I think one of the reasons unaware is so appealing to me is because it allows even the most “gentle” characters to be monsters in their own right. It's a unique junction between a legitimately good person and the horrors they can inflict on those beneath their notice. (Rambling below)

The remanents of your city becoming just the faintest layer of dust beneath a stirrup-clad sole—your home, friends, family...everything you've worked for and cherished, crushed into a fine, unrecognizable grit—grey debris speckled with smears of dark crimson. 1/2

Adore size tiering where you are, unequivocally, the *bottom* of the totem pole. Staring up at a monolith of pale-pink flesh as it casts you in deep shadow, their face a distance, incomprehensible blur in the sky far above.... And knowing they are a mere speck to people who *actually* matter...

A size-shifter barbarian woman who appears as a muscular 10-foot Amazon at “giant” size, yet little larger than an inch normally. Known as a fearsome warrior by day while holding up in some…abandoned knothole by night, forced to recharge her mana lest she diminish mid-battle...

A pretty, air-headed cleric holding your speck-like form in the sprawling expanse of his white gloves, *uncomfortably* close to the faint smear of your former body — now crushed beyond all recognition and partially fused with the once pristine fibers. His apologies almost deafen you…

A well-placed red dot or *crunch* sound effect in size media will always, always make me a bit blushy. Indistinct ketchup splatter and paper crackling noise my beloveds.

Hyper-specific scenario I adore. Trapped within the confines of a shrunken voyeur's pants as they sneak a peek at an oblivious giant — pressed tightly against the tented fabric of their underwear by a hardening pillar of flesh or drowning in a rising deluge of viscous fluid…

A multi-sized society where “accidents” are so commonplace they are rarely investigated with any real detail. Dried splotches of dark crimson mix with the grit on a sidewalk or the stains on a countertop, serving as unmarked graves for the unfortunate.

An interview of various adventurers and their opinions on Inchlings—a thread.

Dynamics Vek really likes and wishes he could write more. Apathetic Scientist and their latest batch of “subjects”. Freshly replaced after the last group was disposed of. The wet wipe he used to scrub away their entire civilization was probably still in the trash, somewhere. (Thread)

A resident of a petri-dish city growing increasingly infatuated with the blurred visage of their "god" whenever he graces them with his presence above the borders of their world, blushing ever so slightly as eyes grander than any moon peer down from the heavens. Oh, if only he'd noticed them...

Unceremoniously buried beneath your roommate's ratty Converse after they spot the “mite” scuttling across the kitchen tile — barely given the time to process the encroaching shadow before you're sandwiched between the grit-coated tread and the hard floor below. They don’t even think twice.

Fact✅ The reason Vek uses so many ellipses in his musings is actually because he should be as tall as one of those little dots, not for any writing reason.

The serene expression of the angel doesn’t change as his sole languidly takes its place in the sky above — eerily perfect despite being magnified across the sprawling cityscape. “You could have chosen repentance…” an airy voice booms past the surrounding countryside. “…A pity.”

The freckled face of the alchemist shopkeep looms over the horizon — a blurred visage twisted in boyish worry eclipsing the surrounding candlelight and casting a landscape of woodgrain and dust in an almost oppressive shadow. Eyes squint, and a shaky sigh nearly sends you to your knees…

Knowing the speck crawling across your table IS a person, but like…it kinda gives you the ick watching a tiny thing scuttle across the place you eat food on. Best to flick them off, they’ll survive… Probably. Maybe.

Microscopic planes exploding into balls of crumpled metal and flame against the freckled expanse of a single cheek, the lone pilot fast enough to eject slamming painfully against one of the many island-sized dots… The faint heat and impact are utterly unnoticed, less than an itch…

A kind-hearted Inchling, eager to strike up their first conversation with one of the fabled “giants” outside their grove, and the imposing yet skittish fighter, with a habit of squashing any insect they spot crawling in their vicinity. A rumbling, disgusted "ew" wipes the smile from their face...

Size Ramble (Revamped) Vek stuck in a Diavolo-style death loop, but it’s at the hands of his woefully oblivious friend. One day lost atop the uneven landscape of their arm, stranded among the endless dermal ridges and pores. Crushed by an errant scratch as they feel a slightest *itch*. 1/6

Flying nanos with cute little wings, fluttering through a sea of pollon islands and dust mountains. They often inhabit houses, but go mostly unnoticed — save perhaps, a faint scratch in the throat or tickle in the nostril after inhaling an unfortunate swarm.

Yaoi between the bubbly and woefully accident-prone speck and their straight-laced partner who, despite seeing his boyfriend survive all manner of crushing, *still* has a mini-heart attack whenever he finds him lingering on a couch cushion or near his upturned sneakers. “Idiot! Be more careful 💢”

Small enough that you, miraculously, avoid being crushed beneath the seemingly endless wall of whorled flesh descending from on high — a deific finger poised to smite you to a microscopic stain. No…instead, you find yourself trapped within the grooves of their fingertip, deafened by the impact…

A nano with a life counter that grants them a more durable body with each death. Beginning with them being unceremoniously crushed beneath the mammoth weight of a hair strand and ending with them spending hours adhered to a runner's sneaker, compressed with every step. Not quite a blessing.

Lips part, and a fog of humid air envelops you — thick and heavy, reeking of past meals and decay. Off-white mountains frame the abyss within, their tongue an island of grotesque protrusion in a sea of viscous fluid. So small they wouldn’t even taste the microscopic addition to their meal…

Stumbling across the vast plain of a drawing tablet, eyes squinted to a near close as the blinding lights of the blank screen radiate beneath your feet — as if the sun itself had been dragged to earth. Far too distracted to notice the towering stylus lowering from on high..

Vek yearns to be responsible for the slightest itch deep within the yawning canyon of someone’s toes — the little speck plastered and twitching between two vast walls of skin, surrounded by dozens of interlocking sock threads that each dwarf him by magnitudes...

Whenever a big focused account likes Vek’s content, you gotta imagine the blushing little speck on their desk who *so* thrilled they enjoy his writing :). Somewhere next to an inconspicuous crumb that dwarfs him like a mountain peak, and a dust mote that could smother him beneath its weight.

Vek frantically hopping on a single key — one of the many vast islands of plastic atop his keyboard, marred with microscopic cracks from years of wear and tear — in a desperate attempt to write something for Nanovember. Only to be unceremoniously smothered beneath the fingertip of another writer...

Realizing exploring your crush's body while shrunken was far scarier than you imagined as you gaze upon the endless sprawl of flesh — the dozing giant so vast mere inches of skin seemed to eclipse everything within view. You feel their ambient heat warm the air around you — oppressive and muggy…

“Focus! I’d rather not lose *another* subject…especially in such an ignominious matter…” The Inchling familiar—pale face blushed crimson—peer's into the yawning crevasse of the witch's cleavage, eyes nervously scanning every inch in hopes of finding the shrunken “volunteer”.

So small that the seemingly “flat” lines adorning your paper become a tangible obstacle. Vast, black ridges and canyons marred the uneven paper fibers, forming grotesque depressions and leaving hunks of loose graphite strewn across the landscape. Its meaning incomprehensible…

Those little red dots artists draw will never not make me melt. The idea of the tiny being compressed so completely, so *utterly* that they cease being distinguishable—their life reduced to a mere splatter of dark crimson, painting the sole of a being far, far greater. Just from a single step…

Surrounded by the microscopic detritus littering a theater’s seat after shrinking during a movie. Loose stalks of hair curl to pierce the heavens above, fragmented, broken crumbs — many crushed beneath your own weight — rising like mountaintops across the horizon.

Briefly “spared” from being consumed with their chips as you tumble across the expanse of their stomach, joined by a hail of boulder-sized crumbs. Only for a god-like hand to descend from on high, the wall of flesh slamming mere inches away and brushing the mess to the carpet jungle below...

Dragged across a pair of sagging yoga pants as your roommate lazily scratches their rear, the whorled pillar steamrolls you across what feels like miles of frayed fabric...until you slip through a gap *just* large enough for your infinitesimal body, leaving you stranded in its inner weavings...

Becoming the cute little partner of someone who has already “gone through” 10 of them and would feel next to nothing if they found you plastered beneath their sole before the week was out.

Dating a guy so (relatively) massive that he has no idea what I actually look like. Eyes that loom like a celestial body gazing down upon an indistinct little dot, awkwardly stumbling across the expanse of his palm. A walking period that he still finds *incredibly* cute.

There’s something hopelessly enamoring about nanos put in peril by a sleeping giant. A *yawn* sucking a fleeing speck into the abyss of his throat. A subtle shift burying them beneath a mountain of loose underwear and soft skin. Drowsy murmurs that shake them to their core…

Blue-collar giant woman…. Grunting as she collapses onto the couch after a long day at work. Her wide hips — only somewhat contained in the faded fabric of her cargo pants — descending like a meteor atop her shrunken girlfriend, frightened squeaks completely unheard…

A humid squall envelops the pale-pink expanse of a fingertip, a lone speck caught within the gale. They raise an arm to shield their eyes, yet its protection is minimal — like trying to fend off a hurricane unprotected. 1/3

To practice writing slightly longer threads, I wrote something with my OC, Nimah, as the focus. Basic context can be found here: bsky.app/profile/veke... The thread is below! 1/13

Nanos being put in peril by the mundane act of cleaning your home. Tangled in the inescapable thicket of an old washcloth, unseen specks carelessly wiped into the trash… Ripped away from the gnarled forest of your carpet by a roaring gale, sucked into the yawning abyss of a vacuum…

Left homeless after your city's size-shifting hero carelessly trampled on your neighborhood during his victory dance, far too caught up in the thrill of battle to bother with the “tiny grey squares” at his feet. Forced to watch as he poses for the cameras atop the rubble…

(Random post) I must consume ALL unaware bad-end content it is my favorite thing EVER. If you write it or draw it you are always welcome to show me so I can go “whao.” If you have recommendations you can ALWAYS link me them. That's all, love you oomfies :D.

So small you can see bits of flesh, hidden beneath the layers of interlocking threads that formed your oblivious SO’s underwear—microscopic windows for the supple curves within. Perhaps it would be more alluring, if said flesh were not mere moments from falling atop you.

Caught like a fly on tape against the soft wrinkles of your SO's lips, immobilized by a faint sheen of drying saliva. You hear the soft *shlick* of their tongue brushing against their teeth—an effort to dislodge a piece of food far, far larger than you are…

One thing I love about nano content is how overwhelming it is. A voice amplified into a terrifying, echoing rumble through the atmosphere, the lone speck clutching their ears as they attempt to navigate a seemingly boundless landscape of grooves and craters. 1/3

Deafened by the *creak* of a doll's joints as they bend over your newly shrunken form, displaced air robbing you of your balance and blowing you to the floor below. You shield your eyes, and as they open...a face of unnatural softness eclipses your vision, unblinking gaze trained down upon you...

Long arduous treks across a single freckle adorning your oblivious SO's rear. Your heels dig into uneven 'earth', the normally soft, supple surface rendered almost rigid beneath near non-existent weight. You look into the far distance, yet are unable to see where the browned flesh ends...

Vek tries to frame his horny thoughts into scenarios to mask his extreme, ever-present pining to be put in perilous and almost certainly unsurvivable situations around attractive individuals—at such insignificant sizes I would be worth little more consideration than a crumb…