit her lip, breathing heavily through her nose. She almost jumped when she felt a slight pressure on her thumb. Kaleb had reached out to touch it with his much smaller hand, stroking the digit in attempt to reassure her. “You good?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah.” Brooke replied weakly, her mouth dry. She didn’t want to say anything but the feeling of his tiny hand on her finger felt so… weird. Kaleb almost never initiated physical contact with her when he was borrower-sized.

He nodded, meeting her eyes again. “I’m sorry.” He said with obvious embarrassment. “I got a bit ahead of myself there. I guess I just thought you’d want me out of your hair so you could get back to class. If you can help me to my locker, I’ll call Evie to come pick me up, and I’ll just email Mrs Crowley about the exam later.”

Brooke sighed at his words, a much simpler solution coming to mind that she was probably crazy for even suggesting. “Or you could just come with me.” She pointed out, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement when he blinked up at her. “What? Did you forget we have the same maths class?”

“Come… with you?” Kaleb repeated, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “As in, on your person? Where would I even go—?” His broke off, eyes trailing upwards to the chest pocket of her oversized denim jacket at the same time hers did. His face lost several shades of colour, and he shook his head firmly, despite knowing deep down that he might not have any say in the matter. “No way. No way. I’m not gonna sit in your pocket all day like some house pet, Brooke! That’s just… that’s just embarrassing!”

The human girl smirked down at him. “Well, would it be any more embarrassing than being tiny and naked in the girl’s bathroom?” Her hand inched up to ruffle his hair teasingly. “I mean, unless you’re secretly a pervert?”

Kaleb swiped at her already retreating digit. “I’m not a pervert!” He snapped, pointing his own diminutive finger up at her accusingly. “You brought me here, not the other way around!”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” She giggled. “You’re always so easy to work up like this.”

Kaleb bristled. “Yeah, well can you blame me? When I’m like this, there’s five extra feet of you to piss me off!”

“Fair point.” Brooke smirked. “So, what’s it gonna be then?” Her hands edged closer around him, as she impatiently tapped her foot against the tiles. “I can’t just keep sitting on the toilet for the rest of the day.”

Kaleb sighed, turning his gaze downwards in defeat. He had to admit she was right about that. Stalling was only prolonging what they both knew had to come next. “Fine. I’ll come to class with you.” He hesitated. “Just… can we please get my clothes first?”

Brooke looked at him, shock evident on her face. Did he really believe that she wouldn’t let him get changed? It was humbling to think that with Kaleb like this, without his bag or climbing gear, he was essentially putting his life and his autonomy in her hands. Just knowing that made Brooke soften her voice ever so slightly. “Um, yeah, of course. There’s no way you’re coming with me in the nude. That’s fucked up.”

Kaleb breathed a sigh of relief at her reassurance, offering a grateful smile. “Okay… Well, in the meantime, could you grab me a piece of toilet paper? To cover up, I mean.”

Brooke blinked, glancing across at the roll beside her. Hesitantly, she tore off a small strip of toilet paper between her thumb and index finger and handed it down to him. Kaleb took it, ducking under his sleeve for a moment to tie it around his waist like a towel. He looked down at his handiwork, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll do.” He muttered to himself, letting the oversized shirt sleeve fall away so that he was standing at his full five-inch height in her cupped hands.

Despite herself, Brooke almost did a double take when she saw his bare chest for the first time. There was no denying it; Kaleb was ripped. The thought had never occurred to her, but considering his active lifestyle, she really shouldn’t have been as caught off guard as she was. A little more of a tan, and he could’ve belonged in a body building magazine. She tore her eyes away before he caught her staring, but that didn’t stop her cheeks from heating up.

She coughed. “Right. Ready to go then?”

“That depends.” Kaleb smirked knowingly. There was really no way he could have missed a stare that size. He took a bold step forward in her cupped hands and flexed his muscles tauntingly. “Did you want a closer look?”

“W-What?”

“Who’s the pervert now, huh?” He teased, throwing the label right back at her.

“Shut up!” In that embarrassment-riddled moment, Brooke reacted in the only way she could think of. She poked Kaleb harshly in the chest. Like always, he staggered backwards with a yelp at the impact, but this time neither of them had taken proper stock of their surroundings. As if in slow-motion, Kaleb tripped over the folded clothing behind him, simultaneously jostling free the poorly secured knot holding up his toilet paper toga. All hope of modesty gone, he fell flat on his back with his legs gracelessly splayed… within full view of the human girl holding him.

The two of them stared at each other in silent shock for several seconds, and Brooke wished she could bleach her eyeballs. Instead, she opted for the next best course of action.

“AHHHH!”

#gianttiny #theborrowers #borrowedcourage #kalebandbrooke #g/t community #g/t writing #g/t #tinypeople #sizeshifter #sizechange #angst #borrowerau #borrowerfanfic #shrinking

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rosella35 · 1 month

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Loved this chapter! Their relationship is so cute! 🥰

pepper & felix

part four

Felix has a lot on his mind. word count: 3.2k

“Hey, Felix, are you even listening?”

A hand waved in front of Felix’s face, jerking him back to reality.

His three friends stared at him, the four of them seated in a booth of a local restaurant. Felix blinked several times, momentarily shoving away the uncomfortable memory of a tiny heartbeat thudding against his finger.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just zoned out for a sec.” He forced himself to laugh, beginning to pick absentmindedly at his food. The cozy setting of the restaurant helped to ease his stress somewhat, but his stomach still continued to squirm.

His friend that had addressed him— Alice— just snickered and said, “Honestly, Felix, you’ve been acting so weird lately.” Her dark eyelashes fluttered in amusement, peering at him from across the booth.

To Felix’s left, Breanna nodded, a finger twirling one of her long dark braids. “Yeah. What’s going on with you?”

As three pairs of eyes stared at him, Felix chewed his lip. “Um…”

He hadn’t told anyone about Pepper, aside from his soulmate, who had seemed to be just as shocked as he was to learn about the existence of tiny men living in the walls. His soulmate was actually the one to suggest that Felix keep his discovery a secret.

As much as he longed to tell his friends about that crazy incident three days ago, he didn’t want to sound completely insane. Honestly, he was wondering if he had imagined the whole thing.

“He’s probably just worried about The Little Mermaid auditions,” Owen suggested, giving Felix a toothy smile from across the table. “He really wants to be Prince Eric.” He raised his voice in a mocking royal tone, lifting a finger.

(Owen didn’t do theater, unlike Felix, Alice, and Breanna. He just liked hanging out with them.)

Felix exhaled. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he lied, grateful to have an excuse for his distant behavior. “I’m super nervous. I’d really like to get a lead.”

“Same,” Breanna and Alice said in unison.

“I’ve been practicing, like, every day,” Breanna admitted, resting her chin in her palm. “I think I’m gonna go for Ursula.”

The three others voiced their approval. Alice then began to rant about “that bitch in Music II that just wants to be Ariel so bad” and Felix took the opportunity to zone out again, thinking about a tiny man sprinting across his counter, holding a piece of spinach.

He frowned suddenly. Had Pepper been stealing the spinach for food? Had Felix interrupted him and forced him to go hungry? Was he okay?

“Felix,” Alice said, turning towards him so quickly that her silky black hair audibly whipped. “You are literally staring at the wall.”

“Oh, uh—“ Felix blinked several times, face going pink. “Sorry. Ugh. Just thinking.”

His friends laughed, and Felix ran his hands anxiously through his blonde hair, trying to ground himself in reality.

“Hey— what audition song are you using?” Breanna asked, her brown eyes dark and kind as they searched Felix’s face. Felix appreciated her immensely; she never made fun of him and always seemed to notice when he was uneasy.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Felix murmured, glancing at her. “Something from Beauty and the Beast, maybe. I dunno.”

“I’m using Beauty and the Beast, too,” Alice chirped. “My soulmate actually suggested it.”

That caught Felix’s attention. “Wait— you’re talking to your soulmate, now, too?”

Alice’s eyebrows raised, and she sighed dramatically. “Dude, I just said that, like, ten minutes ago. Have you really not been listening this whole time?” Breanna and Owen nodded.

He flushed. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Um— when did you start talking? Tell me again.”

Alice, of course, was thrilled to tell the same story twice. She immediately leaned closer, as if she was telling the three of them a secret. “He turned twenty-one yesterday,” she explained, lips twitching into a smile, “and we literally talked all night. He’s so sweet, and smart, and funny. Like, it was love at first sight.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just how soulmates work,” Owen teased. Alice gently punched him.

“Shut up. Anyways, I just knew he was the one for me the second I heard his voice.”

Felix offered a smile, but her words sent an uncomfortable feeling into his stomach.

“You’ve been talking to your soulmate too— right, Felix?” Alice continued, tilting her head. “How’s that going?”

Ugh. Felix stalled by taking a sip of his water, then cleared his throat. “He seems a little shy,” he admitted. “I… I don’t really understand him yet, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Breanna asked curiously.

Felix chewed his lip, thinking. “Um… I mean, I like him. He seems nice. But sometimes he’ll just cut our conversations off without any warning. And he never really talks about himself? He just asks me questions, mainly.”

He rested his chin on his hands, dropping his gaze. “We also haven’t really talked in a few days,” he mumbled. “We just… had a weird conversation, and he stopped reaching out.”

“I’ve heard of this happening,” Owen said thoughtfully, running his fingers through his red hair. “It’s actually pretty common to not get along with your soulmate right away. My older brother hated his soulmate for a few months before they actually got to know each other.”

“That’s comforting,” Felix said darkly.

“I’m sure you’ll work things out,” Breanna offered, and Alice nodded supportingly. “It just takes time.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, although his mind was starting to drift again. “I’m sure.”

—

Felix felt self-conscious.

His gaze wandered around the walls of his apartment. He was currently sitting on the floor, legs crossed underneath him, and quietly singing along to a song playing from his laptop. This was normal for him, typically. When an audition or a performance was coming around, he spent a lot of his time sitting in his apartment, practicing.

However— the knowledge that someone could be sitting in the walls, watching him right now, made him incredibly uneasy.

He hadn’t seen any sign of Pepper in the last three days, and he hoped that he hadn’t scared the little guy off permanently. Pepper had seemed absolutely terrified after their encounter.

His stomach twisted in regret, and his voice wobbled. If he could go back in time, he would change how he had treated Pepper in a heartbeat. Thinking of that tear-filled gray gaze staring up at him from beneath a cup just made him want to throw up.

God, I was such an asshole. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing for a moment. When he held Pepper, he could feel his kicks and punches and struggles, but he had barely even acknowledged it. He had an entire person in his hand and he had completely ignored their fear.

Felix felt sick.

The song ended, but he had stopped singing along a few minutes ago. He leaned back dejectedly against the seat of the couch.

“You sound pretty.”

Felix nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up straight, immediately freezing.

There, at the base of a bookshelf, was Pepper. Down on the floor, only a few feet away from Felix, Pepper seemed smaller than ever. He wore a tiny blue jacket that somehow seemed baggy on him, his sleeved arms folded in front of his small chest. A pair of tiny gray eyes were locked on Felix.

Felix was immediately hit with an onslaught of emotions; he was relieved to see Pepper again, but his heart was already thudding with guilt, remembering how easily he had trapped such a tiny being against his will. He felt incredibly uncomfortable to see Pepper standing on the floor, his neck craning to look up at Felix, who was also sitting on the floor.

“I said you sound pretty,” Pepper repeated. Despite his casual demeanor, there was a significant caution in the way he lingered by the wall, as if he was ready to bolt at any moment.

Felix blinked, muscles tense. “Oh– thank you. I, um… I didn’t know you were listening.” He held his breath, as if Pepper might bolt at the drop of a pin.

Those tiny shoulders shrugged. “I just overheard you, and I figured I’d stop by.” After a moment, he added, “Besides, I wanted to come and thank you.”

Felix did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“For letting me go,” Pepper explained, as if this was a normal Tuesday for him. “And you didn’t kill me or keep me, which is pretty typical for humans. And you didn’t go searching for me afterwards, even though it’s been three days. So… thanks for all that.”

Felix’s heart sank, while an uneasy feeling itched at his skin. Is that really what Pepper had expected from him? Being killed, or tormented? The thought of hurting Pepper any more than he already did made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t explain why, but he needed Pepper to understand that he wasn’t any of those things he had described.

“Pepper…” His voice was hollow. He leaned forward, heart twisting at the sight of Pepper taking a small step back. “Pepper, you don’t need to thank me. I should be apologizing. You didn’t deserve to be grabbed, or– or trapped like that. I’m sorry. I really, really am.”

The borrower frowned for a moment, inquisitive. Then, quietly, “You just did what any human would do.”

Felix’s stomach turned. “That doesn’t make it okay. I still could have hurt you.”

Pepper remained suspiciously quiet, and Felix’s heart pounded. “Did… Did I hurt you?”

“Just a couple bruises,” Pepper said with a shrug, picking at the hem of his blue jacket. “It wasn’t that bad though. Nothing broken, or anything.”

Fuck.

Felix’s stomach was suddenly filled with ice. “Shit… I’m so fucking sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.” His blue gaze worriedly scanned Pepper’s small form, as if he could magically see the finger-shaped bruises underneath his clothes. “Can— can I make it up to you, somehow? Please?”

Standing on the floor, Pepper seemed even smaller. He was barely over three inches tall, and Felix had acted so carelessly that he had bruised him. What had he been thinking?

“It’s okay, really,” Pepper said, seeming a little wary. “I get bruised all the time. It’s not new to me.”

“No, no. Can I make you something to eat, maybe? As an apology?”

The small man hesitated, wide gray eyes darting around the room. “You don’t have to do that.” As if on cue, the rumbling of his tiny stomach filled the air. Pepper’s tan face immediately flushed, and Felix tilted his head sympathetically.

“Here… let me go make a quick salad. It’ll take five minutes. Wait here.” Pepper had tried to take a piece of spinach a few days ago, so Felix figured a salad would be a good peace offering for all the trouble he had caused.

Before Pepper could refuse, Felix swiftly pulled himself to his feet. He immediately felt uneasy, looking down at the three-inch-tall boy from his height of nearly six feet, and took a calculated step back.

Pepper hadn’t moved, but his posture was significantly more rigid than it was before, staring up at the human. Considering the circumstances, Felix was grateful that he hadn’t instantly scurried off into the walls, and he murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

As he crossed the room into the kitchen, he tried to imagine that he was three inches tall, looking up at a man the size of a skyscraper. He shuddered, uneasy at the thought, and decided that Pepper must be a lot braver than he gave him credit for. The small man had actually approached Felix willingly, after all.

He stood aimlessly in the kitchen for a few seconds before rummaging through his fridge. He hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a week, and a lot of his produce was getting old. He’ll have to make do with what he had.

After a minute or two of dicing a cucumber into microscopic pieces, Felix spared a glance to his right, and stiffened.

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. A small silver hook was latched onto the edge of the counter, and climbing up the thread it was attached to was Pepper.

The small man was about three quarters of the way up, not even looking in Felix’s direction. The human blinked several times, entranced by Pepper’s quick movements. Pepper had pulled his sleeves up to cover his hands as he climbed, a clever way to avoid ropeburn.

Deciding not to say anything, Felix turned back to the cutting board in front of him, carefully sectioning off an ounce of diced cucumber. He was halfway through chopping up some spinach when he glanced over again, only to see Pepper seated patiently on the countertop, raveling up his thread into small circles.

Felix gently cleared his throat. “That was impressive.”

Pepper tilted his head in Felix’s direction. It wasn’t any easier to read his expressions, even now that he was higher up. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you get that hook from?” Felix asked politely, absentmindedly searching for some sort of small plate or bowl he could give to a person the size of his finger.

“My sister,” Pepper explained hesitantly. “It’s an old fishing hook, I think. She got it for me when we were kids.”

Felix’s eyebrow raised, and he immediately had a thousand more questions. Pepper had a family, then? What was his childhood like? Did Pepper’s sister live here, too?

“What’s her name?” Felix finally asked, figuring that was a safe enough question to not frighten him off.

To his surprise, Pepper actually frowned, tightening his tiny grip on his hook. “It’s not really my place to say,” he said finally, voice cautious but firm. “Humans aren’t supposed to know anything about us, even our names.”

You told me your name, Felix wanted to say, but he decided against it. He glanced over as Pepper spoke up again.

“Have you… told anyone about me?” Pepper spoke as if he was trying to be casual, but Felix could sense a tenseness in the small man’s shoulders. The human blinked.

“No… not really,” Felix said softly. “I only told my soulmate. I’m sorry. But to be fair, I don’t think he believed me.”

Pepper’s face was unreadable, so Felix added, “Um, do you know what soulmates are?”

After a long moment, the borrower finally said, “I’ve… heard of them.”

Felix nodded, scraping a blend of diced veggies onto the corner of a napkin. “Humans have a telepathic connection with their soulmate,” he explained. “So I was able to tell my soulmate that I met you. But he acted kind of weird about it, and we haven’t really talked since, so… he probably just thinks I’m crazy now, I guess. You’re in the clear.”

“Huh,” Pepper said. “That’s interesting.”

Felix turned towards Pepper, the napkin laying flat in his hand. As he approached, it was hard not to stare at Pepper, in awe of just how small he was. The counter looked gigantic compared to him.

He set the napkin down a few inches away, hyper aware that this is the closest he’s been to Pepper since their last encounter. The small man visibly flinched as his hand approached, and Felix desperately wanted him to understand that he would never grab him like that again.

“Here,” Felix offered. “It’s spinach, cucumber, lettuce and some carrots. I didn’t add any dressing, cause I wasn’t sure what you like. And— I’m sorry— I don’t have any silverware that you could use. Um, but I hope you like it.”

Pepper, for the first time, actually sent him a small smile. “Thank you.” He swiftly approached the napkin, peering down at it momentarily with his small hands planted on his hips. After a moment of examination, Pepper picked up a piece of cucumber and tentatively nibbled at it.

Felix hovered nearby, his mind racing with a thousand questions. He still had no idea what Pepper even was, or why he had been lingering around his apartment. Did he live nearby?

“So…” Felix avoided looking at Pepper, busying himself by scraping the rest of his salad mix into a tupperware container. “I know you said humans aren’t supposed to know about you, but… I can’t lie, I’m really curious about you.”

Gray eyes peered up at him, hesitant.

Felix met his gaze briefly. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he assured. “But… but what exactly are you? Why can’t humans know about you?”

He tried to keep his voice light, respectful. In the corner of his eye, Pepper sat down, crossing his legs underneath him. Felix hoped that meant he was comfortable.

“Uh…” Pepper placed the cucumber piece back down on the napkin. “Well, we try to stay out of sight, for our safety. The world just… isn’t built for us.” He gestured vaguely to the kitchen, and Felix agreed that he looked very out of place on the massive counter. “If humans knew about us, we would probably be seen as— as pests, or something, so that’s why we try not to bother anyone.”

Felix’s eyebrows raised. “That’s messed up,” he said worriedly. “You all live in hiding because of humans? That’s… awful.”

He hated the idea that Pepper had at one point believed that Felix would hurt him, just because he was smaller. Did he still believe that?

“It’s not so bad,” Pepper reasoned, shrugging. “I mean, I’ve lived like this my whole life. And it’s not like we want to be interacting with humans, anyways. Humans are dangerous, whether they try to be or not.”

Felix stayed quiet, uneasy. Pepper continued hesitantly. “So… thank you, for keeping our secret. It means a lot more than you’d think.”

The human blinked, glancing over at the small man. Earnestly shone behind Pepper’s gray eyes.

“Of course,” Felix assured. “I’ll never tell anyone about you, I promise.”

Pepper opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but decided against it. Felix glanced over, watching as the small man leaned over the remains of his little salad and began to rip the napkin into a smaller piece.

After a minute, Pepper straightened up, and Felix realized what he had done. The napkin had been tied up into a little bundle, the salad nestled securely inside. “I’ll take this home with me,” Pepper said, genuinely grateful. “Thank you so much.”

He really did seem to have a lot of experience with this kind of life. Crafty, clever, and resourceful. Felix nodded, heart lifting at the positive response from the small man. “Of course. It’s the least I could do.”

Pepper nodded respectfully, beginning to walk towards the toaster, where Felix recalled there was a hidden exit. Then, the small man paused, peering up at Felix again.

“Also— I’m sure your soulmate doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Pepper said. “I think he’d be glad to hear from you again.”

Felix’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He had forgotten he had even mentioned his soulmate to Pepper. “Oh! Well, I’ll… I’ll reach out to him soon.”

“Good. And thanks again, for the salad. Maybe I’ll see you around, Felix.”

Hearing his name on Pepper’s tongue made Felix’s heart jump, not unpleasantly. “Right. No problem. See you around.”

—

Hours later, Pepper sat in his hammock, nibbling on a piece of carrot, thinking of massive hands and blonde hair. He sat up straighter as a voice entered his mind.

“Hey, soulmate, how have you been?”

“Hey, Felix,” Pepper murmured, setting his carrot down. Heart skipping a beat, he pressed his hands to his chest.

“Hey. It’s good to hear from you,” he responded, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

____

that awkward moment when ur soulmate turns out to be a literal giant that shouldn't even know u exist ... poor pepper

thanks smmm for reading! :]

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