Best posts made by littlest-lily

Oooo such a good question and I love seeing the responses! I do enjoy quite a variety. A romantic relationship is at the top for me, but I do love me some sweet platonic friendships too. Or for the giant to be in a more villainous role, though I don’t have any interest in giants seeing the tinies as disposable (maybe as a threat, but actual death is a total turnoff for me).

Weirdly I’m not as much into existing couples dealing with shrinking, usually because the content I’ve seen where that is the case tends to be rather sad? But I’d be totally open to exploring that, I’ve got a couple of stories on the ol’ idea list with that premise. And it’s definitely what I would go for if we’re talking a bit more realistic - I’d love for me and my partner to explore the possibilities of a shrink ray!

I think the biggest thing for me when it comes to stories is wanting some form of a happy ending. I think that’s why I tend to gravitate towards gentle stories - a couple that forms despite the size differences, the journey of learning to trust, the beauty of them figuring out how to be together and make it work. That gets a little trickier when it comes to me wanting to explore my darker side too with noncon/dubcon scenarios. If the ending is just “she died” or “she was his slave for the rest of her life” it sorta leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But I’m a sucker for redemption arcs and rescue fantasies and the like. 🥰 And I guess there’s something to be said for fleeting moments as opposed to full fledged stories. A picture of a giant looming over his victim threateningly with a smirk on his face is absolutely up my alley, no matter what their relationship is (and then I just don’t really think about the potential bad ending there).

Still working on OotE part 3 (plus another lil secret project…), but I was finding myself wanting to take breaks from the fluff and the angst and work on this side story that um… let’s just say it’s decidedly not a slow burn. I hope you enjoy this bit of self indulgent smut You can expect dubcon, lil bit of foot stuff, lil bit of mouth stuff, lots of handhelds and shrinking, including micro sizes.

Chapter 1

I can feel my eyes cross as we enter the second hour of my Macroeconomics class. I’ve heard enough about real versus nominal GDP to last me a lifetime and yet, we’re still here. My professor’s actually doing a decent job at sounding enthusiastic, it’s not his fault that the subject is as dull as all get-out. It also doesn’t help that this class runs until 6pm and all I can think about is which of the many fast food options I’ll be stopping by on the way back to my dorm.

One of my hands lingers around my shoulder, fidgeting as usual. I’m wearing an oversized hoodie so my fingers only barely poke out of their sleeve, fiddling with the end of one of my braids. At least it’s a change of pace from twirling my pencil or my habit of meticulously examining the little details of my environment, but the boredom is a tough contender nevertheless.

Ten minutes later, after having completely escaped into the slightly more interesting world of my own brain, I almost jump out of my seat at the sudden sound of a chair being pulled back right next to me. Who the hell is showing up to class with only thirty minutes left? I glance over to my left and almost choke on my own spit.

Ryder Gatlin. The man, the myth, the legend himself. This guy is pretty much a school celebrity. Swim team star. Campus heartthrob. Future billionaire, probably. I’m only saying that because I happen to know he comes from money, and with all his other talents there’s no way he won’t succeed in life. Even if he’s apparently the farthest thing from punctual - he has enough confidence and charm that it doesn’t matter. Our professor does little more than shoot him a mildly disapproving look, hardly pausing at all in the lesson.

I curse inwardly even though on the outside I’m giving the latecomer a quick, friendly smile. Ryder returns the silent greeting, his sky blue eyes locking right into mine. I quickly look back down at my notes, picking my pencil up with renewed vigor, but I don’t pay any more attention to the class than I did a minute ago. I’m now far too distracted by the dominating presence of the tall, handsome, laid-back man to my left. I hate the effect that he has on me. It makes me feel so… basic. I frown down at my notebook, feigning concentration, as I adamantly scold myself for giving any shits about this guy.

He’s not even taking notes or anything. He just sits back in his chair, staring politely at the professor up front with a gentle smile on his face. Not that I’m able to tell whether he’s actually smiling or not - I’m concentrating on my notes, remember? But he always has that smile. Like he knows something the rest of us don’t, just the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth. It drives me insane in more ways than one.

The next half hour is agony, not to mention a complete waste of time since I’m not absorbing any of the lesson. Six o’clock finally rolls around and at long last we’re dismissed. I snatch my backpack up from the floor and stand up to start packing my things away.

I’m interrupted by a smooth, rich voice. “Hey.”

Sigh… Of course. My shoulders stiffen but I don’t stop moving, unzipping a pocket to tuck my writing utensils into. I give him a cursory glance.

"What’s up?” I ask.

“I’m trying to remember your name… Isabella?” His voice has this quiet strength to it, like the purr of a tiger. Commanding my attention even as I try to focus on my stuff.

“No ‘a’. Just Isabelle," I respond.

“Ah, that’s right. I’m Ryder.”

I finally pause long enough to look at him straight on. My heart flutters in my chest. The dark copper of his hair contrasts so beautifully against the blue of his eyes. I’m actually jealous of it. I happen to have almost the exact same shade of brown hair, but my eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Nowhere near as striking as his.

“Yeah, I know," I tell him, "We’ve had a couple of classes together.”

“Have we? All the better.”

I try to ignore the painful pang in my chest at the knowledge that he hardly seems to remember me at all, despite this not being our first conversation by a long shot. Meanwhile I remember the exact spot he normally sat at in all four of the classes I’ve been in with him. Ugh, how pathetic is that…

“Listen, do you think you could help me out, Isabelle?" he continues, “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I was really delayed getting here today. Think you could help me catch up on that first half of the lesson?”

He actually missed quite a bit more than the first half. But whatever. “Um… I don’t have enough time now, I was needing to head home to–”

“Not right now," Ryder says with a hint of amusement, as if what I’d said was ridiculous. “Tonight. Go have some dinner, fuel up. Meet me at my dorm room in an hour?"

Fucking… what?

I’m too stunned to notice where he pulls a piece of paper from, but it’s suddenly in his hand and he sets it down in front of me on the desk. Then he bends down to grab his own backpack and sling it over one shoulder.

“Appreciate it. See you then, Isabelle."

I stare after him, completely dumbfounded as he turns and strolls right out of the room. What the hell just happened? I look down at the scrap of paper in front of me and, sure enough, there’s the name of one of the on-campus dorms and a room number. I actually have to sit back down, even as everyone else has been filtering out of the class, so that I can pick up the paper and feel that it’s real. He didn’t even leave his phone number or any other kind of information.

There’s no way he’s inviting me over to study. I mean, right? But the alternative makes even less sense. I’m not the type of girl who randomly gets invited by a classmate for a booty call. Put aside my mud-colored eyes or the fact that I lack a thigh gap, but I’m about as mousy as they come. I don’t exactly ooze confidence nor the air of someone who sleeps around. Why would Ryder Gatlin have any interest in a girl like me, especially if he believes we’ve barely met? Honestly, maybe it makes more sense if he really does just want to study.

But also, what makes him think I’ll take him up on this?? I have shit to do! I have my own homework. The fact that he thinks I would just drop any evening plans and be ready to meet up with him in an… hour? It’s ludicrous.

My shoulders droop as I suddenly think of another explanation. This could just be some sort of mean prank. A hot, popular guy reaching out to a shy, bookish girl? I can already picture it in my mind’s eye… I show up. Knock on the door. Some random dude answers it, looking confused. Ryder’s there with a bunch of his buds and acts like he has no idea who I am, and they all have a good laugh about it as they mock the idea that someone like me thought she had any kind of chance with someone like him.

This is so stupid. I need to get home. I finally finish grabbing my things and hurry out of the classroom. I head in the exact opposite direction of the dorm that’s scribbled on the paper I still have in my hand, now crushed into a misshapen ball. I feel like I’m walking through a dream. I hardly taste my chicken sandwich and I find myself absently checking the time every few minutes. My mind keeps harassing me with the question “But what if…?”

I check the time once more right as I step into the front lobby of my own dorm building. Ten minutes until seven. Ryder’s dorm is a ten minute walk. The doors of opportunity are closing quickly, and that honestly should be a relief. I need to move on, get started on my Data Analysis homework, forget about all of this nonsense. It might be a bit awkward the next time I see him in class, but I could easily tell him that I had previously scheduled plans that I didn’t immediately think of in the moment and wasn’t able to make it. He couldn’t even blame me for not letting him know since he didn’t give me any contact information. I just need to walk over to that elevator and go back to my room and…

Who the fuck am I kidding.

I wasn’t quite in control of myself when I turned and marched right back out the front doors. Once I’m outside, I take a deep breath in to steady myself. God, I feel so stupid right now, but I’m just too damn curious. I start power walking across the north end of campus as the sun begins to set, my mind buzzing with nonsensical thoughts that do little good in talking any sense into me. I double check that I still have pepper spray in my purse, and I text a couple of friends to let them know exactly where I’m headed. Out of all the outcomes that could come of this, I highly doubt that getting murdered by such a high-profile student in his own dorm room is at all likely. But one can never be too careful.

I’ve never been in this building before, and as I step inside I quickly gather why that is… I think this is an all-male dorm. Lovely. As if I didn’t already feel out of place. Not only that but the glass door leading in to the rooms themselves is protected by a card reader. How does he expect me to come to his room without helping me get past the lobby first? This is another sign that I shouldn’t be here, I should just turn around and forget about all this. But apparently I’ve left all of my good judgment back in that classroom an hour ago.

There’s enough traffic going in and out of the doors that I’m able to sneak through without too much trouble, despite clearly not belonging here. None of the men around me seem to take much notice of me, to my infinite relief. Maybe it’s not uncommon for female students to sneak in to meet up with their boyfriends or something. Which is not at all what I’m doing, I remind myself.

I decided on the way here that I would at least pretend at first that I really did only come to study and then… I’ll see how things go. After going up two flights of stairs I find the right room number and, without giving myself any time to reconsider this, I knock.

Immediately a voice calls out from inside. “Come in.”

This is the moment that I hesitate. I stare at the doorknob for a couple of seconds. I’m not even really considering turning back at this point, the fact that I’ve made myself known makes that feel like it’s not an option anymore. It’s more like I’m bracing myself. For what, I’m not really sure but… whew. Here goes.

This is a great question! Honestly I feel like the unusual part about me is that SW is mainly not a kink for me?? Don’t get me wrong, I adore it, the idea of being tiny is an incredibly personal and beloved thing for me. And it’s difficult for me to get aroused without sizey thoughts being involved. But in order for me to truly be turned on, it really needs to meet a certain set of requirements - that is, playful (but still noncon/dubcon) domination while gradually being shrunk to micro sizes. I guess the love of micro, while common with giantess stuff, is a bit more rare with SW. But yeah even then, micro on its own isn’t enough, it’s all about the attitude of the giant that gets me hot and bothered.

Chapter 75
Evie

“Oof–”

The wind is knocked out of me as something punches me hard in the abdomen. I cough and gasp for air. I’m sure that rib is damaged, possibly even broken. But by some miracle I’m alive.

The impact has knocked me silly, and it’s only when I realize that I’m slipping off of whatever I’ve landed on that I scramble to grab hold. I hoist myself up onto a sturdier platform than the leaf I was just clinging to - this one is made of rough wood. It’s so dark that I can’t make sense of where I am, but I use my hands to feel my way. One side of the horizontal pillar I’m on is getting narrower, and the other side is getting wider. I make my way to the wider side, hurrying on my hands and knees as I’m desperate to find a stable spot.

Before I realize it, I crash into a wall head first. I curse with the pain, seeing stars for a second. But the wind doesn’t feel quite as vicious in this particular spot, the wall is protecting me for now. I take a dizzied look around myself, trying to make sense of where I ended up as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

There’s the cabin. It’s lit up on the inside so the sight of it is clear as day. It’s so far away… Almost half a mile to me. I must have gone for a ride on that leaf as if it was a runaway paraglider. Which means I’m in the forest? Yes, I… I’m on a tree branch… I’m… I’m hundreds of feet up… in a fucking tree.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” I whisper to myself. I’m so close to hyperventilating. I cling to the branch I’m perched on, pressing myself against the tree trunk. One wrong move and I really might plummet to my doom this time. “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m so dead…”

The horrid gales change direction, reaching me now. I hunker down, holding tightly to the branch. It’s swaying, as are so many other branches around me. It’s a nightmare of movement all around as the trees are buffeted by the wind storm.

I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face in my arms as I wait this out. God, it’s so cold. I don’t have my coat, I’m not even wearing shoes. And it’s loud. There’s the creaking of wood, the occasional snap of a branch that echoes like thunder, making me feel like I might get crushed at any second. Not to mention the terrifying knowledge that the ground is impossibly far away, waiting for me to meet it the second I slip.

This is hell. I’m in hell.

Think, I tell myself in the darkness behind my eyelids. How do I survive this? What can I possibly do?

I should count myself lucky that I was carried somewhere instead of falling straight down. I’m not where I want to be, but at least I’m not a mangled corpse on the ground. At least, not yet. I just… have to… make my way back. I have to climb down this tree. And walk back to the cabin. That’s the only choice, right? I can’t expect that my friends are going to find me here. I’m too small and too far away. I have to go back to them.

The wind dies down again and I peek over the edge of my arm, trying to get a sense of just how high up I am. It’s too dark and crowded with foliage to make out the ground. Not a good sign. But if I look out to the cabin, try to figure out how high I am in comparison to it… I’m level with a spot that’s somewhere between a first story and second story window. That’s over ten feet. Which to me is closer to 250 feet, straight down. I might as well be trying to climb down a clock tower without a harness. It feels impossible.

Carefully I try to form any kind of path down this cliff in my mind. Can I use the gnarled texture of the tree trunk for handholds? There’s another branch below me, just six or seven feet away at my scale. Let’s just… start there.

I shift over, pressing myself against the wall of the tree trunk, and tentatively stretch one leg out. My toes curl into the rough bark of the tree and, after several seconds of having to convince myself to move, I slide off the branch to begin the descent. My arms are already shaking from the cold and from the adrenaline. I cry out the second all of my weight is off the branch - the pain in my ribs from my crash landing is sharp and insistent. Especially when I’m halfway down to the next branch and I almost fall from another errant gust. I have to stop and hang on desperately and I very nearly lose my grip.

I’m whimpering by the time I make it. I’ve only traversed a few inches and I’m in agony. It’s so hard to see in the darkness or to move in the wind. There’s just no way. I’m not going to make it.

I spend several minutes looking down, trying to solve this impossible conundrum. Could I construct some kind of climbing gear from… something? Or at least make myself a parachute out of leaves? Or find a way to connect individual branches and form a path that way? It all feels so ridiculous. I’m completely losing hope.

Finally I decide to look upwards instead. It doesn’t seem like a productive thing to do, but I just have to look at something else for a second. And that’s when I see it. Off to the side, about thirty feet above me, I notice a small cave in the wood. A tree hollow.

Maybe there is another choice. Reach shelter. Wait out the storm. If I can get through the night, survive until morning when things are forecasted to be much calmer… Maybe in the light of day I’ll be able to find my way down and have a better chance of not getting knocked off.

Of course, that means I would have to climb even higher first. But as difficult as that seems, climbing up the shorter distance seems like the smarter thing to do. The only thing to do. I just have to keep moving. I can’t overthink things right now, my aching muscles have a time limit.

The journey takes me over half an hour. I almost lose my grip over a dozen times. My abdomen is screaming at me every time I hoist myself up and up along the tree trunk. My arms and legs are getting all scratched up, my hands and feet are going numb from the cold. I’m about two thirds of the way up when I break down into panicked cries, exhausted and completely convinced that there’s no way I’m going to reach my destination. But after an uncontrollable yet completely useless pity party, I eventually press on. And somehow, despite everything working against me… I make it. I reach the hollow and collapse into it. I’m a complete mess, trembling and weeping, but I’m still alive.

Oh thank god - whatever squirrel last used this spot as a nest has left behind clumps of fur. It’s old and there’s not much left, but I immediately burrow into it, covering myself in leaves and pine needles and fuzz. It helps, a little bit. But… it’s only a very little bit. The wind is still thrashing outside, and the temperature slowly continues to drop.

Several minutes later, I’m shivering more than ever. And I realize something dire. This isn’t sustainable. I’m losing more heat than I’m producing. Even if I don’t fall to my death tonight, I may instead get claimed by hypothermia. I have to do something about it.

I try to think about my long-ago college classes, racking my brain for any useful knowledge about heat transfer. I was supposed to take an entire heat transfer class at some point, too bad I never got there… The only thing that comes to mind is insulation. I need to think like a squirrel. And I need to make myself a better nest.

Well, if there’s one thing I can find close by it’s leaves. I hate the idea of venturing back out onto the tree branches, but I simply don’t have a choice. I’m convinced that I won’t be lasting the night otherwise.

I peer out of the hollow, and I can actually see a bit better now that I’ve gotten so used to the dark. It’s slightly brighter out here due to the lights coming from inside the cabin. I wait for a moment where the winds aren’t so tempestuous, and then I dart out. I try to move quickly but not recklessly. There are enough leaves and fallen pine needles in my immediate vicinity that I make swift progress, as tiring as it is to hoist what feels like oversized pool toys. At least it’s easier to move along the horizontal perch than it was to climb up the tree trunk. Over time I need to start venturing slightly further along the branch, each trip providing less and less success.

Out of nowhere I’m startled by a sudden light. I freeze in place like a rabbit, staring towards the cabin. The front porch light just turned on. And someone’s rushing out. First he’s peering his head out, and I can’t make out what he’s saying but his mouth is moving. Then he’s stepping outside, head whipping around as he scans the ground. Aiden’s looking for me. He must have realized that I’m out here!

Logic flies out the window. I start yelling at the top of my lungs, waving my hands, grabbing a nearby branch and shaking it - anything to get his attention. At first I’m just calling Aiden’s name, but as he ventures further onto the porch and more people start trickling out, I’m shouting the rest of their names for good measure.

“Behind you!” I cry, “Look up! Please, just look HERE!”

It’s useless. It’s so completely useless.

“FUUUUUCK!” I scream into the night, falling to my knees as despair rolls over me. The universe is just mocking me now. Fuck you, world. Fuck. You.

My throat is searing with pain at this point, but despite using everything in my power to make them notice me, all I’m doing is wearing myself out. I can barely make out the sound of their voices over the wind, they’re just too far away. Maybe I’d have a chance if they get closer, but… why on earth would they do that? Why would they assume that I’m as far as the tree line? In fact - yeah, Aiden’s making his way along the exterior wall of the cabin, still scanning the ground but hurrying directly towards the space under the loft. Of course he is. If they figured out that I fell out of the window, the assumption would be that I’m near said window. If only I’d gotten a better grip on that vine instead of soaring off into the woods…

I watch them for much longer than I should as I crouch down in the entrance of my meager shelter. They’re right there. They’re searching so desperately, it feels like they have to find me eventually. Star’s on her hands and knees, sifting through the grass and bushes on the ground. Diego’s giving Aiden a boost, hoisting him up to stand on his shoulders and get a closer look at the wall that’s near the window. I notice Moira’s silhouette is in the window itself - I’m guessing that’s where they all started looking before some of them branched off to go outdoors. I feel nervous for her, seeing how far she’s leaning out to be able to reach some of the vines. Camila shows up to join the rest on the ground, wearing warmer clothes and carrying several other coats and hats for the others to bundle up.

But they’re still too far. Even if they search all night, the odds that they’ll find me are so slim. It’s agonizing, but… I eventually realize that I have to stick to my original plan. With a clear view of my panicked friends to keep me company, I force myself to continue harvesting leaves.

Soon enough I’m starting to run out of material that’s in the vicinity. I could risk climbing to a different branch to get more, but it feels so dangerous - I’ve already come close to toppling off of this one several times. And at this point the hollow is mostly full anyway. Honestly, it’s this damn wind that’s the problem. Already a few leaves have escaped my little den, snatched right out of my hands by a vicious gust of air. I’m starting to worry that this shelter isn’t quite as dependable as I’d hoped.

I do what I think is my last run, scrounging up whatever remaining pine needles have gotten caught towards the end of the branch. But on my way back, something well above my head catches my eye. Even though I’m currently in what I think is an oak tree based on the shape of the leaves, there’s also a pine tree looming nearby like a cliff overhang, which is where all the pine needles must have come from. At some point it must have dropped a sizeable pinecone too, which is now perched precariously on a thin branch about fifteen feet up. When I scramble back into the hollow, my mind is very preoccupied. Because you know what might provide extra insulation while also protecting my tree cave from raging winds? A door.

I sit there for a while, trying to think about how I might possibly acquire the pinecone. I just wish I had better tools up here. If I at least had some kind of rope…

I look over the random assortment of junk that I’ve gathered into my cave. I briefly consider tying pine needles together, but when I try I’m unable to get the knots tight enough. It’s even worse with leaf stems. Maybe I could take some of these bits of broken twigs and acorns and try to just throw them at the pinecone to knock it down?

But then I’m looking at myself. Even in the dim light I can tell that the tips of my fingers and toes are bright pink from how cold I am. I don’t have a hat or gloves or a scarf, just some loose pants and a lightweight sweater that I’d crocheted. But that’s when I get a thought. I hate this idea, I’m not sure that it’s worth it but… I do have a form of rope at my disposal. I could start unraveling my sweater.

As I’m debating whether it’s worth making myself colder to get access to the thread, the universe taunts me again by sending a particularly nasty gust my way. It makes a branch snap somewhere nearby, and it sucks out a few leaves that are too close to the entrance. Things aren’t going to get any better - I need to act. I can bundle squirrel fur back around my torso later. It’s time to reveal some midriff.

I find the knotted end of the fine yarn at the hem of my top, and for a moment I fumble at it with numb fingers, until I give up and use my teeth. Eventually I rip into it, and from there I’m tugging at the thread, and it comes away easily, erasing hours of crochet work in seconds. I wind my arms around and around my abdomen, the garment becoming shorter and shorter. As soon as a sliver of skin is revealed I’m starting to regret this as I feel more precious heat escaping my body. But I push through, gauging how long my rope is and continuing to lengthen it until my sweater only reaches my ribs. I use my teeth again to saw off the string and try to retain whatever garment is left by tying off the end.

I loop my rope up into my hands as I think through the next step. I could try to form a lasso? Not sure how good I’d be at attempting fancy ropework in this windstorm, though. So ultimately I decide to tie the end of the thread to a broken piece of twig, figuring it would be easier to throw.

Shivering more than ever, I crawl back out into the open, face aimed high as I scuttle along the branch. Pinecone’s still there. I try to calculate in my head the best angle to approach this from and position myself accordingly. I have to hunker down for a while, grabbing onto a shoot that’s coming off of the main branch, while I hold out for the right moment to strike.

As I wait, laying almost flat against my swaying platform, I look over to my friends. All of them are searching low to the ground now, meticulously parsing through grass and foliage with the flashlights from their phones. They’re dramatically expanding the radius of their investigation, as I’m sure they’re figuring I could have been knocked farther by the wind, but it’s still nowhere remotely close to where I am, and none of them are looking upwards. Still, they’re putting so much effort into finding me. I have to do the same.

Between flurries of wind I make my attempts. Like a shot putter, I pull back my arm near my head and then launch my projectile as hard as I can. The first dozen attempts miss completely. And then finally the broken twig I’m throwing bounces off the top of the pinecone and tumbles to the other side. I yank on it and let out a victorious shout as the thread gets tangled in the pinecone’s scales.

And then I almost die.

I’m such an idiot, I should have just tied down the other end of the rope, to make sure I didn’t drop it if nothing else. But instead what happens is that the second I try to pull the pinecone towards me, I lose my balance on the unstable branch. My stomach lurches as I fall forward, my rope slipping between my fingers for a second before I cling to it in a panic. And I’m dangling in the open air now, below the branch I was just standing on, only being held by a pinecone that’s teetering on its perch, dangerously high above me.

“Fuck… this… shit…” I gasp, and I’m already looking around myself for any kind of solution. At first I try to scramble back up the rope, but I’m slipping, my fingers aren’t strong enough. I’m going to fall off before I get up. The only reason I haven’t fallen quite yet despite the potential injury in my abdomen is sheer adrenaline and many months of practice at being this size. I pause and try to think…. Think… Come on…

The unrelenting winds attack me with a vengeance. I’m whipped so hard to the side that it feels like my arms will get ripped out of their sockets, and I almost crash into the trunk of the tree.

Wait, I think as I swing back the other way, curled up in a ball like a pill bug. Actually… that can work. There’s no way I can scale the length of this rope right now. But maybe if I used momentum…

Moving quickly, I first carefully use my legs to thread the leftover rope that’s dangling between them, and I hook it around one of my thighs. I take a chance by sitting back on the rope a little bit as I raise my ankle to lift the slackened thread up. Moving as quickly as possible, I hold on tight with one hand while I use the other one to snatch at the loose end of the rope, and then I’m immediately gripping the main line with both hands again, gasping with fear. I clumsily use my teeth and my fingertips to make a simple knot, and I now have a loop to sit on instead of just depending on my arms as I dangle. This is still incredibly precarious - I’m gripping both ropes together for dear life, not daring to rely on my shoddy knot alone.

I begin to swing. I don’t even think about how this might knock the pinecone off, it’s a risk I have to take. It’s actually not that difficult to gain momentum, the goddamn wind is seeing to that. The tricky part is aiming. I lurch towards the trunk without quite reaching, once… twice… And then I’m pushed towards it with so much speed that I’m certain the impact will ruin me – at the last second I twist and loosen my grip instinctively and I sail upwards, past the home branch–

And straight through the entrance of the tree hollow. I crash and roll, the impact mollified by the nest that I’ve built. I’m in so much pain. But I’m incredibly lucky to have made it.

I’m still holding the end of my thread, and there’s no way I’m giving up on that pinecone after all that. I do what I should have done from the start and stay safely inside my tree cave, bracing my feet against the edge of the entrance and pulling with all my might - which isn’t saying much at this point. The pinecone is eventually dislodged from its perch and drops down in front of me, onto the branch, and thankfully it’s light enough that I can drag it the rest of the way without too much issue.

I glance one last time at my friend group, completely ignorant of what I just went through. I stare at Aiden’s profile as he gets to his feet to look up ahead of him, looking crestfallen and desperate. Tears well up in my eyes, and then I yank onto the pinecone to wedge it inside the entryway as much as possible.

I use leaves to stuff the empty spaces around my new door, and with this added layer of insulation it’s quieter now. It’s darker, too. I feel around blindly as I push myself under the remaining layers of leaves, bundling up my rope against my stomach in a meager attempt to patch up my sweater, and burrowing into the squirrel fur as much as I can.

My muscles give out. Everything hurts. I can feel my scar on the back of my calf throbbing from the bitter chill. I’m still so cold. Am I going to survive the night?

I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for my old mantra. Don’t give up. Fight back. Work harder.

I wince at the sharp pain in my ribs. They feel worse than ever after my most recent fall. Will I even be able to climb down come morning if they’re broken?

Don’t give up… Fight back… Work harder…

I start wrapping my extra thread around my hands and feet to protect the extremities that have gone completely numb. It feels pointless.

Don’t give up… Don’t…

I just want to see him. I just want him to hold me again. Please.

Don’t…

@foreverlurk Oh for sure, I’d imagine it would be more of a fantasy for us SW than for the giants lol. Similar to how I’m not really into the tiny lady harem thing - or how I would imagine that the ones interested in FF/m are mostly men. I know I wouldn’t want to share the attention either

And I swear, I could probably read an entire story that consists of only dialogue haha. (Someone make a M/f radio play!)

My little friend grins and scoots sideways before shoving lightly at the edge of my thumb. “Flip your hand over,” she orders, and I do so, slowly pivoting in place at the wrist. And before I know it she’s climbing aboard, as confident and trusting as anything. I marvel at the feeling of her limbs causing gentle pressure as she crawls to the center of my palm and then takes a cross-legged seat.

“Ta da! Look at that. You’re holding me,” she exclaims with her arms up in the air in celebration. “How’re you doing? Feel okay?”

For a moment I let my eyes shut again so that I can go back to focusing wholly on the physical sensations, and it strikes me just how much I need to concentrate. “You barely weigh a thing…” I murmur.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” she says, as casually as if I’d told her she had a unique name. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna get launched into the stratosphere if you try to lift me up.”

“Stop reading my mind,” I chuckle. Here’s hoping that my laughing doesn’t shake her too much. I feel like every micro movement must be jarring.

Naomi lifts up onto her knees, looking as if she’s gauging something. “Actually, here, my leg isn’t that messed up… I can climb up to your shoulder.”

“W-what?!” I startle at the suggestion.

“Just hold still?” she says, already starting to crawl towards my wrist.

I get swept up in her self-assured demeanor and don’t give myself the opportunity to second guess it. “Okay…”

And then all I can really do is become a statue as I quickly lose track of the tiny figure - I just feel her hands and feet as she swiftly makes her way up my arm the second I give consent. Thankfully there isn’t too much of a slope but still, I’m impressed by how quickly she moves. My forearm lights up with goosebumps from the tickle of her passing over the inside of my elbow. Soon I’m feeling particularly self conscious as she gets so incredibly close that I can hear her faintly labored breathing approaching my left ear. And then I stop sensing her skin against mine when she meets the sleeve of my hospital gown, there’s just her minute shifting weight until she reaches my shoulder. I glance sidelong at her and briefly get a good look of her smiling my way. My tunnel of vision doesn’t encircle anything past her face, but I can still see her whole face, even though she’s just a couple of inches away… So surreal.

And then Naomi ducks out of sight as she comes too close to my neck for me to see her easily, and I feel her limbs against my skin once more. She hunkers down on the inside of the hospital gown’s collar, grunting with satisfaction as she takes a seat.

“There we go!” she exclaims, “Still doing okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” I’m still not budging, and I’m afraid of speaking or even breathing in her direction, as if I might blow her over or hurt her eardrums.

“You can talk normally,” she giggles, and then she adds, “Ahhh crap.”

“What’s wrong?” I mutter.

“I forgot my bag on the table. Hey, you want to try grabbing it for me?”

“Uhhhh…” I briefly scan the tabletop, but it’s a sea of grayish brown. “You’re gonna have to help me.”

“Like piloting a mech! Hehe. Okay, move your hand slightly to the left… A little further back… There, did you feel that?”

Her knapsack is so small that it takes a few attempts of my fingers running over what feels like an oversized lump of lint until I manage to pinch it into my grasp. Hopefully there’s nothing fragile in there.

I lift my hand up to my shoulder mindfully - this would be a particularly bad time to knock my friend clean off of me. I pin my wrist against my chest, and Naomi is able to reach from there to extricate her parcel from my grip.

“You rocked that!” she cheers before reclaiming her seat, her voice practically musical with her enthusiasm. She is having way too much fun with this.

“If I didn’t know better,” I say with a smirk, “I might think you left that behind on purpose.”

“Good thing you know better then,” she teases and gives my neck a playful shove. “Alright. You want to try standing up?”

“…Not really?”

“Cameron, you could literally fall over and I’d be fine. That exact thing has happened before, I know I can hang on. Just pretend I’m not here.”

I can’t decide on whether that anecdote is more reassuring or alarming. I’m curious about what happened, I’ll have to ask her later. But for now… Moment of truth.

I’m quite stiff as I slowly start shifting to the side, insanely aware of the way Naomi has to constantly redistribute her weight as I move. Though maintaining her balance does seem like it’s second nature to her… The IV pulls at my arm so I renegotiate the way the tubes hang. I swing one leg over the side of the bed, then the other, finding my footing on the cold floor.

“Going up,” I mutter.

“You’ve got this,” Naomi adds.

I push into my legs, my entire abdomen briefly complaining from the effort of my rising. I reflexively reach for the nearby IV pole, and while I don’t have any difficulty finding it, I make the mistake of putting too much weight on it. I slip.

I fall a few inches as the wheeled pole rolls away from me, and I catch myself on the portion of the bed that’s tilted up, my fingers digging into the mattress. My curse comes out in a hiss as my heart rate skyrockets.

“You’re okay, you’re okay!” Naomi says quickly, like she’s just my physical therapist taking me through some exercises.

“I’m not worried about if I’m okay,” I growl, and I use the bed this time to balance myself as I finally finish standing. I look down and to the side, worriedly trying to catch sight of my tiny passenger.

“Oh. I’m okay too,” she laughs, clearly unperturbed.

That’s good. I just stand there for several moments, trying to settle my nerves and adjust to the feeling of being on my feet. Overall, though… This is reassuring. Naomi didn’t go flying, those little hands really are able to hold on tight. Maybe I can try taking just a couple of steps…

I give her a warning before I slowly test out my legs again, one hand rolling the IV pole along while the other trails against the side of the bed in case I fall again. The pain in my abdomen recedes as I get into a groove, my whole body settling into a dull ache after having spent so much time sedentary. Just one foot in front of the other.

“There you go,” Naomi says encouragingly, and then she quickly cuts in with, “Oh wait, stop.”

I freeze in place, not even risking putting my foot down into my next step. “What is it?” I fret helplessly.

“Nothing, but you’re about to knock against something with your IV. Bring it slightly towards you… No, like to the left but a bit further back… Yeah, like that. And then get ready to move more to the right soon, so that you don’t hit the bathroom door…”

And so, awkwardly, we start cooperating as I continue taking slow steps. Without my cane I’m reflexively holding my IV pole ahead of me to help sense my way, but I’m mostly just relying on Naomi’s direction right now. And although it takes much longer than it would for an average person, I successfully make the journey to the other side of the room. I spot the bright colors of what must be some kind of medical poster, and when I reach out, my fingertips make contact with a wall.

“Hell YES!” Naomi whoops, kicking her legs against my shoulder in excitement.

“We made it,” I mutter in disbelief. Since I’ve lost my vision I have literally never walked across a new space without tripping over something midway.

And then before I know it, we’re heading back in the other direction. A gentle coaching at my ear. One step after another. The slightest bit faster this time. Bit by bit, until I can reach out and touch the hospital bed once more.

I’m still walking with one finger trailing on the mattress when I suddenly feel a warmth against my neck. Naomi has scooted a bit closer to me to lean against it with a sigh. “That makes me happy,” she says.

“That we’re almost back across?” I ask, glancing in her direction.

“No. Just that your shoulder’s finally unclenched.”

And there’s the other wall. I touch it, staring wide-eyed down towards my feet, still struggling to take in the relative ease with which I just crossed the room despite no one holding onto my arm.

Naomi gently strokes the side of my neck before she sits back up again. “Okay, you want to put me down again?” she offers, her voice tinged with disappointment. “If you want you can drop me back off at my own room right now so that we can be done.”

Oh. Right. After getting caught up in what felt like learning how to walk for the first time, I’d stopped thinking about what we were even doing this for.

“Actually…” I say sheepishly, turning my head towards my unconventional guide. “Do you think you can help me fill my water cup first?”

I can hardly believe it myself just how much and how quickly I’ve come around on this new experience, and my enthusiasm is only matched by hers. We spend another twenty minutes together, practicing this new way of navigating the world. Naomi’s also finding her own rhythm, and soon we get accustomed enough to it that she doesn’t need nearly as many words to direct me. We’re able to continue chatting about everything and nothing as I not only obtain more water but also get myself a snack from my backpack in the corner, and then tidy some of my mom’s belongings for when she comes back to visit tonight.

But my weakened body eventually begins feeling quite sore, and we also start worrying that someone should be coming by pretty soon to check my vitals again. This has been great and all, but the idea of actively trying to hide my shrunken friend somewhere is probably a step too far for me. And so we make one last trip, this time to the exit.

“Hand out,” Naomi directs, “Door handle’s to the left… left… down…”

“Got it.” I lower my voice as I open the door and peer out into the hallway. According to the better pair of eyes at my shoulder, the coast is clear. Furtively I head down a couple of doors, keeping one hand on the wall.

I’m frankly sad that our hangout is coming to an end. This was so… so nice. The way we’ve been able to get around symbiotically is exciting, for sure, and I find myself imagining what it might be like to have my own little private navigation system all the time. But more than anything else, I’ve really enjoyed our conversations. I like her, and I’d like to get to know her better. I’ll have to come back and visit once I’m out of the hospital. Maybe I could even end up taking her on an outing or something so she can get some fresh air. I wonder… I wonder if she might ever be open to–

“I’ve been thinking,” the voice at my ear suddenly pipes up as I walk. It snaps me out of my reverie about what it might be like to have a miniature roomate, since her tone has gone uncharacteristically serious. “About what you said earlier. About how it seems like I’m not bothered by my condition.”

I grimace at my own faux pas from earlier and quickly say, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking at all when I–”

“No no, it’s just, I’m realizing… that you might be right?” she interjects avidly, “Like, obviously I’d much rather be my old self again. Being this small sucks. But from the beginning I was told that this is almost certainly permanent. And after some time, I accepted it. My friends would get really frustrated with me - they’d tell me not to give up hope, that the doctors would find a cure, that I’ll be able to go back to my normal life one day… But they didn’t understand.”

At this point my fingers have already passed over the bump of the doorway that is our destination. But I’ve paused so I can listen, craning my neck back to look down at Naomi.

She’s smiling as widely as ever. “They didn’t get that me accepting my reality wasn’t me giving up. Quite the opposite, actually… I think that’s how I ‘do it.’” She shrugs. “It’s the only advice I’ve got.”

I smile back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thanks for helping me feel useful today, Cameron.”

“Yeah… Right back atcha. Thanks for the visit.”

I open the door to her room, hoping that I’m not bothering the other patient here, but from the sound of snoring coming from by the window I think we’re okay. Naomi directs me to the shelf that’s to the immediate left, and after I feel around I find what I surmise is her “shoebox,” a clear plastic tank of sorts. I raise my free hand up to my shoulder in invitation, anchoring my pinkie against my collar bone.

Naomi slides off her perch, stepping lightly into my palm, and asks, “You’ll be okay getting back?”

There’s no arm bridge this time, I have to do this myself. But I’m not feeling nearly as panicked now. Slowly I lower my hand along my body, tiny girl in tow, as I respond, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I feel good.”

“You’ve got this,” Naomi says enthusiastically before I sense her warm weight hop off of my hand again and onto the shelf. “See you tomorrow!”

If this were any other friend, my reply might have poked fun at the expression. But I realize, as my tunnel of vision perfectly encircles the grinning face below me, that for the first time in a long while I’m able to give a completely genuine response.

“See you then.”

Phew, I always forget about the character limit on DD, hopefully I broke that up in OK spots

I was taking a break from writing Out of their Element with all the crazy life happenings going on, when I was suddenly inspired to write this story that’s been bouncing around in my head for a little while. It was such a pleasure and the perfect way to stretch out those writing muscles again~ (and while I’m still insanely busy and the progress is slow, the momentum has spilled over to Oote too so hooray!) Also, a huge thank you to my friend and sensitivity reader on this

By the way, I made an AO3 account if you’d prefer to follow my stories there! https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlest_lily

Just curious about what are everyone’s favorite ways of picking up your tiny lady friend! Or conversely for us little ones, your favorite way of getting picked up by a giant?

Things like - voluntarily walking onto an open hand? Pinching her torso between two fingers? Scooping her up into the palm? Wrapping fingers around her entire body? Grabbing the leg and dangling her? Forcing her to climb up the length of the body to reach the hand?

Or any other way I’m not thinking of right now! I suppose it would also make a difference depending on her size. Maybe a fist around the waist or gently pinching her entire body between finger and thumb might be more appropriate.

I think for me it’s either getting scooped up into the palm or having fingers wrap around me like a big, warm hug.

I’m not asexual but wanted to add to the chorus that you’re welcome here! It’s definitely a kink for me but honestly, I think my love of the fantasy is MOSTLY not sexual at all. Most of the artists I follow on DA are entirely SFW, there’s so much great stuff out there. I love fluff, friendship, adventure and just the emotional repercussions of the size difference. And even if I do really love romance and/or power play within a big/small relationship, I need to be in the right mood for the actual sex stuff.

Chapter 6
Aiden

I stare at the next page in the journal, the title at the top immediately catching my attention: “Human Trials.” Something about seeing that on paper gives me a horrible sinking sensation in my stomach.

There are a few separate entries, each of them quite lengthy. It looks like Dr. Little wasn’t lying about the fact that Evie was the fourth test subject. There are paragraphs of notes about the other three, detailing not so much measurements and data but qualitative information - how they behaved and reacted. I notice that all of them were women. As I continue to read… I really start to feel sick.

He would take them back to his home for “extended study.” But I’m not even sure he cared so much about actually studying much of anything; the types of experiments he documented didn’t seem to be about scientific research. Things like seeing how they’d react to extreme hot or cold, or being tied up for hours at a time. He doesn’t go into all of the details in his notes, but the further I delve the more it sounds like the experiments were actually more like… punishments. As if he was training them, somehow, like they were animals to domesticate. He’d go on about their beauty and… my brain starts to fill in the gaps. I don’t think the fact that Evie’s really pretty is a coincidence.

I try not to linger too long on any one sentence, just pushing through as I desperately hope to find some indication of him restoring these girls. But what I find instead is far more horrifying.

The first of them didn’t make it through a “stress test.”

The second ended up jumping off a table while his back was turned.

The third had never stopped shrinking.

My hands are trembling as I keep reading. All of the test trials had gone through some sort of issue where the machinery didn’t work quite right, resulting in each of the subjects not reaching the target size for the test, particularly so for the third. Dr. Little rants about this for a couple of paragraphs, venting his frustration in stilted lines on the page, about the complexities of the shrinking process for humans being too much to juggle on his own in the lab. At the bottom, in capital letters, underlined twice, he wrote “NEED ASSISTANT.”

I worry I might actually throw up. With shaky fingers I shut the book quietly and try to take a deep breath. After more than two hours of sitting here, the sun starting to set outside, I’ve reached the end of the notes with nothing to show for it. I’m shocked at the horrors that I was unknowingly going to be complicit to, and I’m completely losing hope.

It’s at this point that I look back towards the ottoman, expecting to see my classmate meticulously working as usual. But instead I see hundreds of miniscule items, fully categorized into rows and groups, a perfectly organized display… but the girl who’s sorted them is off to the side, sitting with her back to me. Head in her hands. Her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs that are too quiet for me to hear.

It’s been a long, stressful, life-changing kind of day. I think about the other victims of the shrinking process. What could have potentially happened if Dr. Little got his way with Evie today. And then, even though I hardly know this girl, I feel a sudden surge of emotion. A desperate desire to protect her from all harm.

I move instinctively, sliding off of the couch to the floor while trying not to make any sudden or frightening motions. She hears me and her shoulders tense - I think she tries to stop herself from crying as she continues to hide her face. But try as she might, her breathing is still coming in shallow. She just can’t keep her emotions at bay anymore.

“Hey…” I say softly, my chest tight, “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here to help however I can.”

I wish I could tell her how. I wish I could fix this, or at least take her hand or give her a hug or… or something. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this helpless in my life. I do the only thing I can think of and reach a hand over to gently brush a finger against her back.

For a moment she stiffens at my touch and I worry that I’m making things worse yet again. But then she turns, still keeping her gaze away from mine, and presses up against me, burying her face into my fingers, and she begins to sob in earnest. This sets my heart racing. I’m not sure what else to do so I just let her cry it out, using my thumb now to carefully rub up and down her back.

After a couple of minutes, Evie starts calming down, taking deep, shuddering breaths. She finally looks up at me and musters a smile. “Thanks,” she says, and she’s still so quiet, but my ears are getting better at honing in on her little voice.

“Don’t mention it,” I say, weakly smiling back. “Maybe we should call it a night soon… Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I’m just so tired…” She rubs at her eyes and lets out a sigh. “But I should probably eat something. Any luck with the notebook?"

“Um… not yet,” I say, evading the question. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to give her the details I’ve found. “I’ll go grab some food for you. Is cheese and deli meat okay?”

“Sounds good. I’m not picky.”

I go back to the kitchen to make a simple sandwich - ham, cheese, avocado. I pinch a tiny piece of it off for her, though it’s probably still bigger than her entire head. I stare at it and don’t love how rough it looks, like I just ripped off some leftovers to feed to a dog, so I take a few extra seconds to lay the mini-sandwich on a cutting board and use a knife to trim off the jagged edges. It doesn’t exactly look beautiful in the end but it’s a bit neater at least. I lay the food on a spoon in lieu of a plate and get some more water for her while I’m at it.

Evie thanks me as I set these down in front of her, and she’s stifling a yawn. She appears less upset now, at least, but definitely super fatigued.

“Yeah, you look tuckered out,” I observe with a sympathetic smile. “Want to go ahead and turn in early?”

She’s reaching past the lip of the spoon to pull off some bread and nibble at it as she stares off into space. “I don’t think my body’s going to give me much of a choice. I feel like I could pass out at any minute… again.”

“Um, let’s try to avoid you fainting this time, please.”

I watch her for a moment, a little amused at how she’s eating - instead of attempting to bite into the oversized sandwich she’s just picking off tiny bits of ham and cheese and bread as separate components, holding a crumb in both hands as she takes small bites. Like a mouse with a millet seed. She has to be actively trying to be this cute, right?

Trying to reel myself in and avoid gawking at her again, I turn my mind to next steps. It’s not even 7pm yet, but clearly we need to get this girl some sleep.

"I’ll go change out the bed sheets real quick and I can bring you over there whenever you’re ready,” I suggest.

Evie lifts her head and cocks it to the side at me, slowly processing. “…You’re offering me your bed.”

"Yeah, I can sleep here on the couch. No big deal.”

"Aiden, no, you don’t have to do that. That seems a bit ridiculous, don’t you think? With me like this?”

"Just because you’re little doesn’t mean you’re not a guest.”

She actually lets out a laugh now and okay, true, the mental image of her in a vastly oversized bed is pretty silly. It does feel good to see her smile, though.

“No, really, it’s okay,” she insists, “I think part of the reason I’m so tired is because this kind of already feels like a giant mattress… I’ll be fine here. Honestly anything bigger would probably be too overwhelming.”

“Oh. Yeah okay, I could see that.” I ponder for a second and add, “Well, I’ll at least find you something to use as a blanket… I’ll be right back."

That insistent part of me that I keep trying to push away feels a little disappointed that I don’t get to pick her up again. But I’m determined to at least do what I can to make her comfortable. I go to my bedroom and look around in the closet for anything that can work. Blankets, pillow cases, shirts - everything’s way too big. I start going through my dresser drawers, and for a moment I consider a sock since it’s at least a somewhat more appropriate size. But even though they’re clean there’s something about it that just seems gross.

I come across a well-worn T-shirt that I haven’t used in a while since it has a couple of holes in it. It’s pretty soft, though… I should probably be getting rid of it anyway, maybe now I can salvage something.

On top of the dresser are some of my office supplies that have congregated, including a pair of scissors, and I set to work cutting into the shirt. I got this from some kind of volunteer event and there’s a little logo on it in the shape of a dog… I let that adorn the bottom of this makeshift blanket, making me smile as I imagine her snuggling underneath.

I cut another strip of the fabric to fold a couple of times into a small rectangle to offer as a rudimentary pillow. I’m finding myself wishing I could sew and wonder what other little things I could make for her… assuming she’ll be staying here for any length of time, that is.

When I come back to the living room, I worry for a second that Evie really has passed out. She’s slumped onto the side of the spoon, and it looks like she’s hardly made a dent in the sandwich before giving up. She twitches at the sound of my footsteps coming in, sleepily lifting her head back up to watch me, her body tensing at my approach.

I crouch down beside her for the last time that night, setting her makeshift pillow down next to where she’s sitting, and she immediately turns to collapse onto it. I smile and get the sweet moment I’d been secretly hoping for, carefully draping the blanket I’d made over her tiny frame. I refrain from trying to tuck her in, though, too afraid of squishing her.

“I’ll leave a light on in case you need to get up at night,” I mutter, and then I see I’m losing her fast so I quickly add, “If you need anything, let me know with this.”

I set down something I’d picked up from my bedroom, a visual countdown timer that I use for studying. It’s about as tall as she is and the knob in the center should be small enough for her to maneuver without issue.

“Just turn the timer on and off and it’ll beep. I’m a light sleeper, it’ll definitely wake me up.”

Evie gazes up at me and for a second I worry she’s about to start crying again. Am I overwhelming her with too much stuff? I really need to just leave and let her sleep. But she pulls it together and forces a smile my way.

“Thank you.”

I nod and start backing off. “No problem. Good night, Evie.”

I turn on the desk lamp and turn off the overhead light, walking away as quietly as I can. Just before going into my room, I pause. I stare at the ottoman, the minuscule figure laying on it, already curled up on her side and visibly unconscious. I really don’t like leaving her by herself.

An image pops into my brain, unbidden. Her little form curled up on me instead, snoozing away on my chest as I drift off to sleep– And I’m so mortified by the thought that I immediately turn on my heel and march straight into my room.

I spend the rest of the evening on my laptop, trying to find any scrap of information that I can about the scientist responsible for all this. Google gives me nothing. I dig into all of the school records and he never actually had an association with the university, all of that was faked. So was the sponsor company he said he’d worked with. When searching the room reservations for the chemical lab we were at, I’m shocked to find his name but literally no other information. There’s no record of me being there, nor Evie, nor any of the other victims for that matter. The secrecy behind this whole thing is far more extensive than I’d realized. I feel like all I’m doing is running into dead ends.

And even when I eventually try to sleep, it doesn’t come easily. Images keep flashing in my brain. Evie writhing in Dr. Little’s grip. Fire overtaking a corpse. Evie unconscious under an oxygen mask. Notebook pages reeking of terror and death. Evie crying her heart out. Evie trembling with fear in my hand. Evie so, so small… so vulnerable…

So beautiful…

I feel like my head might split in two as a battle rages within it. Hours pass before I finally drift into a dark, uncomfortable, fitful sleep.

@miss-lillipants You know, I’m more on the shrinking side of things that you mentioned, but I honestly love reading this kind of thing. It’s just so cool to hear someone passionately talk about what excites them, I feel like I get caught up in it get a sense of appreciation for it too! I’ve actually seen a lot of giant content on DeviantArt if you’re okay with the more SFW side of things~

@SmolChlo Yeah I kinda hesitate in these spaces to mention that, yes I have had bad experiences on the GTS side… but I’ve also experienced plenty of misogyny/undue pressure with SW fans too Unfortunately with any group of people you’re just going to run into that shit!

But I do think this is a good reminder for folks, @TakoAlice8. I know there are some good people out there who worry that they’re a bad person simply for being into SW when that isn’t the case.

Chapter 9
Evie

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

This is it. He’s done with me.

“A-about what?” I ask, trembling, “I won’t touch the scissors anymore, I promise!”

“Not that,” Aiden says, shaking his head. In this moment he looks very tired, and… hurt, almost. I don’t understand, not completely, but I’ve seen this kind of look before.

I stand there, not knowing what to say to stop the train from wrecking.

He sighs heavily. “I went to the lab and… it was bad. The whole room’s pretty much destroyed, none of the machinery was intact. And from what I can find out, Dr. Little was a complete mystery person - no one knows who he was or where he came from or anything. I don’t even know if that’s actually his name at this point or if it was just a sick joke. And according to his notes, none of the stuff that was shrunk down ever got restored again. It… it doesn’t look good, Evie.”

I have to keep the lid on. Keep it together.

“I wish I could tell you how sorry I am that this happened to you. I hate that I’m partly responsible. I’m trying to think longer term though…”

I can’t look him in the eye anymore, wrenching myself away from the piercing hazel.

“I understand that you’re scared of going to the authorities, and I wish I was able to just restore you myself instead. But I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what else to try.”

There’s a pause of deathly silence as I waver on the spot. It’s not a surprise at this point to find out that I might be stuck like this forever. I’ve either already come to terms with that, or more likely I just don’t have the capacity to process it yet. But now I have to face an entirely different reality instead. One that fills me with a deep, deep dread.

I blow out an exhale, like letting out steam to alleviate some of the pressure inside me. I try to take this small death gracefully and give him my gratitude for helping me as much as he has, all the while gathering the strength to negotiate.

“Aiden…” I finally say, still not quite looking him in the eye, “I don’t know what would have happened yesterday but… the way I see it, you saved my life. On more than one occasion. That’s not lost on me. I don’t know how to thank you and… you’re right. You’ve done enough.”

Another breath, even as cracks threaten the walls of my facade.

“I can’t ask any more of you. I can only imagine the burden I’d be. So… so I’ll… I’ll go…”

I feel a tickling on my cheek, a tear that I wasn’t able to keep in check. I stiffen and ignore it. Stay steady. I have to broker something other than the cops. Maybe someone from school, a professor or something–

“Hold on. What?” His tone makes me jump as he interrupts my thoughts, and my eyes suddenly meet his again. He looks completely bewildered. “Evie, I don’t think we’re on the same page. I really don’t know where you’re getting it from that I think you’re a burden?”

I blink, thrown off. “You were just saying… you want to go to the police, right?”

“I want to go to the police to better help you. Not to get rid of you. Is that what you thought?”

I had been reliving something from years ago. But it’s going differently this time, and I suddenly realize I’d completely misunderstood the situation. It’s as if the looming threat of a dark storm was actually just a cloud passing over the sun. I start seeing rays of hope again.

“Would you really rather just stay here? Even if you’d be stuck this way?” Aiden continues, “Y-you’re totally welcome to…”

Maybe it’s selfish, but I scramble for the opportunity. “Yes. Yes, I would. If that’s okay.”

“I mean… If that’s really how you feel then… shit, you can stay as long as you want.”

“Really?” I ask, and I finally wipe away that stray tear.

“Totally.” And he’s smiling at me now, the pain in his eyes dissipating. “Honestly I really miss living with someone. Not to turn around and make light of everything but, I don’t know, having a tiny roommate sounds kind of… fun?”

I feel surprised, but before I can unpack what he means by that, he resumes a more serious tone, “I just figured you’d want to take steps to getting back to normal as quickly as possible. You sure it’s a good idea to put it off?”

The danger has passed, but I still squirm nervously. “We don’t even know what that’ll look like,” I eventually say, “What kind of experiments they’d need to run or if I’ll end up all over the news… I just don’t know if I can handle that right now.”

"Okay… okay then! Well, damn, I’m glad we cleared that up. Just let me know when you feel ready to change course.”

"Thank you. I will.”

Aiden leans back in his chair and he actually looks just as relieved as I feel. "This changes things.” He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at me, corner of the mouth ticking up. “Now we can talk about the scissors.”

I wince. "I know, you’re right. It wasn’t worth the risk…”

"No, I can totally see why you’d want some amount of autonomy. So… let’s compromise, yeah? Let’s problem solve it. We’ll set stuff up so it’s easier for you to do things on your own. And please…” He leans in again, closer than usual, lowering his head so that I don’t have to look so high up. His gaze is gentle but intent. “Do take my word for it if I tell you you’re not bothering me? Being able to help makes me happy. Got it?”

I can feel something new on my cheeks. A warmth. It spreads through my whole body until I’m almost giddy with it. Suddenly I’m beaming up at him and extend my arm as if to give him a handshake. “Got it.”

He’s grinning right back and brings his hand up, index finger outstretched. I take it in both hands and we shake on it.

Things feel different as we have another meal together. I haven’t gotten over my new size, not by a long shot. I’m still actively pushing a lot of fear and uncertainty aside. But accepting my situation, even just on a surface level, is helping us both to relax.

“One thing I do need to ask of you…” I say, looking up from my taco crumbs, “I’ve been staying at AirBNBs while looking for a more permanent place to live. I was going to move out of my current one this weekend. Not that I can use my stuff now, but it all fits in one suitcase so…"

Aiden’s finished eating by this point and is currently cleaning up the desk. “Yeah, I should have enough space in my closet,” he says, “Sounds like we have some weekend plans then.”

“Maybe the day after tomorrow? The owner isn’t usually around on Saturdays.”

“Sure thing. In the meantime…” And now he’s opening up a drawer, below where I can see on the desk, and pulls out a notepad that’s over twice my height. “How about we start making a list of things to help you feel more at home?”

I get to my feet and internally attempt to reassure myself that it’s alright to let him help me this time. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

We go through a typical day and try to think of everything I might need to take care of myself. Thankfully I already have some shrunken toiletries, but Aiden offers me little bits of his own shampoo, deodorant and such to fill in the gaps. We debate what might be the best container to hold some of these things and eventually he thinks of the fact that he had gotten a bulk amount of toothpaste, meaning he has a bunch of little caps from those that we can use. I figure these might also be helpful just as buckets for carrying water.

On the subject of cleaning, we agree it might make more sense for me to hand wash my own clothes rather than potentially ruining them by including them with the normal sized laundry, so he offers me a drop of laundry detergent in another toothpaste cap. He ties some thread up to stretch between the desk lamp and a mug that he brings over, laying a hand towel down underneath it all, and bam. I have a clothesline.

I still need to make the clothes themselves, but I plan on letting him help this time. I’m still not particularly keen on the idea of doll clothes… I feel like they’d be made of something similar to the scratchy fabric of the hospital gowns. But I tell my new roommate that I’ll try them on if he thinks he finds something suitable. I do agree that dollhouse furniture might be nice - I wouldn’t mind shelves to store some of these things.

Food and water is a little trickier. A tank meant for small pets could work, at least to use for cleaning and whatnot. Aiden offers to give me a fresh spoonful of water every morning for drinking. He also brings over a couple of less perishable items - granola bars, packets of crackers, freeze-dried apple chips. We figure they’re good to have around in case I have to unexpectedly be alone for a meal. As much as I enjoy cooking, we can’t think of a safe way to set that up for me, so I’ll have to rely on my larger friend for the most part.

“It’d still be nice if we could get you a little fridge though,” Aiden muses. He’s brought his laptop over by this point to look for ideas online and is scrolling through a list of mini fridges, all of which would be the size of bounce houses to me. “Hey look, this one only holds a single soda can!” He looks at me with a bit more concentration, sizing me up.

“A can is what… six inches tall?” I wonder.

“A little less I think. Hmmm,” The giant has his hand up now, hovering it well above my head as he tries to visualize the height. “It would still be pretty big for you… Maybe worth a try though.”

I catch sight of the price on the billboard-like laptop screen. Yikes. “Don’t worry about it, I’m not sure I want to pay that much anyway.”

I had begrudgingly conceded to the fact that I wouldn’t be paying for rent nor for food since Aiden wouldn’t be spending anything extra on me (and while I have a small bit of savings, I clearly won’t be able to go back to work). He had wanted to pay for everything, but after some back and forth he eventually gave in to the decision that we would split the cost of my setup.

“My treat?” he offers now with a sheepish glance down at me. “If I see it at the store tomorrow I think it’s worth the experiment.”

I sigh in dramatic defeat, though I give him a grateful smile. “Fine. Thanks. It’s true, it might be nice for when you have classes over lunch time.”

Aiden pauses, thinking about what I just said. “We haven’t talked about school yet,” he says quietly, “It’ll obviously be harder for you to attend classes this way… um… are any of your classes online?”

“No, they’re not. I’ve thought about it, and yeah it’s a bit of a bummer, and a waste of that scholarship money… but oh well. I took this long to start college, I can wait a little longer. Maybe when I get my textbooks back I can study and be extra prepared for next time.”

"Hey, that’s the spirit. You can still be my study buddy for Biochem if you like.”

"I doubt I’d be much help, but sure!”

This leads us to the subject of what I’ll be occupying myself with all day. Studying aside, I’m bound to get bored. I do have several shrunken books that are more or less in my size to check out. Aiden breaks up little bits of lead in case I want to write or doodle. And thankfully I still have a warranty on my phone that was lost to the lab fire, so he can hopefully get a replacement for me and I’ll at least have internet access on that. It’s a good start.

Some craft projects will probably keep me busy as well. I will say, letting Aiden help me cut the strips of fabric for my makeshift dresses and rompers really is so much easier than when I spent an hour cutting one myself. But I’ve now also found a way to take a broken piece of toothpick and grind it against the side of a matchbox so that it sharpens into a point, creating a rudimentary sewing needle. Maybe I could make some real clothes at some point, but for now I test it out on a simpler project. Aiden cuts out a rectangle of fabric from an old shirt and offers some cotton stuffing from his couch cushions. I tie some thread to the toothpick to sew the thing up best I can. Voila. I have myself a mattress.

We’ve spent all afternoon and evening planning and making things, and I can’t believe I’m thinking this but… it’s true. This is kind of fun, somehow. In a summer camp kind of way, a new adventure where it feels like there’s so much to explore.

And we’re chatting throughout it all, entering into discussions about our interests and hobbies, and it turns out he does like things outside of Magic, such as hiking, fantasy novels and geology (hence his major). Meanwhile, I mostly mention enjoying cooking and crafting - everything to do with home economics. I find out that we’re almost the same age, with me being 24 and him 25, and that’s a rather strange thing to bond over, being a little older than the average college student. I find out it’s because he’s a grad student, and while I don’t go into all the details, I tell him about my wide variety of odd jobs I’ve had since high school.

We start joking around about the ludicrous gap between our sizes. At one point I invite him to sit down at my shrunken table and chair, acting all confused when he chuckles at me instead. At another point he pretends to hand me something but briefly holds it above my head, way out of reach. Nothing too mean, just kind of silly. Apparently finding the humor in the size difference is our way of coping.

The conversations are nice… I like him. We get along with very little effort.

Since neither one of us slept well last night, we decide to call it a little early for bedtime. Aiden gets me some warm water to wash myself with before he leaves, and I turn to look around at my setup, feeling satisfied about how everything’s coming together. And after some shopping tomorrow it’ll be even better.

Don’t give up. Fight back. Work harder.

I can do this.

@Olo Love it!! I’m glad I’m not the only one. I know we’re a big group of weirdos compared to the normies… but sometimes I feel like I’m a weirdo amongst weirdos

@Olo I actually kind of prefer if it’s 100% audio personally (or if it’s not, I usually don’t look at the screen). Whenever it’s a POV video of someone looming, I just can’t get it out of my head that it’s clearly just a camera on the floor, and that takes me out of it for whatever reason. Go figure!