An Inchling familiar employed to scour the vast expanse of a witch's curves in an attempt to locate their shrunken apprentice. Twin moons loom over a desert of skin cells, scanning the endless dunes and valleys. Their words echo in a resounding *boom*. “Nope. Don’t see ‘em, mistress.”

Dangled over an ocean of green liquid by a pair of ash-grey fingers, the murky depths reeking of sulfur and thyme. You struggle against the vice-like grip of the ghastly witch, yet your frantic thrashing is little better than a child’s tantrum. their potion called for an Inchling’s soul…

Abruptly and unceremoniously smeared by a maid who would *never* hurt a fly, but is far, far too vast to perceive you as anything more than a bit of grime on his master's well-polished table—one taken care of with a quick *wipe* of his delicate fingers. He hums softly as he continues his work.

A grimy, baggy-eyed witch deciding the rest of your short life would be better spent suffocating in the confines of his worn boot—smothered beneath a frayed sock and darkened insole—instead of chasing some unimportant aspiration or dream. By evening he's forgotten about you.

Smothered by your partner's morning wood as they sleepily grind into the mattress, your speck-like body unfelt between their warm, rigid shaft and the soft cushion below. You hear a muffled yawn echo from beyond the suffocating fabric, followed by a deeper, more needy *grunt*.

“I don't know why you keep looking, probably already stepped on him by now…” “So what, you just wanna leave him down there?” “What's left of him, sure.” “Asshole.” “I’M not the one who shrank him. Maybe don't fuck up the spell next time.” 1/2

"O-oh! I...I'm sorry...I didn't..." The apprentice mage stares in horror at the faint smudge adorning his soft fingertip—the last remnants of a shrunken classmate, smeared beyond recognition. "I...I didn't think she'd...you'd be so..." he trailed off, fidgeting in his loose robes. "Fragile..."

Adventuring across vast biomes and dangerous obstacles, localized entirely atop the slumbering form of the royal prince. The dense, arid forest of his golden locks. The broad pink hills and deep crevasses of his lips. The grooved canyons of his fingertips.

A fairy streaked across the surface of a windshield as if it were no better than a common bug, a flick of the wipers sending her iridescent, ethereal wings to the faded asphalt below. Her demise, and the lingering stain, met with nothing more than a faint "ew".

Shrunken to such an infinitesimal size that it’s effectively a death sentence—your body so pathetically small you’d be crushed beneath the weight of a dust mite, or absorbed by bacteria, long before the day was up. The scientist who shrunk you doesn't even bother to check…

I love it when size artists include microscopic grime and detritus in their stuff. Crumbs loom like hillsides above an uneven worldscape of cheap tile, while dust paints the terrain with a field of grey boulders. Loose hairs snake across the surrounding land—wiry, yet thicker than tree trunks.

Fished out of the crevasse of your partner's cleavage with all the grace and care of retrieving a loose coin—eyes squinting in the blinding light of your shared apartment, lungs burning as you take in your first breath of clean air. They flash you a smile. You try to stay angry.

Shrunken so small that, despite being in the same room, you are unable to recognize it. Stumbling across a jagged landscape of white, rocky material, passing loose boulders of grey filth, surrounded by a haze of indistinct shapes that, no matter how far you walked, never seemed to come into focus...

So small that, as your oblivious friend’s rear descends from on high, you can see the individual fibers that make up their sweatpants—an unkempt landmass of jutting hills interwined in incomprehensible patterns, vast gaps giving a faint peek at the weaving within.

Small enough that you aren't simply smothered beneath the supple cheeks of your barbarian partner as they collapse atop your shared bed... You are *swallowed* by them—sweat-laden flesh molding and depressing around your body until you can no longer perceive anything else...

"You didn't think I'd let you leave, right?" The prince snickered, fingers pinched around his latest hookup—some peasant boy he found barely attractive enough to invite to his chambers, now little larger than a dice's pip. "You'll make a fine replacement for the last toy."

Your entire life amounting to the faint smear staining the otherwise pristine trousers of a posh nobleman, his pretty features scrunching in a look of vague annoyance as he wipes your remains away with a handkerchief. He can't be expected to check for *bugs* every time he sits down.

Yuri is so good in size. I want a woman, trembling in a mixture of fear and excitement as their girlfriend blurs in the sky above, her figure taking up the horizon itself. Her feet border on either side, twin mountains of dark brown skin... She could crush her without notice...

Yaoi is so good in size. Looking up from the vast hills of his boyfriend's palm to meet a looming visage, his once petite partner now eclipsing the very sky itself, and casting what seemed like miles upon miles of flesh in shadow. He loved him. Yet he can't help but shiver...

Half-lidded eyes gaze down at the nigh-imperceptible smear of crimson adorning the backside of a crinkled pair of boxers, the gears slowly turning in their mind as they try to think *when* it had gotten there. They shrug, sniff it a bit, and toss it in the hamper.

The prettiest person you know serving as a hostile landmass for the countless nanos stranded across their flesh. Their smooth skin corrupted into a rough terrain of jutting dermal ridges and deep, gaping pores. Their soft, gentle voice an incomprehensible, booming rumble...

You wanted this. The world expands around you, shapes abstracted by motion. Tile becomes a platform. An island. A continent. Vertigo robs you of your balance, and you tumble to the ceramic below. Your partner looms, face obscured in the haze of distance. You can't breathe...

A ceiling of nylon fibers eclipses the sky above an inchling castle. The princess, stumbling in her elaborate frills, flees across a makeshift path to the adjacent grasses, mere inches from escape as the meteor of fabric descends from on high. The world darkens. She trips. 1/2

Lethal playfulness. A gentle squeeze that underestimates just how fragile your little ribs have become. A small poke that feels akin to a battering ram. A muffled giggle as you suffocate beneath their weight. Your demise met with a disappointed “oops”. Forgotten in days.

“Y-you...you killed her...” The inchling trembled in an amalgam of fear and rage, minuscule hands bawling into fists tight enough their uncut nails nearly burrowed into the soft skin. Tears flow across pale flesh, snaking from the cheeks and dripping softly to the ground below. 1/2

[Twitter Repost] Tinies treated as invasive insects. A type of humanoid mite known to infest homes and other places with food to support them. Minuscule screams silenced by the roar of a bug spray nozzle; desperate pleas corrupted into ragged coughs as the poison envelops them… 1/3

I'm afraid there is no hotter size scenario than a supple rear, descending with lethal force atop a speck far too small to escape the ever-darkening shadow—and too small for their final, desperate squeaks to be heard above the rushing winds of displaced air… *Crunch*

A princess's last sight being the cotton trousers of the very same knight chosen to protect her—now stretching to encompass her entire vision and casting the landscape of her dining chair in shadow… The *crunch* is completely unnoticed as the freckle-faced warrior sneaks a taste of her meal.

“So after you shrank him, right? What did you...” Your roommate, currently counting the cash of his newly “found” wallet, rolls his eyes. “Ate ‘em.” “….what?” “Yep. Like swallowin’ some salt. Ain't taste like much though.”

Moon-sized teeth blur from atmospheric haze, descending with an almost languid slowness down upon everything you know and love. For you, it is the end of everything. For him—the so-called “cosmic devourer”—it was barely a snack. One soon forgotten as his eternal blue gaze locks with our sun…

Your last sight being the almost blinding lights of a busy club dance floor, framed by a series of off-white teeth and partially obscured by the mound of half-chewed fries that would soon serve as your burial… *Gulp*

The slight belly pudge of a cute goblin minion serving as the only existing evidence a so-called “legendary” party of Inchling heroes ever existed—their final screams overshadowed, and soon silenced, by the much louder *gurgles* and *growls* of his body, reducing skin and makeshift armor into chyme…

Two characters that should be much, much, *much* larger than I am. Either towering over a cityscape, their face bordered by clouds far, far above—or simply looming over something so small it could scarcely be described as a speck.

Shrunken small enough that being dropped in your neighbor's backyard becomes a death sentence. Woefully ill-adapted to traverse the thick jungle of towering grasses—curling to form an almost foreboding shade over the landscape. Defenseless, against any of the kaiju-esque creatures that inhabit it.

The inky blackness looms in the sky above, an artificial night that seems to stretch to the far corner of your world. A sharp, deep *whistle*. A sudden suction. The air seems to rip from your throat as you're thrown skyward, gasping screams lost in the din.

“They should be here...somewhere.” The psychic rubbed her temples as she scanned the living room carpet, attempting to parse the series of incomprehensible sobs and wails echoing like a foghorn from their shrunken roommate’s mind. “If I can just…” She steps forward. The scream cuts off. “…shit.”

You can feel it cling to you. Feel as its slime-like body wraps itself around your own. Feel as your flesh wilts and cracks, disintegrates and softens until it's little more than an organic slurry of proteins and fat—one promptly incorporated into its mass.

The ceiling of skin hung in the sky above—a landmass of sole-flesh, blemished by a pattern of deep, trench-like wrinkles, lowering with cruel languidity onto the earth. You've finally collapsed, lungs burning for the merciful relief of air as you end a sprint that seemed to last for hours on end...

Been on a writing lull lately so this trend might be good! Reply with a kink and i’ll give my throughts on it. Will try to write a brief scenario if I jive with it.

I think what prompts a lot of my writing is the preference that a giant feels more akin to a “horror movie monster” or an “eldritch entity” than an actual human. I like tinies being scared—horrified, even—By someone so comparatively vast they surpass understanding.

You don't even receive the “honor” of being eaten by the pretty-yet-woefully-unhygienic witch who shrank you to next to nothing on her body. Instead, you find yourself food for the countless microbes dotting her pale, unwashed flesh. Consumed by an errant germ, or broken down by a fungal colony…

God I really want to be a nanoscopic smear of crimson atop a veritable landscape of fabric—the seemingly endless uneven hills of thread and fiber, frayed and broken from microscopic wear, amounting to only a fraction of the material hugging a handsome elf's supple rear.

Timid maid who is nonetheless heralded as an apocalyptic entity by countless nanos. Blurred, distorted visage pressing down upon a vast platform, unleashing a biblical flood on a worldscape of uneven woodgrain. Those not crushed beneath the mass of liquid burn in its caustic, chemical embrace…

Size difference that turns the soft-spoken, freckled-faced mage from the local tavern into an alien behemoth. His blurred visage contorts with panic, twin mountains of whorled flesh lowering to *pinch* you up off the table—a minute squeeze still exerting far more pressure than you can endure…

[Twitter Repost] Let Vek be a bit indulgent for a minute. If I was like...*really* small around you/your OCs. Microscopic. What is the most likely way I'd be bad-ended👉👈.

So small you are unable to discern *what* part of their body you're stranded upon—a landscape of flaked, craggy skin, rising to form imposing peaks and canyons of organic matter, interspersed with the vast indentations of microscopic pores and cracks… An insignificant patch of flesh...

Nanos who have no choice but to treat an oblivious homeowner as tantamount to an eldritch monster—his voice a deep, incomprehensible rumble as his feet flatten miles of mountain-like carpet fibers, anything beyond the upper edges of his shoes blurred into obscurity by the sheer difference in scale…

So small that your “friend”—now little more than a mammoth tower of living, uneven flesh—is unaware that even their most *casual* actions cause you significant pain. An idle exhale, escaping a pair of sky-spanning lips, nearly ripping the rapidly reddening skin from your bones…

More NSFW than usual. So insignificant that the head of someone's cock is a worldscape in and of itself—a vast, soft-pink planet, littered and marred with hill-like bumps and deep wrinkle crevasses. An atmosphere stained with a fog of musk, distorting your surroundings in an ever-present haze…

The mind-breaking immensity of the wall of grey material, as it utterly eclipses the ceiling above—stretching to encompass the distant horizon and casting the land beneath its mass in all-consuming darkness. The intense *whoosh* of displaced air heralds its inevitable descent…