Giant (G/T) One-Shots

Bloodhounds

    “Hey Rufus!” the black-haired human called down the giant-sized hallway from the giant-sized closet. 

She sat on the top rack of the closet. A piece of cardboard sat on each of the two racks, and part of a fleece blanket sat on the bottom rack, acting as a carpet. The bottom rack acted as a bedroom, and the top part acted as den for practicing her magick. She went between the racks and the ground using a ramekin and a weight system. 

“Heya Rosemary!” The red-haired giant bounced down the hall, shaking her world. 

“Drink this.” She held out a small glass with foggy, brown liquid in it. He carefully took it between his two, massive fingers and poured it down his throat. 

“What was that exactly, Rosie?” he questioned nervously, realising he probably should’ve asked before drinking it.

Rosemary sighed. “Hopefully a tonic for your cravings."

Over time, giants realised their only true threats were witches. Even some humans felt threatened by witches, so these witch-haters paired together to create the ultimate witch hunters—Bloodhounds. Bloodhounds were genetically mutated giants who could sniff out witches—like Rosemary—from miles away. Part of the mutation gave them awful cravings to devour these witches. When two Bloodhounds reproduced, the mutated gene passed on to their offspring. Rarely, the Bloodhound gene could be passed down from a Bloodhound and normal giant.

Rufus was a fourth generation Bloodhound.

The true witch genocide had occured many, many years ago, and this current Bloodhound generation basicly weeded through the few remaining witches. There was once one witch out of every twenty humans. That number had dwindled down to about one witch hiding amongst every fifty million humans. With so few witches to hunt, the Bloodhounds cravings started to extend towards normal humans too. These impulsive cravings get them marked as savages, especially by humans. Even other giants shun them for something they can’t control. Rosemary absolutely shunned the Bloodhounds too despite knowing what it was like to be shunned. Her opinion did change after getting to meet Rufus. They couldn’t have possibly met in a worse way though. 

He would’ve never thought he’d find a witch in his lifetime—and honestly he’d hoped he never would—but all reluctance left him when her sweet, sweet scent soaked his senses. He vaguely remembered the actual hunt. He just remembered the emotions. It was blissful; it felt right, but a luring thought of guilt tugged at him. He certainly remembered her taste. It was sweet, nectar-like maybe. Her magick caused a tingly feeling to spread over his tongue. She left a soothing, herby aftertaste in his mouth. It almost helped with the sickening thoughts of swallowing the poor woman down to her doom. At first it was nice. He felt he had completed a great service by removing the witch from society. Plus, she was delicious. He even purred in delight. But once the high of it all faded, he felt disgusting, awful, monstrous. He’d just killed a poor human. Truthfully, it hadn’t been the first time, but he’d certainly hoped it would never happen again.

He was trying his best to distract from the guilt when a furious battle cry followed by a string of profanities from within startled him. Surely she would’ve died by then. More spews of profanities proved him wrong. He dared to open his mouth and ask if she was still alive. A part of him wondered if he was hallucinating out of hopeful distress. For a long moment, she didn’t respond, and a new wave of remorse hit him. That quickly left when she commanded him to vomit her up. He wasn’t sure if it was really that easy. Though, nothing except muscle reaction was really stopping him. He already felt sick enough about eating her that cacking her up shouldn’t be too hard, and eventually, he did. He felt awful looking at the human drenched in stomach acid and mashed food, but there was some relief that she was alive. He was even more relieved that his cravings hadn’t resurfaced after spitting her up. He wasn’t sure if he was too queasy to eat her, if eating her already had satisfied him, or if he just couldn’t smell the witch under the layers of other substances. 

He’d quickly explained how sorry he was, and how he didn’t know how she’d survived, but he was overjoyed that she had. In turn, she hesitantly explained it was an anti-acid that her grandmother had begun to develop before her untimely death. She had picked up where her grandmother had left off and realised the key aspect was not magick, but science. They got to talking some more about his haunting cravings and her inability to find a place to safely practice magick. They ended up striking a deal. She would help him end his cravings, and he’d provide her with a safe place to live and practice magick. 

“I’m na’ gonna lie t’ya, lass. It’s na’ doin’ anythin’...at tha moment.” He smiled wistfully. “Perhaps it just needs more time.” he added hopefully. 

“No.” She frowned. “Truthfully, this was a longshot.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, shortie.” Despite his words, she still looked disappointed, even guilty. “Oi. No sulkin’. Ye’ll get it eventually, so don’t worry yerself about it. Ye’re feckin’ amazing, lass. Ye can make magick happen. Na’ everyone can say that, ya know.”

“What’s the point of having magick if I can’t even help people with it?” she wailed, “Everybody would be so much better off if all of us witches died out.” 

He grimaced. “Come on now...I dun’ know if ye’re bein’ genocidal or suicidal, but either way I dun’ like it. Ye’re m’lil witch, ‘n’ I’d be pretty damn sad if ye died off. I’m na’ an expert on m’own well-being or anythin’, but I’m rather confident that losin’ m’best friend wouldn’t make me better off.”

“Rufus…”

“Hush, morsel. Ye’re amazin’, and ye’ve already helped me so much. Even if ye haven’t completely stopped my cravings, ye’ve definitely helped with them.” He smirked. She had figured out a way to help disguise her scent, so she wouldn’t constantly trigger his cravings. Occasionally, random impulses and cravings would spring out of the dark, and a little bit of anti-acid and self-sacrifice was used to keep him from accidentally hurting defenseless humans.

“I guess,” she conceded. 

“‘I guess’?” He snorted. “Ye’ve done more than just help me with m’cravings. Ye’ve helped with m’insomnia, ye’ve helped me integrate more into human society, ye’ve helped with m’allergies...hell, you've even improved m’dental hygiene with yer lil plants ‘n’ all.” More importantly…” he scooped her up and wrapped her up in his hands, bringing her to his chest in an awkward hug, “ye make me happy.”

“Aww,” she cooed, “Come on. Don’t get all mushy on me.” He still refused to let her go. “Seriously, get off of me.” 

He exhaled blissfully. “Never.”

“Fucker, I will poison your toothpaste. Let go, you sad sack of emotions!”