Oh, Danny Boy

Pneumonia. I'm burning with fever and coughing out my lungs. My throat is sore, my muscles ache, and I am almost too tired to even walk to the bathroom.

Taking antibiotics. Will probably be rather quiet around here for a while.

Kill all micros!!!!!!!

A "Merchant of Venice" type of scenario but, instead of having a pound of your flesh cut off from your body if you fail to repay a loan, you have most of your size syphoned away by the lender who then proceeds to keep you as a toy.

Oh, I did not think we were going into aware territory, but, man, I'm glad we are. Super excited to see the next pages!

Oh my, thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed this little story of mine to this degree.

mountain-sized drops of sweat raining down upon a nano civilization like a shower of meteors. buildings sent tumbling like sand castles. entire cities being washed away by the flood.

up above, a yoga-pants-wearing nobody does some squats as part of their daily exercise routine.

witch doctor!
#furry #feet #footfetish #sizesky

been getting really into silent films lately. if anyone has any suggestions for movies that I should check out, feel free to hit me up

a toy story character named buzz lightyear is smiling in a spaceship Alt: A shot from the movie Toy Story showcasing multiple identical versions of the Buzz Lightyear toy

"Please don't crush me, I have a family! I don't want to die!"

"he's so friend shaped" OKAY, PHRENOLOGIST

The pinky toe of a rather unimpressive norm being enough to overpower and defeat a muscular, testosterone-filled micro who has always being proud of their own physical prowess.

Just a friendly, guy-next-door bunny, fixing a leaky faucet, tending to his garden, or watching a game of football. Completely innocuous activities that could in no way put incredibly tiny people in peril.

A ship landing on the couch's seat cushion to try and extract bits from a single crumb of corn chips for their dwindling meals, only to be erased by the sweat-pants covered rear of their accidental roommate as they sit down to watch television, each cheek a falling planet for the unlucky explorers.

Firing hails of missiles at the approaching, swaying gut of their unaware tormentor, the titan's stride much too fast for them to simply outflow their exposed stomach. A fruitless endeavor, their weapons incapable of making the colossus even look down, let alone stop walking.

A glitch in the interdimensional portal designed by a spacefaring, ultra-advanced civilization leading their entire expedition's armada to be stranded, each ship the size of a mite, in a fat, slobbish alien's messy apartment.

All We Ever Got Was Cold by CovenCat -- Fur Affinity [dot] net Fur Affinity | For all things fluff, scaled, and feathered!

And I got a new work up! Remember James? That jerk who could shrink people with a snap of his fingers from so many stories ago? Well, he's back! Want to see what terrible things he's been up to? Luckily for you, you can, right now, and right here:
www.furaffinity.net/view/63760210/

Just let me get my hands on a thumb tack and you are done for. Probably.

A horrible time on the beach with Scratch! You'll get no sun and barely any air.

(Commission for FloofSiren on Twitter!)

"So I was thinking we could perhaps find you a position more...suitable for your talents." And on the corner of his lips, a small smile appears. You gulp.

The hippo staples his fingers together, and gives you a stern look. "You see, I called you here today because, from what I've heard, your performance lately has been leaving quite a lot to be desired." Another wiggle of his hips; you swear you can hear a muffled cry.

He shifts his ample rear, and your mouth goes dry as you unwillingly picture what the ferret must be going through, sustaining almost eight-hundred pounds of flesh, buried beneath a pair of cheeks probably like two buildings from her perspective.

He clears his throat. "Sorry about that."

You fail, too, at not letting out a small yelp as the hippopotamus pulls back his leather throne and, with a grunt, collapses down atop of it.

The pathetic sound escaping your lips is luckily drowned out by the groaning of the chair (and perhaps of something else).

You try your hardest to keep your emotions in check, failing, however, to contain the shaking of your sweaty palms once the towering male walks past you, your eyes involuntarily aimed at his massive rear, the two globes, each much larger than your head, barely contained by his striped trousers.

You give the trapped and bizarrely tiny woman one last worried glance before throwing yourself back into your chair, having yet to even wrap your head around what you had just seen once the door swings open. Your boss exchanges some final words with his secretary before lumbering towards his desk.

Her eyes are rheumy, her chest rising and falling, a dazed and exhausted look on her face. The ferret had been demoted a week ago, if you recall correctly. It only now occurs to you that you haven't seen her around since.

Thud. Thud. The approaching steps make your heart jump out of your chest.

You squint, then rub your eyes, then open your mouth in disbelief. Fur matted and creased, in her birthday suit, and inexplicably only an inch in height, with cuffs, connected to the four chains, around her wrists and ankles, forcing her into a star-pose, Jane from Finance looks up at you.

On the massive chair's seat cushion, four gold rings, etched onto the leather and no bigger in circumference than buttons, with equally small aureate chains linked to them and flowing inwards towards the puddling center of the tarry square, wherein they connect to a fuzzy, white figure.

You realize that it is coming from beyond the vast expanse of the slick table before you.

Taking a glance at the closed door on the other side of the room, you dare to get up from your chair and step a bit forward, tiptoeing to get a good look at whatever the source might be, curious.

It is not unlike air being squeezed out of a plastic tube in two-second intervals.

You look over your shoulder, at the floor, at the ceiling.

The noise is persistent, and it grows louder with each passing moment.

At the floor-to-ceiling window and the view of the city from below, cars like ants, at the massive, golden-framed oil painting of your boss, taller than you and still a few feet smaller than him.

Until a faint, squeaking sound catches your attention.