#asweetpeawriting

[a-sweet-pea]

Humans are Megafauna

A/N: Inspired by the likes of "Humans are Space Orcs" and "Humans are Space Fae", a little dabble into the world of scifi! I had vain hopes of elaborating on the italicized portions and writing them out properly, but I think it's been sitting in my drafts gathering dust long enough. Consider this a late xmas gift, with a repost of its beginning (which you might recognize as Untitled Exoplanet).

The Charys - Ship’s Log - Cycle 308

10.08.00 - Pulse Drive Failure

10.08.01 - Charys exits Hyperspace

Solar System Report -

Yellow Dwarf Star

13 Planets (9 solid, 4 gaseous)

11.35.87 - Charys enters Gravity Well of Exoplanet

Exoplanet Report

Tertiary in orbit of central star

87kf diameter - Molten Core, Solid Plate Surface

Atmosphere: 78% Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen, Trace Gases - NONTOXIC, HELMET USE RECOMMENDED FOR PARTICULATE FILTRATION

Liquid Water - Present

Carbon-Based Life - Present

14.12.76 - Charys enters Atmosphere of Exoplanet

14.13.09 - Charys reaches terminal velocity

14.13.67 - Charys reaches subsonic speed

14.13.71 - Air brakes deployed

Atmospheric Entry and Descent Report

Hull Ablation: Minimal

Aerodynamic Heating: Within acceptable range

Terminal Velocity: 1.3*

14.13.98 - Impact

Expedition Log

C.J - At 14.15.23, Charys has landed on the exoplanet, no major injuries sustained by crew.

Z - My thorax is sore.

W - She said major injuries.

C.J - Landing site experiencing heavy precipitation, but the Charys was able to navigate through open bay door of superstructure and onto raised platform.

Z - Let the record show that the Charys had help from an expert pilot.

O.T. Who is going to have their channel shut down if they don’t stop interrupting.

C.J - Sensors indicate the presence of plant matter containing fructose within 3f, in sufficient quantities to refill both fuel tanks and food stores. First officer, pilot, and engineer to remain onboard to assess damages, Captain will leave the ship to scout location of plant matter.

W - As the exobiologist, I feel I should accompany you, Captain.

C.J - No one else is to leave the ship.

W - Captain, we are on an exoplanet with a superstructure indicating the presence of intelligent-

C.J - No one else is to leave the ship until I have established that it is safe to do so. Then you are welcome to join me.

Z - Just Telerin?

C.J - Once I have established the safety of the environment, the entirety of the crew is welcome to explore the exoplanet surface, with the understanding that, should we at any point encounter the presence of alien life, it is the Captain’s responsibility to mitigate first contact.

Z - I can’t say hi?

C.J - In the event of first contact, Pilot Zephyr’s channel will be muted to prevent the embarassment of our species.

Z - Well now I don’t even want to leave the ship.

Jeeyah exits the ship wades, through brackish liquid, leaps across a gap to the polished metal wall and climbs up. She reaches a vast surface of polished stone and starts hiking toward the source of the plant matter and sugar readings from earlier; enormous alien fruits in a semi-spherical structure of woven reeds. When she is halfway between the edge of the metal pit where the ship landed and the mound of fruit, the ground begins to shake

O.T- Captain, you are in distress.

C.J - Do not leave the ship. Keep cloaking and communications on, shut off all unneccessary indicators.

Sensors indicate the approach of native megafauna. She begins to run for the nearest cover (towering objects she assumes are buildings that house the native intelligent life-forms) but before she can reach them, a glass cylinder is lowered on top of her, trapping her where she stands. The megafauna is bipedal, incalculably enormous, and it makes a series of noises that sound like more than just primitive grunts…

W - The vocalization is a language.

O.T - You think the megafauna is sentient?

W - Switch on the translator!

The suit power indicator glowed pale blue. Less than twenty-percent. If she survived this, Jeeyah was going to give Weylin’s carapace a good rattling for failing to hook up the suit to the charging station when she’d reminded them at least ten times. Shock-absorption, air filtering, thermal regulation, carapace rigidity, communication channel with the ship; all of these were draining the battery. The translator wasn’t usually much of a load when interfacing with an alien entity with which it was familiar, but to process an entirely new langauge, one composed of not just thought patterns but vocalizations as well?

C.J - I have to cut the other systems.

Jeeyah fumbled with the pressure pads on her forearm.

O.T - What systems?

The eyes in front of her were wide and unblinking.

C.J - Under no circumstances is anyone to leave the ship unless I give the all clear.

O.T - Captain!

The translator switched on with a buzz and a chime, while the indicators for shock-absorption, thermal regulation, and the ship’s communication channel blinked and shut off.

Jeeyah waits, but the megafauna doesn’t make any more sounds, it just stares and pulls out a large slab of metal with a display screen on it bigger than the whole dashboard of the spaceship (intelligent megafauna confirmed). She needs it to vocalize again to give the translator a baseline, why won’t it vocalize?!

It isn’t going to vocalize; it doesn’t know I’m intelligent.

Her hands shook as she pried a barbed piton from its housing against her leg. She punctured the emergency food ration strapped to her arm; the sweet green paste that oozed from the pouch made her feelers twitch, but she wasn’t the least bit hungry. She scraped it up and smeared it onto the glass wall in front of her. A series of dashes.

Any sufficiently advanced life form in the cosmos will recognize this numerical sequence.

l l ll lll lllll

Massive dark irises jumped back and forth.

Come on, come on.

The creature’s lips parted and it vocalized again, the quietest yet, but still well within the range of her suit mic. The translator’s amber indicator pulsed gently as it struggled to connect the audio to the active places in the alien’s brain and determine the intended concepts.

you - [an individual apart from the speaker]

Jeeyah’s feelers fluttered. Speech. It was intelligent, and it was addressing her.

are - [identity, quality]

not - [negation]

a - [single entity]

bug - - -

The translator struggled for an agonizing moment before spitting out its best approximation

[connotative term, biological entity native to the planet, class insecta or isopoda, small, insignificant, pest, lacking intellect or emotional capacity, ]

Insignificant. Her breath came quickly. Pest. A shadow fell over the circle of glass. A fleshy mass the size of the ship’s console perched atop the enclosure; jointed appendages sprouting from it, reaching down. If Jeeyah hadn’t known better, she would have thought it was a creature unto itself, but beyond it stretched a thick limb. It was merely another part of the megafauna, an enormous hand. Jeeyah crouched low as the glass wall rose up around her, lifted away with a mere fraction of the potential energy stored in the creature’s musculature. A minor application of pressure from one of the digits would be more than sufficient to crush her carapace. So why, having put the glass container aside, had it not done so?

Not. Negation.

Relief washed over Jeeyah like a sudden burst of radiation.

Not a bug.

“What-[inquiry] are you?”

Jeeyah lifted her head; the creature’s hand was moving toward her again and this time, there was no wall of glass between them. A friendly chime from her suit’s internals warned her that her hemolymph flow was unreasonably rapid. Not a bug, she thought, trying to stem the flow of adrenaline. It knows I am not a bug. The hand laid to rest on the stone surface, jointed digits uncurling like a fern opening in the sunlight. There were no more vocalizations, but the meaning of the gesture was clear. It wants me to step on. Jeeyah took a few steps backward, eyes focused on the creature’s face.

“It’s okay-[a neutral state of mind and body, a lack of (or capacity to manage) discomfort]”

“Don’t be scared-[anticipating danger, distress, potential negative outcome]”

Its mouth was stretched; pushing the flesh in its cheeks upward, narrowing its eyes. Is it focusing? Is it hampering its vision because it does not see me as a threat? Jeeyah had a fair amount of experience with mammals, but the trouble was that they all did different things with their faces to indicate different things. If it intended harm, Jeeyah reasoned, taking a step toward the living platform. It would have attacked. The megafauna was keeping still as Jeeyah approached, like Jeeyah herself did when catching aphids. Not a bug, Jeeyah replayed the thought in her head, and it strengthened her resolve. An explorer. An ambassador. A captain.

Jeeyah stepped onto the platform of flesh, feelers vibrating. If one of my crew did this, I’d recommend them for a psych evaluation. Maybe Jeeyah would write herself up when she got back to the ship, if she got back to the ship. Clearly, there was some dangerous flaw in her reasoning, to so willingly place herself in danger. The creature’s hand rose like the elevator on the Ysenia station (if someone had disabled the gravity cushioning), and Jeeyah was trapped again, in a prison she’d walked into.

“Can-[ability to perform task]

The creature’s vocalization drew her attention upward again.

You talk-[vocalize thoughts]”

No, Jeeyah thought. But my suit can. Jeeyah switched on the audio output. The audio input had never been switched off (in the event that she ran out of power to keep her body functioning on this hostile planet, the recording of their mission would still be worthy of preservation, either as a museum artifact or a cautionary tale for future explorers). She rewound the recording until she reached the appropriate words, clipped them, re-ordered them, and sent them to audio output, as many decibels as the suit could produce. I hope you have sensitive ears.

“CAN TALK.” The suit echoed the megafauna’s words back at it in a frail imitation of its powerful vocalization. First contact with an alien species, Jeeyah thought. No doubt she would look back on this moment as a great honor if she ever made it safely back to the ship. The creature’s pupils dilated and it’s mouth stretched, revealing two rows of omnivorous teeth. No, Jeeyah frantically scrolled back through the recording. Did I pick the wrong words? Did it not hear me? Did the translator-

Jeeyah’s thoughts were scattered by a sudden g-force. She fell to her hands and knees as the platform rose up at a dizzying speed, toward the creature’s face.

“CAN TALK, CAN TALK, NOT BUG.” She sent the few words she had screaming through the suit’s speakers. “NOT BUG.” When the movement stopped and Jeeyah had the strength to lift her head again, she was level, not with a gaping maw lined with crushing bone plates, but with the creature’s staring eyes.

“No, not a bug.” The voice coming from below her was quieter, the pitch higher, the inflection different. The translator added an extra layer of meaning to the repeated phrase.

[Comfort, safety, dismissal of threat]

“What’s your-[possession]

name-[vocalization indicating specified individual]?”

But Jeeyah had no vocalization for herself. How did you make a thought into a sound? She could think ‘Jeeyah’ at the creature for a dozen cycles and it wouldn’t make it through the skull; the creature’s body just wasn’t built for it.

“NO NAME.”

“No name?” It repeated, questioning. “What do I call-[address subject] you?”

Jeeyah sorted through the words of the creature’s lexicon that the translator had so far catalogued. NOT-BUG seemed like that only appropriate phrase, but she didn’t like the idea of the BUG word being in her name, even if it was preceded by negation.

“How about-[thought being processed]...”

Jeeyah looked up; the creature was looking back and forth across the superstructure, as if scanning for some piece of information.

“Jade-?”

swore she could feel the translator heating up with the effort of processing the vocalization.

[gemstone found in-shade of green-Jeeyah.]

The creature hadn’t said Jeeyah, it couldn’t, but it had thought it. Whatever else the word meant in the creature’s alien tongue, it wasn’t relevant. It’s a word for me. Her feelers thrummed. It made a word for me.

“NAME IS JADE.”

The creature’s mouth stretched wider, but somehow the show of teeth didn’t feel threatening.

“Nice-[positive] to meet-[primary encounter] you, Jade. I’m Sam-[self, name]”

“NICE MEET SAM.”

[a-sweet-pea]

🕸 Least favorite G/T fic trope(s)?

cw - dehumanizing/abusive behavior/sexual assault/partner violence

Any story that deals with the tinies-as-pets trope in which a giant starts the story by treating a tiny in a demeaning way, but with a sort of saccharine veneer? Fawning over them while utterly ignoring what the tiny wants, violating any boundaries the tiny tries to create, allowing them zero bodily autonomy. Cooing at them, calling them pet names, even as the tiny is very vocally opposed to being handled, maybe even crying. Like, at least when a giant is cruel and acts like it, they understand what they are doing is shitty and they do it anyway. But a giant who acts like it's totally normal, even morally virtuous to be treating the tiny the way they are...

I'm not opposed to that type of character on principle, but I've seen stories where that type of character isn't a villain. Its like, the giant love interest, in a romance. Like, the tiny reaches peak Learned Helplessness and stops struggling against being handled because nothing they do changes the giant's behavior, and maybe they discover that the giant is really lonely or ostracized from their own community, and the giant digs their empathy out from under a rock or whatever and has an epiphany like 'oh, when the small human was crying and begging me not to touch them, I shouldnt have taken all their clothes off and put them in a doll dress I thought they would look just darling in, I'm super duper sorry' and I'm just sitting here like "am I supposed to be rooting for these people to get together? because I am not.

Imagine a couple, Tex and Avery. And sometimes Avery doesn't want to be intimate. And Tex laughs when Avery says no. Like it's cute. And Tex is stronger than avery, so Tex does whatever they want anyway, and has a lovely time, regardless of Avery's vocal, perhaps emotional refusal, all the while acting as though what they are doing is a loving act.

Do we want these two to be together? No. No we don't. We want Avery to get out of there as quickly and safely as possible, and we want Tex to get a cast iron frying pan to the face at the earliest opportunity.

Imagine Tex at some point rediscovers their empathy, realizes that what they have been doing is wrong, and is genuinely remorseful.

Now do we want those two to be together?

No. No we don't.

Can people change? Sure.

Can people who do terrible things reach a place where they genuinely deserve grace and forgiveness? Sure.

But Tex and Avery should not be together. That bridge is burned, that relationship is over.

I understand the need/desire for fearplay-before-the-fluff in a G/t romance (that is my whole entire jam), but there's ways to do it well (or at least, in a way I feel can reasonably end in a romantic relationship), and there's ways to do it so problematically that I will close down the whole ass web browser and have to imagine myself an alternate version of the story in order to cope.

Folks are welcome to write all kinds of problematic shit, it's a free country, but this is a trope that really grinds my gears, especially if the person writing it seems to think they are writing an uncomplicated romance story and not, like, a story about an abuse victim falling in love with their abuser.

[a-sweet-pea]

Last Flight : Chapter Two

Decker turned in a slow circle on the table, taking in the full scope of the living room. Sara took his distraction as an opportunity to lean in closer and take in the minuscule details of his uniform; the individual brass buttons smaller than pin-heads, bits of gold trim thinner than a thread.

“Rosie!” Sara pulled back at the sudden shout. He ran across the tabletop toward the plane. “How did you get in here?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave it outside.”

He looked up at her, brows furrowed with confusion. “Did you...carry it here?”

“Yeah?”

He shook his head slowly, looking back at the plane. “That’s incredible.”

“It’s not as impressive as it sounds, honestly.” She put a hand on either side of the plane’s metal belly and lifted. “It’s not that heavy to me.”

“Careful!” His little boots tapped across the glass tabletop as he ran towards her, arms outstretched.

“Sorry, sorry!” She lowered it slightly. “Is it okay if I take a look?”

He stared up at her, seemingly agonizing over the question, as if Sara were asking a new mother if she could hold her baby. At last, he nodded. “Be gentle with her.”

“Of course, absolutely!” She lifted the plane more slowly this time, sitting down on the couch so she could rest it on her lap. “She’s beautiful.” Sara gently patted the nose of the plane like it was a well-behaved cat. “You said her name was Rosie, right?” Her fingers trailed across the name painted in white script along the side. “Named after anybody special?” There was a muffled response from the table. “What was that?” He didn’t look up at her as he replied, but he raised his voice enough that she could hear it this time.

“My mother.”

“That’s so sweet!” Although he was looking down, Sara could still see a little flush in his cheeks.

“Who are you talking to?”

Decker crouched, hand going for his gun. Sara’s head snapped around; there at the top of the stairwell stood her father, clearly just out of bed as he was still in buffalo-checked pajama pants and a white tank top. Sara’s brain stuttered.

“Uh, no one, I was just...” She spared a glance back toward the table. Decker was looking at her father as well, his hand on his holster. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

“I had to pee.” Her father took a step down. Please don’t come downstairs, she thought. Go back to bed. “What’s that?” Sara’s heart leapt into her throat. She should have known that the allure of what looked like a very detailed model plane would be strong enough to overpower her father’s morning drowsiness. I can’t let him see Decker. Sara wasn’t quite sure why; it wasn’t as if she thought he would hurt him. Matter of fact, she was sure that, if her father discovered a miniature living World War One British pilot, he would be absolutely enthralled. Trouble was, he was likely to be a bit...overwhelming in his interest, and judging by Decker’s trembling, crouching posture, one member of the Mackaye family was overwhelming enough for him.

“Oh, I...I found this outside.” Sara leaned forward to ‘clear the table.’ Decker stumbled backward, letting out a little cry that Sara hoped her father didn’t hear, as she reached out and closed her hand around him. Sorry, sorry, sorry, she thought, as if the little pilot could hear her thoughts. The muffled thud of footsteps counted down the brief seconds she had to secret him away. With her free hand, she moved the plane from her lap to the table and leaned down under the guise of picking some bit of fluff off the floor and opened her hand, depositing the little pilot on the carpet beneath the couch. “It must belong to someone on the block,” she said, as casually as she could. “I-I’m gonna ask around later, once people are awake.”

“A model plane?” She turned to look; her father was all the way down the stairs and walking toward the table. Decker certainly would have been in full view if she hadn’t moved him. Sara stayed sitting as her dad approached; with any luck, Decker would stay where she’d put him and as long as she did too, he wouldn’t be in any danger of being stepped on. “Let me see.” He leaned forward and, after giving her hair an affectionately disheveling ruffle, he lifted the plane off the glass tabletop. “Ooh, heavy! Looks like...” he cocked his head, flicking the propeller. “British biplane, not a Sopwith though.” He poked at the seat and the cushion dented under the pressure of his finger. “Jesus, look at this, it’s got a leather interior!”

“Yea, it’s pretty cool.” Sara tried to sound interested, but not so interested that he would be encouraged to stick around and point out all the different parts of a plane to her. As knowledgeable as he was, his close examination was making her nervous. “So I’d better find out who it belongs to.”

“Or not...” He pulled the plane tight toward his chest, raising a mischievous eyebrow.

“Dad!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed. “But when you do find out who owns it, let me know; I want to know where they got it.”

“Will do. Go back to bed, Dad.” Sara tried to say it in a casual, chiding sort of way, and not like she was trying to get rid of him.

“Feels like you’re trying to get rid of me...”

“Come on, It’s Sunday!” Sara reached her hands out expectantly, as though his return to bed was already decided. “It’s your day to sleep in.” She didn’t dare stand up, just in case the little pilot was at her feet. What if I knocked him over? What if I...

Luckily, her father cut off the train of thought before it could go anywhere darker. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you to whatever secret girl stuff you’re doing with a model biplane." He reluctantly set the plane down on the table again. "But I want to look at that properly when I get up.”

“Sure thing,” she said. She watched him go all the way up the stairs and disappear down the hallway, but it wasn’t until she heard the door close that she relaxed again. Knowing dad, he’ll be asleep again just as soon as he lies down, and he’ll be out for a few more hours yet. She wouldn’t even have to keep her voice down; her dad could sleep through just about anything (except, apparently, needing to pee). By the time he got up, Sara would have figured out some place to secret Decker away so that he wouldn’t be in danger of discovery, that was the plan anyway. Sara did a quick scan of the carpet at her feet to make sure there was no sign of the pilot, then got up off the couch and knelt down beside it. “Sorry about that,” she whispered, leaning so that her cheek pressed against the floor, peering into the dark, dusty space beneath the couch. “I didn’t want...” In the shadow there was dust, a crumpled receipt, a pencil, and nothing else. “Decker?”

“Is he...gone?” The voice came from somewhere to her left. She looked; the leg of the couch was there, presumably, Decker was hidden behind it.

“Yea, he went back upstairs.” Slowly, the shadowy figure of the little pilot emerged from behind the couch leg.

“And that was your father?” There was a tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before, or at least, that had been slowly fading away as they spoke to each other, but had returned in full force. Maybe the floor wasn’t the best place to put him. From the glass table, he’d at least had the height of the table to compensate for his size, but he’d been at shoe-level for that whole conversation, and it had clearly left him shaken.

“Yea. He’s a great guy, but I figured you maybe weren’t ready for...”

“N-no,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “I think not.”

Sara reached her hand out and he recoiled, all humor draining from his face. “Oh, sorry, sorry!” “Look,” she said, moving more slowly this time. “I’m not gonna grab you again, I promise. I just kind of panicked when I heard my dad coming.” She laid her hand flat on the carpet a few inches away from him, palm up. “Let’s get you off the floor.” He nodded and strode rigidly toward her hand.

“I would appreciate that.” He said it matter-of-factly, although there was still an unsteadiness in his voice. The step up onto the heel of her hand was a bit too much for him; he struggled to take it in a single stride for a few moments before resorting to hoisting himself up with his arms like it was the edge of a pool, all the while, Sara resisting the urge to help him along with a nudge with her other hand. Once he was standing straight, he gave her a little nod. She slid her hand along the carpet to bring him out from under the couch; as slowly as Sara tried to move, Decker still wobbled a bit as she did. Instead of trying to stand up while balancing a little man in her hand, Sara just stayed kneeling and lifted straight up like her hand was an elevator, until it was level with the tabletop. Decker stepped off much more steadily than he’d stepped on, and gave her a little thank-you nod.

Sara breathed a sigh of relief once he’d stepped off; her whole body must have tensed up in the effort to keep herself steady, and only when he was safely on the table again did everything relax. She stood up and slumped back down onto the couch, enjoying the utter lack of carefulness in the movements. Decker was having his own moment of relief it seemed; his posture wasn’t so stiff as he strode across the table toward the plane.

“Don’t worry,” Sara said. “He didn’t mess with anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good, good,” he said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “It’s a Bristol Scout, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your father was right enough.” He’d reached the plane and was running his hand along its underbelly, checking for damage. “It’s not a Sopwith. Clever chap, wouldn't expect a civilian to know the difference. Mackaye flies a Sopwith; say’s the Scout hasn’t got enough firepower. But this here’s the new Scout C, comes standard with a Lewis machine gun.” He slapped the side of the plane.

“Mackaye?”

Decker spun around; Sara hadn’t raised her voice much, but it was plenty to startle small ears. “Sorry,” Sara continued more softly. “It’s just, did you say Mackaye.” He nodded. “Like Alexander Mackaye?” His eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared behind wisps of dark hair.

“How did you know?”

[a-sweet-pea]

Last Flight: Chapter One

A/N: I know what you're thinking, "Hey, sweeptea, this must be some kind of mix-up, you've already POSTED Last Flight." True, but this one has been given a fresh coat of paint! A lovely patron, Mobius, decided she was sick of waiting for me to get around to it myself and sponsored some more little British pilot content! So please enjoy this, and the upcoming TWO NEW CHAPTERS.

PS: I'm not deleting the original version because I am lazy

The plane landed just as Sara was stepping out of her front door. The rest of the street was empty. Not many people were up at six AM on a Saturday, not in the early early Spring when the weather hadn’t yet worked out that it wasn’t still winter. Sara was only awake because a particularly loud bird had taken up residence in the tree beside her bedroom window, and she was only outside because inbetween the loud squawking that had woken her up, she’d sworn she heard the chattering of an engine, and she couldn’t go back to sleep until she figured out what it was. Fortunately, the culprit was clear as soon as she opened the front door; a model airplane. It was coming down on path leading up to the stoop as if the concrete walking path were an airport runway; touching down at the far end by the mailbox and coasting to a stop, sputtering all the while.

Who on the street owns a model plane? She looked Marigold Drive up and down, but she didn’t see any conspicuous remote-control-wielding children in any of the front lawns. Maybe somebody got one for Christmas and this is their first time flying it.

The propeller slowed to a lazy twirl as she walked toward the plane. Should be looking for an adult hobbyist, she thought. It was either a plastic toy with an impressive paint job, or somebody had put a lot of work into making an old fighter plane out of actual metal paneling, with a wooden propeller to boot. Hopefully whoever it belongs to, they put their name on it so I can return it. Sara froze mid-step.

Something was climbing out of the cockpit.

Sara had seen a video once, of someone putting a hamster in an RC car and driving it around their house. The comment section had been split fifty-fifty between people fawning over the cuteness and people chastising the irresponsible pet ownership.

Okay never mind, I hope they didn’t put their name on so I have an excuse not to return it. Or maybe I’ll return the plane and keep the hamster. I don’t care how carefully you land it, if you stick a small animal in a remote-control plane you forfeit your pet-owning privileges.

No, it wasn’t a pet. Sara stepped closer. It must have fallen out of the cockpit, not climbed, because it was person-shaped, and that meant it was an action figure.

Putting an action figure in a model plane, that’s fine, she thought.

An action figure that was standing up on its own now. An action figure that pulled it’s miniscule helmet from its head and tossed it into the plane. An action figure that turned around, looked at her, took a few shaking steps back, and took off at a run.

Small as it was, it didn’t get very far.

One more step brought here right up to the plane. She knelt on the concrete and curled her fingers around the fleeing figure. It cried out and writhed in her grip, tiny hands struggling to push her fingers apart.

It’s not…it isn’t.

She scooped the plane up in her other hand, wincing. It was metal, and hot too, like the hood of a car that’s been running a while.

They don’t make RC toys with diesel engines, do they?

She hurried back up the walk and wedged her elbow behind the knob to swing the door open, rushed through, and let it swing shut behind her. The thing that could not be what it looked like still struggled in her right hand. She loosened her grip a fraction. The plane, she set down on the glass top of the coffee table. The other thing, she did not set down. She collapsed onto the couch and took a deep breath.

Why am I shaking?

She tried to steady her arm as she lifted her hand, opening it as she did so that her palm was flat. And in it was an impossible creature, scrambling to his feet.

A man.

A man with dark eyes and dark disheveled hair that was parted at the side. A man dressed in a leather aviator jacket, white scarf, freshly pressed brown pants, and tall leather boots. A man who was hardly more than three inches tall.

“Holy shit…” He flinched, raising his hands in front of his face as if to shield himself. “Sorry!” She said, half as loud. “A-are you okay?” He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on her, but his attention was elsewhere, fumbling for something at his waist. When he found it, he pulled it from his belt and raised it in a shaking hand, raising the other to help steady his grip, and aiming it squarely at her face. “Hey, easy.” His shoulders were steady but his chest heaved; he was hyperventilating, and his hands were still shaking so much that the barrel of the gun didn’t stay pointed in the same direction for more than a moment. Still, she was such a big target (relatively speaking) that he was likely to hit something if he fired. “Put the gun down, okay?” His little adam’s apple bobbed and he readjusted his grip. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

“Are you American?”

It took a moment for her to answer, she was so stunned. He can talk. She would have thought that holding the little man in her hand would have been enough to convince her of the truth of his existence, but she must have still been shaky on it, because hearing him speak wiped away all uncertainty.

“Yes. Are you?”

He shook his head. “British.” The tip of the gun faltered. “Who���what are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you put the gun away.” He nodded slowly and holstered the gun. “Name’s Sara. Sorry I grabbed you like that, I…” Sara tried to think of a way to say ‘I thought you were a hamster’ that wasn’t insulting, but she wasn’t sure that was possible. “I hope you’re not too shook up.” He stood straighter, like a marionette pulled into position.

“Leftenant William Terrance Decker.” He brought his hand to his forehead with rigid military precision. “Royal Flying Corps.” Now that he was speaking properly, his British-ness was all too obvious; a refined, educated, slightly out-of-sorts, English accent.

“Pleased to meetcha, Leftenant.” He lowered his arm, but stayed standing straight as a toy soldier. He turned his head one way and the other, taking in his surroundings with increasing confusion.

“Where…exactly…am I?”

“Havelock, North Carolina. In my house, specifically. Where did you think you were?”

“Well I thought I was landing at 56 Squadron RFC.” He laughed nervously. “But I also thought that the worst thing that could happen on patrol would be to run into a German plane and, well, here we are.”

German? Despite the fact that German’s had no doubt made planes since then, ‘German plane’ made her think of world wars. And his plane definitely had an early-World-War look to it, like the ones on display at Cherry Point.

“What’s today’s date?”

He answered without hesitation, although he looked a bit puzzled. “March the fifth.

“What year?”

More bafflement. “Why, nineteen-seventeen.”

“Nineteen seventeen?” Suddenly, being three inches tall wasn’t the most impossible thing about him

“That’s correct.” The composure he’d managed to maintain faltered slightly. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s…” She paused. Was it even possible to phrase his kind of thing delicately? “It’s two-thousand and seventeen.” He stared past her. There was a new fear in his eyes; not wild like before; subtler and stranger.

“Uh…look here.” His voice was steady, despite his obvious distress. He looked down; the toe of a miniscule boot tapped her skin. “You…” He looked up again, eyes wide with concern and confusion. “I’m not dreaming…am I?” Sara shook her head. “Good lord…” Already unsteady on his feet, he fell to one knee.

“Whoa, careful!” He stared into the distance, lowering himself to a sitting position in the center of her palm, arms trembling.

“When I was landing…” He spoke so quietly, Sara had to lift her hand to hear him. “There was a thick white cloud…I couldn’t hear my engine. It was like being swallowed in a vacuum. The same sort of thing happened to Guy Niemayer. He disappeared one day while flying. At the memorial service the Cardinal said ‘He belonged to the sky, and the sky has taken him.”

“Well, he never showed up here, if that’s what you mean.” He jumped, shaken from his dreamy reminiscing.

“Well of course not, I only…” His voice trailed away. He looked at her as if he’d only just remembered she was there. “Is this what he saw as he was dying?”

“You’re not dying!”

“Aren’t I?” He gestured at the air, at nothing. “Castaway in time and space, in the clutches of a giant? It it isn’t a dream, surely it’s some strange purgatory.”

“You’re not in my clutches!” Sara lowered her hand to the coffee table; the Leftenant’s fingers dug into her palm at the sudden movement. “I’m not clutching, am I?” He didn’t move at first, but the longer she kept her hand flat and still, the more assured he was that it wasn’t going to suddenly lift off again. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped off her palm, taking a few unsteady steps before righting himself. Sara lifted her hand away and absent-mindedly brushed her palm with the thumb of her other hand.

He’s so light.

Decker took a few cautious steps across the glass table top, looking up toward the ceiling; it must have seemed hundreds of feet above him. “Sorry if I scared you, I didn’t mean to.”

He turned back to her with a very militaristic about-face, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “I’m not afraid.

Sara grinned and did one of those quick breathy laughs that you can’t politely suppress because you weren’t expecting it. “Good.”

[a-sweet-pea]

👁👁

[a-sweet-pea]

Opening up my tumblr and seeing the notes on "Humans are Megafauna"

[a-sweet-pea]

What does June look like??????

I sure do wish I had art of her I could show y-

https://tinysupervicki.tumblr.com/post/662397041861935104/junebug-chapter-1-asweetpea-original-work

HA. FOOLED YOU.

There IS beautiful art of her, drawn by the incredible @tinysupervicki as part of the G/t big bang! I think my fave is little kid June in a pocket, her face looks so dang precious.

I also did picrews of the three of them, because of course I did, I’m such a slut for picrews.

[a-sweet-pea]

Hey small question, will you continue writing hospitality?

Jokes on you, I already HAVE. I have at least 2k more of it written, but not the scenes that connect to that bit. (This is literally always the problem with me, at some point I am just going to throw my hands in the air and start posting unconnected scenes like 'im never gonna finish this shit, please enjoy this contextless tidbit')

[a-sweet-pea]

If I pay attention, I add even, more, commas. It’s a disease, I, tell, you.

if i, don't, like, pay attention, my writing will be,,, half commas,,,,,

[a-sweet-pea]

What are James and Elle doing for Christmas, if they celebrate it? Any AU. (every AU? 👀)

Ooh, this gave me a cute idea for the gullivers travels AU, so we'll go with that.

So, this would be once all the fuss has died down and James just kind of lives on the island;

Winter rolls around and everyone starts preparing for the midwinter festival. It bears a striking resemblance to the Christmas James is used to; colorful decorations, evergreen boughs, gift giving, but the particulars are different enough that James still feels homesick. He finds the tallest evergreen in the forest (which is just about as tall as he is) and hangs old wagon wheels and colorful bedsheets in it, and he tells Elle all about the big Christmas Pudding doused in brandy and lit in blue flame, and he tries very hard to hide the tears in his eyes.

The next day James is helping hang pinecones in the highest windows of the king's castle when he feels a tap on his boot. He looks down and Elle is standing there holding the biggest copper bowl she owns, the one she uses to make big batches of dough, and its full of what looks like custard with a puddle of alcohol on top, and she excitedly lights a match and the top goes up in flames, and James starts laughing and he cannot stop, even as he scoops her up and peppers her startled face with kisses and tries, in-between fits of laughter, to explain that a Christmas Pudding isn't actually a pudding, it's a cake, but it doesn't matter a bit and he's sure it's going to be the best pudding he's ever had (and as a matter of fact it is, because Elle, having dusted the top of it with sugar, essentially invented creme brulee, and James asks her to make it again every Christmas, and she does).

[a-sweet-pea]

Happy (tumblr) Birthday to Me!

Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals; this tumblr is officially three years (and one day) old!

A lot has happened in the time since I created this blog; got diagnosed with cancer, moved houses, started chemotherapy, had emergency life-saving surgery, watched a global pandemic throw the whole world off its groove, switched to an experimental medication, lost my hair, lost my job, got my hair back; its been a fuckin’ TRIP to say the least.

Through it all, I can’t tell you what a joy and comfort has been to be part of a community of cool folks creating and sharing giant/tiny content. Despite how sporadically I post, I have managed to amass a group of over FIVE HUNDRED PEOPLE who like my writing enough to actually follow me! (And probably only half of them are porn bots). If I was sixty feet tall, I would scoop you all into a big hug and boop all your noses one by one.

I’ve been brainstorming ways to celebrate this milestone, and in the spirit of encouraging me to write more things, drop into my ask box with questions about my characters or my ongoing stories, or prompts you’d like to see me drabble about, or anything you think might inspire a fun bit of G/t content I could share, or just questions about me, or comments about your favorite kind of bugs, or just say hi, or literally whatever!

(Alternatively, as a tumblr-birthday present, if you just wanted to go back and leave a comment on a story you enjoyed, that would make my day.)

Also, I’m going to search back through my blog and try to find the fanart that folks drew (back when I updated often enough to spawn fanart) and reblbog it all again, because honestly, people drawing fanart of something I wrote rockets my seratonin levels through the roof, and it deserves reblogging.

ALSO Also, let’s celebrate with a brand new icon of Fairy Elle (aka fairy sweetpea), drawn by the incredible @remordsposthume and colored by yours truly!

(I’m going to make the background Giant Elle once I get around to commissioning someone, so keep your eyes peeled for that).

I love and apprecate all of you so much, here’s to many more years of shitposting and occasional out-of-nowhere, 2k updates to stories that everyone has forgotten about :D

[a-sweet-pea]

4, 21, 25 for the writer asks? :Oc

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Buck’s shack was all of one room, and even that was too much right now. He sat in the chair and rested his chin on the table. The dirty wooden ceiling looked high as a church roof. Stretching his arm out across the table, he could practically reach the other edge, far away as it was. And the drop from the table to the floor; it would take rope and a fair bit of climbing for Anne to scale it, but here he was sitting, feet on the floor, head resting on it just as easy as you please. What do I need so big a place for? To house a big fool in? He could imagine what a wonder the place would be, if it belonged to someone like Anne. A room in every nook and cranny, bridges and ladders, you could fit a whole town in the place. Buck wished there was a town of little folk he could scoop up and set down in his house; then they could make use of all that big empty space and Buck could go somewhere, anywhere else.

I wonder if there’s others like her out there, he thought. Or is she the only one there ever was?

If she ever was at all.

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Well, the 3k comic script I’ve written would work well as a comic (huehuehue), specifically a webtoon. The James/Elle Gulliver’s Travels fic would probably work animated, but then it would be painfully obvious that it is thinly veiled fanfic of the 1939 film. I think my long-term fantasy novel project would work as a series of young-adult style live action fantasy films; the tone is a little more adult, but I think we need more cool fantasy adventures for adults.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Dialogue. If I could draw worth a damn, I would make like, all my stories comics, because I always write all the dialogue first, and then it takes a million years for me to fill in descriptions.

[a-sweet-pea]

Well, there’s MY seratonin for the day!

Not sure how I’m at the top of anyone’s list of anything except for maybe Most Sporadic Poster, but I will snatch my imaginary trophy and run off into the woods before you realize your mistake.

Love you @inthemusicbox

Who are some of your favorite g/t writers/accounts on Tumblr that you recommend?

ahhh there are so many!! @gt-whoop (it wont let me tag for some reason but oh my god please go to their blog you will not regret it) and @yeenybeanies have amazing art and writing. like, the sheer talent. @m4st4rd also has amazing writing too!! @gt-ridel and @territorial-utopia have some of my favorite g/t art of all time. @laurenandloki runs a VERY good g/t loki blog with plenty of writing and headcanons from herself and other blogs! and @minim0t & @wendig0ld have incredible g/t comics that they update often and i just cannot get enough of both their stories. there are countless other blogs i love but these are just a few :-)

[a-sweet-pea]

Wings

A/N: Don’t mind me, just dropping that out-of-nowhere, utterly disconnected piece of James/Elle faerie AU flash-fiction that I wrote in one sitting just now and then disappearing back into the bog of eternal stench.

Elle has been caught in a spider’s web before. It’s not too much trouble, the most bothersome part is cleaning all the silk off your wings once your out. But she’s never been bitten by a spider before. And it hurts. But worse than that, her wings aren’t doing what she tells them to. She’s heard of poisons that paralyze, the sorts of things you brew from dark, dread flowers that grow in the deepest part of the woods. She didn’t think they cae in the form of spider bites. A faerie with broken wings is easy prey for any number of forest predators, so she has to think fast. She’s near the edge of the woods when it happens, where Wild Woods thin, the beginnings of Human Country. She makes her way to an enormous rustic-looking shed. There’s a crack under the door big enough for her to slip through. At least in there, she’ll be safe from foxes and hawks.

Of course, there is the matter of the human.

He lives in the even more enormous structure beside this one, and it seems like he only comes to the shed during the day, making massive human furniture out of fallen trees. She’s able to keep herself out of sight for a day and a hafl. But Elle has never been very stealthy.

“A faerie...” The human stares at her, wide eyed. Her pulse quickens, the blood drains from her face. “Dinnae curse me.”

“I-“ Wheels turn in Elle’s head. What is he talking about? Fae can’t curse people, not her kind any way. At her most powerful, she might be able to wither a houseplant or spoil some milk, but the human is holding both hands palm up, as if to ward off someterrifying magical attack. “Yes. Curse you. I could. Do that, I mean.”

“Please don’t. Could I get ye something? Milk? Honey?”

“Both. A-and a hot towel.”

“Aye.”

And so Elle gets a lovely little meal and wipes the mud off herself, keeping her wings tucked strategically behind her back, answering aloofly when the human asks where she comes from, what she’s doing so near the edge of the woods. She tells him to keep his distance, and he does, but she fights to keep from flinching whenever his hand comes too close, offering her a bit of oat cracker.

How long can I keep this up?

She tells him she was sent by the Queen of the Faeries (as if there is such a thing) to make sure that he was a respectful human; that she will watch him for three days, and if he so much as lays a finger on her, his house will be beset by trolls and goblins and his family will be cursed for three generations. (If she’s going to lie, she might as well make a proper tale of it). Three days is how long it should take for the wing to heal, and when it’s healed she can fly off and he’ll never be the wiser.

The trouble is, it isn’t healing. Whatever that spider was, it’s venom is some dreadful stuff. She should be able to at least do gentle flaps by now, but her wings is as numb and dead as if it weren’t attached to her at all.

The human...the human is something else. He’s taken to calling her Princess (he guessed that she must be one, and she certainly wasn’t about to disabuse him of that notion). He occasionally puts on this mock, high-born english voice and play-acts that he’s her manservant, and it never fails to put a smile on her face. His rough, sturdy hands, so often hammering away at some piece of wood with a force that shakes her bones, are so gentle near her. He’s touched her once, with her permission of course, brushed her hair with the tip of his finger. He said it was soft as silk, and she had to hide her face, she blushed so much.

The trouble is, it has been three days now, and she’s making as if she’s readying to leave (what else can she do?). She’s had him pack her a little bundle in a handkerchief, of the honey oatcake she likes and some cheese (gifts for the Queen she said, hopefully they will be enough to live on for a few days at least). She tells him she’s going to leave in the night, that he’s not to watch for her as she goes. His face is so sad she almost second-guesses herself.

The moon is full that night. Good for omens and spells, bad for being spotted by owls. Elle keeps one eye trained on the sky as she slips out through the crack beneath the door. How on earth can she make it back to her hollow in the tree if she has to walk the whole way? And how is she going to live without a steady supply of those honey oatcakes?

Elle smiles, and feels like she’s going to need to sit down and have a long cry, but she can’t, she has to find some new place to shelter, there must be a good tree nearby that she can make a home in. One is never too far from a good, serviceable tree.

She is very good about watching the sky for flying shadows. So good, in fact, that she fails to notice the creeping ones until it is too late.

The slight rustle of something smooth sliding along a leaf. Elle freezes.

A green snake.

Hardly a danger if only she could fly. But here on the ground, it’s much faster than she is. It has seen her now, and it skates across the dirt like a fish in water, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. She runs, becasue it’s all she can do, but a massive black shape slams into the dirt beside her, knocking her flat.

“Fuck off, ye wee bastard.”

It’s the toe of a boot, and she’s only barely had the chance to recognize it before enormous fingers close around her.

“It’s gonnae be awright, ah’ve got ye.”

Elle struggles to find words. She is in a hand. Fingers uncurl and she lays helpless in the palm; the human’s head and shoulders block out the moon and half the sky above her. She’s never been this close to him, felt the warmth of his skin beneath her, his breath surrounding her. “P-Please-“ She hiccups. There’s no pretending any more; If she hadn’t enough magic to save herself from a snake, how could she possibly curse a human? He must realize it now.

“Hey, c’mon, You’re no feart o me, are ye Princess?” Tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“I-I’m not-“

“Och, I ken you’re no a princess.”

“What?” He rises slowly, pulling her close to his chest.

“Ah’ve been round these woods all ma life, ah ken whit faeries are like.” He walks slowly, carefully, not towards the shed, but his home. “When I saw ye in the workshop and you didnae fly away, I knew fine there must ae been something wrong. But ah thought ye might be too scared tae ask fer help.”

“Y-you lied?”

“And you went along with it! Princess.” Elle feels a blush rising in her cheeks, in spite of the fact that her legs feel like jelly and she can’t stop staring at the curled fingers in front of her, each one as long as she is tall. “So, now that the serpent has been dispatched,” he lilts, meticulously overpronouncing every word. “Would the lady care to adjourn to her quarters?” He looks down, grinning. Seeing the confusion on her face, he continues. “Your humble servant suspected that the lady might eventually wish to move from the workshop to more suitable accomodations.” He tilts his head. “Course, ah thought ye might come clean, ‘stead of chargin’ aff intae the woods wi’ both your wings broke, nearly getting yoursel’ killed. Nae matter. Jist, goan dinnae dae that again, awright? If there’s some home in the woods you’re wantin tae get back to, that’s fine; jist tell me and I’ll take ye.”

“Th-there’s not.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I had a home but- but I believe her royal highness deserves some rest and relaxation after her ordeal.”

“Most certainly.” He stops, suddenly enouh to jolt her forward a bit. The hand rises up, and she’s level with his face now, with those bright hazel eyes, so big she could fall into them. “Elle?”

“Yes?” There’s a gentle nudge at her back. Her wings are limp and numb, but she’s sure he must be touching them, running his fingertip along the veins.

“You stay as long as you want, awright?”

She leaps as if she can still fly, arms wide, pressing herself against his nose, burying her face into his warm cheek.

“Thank you.”

[a-sweet-pea]

And now, my long awaited addition to @ibis-gt ‘s most excellent wrestling au:

Jimmy…….“The Caber”…….McKinnon!

He enters the ring to the bagpipe/electric guitar solo of “It’s a Long Way to the Top” by ACDC, jets of flame shooting up from the sides of the aisle, wearing a full scottish great kilt, which he (very cheekily) tears off to reveal Scottish-flag shorts underneath (and no shirt of course). It is rumored that he used to just wear the kilt true-scotsman (ie, nothing underneath), but ended up flashing the first three rows during a match and the league demanded he put pants on. (There are of course, no tapings of this fabled match, but the legend persists).

He’s a wildcard with heel tendencies. He has ‘grudges’ against various wrestlers, both heels and faces, and his thing is that he will show up during one-on-one matches to fight against his enemies, teaming up with whoever is up against them (but if they knock the opponent out, he is liable to turn on his former ally).

Signature Move: The Caber Toss

Whoever he’s fighting alongside fucking YEETS him into the opponent. (Coincidentally, this is also what its called when he gets yeeted out of the ring by someone bigger than he is)

He is hoping to use wrestling as a springboard for an acting career (he knows the Macbeth soliloquy by heart) and outside the ring he is a super friendly guy. He loves interacting with fans, and he will do so long past when he is burnt out socially to avoid disappointing anybody. In his off time he likes watching anime, playing with dogs, and sleeping past noon.

A fast-food ficlet of James/Elle beneath the cut!

Elle’s friend Kari convinces her to go to a wrestling match

“It’s like sports for theater kids!”

And Elle has to concede that is an excellent selling point

“Also it has giants, and we both know how you feel a-“

*aggressively slaps hand over Kari’s mouth*

*blushing intensifes*

But they go

And Kari insists that the balcony seats are the best so they get those (they have to sign special waivers to sit there, which feels both exciting and terrifying)

Elle appreciates being up off the floor, which looks a little mosh-pit crowded in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable just looking at it

And shit gets started

And there’s lights and loud music and over-the-top announcing

And GIANTS doing like

Jumps and slams and shit

And every impact shakes the balcony

Which is very adrenaline-pumping

And makes Elle nervously comment about the the changes to the structural section of the building code that had to be made to ensure the safety of arenas like these

And she didn’t see the safety certificate

And it’s supposed to be prominently displayed

And Kari is like, dude, please chill and watch the show, they do this like every weekend, the building is fine

And in fairness, a giant Business Man is fighting what looks like a greek god with a magic wand and like

What’s not to like about that?

Greek god guy has been waving his wand a lot

But whatever it’s supposed to do isn’t working

And the Business Man has torn his sleeves off

So it appears to be *business time*

And suddenly, out of nowhere, a bagpipes start playing.

and Kari’s like “Oh sweet! You’re gonna love this guy.”

And Jimmy “The Caber” McKinnon struts in, throwing up devil horns

He hops in the ring

And he’s fully a head shorter than the business suit guy

But you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s acting

And people are booing him but like, kinda goofily?

It feels like he’s a villain the same way Skeletor is a villain

Like, he’s so over-the-top and theatrical

And he throws his arm around the greek god like

“Looks like ye need a hand!”

And the greek god is looking at him like “how dare this stank dirt man touch me”

And the Caber turns around and starts giving the crowd shit about booing him like “No fair, Business Man, your cheering section’s bigger’n mine”

And he turns toward the the balcony seats

“Mebbe I’ll take one of yours.”

And he goes through the ropes and in two steps he’s over at the balcony

And as stupidly high up as they are, they’re only at his stomach-level

And Elle’s like

Holy shit

Cause they’re giants right? Obviously

But like, they were giants

Over there

And now he is

Over here

And there’s so much of him, so close

Like, she can smell sweat and feel heat

a literal human skyscraper glowering down at them

“Who’s ma biggest fan?”

And he’s clearly pitching his voice down a bit to be extra menacing

fuckitsworking.png

Like, the metal railing is literally vibrating when he talks

And he lifts his hand and reaches out

And elle is like

What the fuck is happening

Because a hand

The size of a car

yanks the lady sitting next to Elle out of her seat

And his finger brushes Elle’s thigh

And Elle’s whole brain is literally fried

Because

CONTACT

And Elle is like “A-are they allowed to DO that?”

And Kari is like “Oh, that’s a stuntwoman; they don’t just grab random people out of the audience, lol.”

And Elle is like, “Okay, good.” Cause it seemed like that would be legally questionable and potentially very unsafe. But also, she had this twinge in her gut, and now it’s gone. And it fizzles out too quickly for her to process that it was jealousy

But it was absolutely jealousy

And deep down she’s just like ‘good to know that he grabbed her because she was in on it

And not because he like...thought she was prettier than me’

Elle’s deep subconscious- 

“I want the giant heel wrestler to think I’m pretty enough to take fake hostage during this elaborate sports play, a thing that is both normal and healthy to want”

And Elle kinda steps out of the immersion for a hot second just focuses on the hand holding the stuntwoman

And while this guy is monologuing in his thick scottish accent and taunting the businessman and doing these over-the-top gestures, the hand that’s holding the stuntwoman is staying shockingly still

Like

He’s moving the rest of his body lots, but the hand is only doing small fluid movements

Like he’s balancing a spinning plate

And the stuntwoman is very much playing everything up, screaming like the lady in King Kong

And Elle is wondering if there’s like

A stuntman school you have to have to go to

Or is it the kind of thing where you could get certified after a weekend class

And then there’s this room shaking yell

This absolute beef man has come out of nowhere

And just crashes into the Caber, slams him to the mat, and snatches the woman out of his hand

And Elle is like “does this sport have any rules?”

And Kari is like “I don’t know, probably?”

And Elle is like, “Cool, I like that energy”

While the greek god smacks his wand against the turnbuckle like

‘Work, damn you’

Cam the Cannon and the Business Man totally take the Caber down

And Elle is like “Aww…”

And Kari informs Elle that losing is kind of is thing

Like, he’s a scrappy underdog type that teams up with other wrestlers because he can’t win on his own

But it doesn’t usually work out for him

And Elle can’t decide whether she likes that or not

Cause on the one hand, it doesn’t seem fair

But like, it’s all a drama, so it’s not like he’s REALLY losing

Mostly, Elle doesn’t like the idea that it might make him sad to lose all the time

Even if it IS staged

But he does seem to be enjoying doing a whole ‘I’ll get you next time’ villain monologue thing while the Business Man drags him down the aisle (the crowd is singing “Taking Care of Business” very rambunctiously)

And he DOES have a dedicated cheering section with their faces painted blue like Mel Gibson in Braveheart

But Elle can’t help but imagine him being a face and having the whole crowd cheering for him

And then she notices the absolute horde of men and women simping hard over The Cannon (who is kneeling at the edge of the ring and setting the stuntwoman down to clamorous applause)

Like, they are throwing him flowers and teddy bears and undergarments

And Elle is like

On second thought

Let him have a small but dedicated fanbase

(Less competition)

And the Cannon takes down the greek god

And she wishes the Caber would come back out

But he doesn’t

But she enjoys the rest of the show anyway because it’s a great spectacle

And besides

the posters said there would be a meet and greet and autograph signing afterwards

So maybe she’ll duck out while the last match is still going down

And she can be first in line at his booth

[a-sweet-pea]

Demon Slayer Drabble

When you’re in love with a new anime but you don’t have the mental fortitude to commit to writing a whole-ass story

Please enjoy this fast-food fanfic

Seriously, it’s the McDonalds french fries of writing

CW - Blood, Mention of Violence

- Tanjiro and Zenitsu are tag-teaming on a mission

- They get into a battle with a pretty strong demon (not a Kizuki or nothing, but something with a tricky Blood Demon Art they haven’t encountered before)

- They defeat it, but Zenitsu is wounded in the battle so they stop at an inn so he can rest

- Tanjiro wakes up in the night

- He smells blood

- He draws his sword and follows the scent down the hall

- There’s a demon in Zenitsu’s room, but the smell is strange; it doesn’t smell like the demon has ever devoured anyone. Maybe it is freshly turned?

- Not only that, but there’s a stink of fear coming from it

- He can’t see anything at first; maybe it’s invisible?

- No, there next to Zenitsu’s arm, a creature 6 inches tall bares its sharp teeth

- Blood Demon Art - Aedes Aegypti

- Tanjiro reaches down and grabs it before it can bite Zenitsu, and, startled, it bites down hard on Tanjiro’s finger, but the bite doesn’t hurt

- The demon releases the bite immediately and looks up startled

- It catches a glimpse of the sword in Tanjiro’s hand and its pale face goes even paler

- “D-demon Slayer...”

- Tanjiro holds its body in a firm grip, it’s arms are pinned to its sides

- Tears stream down it’s face; its not an act, it absolutely reeks of terror

- “You haven’t devoured a single human. How are you still alive?”

- tinydemon.exe is not responding, only sad crying

- Tanjiro walks back to his room, his grip loosening ever so slightly

- Lil demon has been demoning for about fifty years

- Don’t ask how she got turned, it doesn’t matter and I’m not going to bother coming up with how, I just know it wasn’t Kibutsugi and she got small when she turned

- She’s been sneaking around at night, feeding from sleeping people, and her Blood Demon Art makes the bites numb so she doesn’t wake people up

- Even though she doesn’t kill people, she can’t blend in with humans like Lady Tamayo can, so she’s super lonely

- And she’s terrified of running into other demons because they are all so much stronger than she is

- And she was caught by one in the past that liked to amuse himself by pulling her limbs off, and then letting her feed on his prey before he ate them, just enough so she could regenerate them again

- But the only thing that sccares her more than other demons

- Is Demon SLAYERS

- Tanjiro gets back to his room and opens his hand so the demon is just sitting in it

- It’s a girl; her hair is dark like Nezuko’s, but it’s straight, and it fades to blood red at the ends

- She’s wearing a makeshift kimono sewn from silk scraps, the sky blue color of Urokodaki’s jinbei kimono

- “Is it blood? Is that it? You drink blood, and that way you don’t have to eat anyone.”

- Sad nodding.

- “Do you have a name?”

- More crying.

- “P-please, just make it quick. I-I don’t want to be in pain.”

- “I’m not going to hurt you.”

- *Press X to doubt*

- Tanjiro opens the chest and Nezuko climbs out

- “My sister is a demon. She’s like you. She doesn’t kill people.”

- Nezuko walks over and stares for a second

- Then she just gives the demon litlle head pats like

- Yes, of course, this is my sister and I love her

- And Lil demon is just so confused and overwhelmed

- And she tells Tanjiro about the demon that hurt her

- And how lonely she’s been

- And Tanjiro’s just like

- MUST PROTECC.

- I guess I have TWO demon sisters now

- And that’s FINE

- And he’s like ‘Come with us, we can make sure nobody hurts you, demons or slayers.”

- And holds out the finger that she bit like “You hungry?”

- And she’s all shy like “Well, yeah, but I don’t want to-”

- And Tanjiro just laughs like ‘Dude, Inosuke headbutted me three times yesterday, this is nothing.’

- So she has a lil snack, but she keeps looking up at him like ‘are you sure this is okay’ like that one video of the slow loris taking the rice ball

- And when she’s done, she’s just so overwhelmed from the stress and adrenaline she zonks out

- And Tanjiro hands her to Nezuko and they just have a lovely sister snuggle nap

- In the morning, they get up to go

- Zenitsu is itching a bite on his shoulder like “I think this place has bedbugs.”

- And Tanjiro is like “About that...”

- And he pulls him into a dark closet and pulls the little demon woman out of his pocket

- And Zenitsu FREAKS

- He’s just like “HOLY SHIT A DEMON, Don’t let it hurt me!”

- Tanjiro is like “She’s six inches tall, man, calm down. Besides, she’s like Nezuko, she doesn’t eat people. She just drinks a little bit of blood. As a treat.”

- Zenitsu calms down and crouches down to stare at her and then he just starts pouting

- “What’s wrong?”

- “Seriously dude, you have two beautiful demon women following you around now?”

- Little demon blushes. “You think I’m beautiful?”

- “DUH, you’re GORGEOUS.”

- Tanjiro grabs Zenitsu’s hand and places the demon in it.

- “I have to protexct Nezuko. Can you keep her safe?”

- Zenitsuhearteyes.jpg

- Demon can’t remember her human name so Zenitsu calls her Hiina

- Hiina means “cute little thing”

- And she is really flinchy about her arms and legs being touched

- So instead of picking her up, Zenitsu just lets her climb up him to get places

- Like a lil spider monkey

- And when there’s battles, Zenitsu is like ‘Must protect beautiful sister Nezuko’ and ‘Must protect precious darling Hiina’

- And he gets so stressed out he faints and goes full Lightning Protector Of Beautiful Women mode

- I know I should have written this as a full fic, but I wouldn’t have ever finished it, so this is better than nothing right?

- And the idea made me so happy

- that I had to just get it out and share it

-And now I have a tiny demon OC, so that’s fun

BONUS AUTHOR’s NOTE

@entomolog-t saying they’re going to name their tiny vampire Aedes even though it’s so obvious

Asweetpea wonders what’s so obvious about it

Is there some cool mythological greek vampire I’m forgetting about?

Probably

Asweetpea, a few days later, binging Demon Slayer and coming up with the idea for a lil demon that only bites humans, doesn’t devour them

WRITING FURIOUSLY

They need a Blood Demon Art that would numb the bites they give to humans so they don’t wake up

Googles the name of the anesthetic protein that mosquitos have in their saliva

SONOFA-

@entomolog-t, I promise I was not trying to copy you

It’s not my fault that a tiny demon that feeds on blood is very similar to a tiny vampire

I made mine a lady, okay?