Hello, i'm Ares (they/them - he/him - she/her), and welcome to my gt sideblog! (please leave your shoes by the door)
Here you'll find an ever-growing (har har) collection of doodles and writing, ✨monsters✨, 💗giants💗, and ✨❤️giant monsters❤️✨
A bit about me
I love gothic horror, heart-shaped things, and dr. pepper. My favorite colors are yellow and dark green. I love my ocs and refuse to shut up about them, and i like pineapple on my pizza.
I'm an artist purely for the fun of it, so be gracious with me, and please refrain from overly sexual comments.
I am not a minor and while this blog is intended to be safe for minor interaction, because Tumblr users must be 13 years or older to sign up, that logic will be applied here. Please use your own judgement, and keep yourself safe! I will do my best to tag all posts appropriately, but this blog is for my own enjoyment first!
I'm an odd and awkward bean, but i love making friends! Please don't be afraid to interact with me or my posts! Asks are always open!
Since the official prompts still have yet to be released, and writing takes a decent amount of time, a friend ( @paperlicense687) and I came up with our own prompt list :D
Regardless of if official prompts (curtesy usually of @gianttol) are released, hopefully everyone has a fun g/t July!
adventure time slang is weird cuz like. when you first watch the show and hear the slang you're like "oh this is cringy slang but its not like awful" but it gets to a point where the voice actors deliver the slang so naturally you don't even notice it and its just. part of the world's vernacular. I can't think of any other show that's done in-universe slang like this
guys let's normalize being shameless about sfw g/t in public (not like I'm trying to make you feel embarrassed that you're "ashamed" of drawing g/t in public, I actually think it was very brave and nice that you did that)
Ik it feels wrong but it's a comfort trope for most of us if not all, and if you're in a place that makes you feel uncomfortable don't be ashamed to dive into something comforting like that.
G/t is everywhere, just bc you're the one who notices doesn't mean it's something uncommon to the point of shame.
This is such a good point, while drawing g/t in class today because I was anxious and didn't want to be there, a girl came up to me and said she liked how I drew and we talked for the rest of class. AND SHE DIDNT EVEN MENTION THE SIZE DIFFERENCE. non g/t peaple don't care lmao
tiny me lovingly doing the nails of my giant, carefully manicuring them and painting intricate designs; less than ten minutes in i am overwhelmed by the scent of acetone, i faint and fall directly into a container of glitter.
I started writing this like over a year ago,, take this for what it is lol
~~This au takes place in the same universe as Dhriti and Jimena’s og world, but about 200 years earlier when giant and human society was beginning to reunite after a few generations of separation. Giant and human cultures grew and developed together until resource sharing became a greater struggle as commerce moved to include symbolic currency over simple trade. Now, as a way to unite wealth and land along with it, interspecies marriage has been a favored solution.~~
The air inside the carriage grew more unpleasant as the sun’s light worked to completely toast the glass that separated Jimena from the pastures she would soon inherit.
The bride-to-be was a bit shaken upon entering the home of her in-laws. Elegant, sweeping arches lined with tiles rose upward farther than she’d like to picture. Jerking her neck up awkwardly, she found herself trying to count the tiles, snapping back to attention at the feeling of a deep rumbling beneath the floor.
A woman. Wrinkled and gray, she stalked across the floor, face stony as she faced Jimena and her mother.
“Mrs. Flores.” The great woman rumbled as she bowed her head.
Though she barely reached halfway up this woman’s calf, Jimena’s mother returned the gesture, “Mrs. Rajput.” she said, bowing down but adding a small curtsy for good measure.
The gray woman turned her gaze towards her would-be daughter and again nodded with a kind of reverence that Jimena attempted to return.
“If you ladies would follow me, there are a few matters I’d like to discuss before anything is official” Mrs. Rajput’s tone was cool and demanded attention, though it could be her large presence that aroused such a feeling.
Dhriti had seldom considered marriage. They had assumed their siblings' unions would be enough to help the family maintain their legacy, but that was now proving to be false. A human woman was to be made a bride for the daydreamer. They paced about the room, anxious to meet the little baker’s daughter.
Dhriti was a damn fool.
The rumble of their steps accompanied by the clack of their cane could be felt from at least a quarter of a mile away, and could be heard possibly farther. Jimena felt Dhriti long before she laid eyes on them, following diligently behind her soon to be mother-in-law. Heartbeat flooding her ears, she was soothed momentarily by a quick squeeze of her mothers hand.
Mrs. Rajput opened a door thrice as wide as she and called out to her child, “I’m glad you’re eager.”
Dhriti froze in place before straightening out, stiff as a board, perfect posture.
Mrs. Flores led the charge, walking coolly into the room, nodding to Dhriti as she spoke “I’m delighted to meet you, Dhriti.”
Dhriti, trembling over their words, spoke, “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Flores.”
Looking satisfied, Jimena’s mother turned to look back at the door to find Mrs. Rajput still holding it open. Her eyes stayed fixed on Jimena, expectantly, almost hopefully. Jimena was still fastened to her place on the stone floor, gawking into the room with wide eyes, not able to see Dhriti from behind the door.
“I’m excited for you to meet my daughter, Jimena.” She said as she extended her hand, leaving Jimena to unceremoniously march into the room and take her mother’s grasp like a toddler. Jimena’s gaze stayed stuck to the floor though she held her head up high. Once at her mother’s side, Mrs. Rajput entered the room and there the four were, silent.
Jimena’s eyes were quickly tempted to find Dhriti’s boots. Then their legs, and so on, until her eyes planted firmly upon their bespectacled face. A narrow face that held a large curved nose and heavy-lidded eyes. Their lips were pursed, eyes on the floor.
They shifted, causing their wooden cane to creak before murmuring, “Hello, Jimena.”
Belly flooded with butterflies, Jimena replied.
“Hello, Dhriti.”
The giant swallowed hard, trying to will their breaths to be as silent as the humans were.
Jimena’s hold on her mother’s hand tightened just as Mrs. Flores pulled away, leaving Jimena without a lifeline. Her fingers fell into balled fists at her hip, squeezing the fear away as she stood there, feeling like a weed that had sprouted up from the tile. She opened her mouth to say something, trying to focus on anything other than Dhriti’s owlish stare. The bride shut her mouth right back up at the slightest movement of her fiance. It was too much. All too much, all at once. She shot her mother a look, an unmistakable cry for help.
As much as she wanted to save her daughter, to swaddle her in linens and force her back into the carriage bound for home, Mrs. Flores knew full well what this commitment would earn.
“Your mother tells me you’re fond of aviculture?” Mrs. Flores asks without addressing her soon to be son, perhaps a bit too loudly.
“Yes- I mean, yes ma’am…” The groom barks, rumbling the air.
“Quite fond.” Remarks the hostess.
“My Jimena just adores pigeons, don’t you love?” The matron looks pointedly at Jimena, urging her to speak in a way only a mother could.
“I do…” She murmurs, face aimed at Dhriti, though her gaze is pointed at a spot on the wall, far off the ground and behind the groom’s head.
“I’m sorry?” Calls Matron Rajput.
“I said I-I do, ma’am…” Her face burns.
A horrid silence fills the room, all but the heavy breaths of the groom as they gawk, helplessly pinned by the small woman’s gaze. A heartbeat, then another, and another, the time between each feeling like an entire day.
Dhriti looks to their mother, closest to the door, almost like a warden as she dares her child to try and weasel away.
To the bride and her mother, the home was a great fortress, but to those who took permanent residence, it was a particularly claustrophobic space. Especially now. The tension could be sliced and served on a plate.
“Jimena,” Mrs. Rajput bravely shattered the quiet, “would you care to tour our dovecote? We’ve just had a few of our little ones lay for the first time…” Though her tongue stayed as calm and smooth as ever, though something bubbling beneath her cool veneer betrayed some desperation, an eagerness to end whatever hell this was.
Jimena turned to face her hostess, unsure of her own wants as she nodded, ever polite.
“Go on then, Dhriti.” She smiled politely, tensely.
Seemingly smacked back to Earth, Dhriti frowned at their mother. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” She spat, “Mrs. Flores and I have things to discuss, horrid, technical things that will spoil all the fun of marriage.”
Now it was Mrs. Rajput’s turn to squirm, shooting the baker’s wife a look.
“Go on,” Mrs. Flores nodded, “we’ll be here.”
Jimena looked between the mothers in disbelief, though her face portrayed nothing, only her eyes were blown. At her mother’s more insistent nod, she finally took a step towards the groom, eyes only finding tile once more.
Like a golem suddenly brought to life, Dhriti jerked away from Jimena, almost like jumping from a spider. Jimena flinched the slightest bit, but continued the pursuit. With the creak of a cane, Dhriti wordlessly opened an exterior door and waited for the tiny bride to inch across its threshold.
With one final frightened look to their mother, the door closes.
Part 36 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here.
A character has a seizure in this.
“You still haven’t answered me.” Said Susie in the soldierly tone that so unnerved Harry.
She scanned his features from across the white-clothed table at the Sunnyside Pavilion where they had stopped to rest. Try as he might, Harry had not been able to get her to let the subject go.
“Answered what?” He replied, in yet another futile attempt at evasion.
She leaned in with her shoulders hunched like a cat about to pounce and for the umpteenth time she repeated,
“Why can’t you try being honest?”
Harry scratched at his neck and disappointment sank in when he felt the microscopic knots Joe had tied in his hair finally coming undone. Harry was coming undone along with them. His cheeks were burning and his eyes were, too. That placid lake of apathy he harbored inside of him was swelling up now to the point it rivaled the immensity of the sea, and in his mind he sat at the bottom of it, bearing its weight the way Atlas himself bore the world.
It threatened to crush him.
“I…” Was all he could squeeze out before his spirit buckled over under the immeasurable weight and he was forced to confess. “…I’m afraid.” The words felt as though they had been spoken not so much by him, but through him.
Susie’s eyebrows rose and she remained ever fixated on him.
“Of what?”
Harry lowered his shaking hand and folded it over the table along with the other. He kept his eyes fixed on both as though they were an antidote to his shame.
“Of you. Of myself. Of everyone. Of being hurt by people if they knew the truth.” He said.
“What is the truth?” Susie pressed.
As Harry examined his hands he kept wishing Joe would crawl out of them.
“That I’m different from other people.” He explained as his heart hammered away with electric force. “Different in a way they won’t like. Different in a way they wouldn’t understand or possibly even believe. When you’re different… that’s what people do. They hurt you.”
His eyes crept up to Susie’s again, and he watched her toss her bobbed hair in a way that Harry had gleaned from other men was supposed to be pretty.
“Maybe they will hurt you.” Susie’s answer surprised Harry. “That’s not something you have any control over. I mean-” Susie leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs in boyish fashion. “Do you know how many men have called me fat, stupid, and ugly because I refuse to marry them? Do you know how many more see my diagnosis, and see this big scary thing they gotta run from? I’ve heard everything, Herm. One boy told my mother I was demonically possessed and she nearly believed it! That’s the price you have to pay when you’re honest.”
The coldness of the mud below crept up to Harry’s ankles.
“What do you even get out of being honest?” That same coldness crept into his voice as he spoke.
“Freedom.” She said.
Harry couldn’t imagine a world where that were true. He could not imagine a world that loved him enough to make it true. Hiding was what he knew but he could not do that now, so his mind did the hiding for him. He looked down at his hands and looked up again at the British bloke who was now screaming before him. Beyond him an endless stretch of mud and bodies spilled out towards the enemy trench.
“COME ON, LAD! GET A MOVE ON!” The Tommy roared.
“Where’s Georgie?” Harry asked the man who was not there.
The soldier’s gloved hand clapped his shoulder and wrenched him forwards.
“NO TIME FOR THAT NOW. MOVE IT!” The bloke ordered.
“I want Georgie!” Harry cried, and repeated it over and over, “I want Georgie! I want Georgie! I want…
…Joe?”
A new set of slender hands gripped his tear-stained face and a pair of dark eyes that were not Joe’s, yet still just as kind, gazed into his.
“Hey. You’re bigger than this.” The woman who was not Joe assured him.
She ran a hand through Harry’s hair and gently released him into the smaller world outside of his body. His eyes darted about in shame until they landed back on his hands. They were pale as Georgie’s had been.
“I know it’s scary but you need freedom, Herm. You need to find the people who understand you. Who care for you. That’s what I do every time I come out here, I look for new people and see if they’re my people. Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. There's only one way to find out.”
Questions flooded from Harry along with the tears.
“What if there isn’t anybody? What if I try and it doesn’t work? What if they don’t listen or believe me or care about me? Susie, I… what if I go through all this trouble telling my father I don’t want to marry and he forces me to do it anyways?”
“Then you keep fighting.” Susie said. “It’s all you can do. That’s what strength is, real strength, not that poppycock they teach you in gym class. You know yourself and you know what’s true and what’s good for you, and you fight for it.”
Harry wrung his quivering hands. He didn’t feel like much of a fighter lately. He was too unhappy.
“Sometimes we’re honest and people hurt us. Sometimes being honest with the people we’re closest to is the scariest thing you can ever do because of that. Sometimes they already have these preconceived notions of who you are and what they think you should do and how you should be. You gotta fight it, though, Herm, because to do anything less than that is to die. And me, I’m sick of killing myself slowly. I’d rather be reviled for my honesty than a well-respected liar.”
She reached a hand out towards his.
“I don’t want to marry you, and you don’t want to marry me. Now mother just has to get with the program. Waddaya say?”
-
Harry clutched Susie’s hand as though it were his last source of strength left in the world. The two ambled down the boardwalk as the day’s worth of pent-up rain finally fell. All the while he turned Susie’s words over in his mind as the raindrops sputtered down, examining them as though they were the facets of a gem.
Freedom. Strength. Fighting. Harry had not been free or strong or a fighter, in hindsight, not really. Instead he had simply cowered and deferred and quietly hoped the problem would go away. He should have known that by doing so it would only grow and fester like a wound.
“You know, the funny thing is, when I go to Sunnyside more than once a week I do start to get auras.” Susie admitted. “I have to keep track of my visits, but mother doesn’t trust that I’m able to do that.”
Susie stopped and looked him in the eyes again. There was a hint of impishness in her face when she asked,
“Do you trust I can do it, doctor?”
Harry’s head quivered into a nod. He trusted her more than he did her mother, he realized. He had no choice but to do so when they were both facing down the same enemy.
The two had barely cleared the grounds of the Pavilion when a familiar voice cut through the night. It started small, buried beneath the sound of the rain, then grew louder and louder until Harry had no choice but to acknowledge it.
“Hey doc! Doc!”
Harry released Susie’s hand and turned around to see a small figure waving its arms over its head as the raindrops pelted it from above. Tiny footsteps grew louder and louder, unsynchronized, shuffling ones, as though the figure were limping.
It was none other than Danny Smalls, and the man looked utterly shaken.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. So Danny’s little date with Joe hadn’t panned out after all, he thought.
“Doctor Avery, listen – ” Danny began.
Harry Avery couldn’t listen. The jealousy that had so infected him bid him to turn away. It was Joe Harry cared about, not Danny, and he was not yet aware that this choice would soon be his undoing.
“Is there something there, Herm?” Asked Susie.
“Just a rat or something.” Harry said, and the two continued on their way.
-
Her date now over, Susie stopped outside of the doors of the rickety apartment building she now called home and rubbed her temples.
“You okay?” Asked Harry, though he could tell just by looking at her what the answer was.
“Just getting ready for it…” Susie murmured.
“For what?”
Susie said nothing. Instead she straightened her hat and squared her jaw and marched across the no man’s land of the building’s entryway.
Harry could already guess what was about to happen, but he was still caught by surprise when a voice erupted so loudly from the upstairs window that it caused the building itself to shake.
“SUUUUUUUUUSIIIIIIIE GERLADIIIIIINE WILKIIIIIINS! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?” Thundered the vicious voice of Agatha Wilkins.
“Coming, mother!” Susie didn’t shout the words so much as croak them out.
With each click of Susie’s heels Harry saw the power draining out of her and his heart broke at the sight. Susie’s fingers ran over the sides of her head once more as she winced in pain.
Maybe, Harry thought, maybe people could cause seizures. Certainly a particularly stressful person would be no good for poor Susie. The motion of Susie’s hand wavered as she pulled out her key to open the lock. At the same time, heavy footsteps tramped down the upstairs hallway, and at the top towered Aggie Wilkins, who looked like she was about to breathe fire.
“Susie!” She barked at the weakening girl. “You get up here right this instant! How DARE you show our dear dinner guest such blatant, flagrant, SHAMELESS disrespect! A doctor, no less!”
“Yes mother.” Said Susie robotically as Mrs. Wilkins stormed all the way down the stairs and wrenched Susie’s arm, pulling her towards the top of them.
Harry wanted to intervene, but he didn’t know how. Standing still and staying silent was simply what you did when an older person was angry. His own father had taught him that.
“Get up here and get changed THIS INSTANT you rotten little tramp! You ought to be thankful if this good doctor will still see you after this little stunt!” Aggie kept ranting.
“Yes mother.” Susie repeated as her body began to twitch.
“If I had known I would have such a wretched, ungrateful girl as you I would have-”
Susie was halfway up the stairs with her mother when it happened. Her body seized up and began to spasm, causing her to slip like a discarded doll out of her mother’s grasp. She fell backwards, her head destined for the sharp edge of the concrete stair below.
Then the working arms of noble farmhand Harry Avery reached out to catch her as he played knight in shining armour with seamless grace. He set her down at the base of the stairs and lay her on her side.
The moment Susie was on the ground, Aggie became a completely different person. She scuttled back down the stairs and fanned her hands in hysteria.
“Ooooh, oh Susie!” She cried, now on the verge of tears. “Oh, my poor SUSIE! My poor, sweet dear! Please don’t do this!”
Aggie shuffled and stepped about as Harry crouched over the girl. Then she wailed the same words Harry himself had said mere hours earlier:
“I’m trying to help you!”
That was all Harry could take.
“You’re not helping her, Mrs. Wilkins!” Harry finally snapped. “Stand back, please! Stand back!”
The mother, now sheepish, followed the doctor's orders.
Harry sighed and rolled up his jacket, placing it under Susie’s head.
“She’ll come out of it in a moment.” He explained to Aggie.
“Will she?” Aggie’s tone sounded a little too intrigued by this prospect. Quickly she added, “…tell me, doctor Avery, are you married by any chance? I don’t see a ring…” Aggie wrung her hands sheepishly at him, not once letting him get a word in, “I merely mention because as you can see, this world is so dangerous for dear Susie here, and improper as it may be to suggest this, I think a doctor like yourself would make a fine husband for a girl like her, wouldn’t you agree?”
There it was. Agatha Wilkins’ master plan, set in motion. Susie had been right: Mrs. Wilkins was doing all she could to tug on Harry’s heartstrings in the hopes he would put a ring on her daughter.
Hot rage rose from within Harry like steam. It blazed behind his eyes as he shot Mrs. Wilkins a look that set her fluttering hands perfectly still.
“I think Susie can decide for herself what’s good for her.” He growled.
Aggie appeared utterly stunned, as though this were the first time in her life someone had ever said no to her, and now Harry understood what it truly meant to be strong. Harry held her gaze as the old woman’s face contorted into something witch-like and ugly. He steeled himself in preparation for the worst.
Before Aggie could protest, Susie groaned in confusion and began to awaken, and the old woman went back to playing the fawning mother.
“Susie, oh Susie, wake up my darling…” She cooed.
Harry, who had seen enough for the night, helped Susie to her feet when she was ready.
“I’m going to take you upstairs.” He whispered to the still-disoriented Susie.
Harry was not fond of the fact that he had seen himself in Aggie that night. He walked through the light rain as he set off for Danforth and thought about freedom, and strength, and fighting, and Joe. He replayed every exchange between them through fresh eyes, what he could only hope were Joe’s eyes, and saw all the ways he had gone wrong, and all the things he didn’t say, and all the things he should have said, things he feared it was now too late to say.
He had to apologize, that much was clear. That was his plan: to go home, to get some sleep, and to apologize to Joe. He would say he was sorry, and he would say it honestly, along with something else he had been hiding from his dear companion for far too long.
What Harry did not anticipate was that Joe might have plans of his own.
To all the people in my life who taught me how to be strong. Next part coming soon!
