Vek

Even the way a character *looks* can be altered to such an insane extent by perspective.

A pretty face warped into a pockmarked mass of flesh, kind eyes little more than vast, watery moons in the sky above, at once all-seeing and blind to your pathetic little struggles.

Wiping the countertop?

A thick wall of white blankets the uneven woodgrain, bits of loose, unidentifiable foodstuff still caught within the maze of stained fibers. You run, your heart pounding against your chest, legs cramping from the strain...

You barely make it an itch before it envelops you.

An athlete prepping their morning smoothie?

You claw at a clump of citrus, the acidic juices drooling viscous globs across your tender flesh. Peering through reddened, half-lidded eyes, you let out one, final croak...

One drowned in mere moments by the deafening *GRIND* of blades coming to life.

A Fast-Food Worker coming home from work?

grease-stained shoes crash into a forest of carpet fibers, displaced air scattering mounds of grey-black dust and grit. You duck as one crashes mere inches from your position, blanketing you in a smattering of decayed skin and broken fibers...

I've said this before but contrast really is the core of much of my love for size. The act of taking something mundane and magnifying it into something...terrifying. The way the perspective of the tiny warps the very nature of the events around them.

(thread)

Idly scratching their rear as they loom over the crumb-strewn landscape of their desk, bag-laden eyes stare down at your diminutive form, lips curled in faint annoyance.

“Ants again...”

Your vision is blanketed by a wall of pale skin, a single *wipe* sending you careening to the carpet below.

OMG THANK YOU OOMF 🥹

Bumping into a witch on the sidewalk and abruptly shrunken—your rude contact the last straw of what had been a long, tedious day. They barely glance down before dumping you in the nearest trash can.

A descending mountain of half-drunken coffee handles the rest soon after...

A mage, as a final cruel twist of the knife, shrinking the once "legendary" hero sent to challenge them. They grin as they weave a transportation spell, sending the microbial challenger back to their village, soon to meet the falling boot of a childhood friend...

A barista shrinking a rude customer and dropping them into the next drink. They tumble into a sea of sweetened coffee, little larger than the green boulders of matcha powder that float listlessly alongside them. Helpless as the plastic top seals their prison...

gone in the second sip.

Shrunken by a sports team rival and tossed into the shoe of a teammate. You impact the insole with a soft *squelch*, enveloped and smothered by a thick fog of dried sweat and lingering BO. Too small to climb out...you can only wait before an island of sock-fuzz forces its way inside...

Another scenario I enjoy:

Shrunken to little more than a speck — perhaps over some minor perceived slight, or simply for a bit of fun — and placed somewhere they hope will get you killed. A combination of aware and unaware that can lead to so many interesting outcomes.
(Thread)

The inchling’s gentle massage creates folds that shift the very land around you, threatening to send you sprawling as flesh that feels almost hard beneath your feet easily gives to their touch.

The same massage only elicits a soft “aw” from your tormentor — a noise you feel ringing in your ears.

Alt:

The witch was actually in a mixed-sized relationship, leaving you to stumble over uneven flakes and splash through puddles of sebum as hands the size of a football field caress the ground below. A face flushed crimson dominates the sky, too enamored with his "beautiful" partner to notice you.

wait this is actually SUCH a good scenario oomf you’re cooking.

Only to be abruptly killed off moments later without any of the fanfare. All those dramatic moments, the screams of triumph and horror, at the point where they finally believe they may actually survi—

*Crunch*.

A shift in weight. An idle scratch.

Enough to end a hero's journey at its zenith...

A broader story choice I really, really enjoy is when a tiny *narrowly* avoids a grisly fate — the briefest reprieve in a day that has been nothing but hardship and torment. Falling in a shower of crumbs just as the food reaches their lips, avoiding a shoe that lands mere *millimeters* away...
1/2

“Hey! So...I got a date coming. Clean all the gross stuff by then, and I'll like, totally grow you back! If not well...he tends to get touchy so..."

They let the word linger in your mind, before a deafening boom tears through the atmosphere, a concussive vibration barely recognizable as laughter.

Demoted from “person” to “exfoliant” by your “friendly” witch neighbor. You find yourself atop a cheek that stretches in every direction, a landscape of oozing pores and half-shaven hair trunks. Their voice beams into your skull, a telepathic message that grates against the edges of your sanity.
1/2

His boots claim several stragglers as he treks back to camp, wonders of the ancient world and fleeing civilians alike joining the smears of dirt and grass stems beneath his tread.

The last remnants of an ancient, storied civilization — its centuries of accumulated knowledge, precious architecture, and thriving culture — carelessly brushed off the trousers of an oblivious explorer, the young man, frustratingly, unable to find any evidence of this so-called “lost city”.

That’s SO good oomf 🫠

Anthro ants treating bug-sized humans as little more than pests. A palm of hardened chitin unceremoniously slams atop a pale speck found scuttling atop the countertop, the remains of another currently streaked across their swatter.

They’d really need to spray the place down at this rate...

The adventurer upturns their well-worn boot outside the tavern. Loose pebbles and dirt cascade to the earth below, resting among the grasses. They shake the boot a few more times, frowning.

“Helloooo?”

They peers inside, noting the faint smear against the fabric.

“Aw. Didn’t even last a day...”

Alt Bad End

Your partner doesn’t even feel your body splatter against their skin as they reflexively scratch their chest — a mundane motion forgotten long before they think of searching for you.

The faint smear adorning their finger is soon wiped to nothing as they return to their phone.

So tiny that, despite spending hours exploring your partner’s body — hands digging into microscopic ridges in the soft flesh, pulling you over vast curves while navigating hair's taller than redwoods — they rarely feel your movements, save for the faintest itch as you traverse a sensitive area…

A bubbly, energetic adventurer telling you in no uncertain terms that your Inchling friends — one the fabled hero of your village, the other your childhood crush — made *such* good insoles and it was a shame they had to break so quickly.

“Try to last longer, k?”

A spandex-clad rear descending in an avalanche of tight clothing and soft muscle upon a lone speck as they tumble across the plastic of a convention chair—unable to navigate the yawning ravines and deep depression of the sprawling landscape before the cosplayer smears them across the surface…

(Yes i‘m still thinking about the one scenario Mack wrote, if this feels familiar)

Butch size-shifter vigilante — far too jaded to keep up her once ironclad “no kill rule” — dealing with a petty criminal with an unceremonious *stomp* of her well-worn boots, their remains permanently fused with a footprint-shaped crater in the pavement.

She’d scrape the rest off on her way home.