Murmured words of comfort and choked sobs unceremoniously silenced with the *thud* of a loafer settling atop the sidewalk or the *smack* of a palm hitting the countertop…

Few things are hotter than the visual of two tinies—tears streaming down their face, arms wrapped into a tight embrace, eyes closed as if the act of not seeing could ward off the inevitable—caught in the shadow of a descending body part they had no hope of avoiding.

1/2

Normally shy, gentle giant who realizes that his perceived "moral weight" of another's life quickly diminishes once they become too small to differentiate from dust.

The same guy who'd carefully pet a tiny's head wouldn’t think twice about squashing a micro found scuttling near his food.

Vek’s working for most of his birthday!

Please leave him some cool unaware/bad-end size scenarios or doodles for when he gets back 🙏.

Or just birthday wishes It makes me happy :33

Geeky, bespectacled guy who would vomit if he realized the speck he'd idly wiped from his glasses was a person with dreams and aspirations, now little more than an imperceptible smear across the lens…

Alas, he never would.

Cute, soft-spoken guy who would never hurt a fly and the countless nanos imperiled by every anxious fidget, bead of nervous sweat, and squirm against his seat.

Nerdy guy with a kill count in the dozens whose pants are marred with microscopic stains and plastered corpses.

Oomf this is peak,,,

NEEED THIS SO BAD.

Just generally, I love when things from a tinies perspective are just...a mess. Shapes stretching so far into the horizon they blur into indistinction. Motions that looks so disorienting and disjointed they struggle to even think of the people above them as human...

Only for the twin masses to part and reveal something truly alien. vicious fluid trailing in thick rivulets from rigid yellowed mountains, framing the liar of a thick, twisting mass of protruding bumps, still stained by bits of detritus from its last meal...

The idea of a tiny being eaten by something so vast they can't even tell *what* they are. The grotesque texture of wrinkled, pockmarked pink flesh, dried and half-broken skin flakes writhing like tentacles from a mass they would never fully recognize as someone's lips..

Unable to understand that the off-white mass of rigid material, marred with fissures and stained with boulders of loose earth, breaking through the atmosphere above and kicking up such gale that they're forced to shield their eyes...

Was no more than the descending underside of a stranger’s shoe.

One of my favorite tropes in extreme size difference stuff is when the micros lacking even the basic perspective necessary to comprehend the world around them. That even the most everyday objects become...alien, to them. Eldritch even.

It lends itself so well to the horror aspects of size.

The desire to be little more than dust...

To be helpless. The idle tap of a foot creates tremors that resonate through my flesh, a fidget displacing enough air to rob me of my balance. I scream, yet the noise is no more significant than the breeze itself— utterly inaudible.

1/4

While having a connection to the person who is mere moments from snuffing you out is attractive in its own way, I do adore it when they are little more than a stranger—Just some person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

1/3

Sorry for the spelling mistake; I was too focused on yearning for my last sight to be the descending body part of a guy thousands of times my size.

Displaced air is wonderful for conveying a difference in scale.

A rear descending from on-high that causes the very air to shift to accommodate the plummeting mass—kicking up currents that push you to your knees long before the mountain of fabric and flesh makes contact.

(Ramble)

It's really just an extension of one of my favorite parts of extreme size stuff: its ability to elevate the mundane and average into something terrifying. Cataclysmic.

Their lives and continued existence dependent on the idle habits and proclivities of a complete nobody...

How else could you think of someone who could erase your life with the slightest motion? Whose feet carry the remains of dozens of your kin, plastered, erased, and mixed with the crushed crumbs from the carpet below—the very same that sustain you? Whose actions shape the world itself...

Micros referring to homeowners with such grandiose titles as "God/ess" "Destroyer" or "Great One" has a certain appeal to me.

Some 20-something NEET revered and feared by the countless nanos in his home, simply because the size difference is *that vast*.

1/3

One of the best stories I’ve ever read🗣️🗣️.

A stocky, sweat-stained exterminator grinding a borrower beneath a gloved finger after spotting it scuttling across the countertop, its remains wiped away on the dusty fabric of her trousers, subsequently forgotten.

She soon returns to laying the traps that would claim the rest of its family...

Oh, to be rolled between two fingertips and idly flicked away as if you were no better than a bit of lint by a giant who just *barely* noticed your speck-like form clinging to their arm.

They don’t even bother to watch where you land…you’d end up underfoot soon enough.

dripping down your friend's lower lip in a cascade of vanilla frosting as they messily eat your *own* cake during your birthday party. Thrashing in the vicious, cloyingly sweet mass, destined to either be smothered and wiped to nothing by a napkin...or licked away into their maw.

To know he truly would not notice if I were to end up beneath his weight...

So small that even the bits of grime adorning his couch—frayed lint fibers, crushed crumbs, loose hair strands, and sloughed off skin—eclipse me by magnitudes.

The harrowing realization that I'm less significant than the motes he flattens beneath his rear without thought.

“So he wanted to be...shrunk, for his birthday?” The scientist stared down at the seemingly barren tiles of their shared laboratory, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Pretty weird dude.”

“You uh…keeping track of him or…”

“Not my problem. I’ll sweep in a few hours.”

Since it's Faepril, I figure I'll show this art commission I got from the wonderful guireyart a while back. Highly recommend checking out their Patreon.

Fairies being treated like pests is one of my favorite scenarios, hehehe.

CW: heavy gore, bad-ends.

In a magical setting, resurrecting or respawning is a great way to circumvent this.

Good for the trauma angle too. Imagine *finally* getting an Inchling to trust you, only to step on them accidentally while getting out of bed. Even if *death* isn't permanent, the emotional ramifications can be...

No your actually so real for this oomf.