The slow moving giant trope has always been one of my pet peeves. Give me a giant who can move gracefully and quickly through tiny cities.
Size difference enthusiast. Most of my work leans toward the Dark Side but I have an appreciation for gentle size scenarios as well. My stories are posted at the following places:
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Whenever Kysein read about Aluth, he always imagined it to be an enormous port city, impressive in its sprawling size. And while the city would have certainly been impressive to a normal-sized person, he found it to be as disappointingly small as everything else. Kysein immediately noticed that the tallest building only came up to his chest, and most of the other structures were only knee-high.
He hadn’t meant to come here. His mind had seized upon the first place that popped into his head, which turned out to be Aluth. That had been a mistake; everything was as flimsy and breakable as he had feared. Kysein found himself wedged between clusters of buildings, and as he turned and twisted, he managed to damage several of them. Mammoth chunks of marble and masonry smashed down onto the ground, and suddenly there were big holes in the sides of buildings, exposing the inhabitants within. Frustrated, Kysein stumbled forward and cursed at how tiny this city was.
The Aluthians streamed out into the streets, further complicating things. It reminded him of the time when he had discovered field mice hiding in his barn. But instead of mice running around his feet, it was hundreds and hundreds of minuscule people. Kysein couldn’t even take a step without noticing that someone was in his way. Little bodies cowered in his shadow, refusing to move. One balding man actually knelt down in front of him, prayers bubbling up from his lips.
“Get out of my way, dammit,” Kysein growled, and summoning his powers, he parted the crowd, pushing the people aside with surges of magical energy. As soon as the path was cleared, he headed for the harbor. If he could get to the water, he wouldn’t have to worry about destroying buildings or injuring someone.
it took him several minutes to reach the harbor, the streets cracking and crumbling beneath his heavy stride, and the entire time people gawked at him from windows, from doorways, from sidewalks. A thousand horrified eyes all stared at him, and never had Kysein felt so self-conscious. He was relieved when he made it to the harbor and strode out into the water. There were ships everywhere, some of them at the dock, others circling around the ocean. Kysein managed to avoid them…except for one.
The fishing boat floated on the water, hardly larger than a piece of driftwood to the giant. He didn’t see it until it was too late, and although he jerked his leg away at the last second, his movements churned up the water. Gargantuan waves rocked the tiny boat and the fishermen were flung out into the sea. Kysein immediately bent down and tried to fish them out of the water.
The men began to scream, frightened, and as they swam and dove and avoided his grasp, Kysein understood that he was a monster to them. Most likely the people in the little marble city also viewed him as some sort of terrifying colossus.
I’m not a monster or a god, he wanted to tell them.
That wasn’t the only thing that Kysein wanted to tell them; his anger and sadness had festered and grown exponentially, and he wanted to howl out his frustrations. But he chose to leave instead, his powers whisking him far away from the port city. This time he didn’t have a particular destination in mind, and he ended up in a distant forest. Some sort of disease was ravaging the trees, leaving them bare and withered, but he only gave them a cursory glance. He trudged through the wilderness, trees and bushes snapping and falling beneath him. At one point a bear crossed his path. Had he still been a human, the animal would have been a formidable threat. But now it was so small and harmless looking. The bear rose up onto its hind legs, stared, and then fled for its life. Kysein watched it scurry away then settled down near a stream. Without really thinking about it, he dug his forefinger deep into the ground and created a channel, rerouting the stream.
I have enough power to do whatever I want. I can conquer civilizations, I can change the course of history.
But was that really what he wanted? As Kysein watched the rerouted stream, he thought about what he desired: love, the touch of another person, Ylla. The absence of those things had created a dull, persistent ache.
I want to back, he thought. Not to the temple, though. I want to go home.
And so, focusing his power again, he did.
They kept Ylla at the temple for several days, asking her over and over again what had happened. The head priestess repeatedly told her that a Vessel had never abandoned them, and she insinuated that Ylla was somehow to blame for Kysein’s disappearance. No matter what she said, they wouldn’t listen. As the priestesses paced and fretted, Ylla wondered where he was. An island, or the middle of a burning desert, or perhaps a different plane of existence. She remembered that deep sense of loneliness, and she wished that wherever he was, she was there with him.
Merina dismissed her at last, and Ylla tried to ignore the gray, rotten landscape as she headed home.
How could he do this? Just leave, while the world withers away? She wondered, and then she asked herself, Would I have done the same thing?
She couldn’t answer that.
It felt so good to relax in her own bed, and Ylla fell asleep almost immediately. The dreams that she had seemed more like memories: Kysein when he was just a man, his hands clasping hers with a ferocious desperation. She wanted to tell him everything that she had been feeling for so long, but all that she could say was “It’s our destiny.” And then the tremors shook her bed, ripping her violently from the dream. Ylla sat up and tried to peer through the thick veil of darkness, but she couldn’t make anything out until a soft glow moved across the floors and walls and ceiling.
Kysein had returned.
The window was across the room, and as Ylla watched, a colossal eye appeared in it. She rose from bed and hurried toward him, hoping that this wasn’t part of the dream, that she wasn’t still asleep. Although Kysein could have smashed the panes with just one finger, he waited patiently for her to unlock the window.
“I thought that you were gone forever,” Ylla said, and he held out a massive hand. She opened the window and crawled onto his palm, the night air chilly against her bare limbs.
“At first I didn’t want to come back,” Kysein admitted. “But then I started to think about all of the people that I’d miss, yourself included.”
“I missed you too.” She realized how much he had been in her thoughts, how his absence had created a sort of vacuum in her life. Just seeing him again was enough to fill her with a quiet joy.
Kysein’s other hand moved closer, as if he wanted to touch her. Then it paused as he reconsidered, a darker golden tinge blossoming across his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Ylla told him, and reassured, he explored her body with his finger, fascinated by her miniature curves. Again the magic flowed into her, but this time she was ready for it and she basked in its strange, subtle warmth. She felt something else as well…she felt him. His thoughts, his feelings, everything that was him. Never had Ylla felt so intimate with another person; it went beyond physical contact and into something emotional and almost spiritual. As his finger drifted over her nightgown, she experienced his sadness, his loneliness, and his love.
She waded into his memories, saw what it was like to be a god. The world changed, becoming small and delicate and utterly alien. Everything that she touched — everything that he touched — seemed to crumble beneath her — his — fingertips. The worshippers regarded their god with fear and wonder and they brought him offerings, piles of silver and jewels and the finest wines, which he couldn’t even drink. But as much as they adored him, he was no longer a person in their eyes. He was something powerful and unknowable, something to be worshipped in an abstract sort of way. They threw themselves at his feet, begged for mercy and a bountiful harvest and fertility. He tried to help them, to give them what they wanted, and yet their needs were endless.
And as he watched the tiny people go about their lives, interacting with their friends and families and neighbors while he remained isolated, he despaired.
Ylla despaired along with him, and as the emotions threatened to smother her, she withdrew from his mind. She contemplated the flurry of memories and then realized that the magical link worked both ways. Kysein could feel her emotions and desires, and her face reddened in embarrassment. All of her most secret thoughts were out in the open for him to see. That first kiss, the one that had happened so many years ago, suddenly replayed before their eyes.
“I never knew that you felt that way,” Kysein said.
She shrugged, still flustered. Holding her carefully in his palm, the giant sat down, right on top of one of her flower beds. It was fortunate that all of the flowers were already dead because they would have been crushed instantly. He did knock over a birch tree, snapping it like a twig and sending the pieces crashing thunderously to the ground. The giant’s hardly noticed, though; his attention was on Ylla.
His human desires hadn’t disappeared when he had become a god, and that had been yet another source of frustration for him. Kysein craved touch, that feeling of skin against skin, but he also understood how fragile people were. Their bones were as delicate as spun glass, their flesh so tender and easy to bruise. He constantly feared that he would hurt them, or worse. Imprisoned in the body of a god, he fought back the urges and the frustration.
Ylla felt his desire, despite the fact that he tried to hide it from her. It enveloped her like a warm mist, bringing pleasant goosebumps to her skin. For a minute she shoved aside her own feelings; then she realized that they were alone out here, and that her self-consciousness and reluctance were silly. She had pushed Kysein away once, when the priestesses had ordered him to come with them. Why continue to push him away?
Leaning forward, Ylla kissed the pad of Kysein’s huge finger. It was so different from that first kiss, but it was just as exhilarating. The texture of his finger was unexpected; she felt the large ridges and depressions and wrinkles against her lips. She glanced up, saw Kysein’s mouth widen into a smile. And yet there was still hesitation in his expression, and she remembered how dangerously fragile people had become to him.
“I trust you,” Ylla said, embracing his finger as if it were a normal-sized man.
It was true; despite his intimidating size, he was still the same Kysein, and she knew that he wouldn’t harm her. Gently the giant pinched her nightgown between his fingernails, and it astonished her how nimble he was. He was shy in his movements, as if he were still an awkward young man and not a living god. The garment gradually peeled away, enough to reveal the rounded slope of her shoulder. Then the rest of the nightgown fell away, plucked from her body, and his lips were suddenly caressing her bare belly. She returned the kiss, burrowing her face against his philtrum. In the back of Ylla’s consciousness she realized that the unseasonable chill had left the air, that it was beginning to feel like summer again.
I want you more than anything in the world, she thought, or maybe she spoke it aloud. Kysein lifted her away from his lips, trailed his fingertips over her body, pausing here and there to appreciate some minute feature. He touched her with such reverence that she almost forgot which one of them was the deity. Ylla shuddered at the feathery strokes, amazed at how he could manipulate such immense, powerful fingers. When Kysein’s thumb brushed over her thigh, she pulled in her breath and held it. Emboldened by her reaction, the giant ran his pinkie upwards, and its passing raised several more goosebumps on her flesh.
I want you too, he thought, and the magical connection allowed Ylla to hear every word. She sank down into the soft folds of his palm, surrounded by the steady thrum of his pulse, aware that she was high above the ground and her house and everything else. When Kysein’s tongue replaced his finger against her skin, she welcomed it. The giant’s tongue, as silvery-white as platinum, wound its way between her legs and parted her labia, slithering against her clitoris. Pleasure tightened her lower belly as she glanced up into Kysein’s glowing eyes. Ylla saw so many things in them: immortality and mortality, power and humanity. As the enormous, slippery tongue filled her in ways that she didn’t even think were possible, she gasped, the noise quickly drowned out by the giant’s rumbling breaths.
The pleasure crested, exploded into ecstasy, and every muscle seemed to contract simultaneously. She quivered as Kysein withdrew his tongue, leaving her with a sense of emptiness. A part of her wanted to be filled, again and again. With a tremendous crash of noise he stretched out and placed Ylla on his chest, tilting his head so that he could see her. She rose and fell in time with his breathing, and his thoughts swirled around her. Kysein’s lust burned as brightly as her own, and even if they hadn’t been sharing a supernatural connection, it would have been obvious. Underneath the shimmering fabric of his robe the giant’s erection stirred, imposingly huge.
Ylla made her way down the length of Kysein’s abdomen, which turned out to be more difficult than she would have imagined. Even though he tried to stay motionless, his body continued to breathe and move. The most minor muscle twitches were enough to cause her to stumble, and she lost her footing once or twice as she trekked across his midsection. He had to lift his robe for her; it was impossibly heavy, and although she tried, pushing and shoving with all of her strength, she couldn’t move it easily. Kysein grabbed the robe, the fabric rustling as loudly as ship sails in a strong gale, and a moment later she saw the towering length of his penis.
The golden strands of his pubic hair tickled her feet and shins as she approached the base of his shaft. How to please someone so big was a daunting challenge, and Ylla wondered if he would even feel her touch. Reaching out, she placed her hands on the column of flesh, felt the rhythmic rush of blood as it was pumped through gigantic arteries and veins. It turned out that he could feel her, and with a low groan he rotated his hips and nearly tossed her from his body. Somehow Ylla managed to hold onto him. As he settled down and the earthquakes seemed to stop all at once, she remembered how fragile people were to him, how fragile she was to him.
And yet that didn’t deter her. Ylla began to climb up the penis, digging her fingers and toes into the velvety skin. She almost slid and toppled when she neared the top, but Kysein’s hand shot out and caught her. He put her down so that she was straddling the deeply-red cockhead, her legs gripping so tightly that they ached. Warm, watery precum, copious amounts of it, flowed in waves and bathed her. Ylla tried to massage the flesh surrounding her, but it quickly became apparent that she was too small to do much besides elicit a few resounding groans from the giant.
Then his fingers were around her, and he maneuvered her body against his. She helped as much as she could, kissing the silky skin, although it was Kysein who controlled where she went. The giant pressed Ylla here and there, slowing down at times to enjoy the sensations. His grip became tighter and tighter as his breath caught in his throat. He came with the volume and force of a geyser, thick, pearly fluid washing over Ylla, and the hand holding her relaxed.
With great tenderness Kysein cleaned Ylla, then he stretched back out, tucking the tiny woman into the folds of his robe. As they laid there, Kysein said quietly, “The priestesses told me never to do anything like this. It’s sinful for the Vessels to be defiled. They’ll be furious—,”
“Let them be furious,” Ylla replied. He said nothing, and the silence rested heavily upon them both. Bit by bit, she worked up the courage to ask him the question that she had been avoiding: “Are you going back to the temple?”
“I guess I have to go back.” Kysein paused. “But I don’t want to be alone again.”
“I could go with you,” she suggested, hoping that Kysein wouldn’t argue. He didn’t; his fingers found her again, and as she leaned into his caress, she noticed that the world was changing before her. Whatever blight that had been affecting the trees was gone; green leaves unfurled from the branches and the trunks lost their ashy, diseased appearance. All around her the chirping of crickets swelled into a loud drone, something that she hadn’t heard in the longest time.
Most astonishing of all were the flowers. They sprang up from the dead grass, increasing in number before her eyes. There were poppies and daisies and pansies and so many other types of flowers, bursting out in a bright array of colors. She watched as the rainbow spread across the ground, cool blues and vivid purples and brilliant pinks, and the area surrounding them became a sea of flowers.
Passageway (M/f, Giant)
This story isn’t going to be as stompy as my other work.
The road was deserted except for Ian’s car. Tangled clusters of trees appeared briefly and then disappeared back into the darkness as he drove along the winding stretch of highway, his eyes on the road but his mind elsewhere. He replayed the night’s events, the speech at the university and the uncomfortable party that followed. As usual, everyone has been so eager to meet the famous Dr. Ian Kwan, one of the physicists who had discovered interdimensional travel. They had seen his face everywhere: on television, the internet, and all over academic journals. He had stood there, trying his best to conjure up a smile as strangers asked him the inevitable question: “How did you do it?”
Ian couldn’t answer because he didn’t know, either.
None of the math worked out, and worse, the entire team couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary in the moments leading up to the accident. Ian had been chatting with Cate and Sajan in the lab, his mind on the upcoming weekend rather than theoretical physics, and then there had only been that light, blinding and otherworldly. He had been convinced that this was the end, that he would be vaporized in the burst of light. And then the light had faded away and only the tear had remained. It was like a gash in reality, a permanent portal that linked the two worlds.
Since then, the interdimensional wormhole had gained other names; Ian thought that the Beanstalk was the best of them. He had spent countless hours studying the passageway, marveling at it. It should have been his greatest achievement, but he could only feel a deep, gnawing frustration. A lucky accident, that’s all that it was.
Ian’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he brooded. There were three more speeches scheduled for the next week, and already he was dreading them. To distract himself, he reached over and turned on the radio, searching through the stations until he settled on an NPR show. The announcers were discussing the world on the other side of the Beanstalk. It was similar to Earth but so much larger; the first explorers who had journeyed through the passageway had been shocked to see a land of giants. Ian had never been there although he had seen photos, all of them astonishing. Massive plants, colossal animals, and most amazing of all, immense people.
The first diplomatic visit by one of the giants had been even more amazing; Ian remembered watching the broadcast with bated breath as the colossus had stood near the United Nations building, as big as Godzilla. Since then, humanity had developed a cautious relationship with the gigantic ambassadors and attaches.
On the radio, a guest sociologist was discussing the similarities and differences between the giants’ culture and various Earth cultures. Ian listened to the discussion until his phone rang, drowning out the guest’s words. He moved to answer the call, his eyes swiveling down for a split second.
He didn’t see that the road ended abruptly.
The car heaved suddenly and violently and then sailed through the air. He only had time to gasp before the Camry crashed down, bouncing him around in his seat. Pain filled his mouth as he bit down on his tongue; a moment later, he tasted the coppery tang of blood. Dazed, he glanced toward the windshield; through a spiderweb of cracks he saw the smoke rising up from the engine. Gradually his gaze shifted to his surroundings and he realized that he was in some sort of depression. A sinkhole? Whatever it was, it had wrecked his car. His relatively new, only-had-three-payments-left-on-it car. Ian laughed bitterly. The bad ending to a terrible night, he thought.
He tried to open the door, realized how close the ragged wall of the sinkhole was. And even if he could have opened the door completely, the walls of the sinkhole were tall, far too tall for him to climb safely. Exposed pipes and fractured asphalt lined the perimeter of the pit, and water trickled down the debris in small rivers. His head swam, a possible sign of concussion, as he fumbled around for his phone to call for help. Ian felt a discarded pen and an old roll of Life Savers on the car carpet, but there was no sign of the phone. Cursing, he started to rummage beneath the seat.
Low thunder rumbled in the distance and Ian frowned, confused. There weren’t supposed to be thunderstorms this time of year; then again, there weren’t supposed to be sinkholes in this area, either. Ian jumped at the second clap of thunder, shocked at how near it sounded. The car rocked and swayed, bumping up against the wall of the sinkhole with a shrill screech of metal. For a minute, he felt like a mouse in a cage, unable to free himself as his captor came closer and closer.
It’s not a sinkhole at all, he realized as the tremors intensified. It’s a trap.
His head snapped up. Overhead the sky was black and starless, and it became even darker as something monstrously titanic passed over the hole. Panic paralyzed his limbs; the only thing that seemed to move in his body was his frantic heart. One of the car’s headlights had been shattered, but the other light was still working and in its pale glow he saw a pair of eyes, impossibly huge. Those eyes examined him from a great distance and his panic increased a thousandfold.
The phone! His terrified mind screamed at him. Find the phone! Call for help!
Before Ian could force his arms to work again, before he could do more than blink helplessly, his car was snatched up into the sky.
Cate tried not to ask too many questions as they drove through the city, although she snuck quick glances at the government agents surrounding her. They had appeared outside of her apartment that morning, and she had stared in confusion as one of the men explained the situation in a brisk, detached manner. Everyone else on the research team was missing, she had to come with them immediately. Cate had been too overwhelmed to do much besides peer at their badges and then follow them into a black SUV.
As they had driven into the city, she had caught a glimpse of the Beanstalk, which was hundreds of feet across and shimmering with that same unnatural light that Cate had witnessed during the accident. It never failed to astonish her, that vast tear in the fabric of reality, something that she had unwittingly helped to create. Her eyes hadn’t left the portal until the SUV had rounded a corner and it had vanished from sight.
Now, as they moved through the city, Cate wondered about her colleagues’ disappearances. She hadn’t heard from Ian and the others in a few years, not since they had become quasi-celebrities and gone their separate ways. The fact that they had disappeared without warning filled her with dread, and it didn’t help that the agents weren’t providing many details. It was obvious that she was at risk; why else had they dragged her away?
Cate was still contemplating her situation when the SUV stopped at an intersection. Along with the traffic light there was a tall metal pole with a flashing red orb on it. Before she could guess what the pole was supposed to be, an immense foot crashed down from far above. The shockwave jostled the SUV and the fillings in Cate’s teeth. She stared at the foot, which was planted in the intersection, her mind unable to process something so large and yet so human-like. It was even wearing a herringbone high heel that was similar to one of her own shoes, except tremendously scaled up. Cate could barely fathom the idea of a shoe the size of the SUV, but she knew that her eyes weren’t lying.
“You get used to it,” the driver said, looking into the rear view mirror at Cate. “There are a few giants around here.”
“I see,” she managed to mumble.
The foot lifted from the pavement with a rush of air, sailing away gracefully; a second later, the other swung by overhead. When the orb (or the giant signal, she supposed) stopped flashing, the SUV turned left. Their destination was at the end of the street, a nondescript government building that blended in with the rest of the skyscrapers. The agents escorted her through the glass doors, into a cavernous lobby.
“Do you think they’re okay?” She asked as they reached the elevators.
The man closest to her pressed the button for the twentieth floor. “Desmond may have more information.”
Cate didn’t know who Desmond was, although she found out when they entered the office on the top floor. He was seated behind an impressively huge desk that was cluttered with a laptop and towering stacks of folders. A black and bronze nameplate on the righthand side of the desk read “Desmond Henley, Director, Federal Interdimensional Affairs.” From what she knew, the FIA was a newer agency, designed to keep track of the Beanstalk and the visitors from the other world.
“I’m sorry that we had to meet under such stressful circumstances, Ms. Fasano,” Desmond said. He certainly didn’t look like the director of a government agency; with his tweed sweater and horn-rimmed glasses, he reminded Cate of a literature professor or a librarian. Smiling affably, he gestured for her to sit down in one of the chairs across from the desk. She did, although the agents stayed near the door, arms crossed.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Cate asked. “They told me that Dr. Kwan and the others have disappeared.”
Desmond removed his glasses and inspected a tiny smudge on one of the lens. His eyes were a deep brown, nearly black, and she saw the concern buried within them. “We don’t have much information, unfortunately. The FBI is still investigating, although the fact that they were all members of your research team is troubling. This may be tied to the passageway somehow.”
“So am I at risk?” Cate realized that she was tightly clenching the arms of the chair and relaxed her grip.
The director returned his glasses to his face. “We believe that there’s a credible threat.”
Cate’s stomach sank at this news. He must have noticed the way that the color drained from her cheeks because he gave her another reassuring smile.
“Our goal —my goal — is to keep you safe, Ms. Fasano. That’s why we brought you here. Until we determine what’s going on, you’ll be provided with security,” Desmond told her. Cate dug her fingers into the chair arms again.
“So a bodyguard?”
The director nodded, and Cate glanced over her shoulder at the agents positioned near the door. “One of them?”
“No,” Desmond replied, leaning back in his chair and steepling his thin fingers together. “We have reason to believe that more security is necessary than that.”
Cate opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but before she could say anything, the room shook hard enough to knock over the folders on Desmond’s desk. She shot out of her chair, startled. Floor to ceiling windows filled the wall across from her, and as she tried to regain her composure, the windows darkened unexpectedly, as if someone had drawn a curtain over the sun. But it wasn’t a curtain; it was a face, wider than a billboard. Everyone in the room was reflected in the opaque mirrors of gigantic sunglasses. The reflection moved as the giant rotated his head to look at them, and she understood how a cockroach must feel when the owner of the kitchen spotted it. She couldn’t see much else of the massive face, just the bridge of his nose and the dark arches of his eyebrows.
“Oh my god,” She stammered.
“This is Lhyr,” Desmond said, pointing toward the windows and the giant silently staring into the room. “He’ll be your bodyguard.”
RE: Sex Objects
@olo I was thinking about this the other day and it feels like you’ve read my mind (I’m very sorry for all of the awful things that you may have seen ).
I love M/f content, although a lot of it feels like it’s not aimed toward me, which is fine. I know that many of the content producers and active members are men and they create what they enjoy (and rightfully so, since everyone should be free to explore the fantasy however they want). Back in the Dark Ages when I first appeared online, almost all of the SW/GT content was aimed toward a male audience, so I just created my own content, usually involving ridiculously hot giants because I have no shame. Since then the size community has expanded, so it’s a little easier to find content that emphasizes the giant man rather than focusing on just the tiny woman. Of course, I have an almost endless thirst, so I keep creating content with ridiculously hot giants.
Most of my work is extremely mean, although occasionally I write gentle stories. I figured that I’d share this one here.
“…and the sacred magic was placed into the Vessel, the god who could die.”
-Ancient text of the Order
Kysein sat on the edge of the marble bench, feeling more alone than he ever would have thought possible. In his lap was the ceremonial robe, the fabric shimmering a subtle gold. He couldn’t bring himself to put it on, no matter how hard he tried. Despite the fact that he had been preparing himself for this moment, he found his courage slipping away.
I want to go home, Kysein thought, and his gaze moved from the robe to the walls surrounding him. This place was so different from his family’s farmhouse; the room was huge and richly decorated, with ivory statues and furniture carved from the rarest woods. Everything seemed to gleam and sparkle and shine, and Kysein was afraid to touch anything besides the bench. He didn’t belong here, amongst so much luxury. He was just the son of a peasant, a nobody. They should have chosen a powerful nobleman or a distinguished scholar or a legendary warrior instead.
Huddled on the bench, he wondered if it was too late to escape.
They would catch him, though. And who knew what happened to those who dared to defy their destiny? All of his predecessors had willingly accepted the role of the Vessel. Kysein had to do the same thing, as much as it terrified him. He pulled on the golden robe, his palms clammy, his mouth uncomfortably dry. When he glanced into one of the ornate mirrors, all that he saw was a frightened young man whose face had paled to the color of whey. Even when he forced himself to look calm, his eyes betrayed him. Nervousness lurked within their dark depths.
In the mirror’s reflection Merina appeared, a tall figure in white and jade robes, and Kysein spun around to face her.
“Are you almost ready?” The head priestess asked. She had been the one who had visited his family’s farm several months prior, the one who had announced that he was to become the Vessel. Kysein had listened as she told him that this was his duty, and although he had wanted to protest, he hadn’t been able to form the words. He had to do it; he had no other choice. If the magic was interrupted or broken, the consequences would be devastating.
“Yes, I’m ready,” he told Merina, and they both heard the quaver in his voice. The priestess took his hand, wrapped her slim fingers around his own, and led him from the room into the candlelit corridor. The gloominess hid most of the details, but Kysein could make out paintings along the walls, depictions of long-dead gods and supernatural creatures. He wished that he could have asked Merina what they were, but she was too intent on dragging him along, their sandals slapping against the tiled floor.
The priestess pushed open a pair of heavy doors and they stepped outside into the night. The garden that circled the temple was beautiful, and Ylla would have loved all of the flowers, the large bushes of bougainvillea and the bright peonies and the dew-speckled roses. His heart tightened as he thought about Ylla’s soft features, her smiling eyes. She had understood when he had told her that he was leaving.
“This is your destiny,” she had said sadly.
This is my destiny, Kysein reminded himself as they walked through the garden. Yellowish lights flickered ahead, and he saw that they were torches. The other priestesses were gathered around a pool, their faces hidden within hoods, and they didn’t move as Merina and Kysein approached. The head priestess released his hand and gestured toward the pool. He knew that this was the beginning of the ritual, and as his anxiety swelled, sweat ran down between his shoulder blades.
Kysein didn’t bother to take off his sandals or robe as he climbed into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm and fragrant, and he breathed in the aroma of jasmine as he sank down, deeper and deeper. His soaked robe became heavy, as though the fabric had transformed into lead. In unison the priestesses began to chant, their voices hushed.
He listened raptly, trying to recall what came next in the ritual. Before he could remember, the priestesses seized him, a flurry of hands grabbing onto his body. Kysein gasped and bucked as they tried to submerge his head.
“You need to do this,” Merina said, her fingernails biting into his skin. “You need to complete the ritual.”
“I-I know,” he croaked, trembling.
He closed his eyes as his head sank below the surface of the water. Something was happening; his skin tingled with an electric intensity, and as he opened his lips to cry out, water rushed into his mouth. Involuntarily he thrashed, fighting. He was strong, but there were eight priestesses holding him down with determination.
Ylla, he thought, and then he stopped writhing and allowed the change to occur.
He could sense them, the dead ones. Kysein was beginning to understand that as the sacred magic was passed from one Vessel to another, remnants of the previous hosts remained. They never said anything, although he knew that they were there, watching. In a way, he wished that they would talk; at least then he would have some company.
Not that Kysein wasn’t constantly surrounded by people. The pilgrims and the priestesses and the people from the nearby villages swarmed around him like noisy, irritating bees. Or sometimes they simply gawked up at him. Like now. Kysein reclined near the temple, waiting for the three tiny people to say something, anything. They all stared up at him with the same startled expression, and whenever he moved his hand or shifted his body, they flinched.
“You are a god to them,” Merina had said, and she was right, he was exactly that. The magic had transformed him, peeling away his humanity and replacing it with such breathtaking power. He towered over everyone and everything, literally and figuratively. When he had emerged from the magical pool he had been a giant, the ground quaking beneath his feet. And while that had been exciting at first, he began to miss being a person. He missed his farmhouse, his village, his sense of belonging.
Most of all, he missed her.
“Divine One?” One of the worshippers finally spoke up.
Kysein forced himself to pay attention to them, and for the hundredth time, he was astonished at how small they were. The two men and the woman could have all fit on his palm, and there would have been room for several more people. Kysein would never touch them, though. He understood how massive he had become, and he feared that he wouldn’t be able to control his own strength. Just one wrong move and a tragic accident could occur. So he watched and listened to these frail, tiny beings, always keeping his distance from them. With great resignation, Kysein realized that he was completely separated from everyone else.
“O Divine One, we beseech thee,” the worshipper said, and Kysein could only imagine what he wanted. Probably more land, or a beautiful wife, or a thousand other things. They were always concerned with what they wanted, what they needed, and he understood that he was just a dispenser of wishes and magic, nothing more. Bitterness filled him, and it was so strong that he could practically taste it.
I could destroy you all with a swipe of my hand, he thought, and for an instant, he considered it. Then he realized where his thoughts had wandered, and the poisonous, angry bitterness turned to horror.
What have I become?
The little worshippers must have seen the troubled look in his eyes because they backed away. Kysein didn’t try to stop them as they left. Let them go, let them all go, he thought. As he sat there, staring out at the horizon, he was overcome with regrets. The priestesses had told him that this was his destiny, and he hadn’t argued. But what if he had fought them? What if someone else had taken his place, become the Vessel instead? Kysein imagined what his life may have been like, and the bitterness returned, a tidal wave of it.
He was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that the nearby grass had withered and turned an unhealthy yellow. Leaves began to drop from the trees, a few at first, and then suddenly the air was filled with them. They fluttered down onto his glowing skin, sizzled and turned to ash. Kysein didn’t see this happen, nor did he see the tendrils of darkness that expanded and crawled out into the world.
The flowers were all dying.
As Ylla knelt down by the flowerbed, she saw that all of the vibrant petals had shriveled and faded. Daisies crumbled to a fine dust on her fingertips, and she frowned, unsure what could have caused this. There hadn’t been a drought, and it was unlike any blight that she had ever seen.
The flowers weren’t the only things that had been affected. For as far as Ylla could see the fields had turned the same sickly shade of brown. And the sky was like something out of an apocalyptic text, the charcoal clouds stretching out endlessly overhead. She almost expected blood or frogs or some other sort of plague to rain down upon the land.
“Ylla?” A voice called out, and she stood, brushing the dirt and dead flowers from her dress. An older woman was standing by her house, and Ylla recognized the distinctive white and jade robes. This was one of the priestesses of the Vessel.
“Yes, that’s me.” Ylla wondered why the woman was here. The last time that one of the priestesses had visited the village, she had announced that Kysein was to give everything up that he cherished. Ylla tried not to think about him; the ache was there everyday, and this woman’s presence only exacerbated it. Like probing and picking at a fresh, sensitive scar.
“My name’s Trista,” the woman told her. “I’m from the Order.”
The wind had picked up, and Ylla noticed that it was unusually cold for summertime. Shivering, she asked, “How can I help you?”
“You know Kysein, don’t you? The one who was selected to become the Vessel?”
Ylla nodded. She didn’t just know him; he had been her best friend and the first man that she ever kissed. She often remembered the plushness of his lips against her own, the sweet warmth of his breath. Perhaps things would have turned out differently if he hadn’t been chosen.
“He’s…” Trista hesitated. “…unwell.”
“Is he hurt?” A thousand terrible scenarios filled Ylla’s mind: that he had been injured, that he was ill, that he was dying.
“Not physically,” the priestess replied. “He seems to have disappeared into himself. He refuses to talk to us, and now the magic is becoming corrupted. It’s affecting everything…the crops and the animals and even people.”
Ylla glanced at her wilted flowerbed. “So he’s doing this?”
“How can we stop it?” Ylla asked, lifting her eyes from the dead plants and looking at Trista. The priestess’ answer surprised her.
“We’re hoping that you can help.”
They rode in Trista’s carriage, and Ylla spent the time studying the grim landscape as it rushed by. It was as if the entire world had become diseased, the rot spreading and festering as she watched. She could hardly believe that Kysein was somehow responsible for it. If it had been anyone else, then she would have trusted what Trista had told her. But Kysein was such a gentle man, the sort of man who would help a robin with a broken wing. Surely the priestess had been lying.
Trista didn’t say much until the carriage reached its destination. Ylla had never been to the temple, although she had heard stories of its magnificence. She took a moment to appreciate the silver spires and the bright blue stained glass windows; then the priestess descended from the carriage and she followed.
They didn’t go inside of the temple as Ylla had been expecting. Instead, they headed through a garden that made Ylla’s flowerbeds appear healthy and thriving in comparison. Most of the leaves and petals were gone from the plants, leaving behind scrawny, crooked stems and trunks. An odor, bitter and rancid and pervasive, assaulted her nose and she lifted her hand to cover her nostrils.
Once more, her mind balked at the idea that Kysein had done this. But who else could have caused such devastation? Ylla had a limited knowledge of the Vessels; she knew that they were once people like her, that they gave up their humanity to become the bearers of unimaginable power. Could that have changed him? Perhaps whatever magical process the priestesses used had seared away Kysein’s soul. She shuddered as she considered that.
Ylla followed Trista through the twisted, blackened remains of the garden, past an empty pool. That pool was where the odor seemed to originate from; she winced in disgust as they walked by. She wasn’t a trained magic user, not like the priestesses, but even she could sense the powerful forces here, which were so strong that they were almost tangible.
A soft, golden glow cut through the gloom, and as they drew closer to the source, Trista said, “Remember, he’s not exactly the man that he used to be.”
The priestess’ warning sent an icy prickle over Ylla’s skin. The golden light intensified as they stepped out of the garden, and Ylla had to shield her eyes as she looked out over the distance. She spotted him immediately; it was impossible to miss a being who was so immense.
And Trista had been right. He had changed. She could see the parts of him that had been her friend, but it was like looking at an image that had been repainted, again and again, until the original had almost completely disappeared. When she had last seen him, his hair had been as black as ink. Now it was that same shimmering gold as his skin, the strands more like fine fragments of metal than human hair.
Even more startling was the otherworldly energy radiating from his body. The glow was coming from his flesh, and his eyes were like twin beacons of white light. Every time that he blinked the light was blotted out for a split second.
Kysein was crouched down, broad shoulders slumped, his posture one of misery. Although her heart ached for him, she didn’t dare to approach. His size was overwhelming, utterly intimidating. The dead trees surrounding him were little more than dandelions, and there was no doubt that he could have uprooted the tallest oaks with ease. So this was a Vessel. This was what he had been destined to become.
As if he sensed them, Kysein turned his head in their direction. His gaze fell on Trista first; then, when he saw Ylla, his fiery eyes widened. “What are you doing here, Ylla?”
Although the volume was earthshaking, it wasn’t the voice of a god. It was the voice of a man, and she heard so many things in it: surprise, relief, embarrassment. Most of all, she heard Kysein, and that somehow helped to soothe the fear running through her.
“Trista brought me here,” she told him, wondering if he could even hear her from that distance. His head was higher than the temple spires, and to someone so enormous, she probably sounded like a chittering insect.
But somehow Kysein heard her. Trying to smile and failing, he said, “I’ve missed you.”
She could only nod, her mind still trying to grasp what he had become. Cautiously Ylla approached the giant, and sensing her nervousness, he didn’t move until she was a few feet away. Bending down for a closer look, his radiant face plunged down from the heavens and stopped several stories above her.
Ylla gaped up at him, transfixed by his glowing eyes, his size. Realizing that she was being rude, she yanked her gaze away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“I’m used to it,” he replied. “Sometimes pilgrims come to the temple and they seem so amazed to see me. Amazed, and frightened. It makes me feel like I’m not a person anymore.”
“I’m not frightened,” Ylla said, and she hoped that he couldn’t see through her lie.
Again Kysein attempted to smile. Lowering his right hand, he stretched out his fingers, the glowing digits so big that she could make out the finer details of his nails and knuckles. Once or twice when she was younger, Ylla’s grandfather had let her use his magnifying glass, and she had peered at her fingertips and palm and wrist, fascinated by all of the little things that her eyes usually missed. And now it felt as though she was gazing through a vast magnifying glass as Kysein’s hand descended.
He didn’t touch her, and when she realized that he was offering his hand, she stretched up on her toes. Ylla’s own hand brushed his index finger; a small jolt rattled her body as the magic passed through her, and unprepared for it, she tumbled backwards. Or she would have tumbled backwards if Kysein hadn’t caught her, his long fingers wrapping around her abdomen, his palm supporting her back.
“Are you okay?” He asked, and Ylla squeaked out a weak “Yes.” She was struggling to deal with the sensations — the heat of his hand, the soft firmness of his flesh. And all of that magic, overpowering her senses and leaving her stunned. Vaguely Ylla was aware that he was lifting her up, the magic still coursing through her.
Kysein inspected the woman in his hand, his golden eyebrows bunched together in concern. As she became acclimatized to the effects of the magic, the mental fogginess drifted away and Ylla realized how far above the ground she was. The highest that she had ever climbed was to the top of an old tree, and this was so much higher than that. Shaking, Ylla wrapped her arms around Kysein’s thumb, clinging onto it with frantic determination. He noted her panic and cupped his other hand protectively around her.
“I’ve never held a person before,” Kysein said. “I was so afraid that I’d hurt the pilgrims or the priestesses if I picked them up. All that I could think about what that I’d injure them…or worse.”
His grip was far from painful, though. He held her as if she were a prized lily, and with care and curiosity, he touched her arms. Her legs. Her soft, gingery curls. Feeling bolder, Ylla explored him as well, amazed that these huge fingers belonged to her friend. She looked into his face, and maybe it was the magic that was connecting them, but she could feel his sadness and such deep loneliness. Becoming a Vessel, the host of life-sustaining magic, was supposed to be the ultimate honor. But that was all wrong, she realized. Humans were social creatures, and to rip them away from everyone else was a crueler fate than anything else Ylla could have imagined.
“I’m so sorry,” she managed to say.
Kysein was confused. “For what?”
“For not speaking up. For telling you to go.”
At last he smiled, and the inhumanness of his features vanished. “It’s not your fault, Ylla.”
The giant’s face was close enough that she was able to reach out and lay her hand on his cheek. More than anything she wanted to help him, but she wasn’t sure how. What was done was done; the magic was bound within him, inseparable until he eventually burned away like a candle. How ironic that the ancients had believed that gods required sacrifices; in reality, the gods were the sacrifices.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, and her heart leapt up into her throat, “I can’t keep being their god.”
“Wait, don’t!” Ylla pleaded as Kysein lowered her down toward the ground. She tried to hold onto the titanic fingers but he gently pushed her away. The giant’s smile became wistful, his glowing eyes dimmed, and then he vanished. It wasn’t a gradual process; one second he was towering above her, and the next second he was gone.
“What have you done?” Trista shrieked, horrified. But Ylla said nothing. Her gaze was frozen on the spot where he had been; now only flattened, dead grass remained.
RE: Is height correlated to size feteshes
Maybe in reality, it is equally common among men and women. But for some reason there are mainly reports on men having the fetish outside of the size community.
Men seem to be more vocal about their fetishes, especially online, so it perpetuates the idea that only men have macro/microphilia (which is why there’s 50 billion articles about the “giantess fetish,” which ignores the fact that women and gay men also exist). When I first discovered the size community, I was convinced that I was the only woman who liked size stuff, but luckily, that’s not the case and I’m glad to see all kinds of size communities thriving. I’m hoping that eventually we’ll see more articles about macro/microphilia which focus on more than just giantess fantasies.
Latest posts made by Nyx
RE: Passageway (M/f, Giant)
@SillyLilBug Thank you! Even in gentle scenarios, I still love overwhelming size and power. The giant person can choose to use that power for good or bad purposes, and I really like exploring that tension.
Also, accidents happen…tiny people tend to make such fragile little things. Like skyscrapers
RE: Passageway (M/f, Giant)
“He’s with me.”
Humblebrag of the Century.
She’s pretty restrained…if it were me, I’d say it constantly and I’d probably end up being banned from everywhere for being annoying.
I can’t tell you how gratified I am that you’re giving us Lhyr’s perspective.
One of the goals of this story was to create a giant character who wasn’t a bloodthirsty monster and who had to navigate a very small and very fragile world without wrecking it. It’s been a challenge because I have to remind myself that not everyone would push over skyscrapers for fun.
Thank you for reading and commenting, by the way. Your feedback is always very much appreciated
RE: Passageway (M/f, Giant)
Cate awoke in an unfamiliar bed and it took a moment for her to remember where she was: a small cottage in a small town, the perfect place for a safe house. She already missed her bedroom, cluttered but filled with her photos and paintings and personal belongings. This room looked like it had been decorated by a bureaucrat. Everything was generic and soulless, all grays and blacks and sterile whites.
And her living situation was the least of her worries. Someone had kidnapped the other members of her research team, and they were most likely after her as well.
Feeling exhausted even though she had slept for several hours, Cate rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. She took an extra long shower, allowing the hot water to wash away the stale fear-sweat from her body, and then dressed in an old sweatshirt and jeans. Fancy clothes and makeup had never been her thing; she preferred comfortable clothing and shoes and she didn’t have the time or skill to apply anything more than Chapstick.
Cate wandered to the kitchen, where she found a coffee maker. She made a cup of coffee and held it in her hands, waiting for it to cool down enough to drink. As the warmth from the cup traveled through her fingers, she wondered who was after her. She hadn’t even been an important member of the team, just some grad student who had been assisting Dr. Kwan. No one knew exactly how they had created the passageway, least of all her. After the accident, Cate had spent countless hours redoing the calculations, sifting through the notes, and had found nothing.
The coffee was no longer scalding, so she took a small sip. Still lost in thought, Cate glanced through the kitchen window, expecting to see the golden sky of dawn.
Instead, she saw a massive moss-green eye, the pupil as large as a softball and focused entirely on her.
Startled, Cate uttered a strangled noise and dropped the cup. It crashed to the tiled floor, splashing coffee across her feet. A rumbling sound, as loud and oppressive as jet engines, blasted her ears, and she clapped both hands over her head. The huge eye peering in on her blinked, the simple motion rendered awe-inspiring because of the scale, and then the noise abruptly stopped. Ears ringing, Cate lowered her hands. Lhyr. It was just Lhyr. But even though she recognized the giant staring at her through the window, she realized that she couldn’t deal with this. Not right now, not in this unfamiliar place. She quickly retreated to the bathroom, where there weren’t any windows, and slammed the door.
Cate stayed in the bathroom for quite some time, huddled near the bathtub.
Her heart stopped its painful thundering at last, and she slowly headed back into the kitchen. The green eye hadn’t moved from the window, and she thought that she saw concern in it, although that may have been her imagination. Cate found one of the translation devices — Desmond had given her several — and slipped it onto her ear.
“I’m very sorry that I frightened you, ma’am,” the giant apologized, his earthshaking voice comprehensible now that she had the ear piece.
Cate dragged up every scrap of courage that she possessed. “Look, you can’t just stare into windows like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
The titanic eye slid away from the window, revealing the early morning sky. “I was just making sure that you were okay. But I won’t do it again, ma’am.”
She sighed and retrieved some paper towels to clean up the puddle of coffee. Once Cate had taken care of the mess and made herself another cup of coffee, she went outside. The location really was picturesque; the cottage was by a pond with dark water as smooth as glass, and the closest houses were just tiny shapes in the distance. If she had been here on vacation, she probably would have appreciated the place a lot more.
Lhyr was sitting by the cottage, and the building looked like a dollhouse in comparison to him. He had removed the sunglasses, which would have made him look less intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that a skyscraper-sized man always looked intimidating. Cate gripped the coffee cup tightly, trying not to appear afraid and probably failing. She walked toward the giant, stopping far enough away that he couldn’t have snatched her up easily.
“I’d offer you some coffee, but I don’t think there’s enough,” Cate said lamely, and she realized that there probably wasn’t enough coffee in this whole town for the giant. How many cups would it even take to satisfy someone so immense? She imagined a water truck held in Lhyr’s colossal hand, the tanker filled with thousands of gallons of Starbucks.
The giant almost smiled. “That’s alright. I’m getting used to everything being small here.”
“Like Gulliver in Lilliput,” Cate commented.
“It’s a story about a man who travels to various lands. One of those lands has tiny people,” she explained, and the giant considered this.
“Oh. How do they treat him?”
Cate took a swig of coffee. “Not very well, unfortunately.”
“While I was learning English, I saw some of the media from Earth,” Lhyr said. “There seems to be a deep distrust of giants. I suppose it makes sense…such a difference in size makes relationships difficult. But for what it’s worth, you don’t have to distrust me, ma’am.”
That was easier said than done, but Cate decided to at least make an effort. “ ‘Ma’am’ isn’t necessary. You can call me Cate.”
“It’s an important assignment,” they had told Lhyr, but he remained skeptical. Since he had left the military, he had had several stints as a bodyguard, but he hadn’t been prepared at all for this particular job. He had met with a member of the ambassador’s staff, a no-nonsense woman who had explained the details of the assignment, and he had listened in disbelief. The client was a member of the team that had discovered the passageway, which meant that she was from Earth.
And that she was the size of his thumb.
Lhyr hadn’t found most of the training to be challenging; he had a knack for languages and an interest in other cultures. But learning how to interact with the inhabitants of Earth had proven to be exceedingly difficult. When it had come time to handle a tiny person, Lhyr had been nervous. He had held small animals before, but the idea of holding a sentient being in his hand had been nerve-wracking. The tiny man had been calm as Lhyr had picked him up, and if he had noticed the thin film of sweat coating Lhyr’s skin, he hadn’t mentioned it.
It had been an amazing sensation, feeling the minute heartbeat beneath his fingers, the insignificant weight of the little body. The tiny man hadn’t seemed upset as Lhyr had gently shifted him from hand to hand, practicing the handling techniques that would prevent injury. As the instructor had talked about applying proper amounts of pressure, Lhyr had barely heard him, too astonished by the living doll creature. He didn’t believe that he could experience anything more incredible than that.
Then Lhyr had traveled through the passageway, and he had realized how wrong he had been.
The world on the other side was shrunken; at least, it seemed like that initially. Buildings, trees, people — everything was so miniscule. And so delicate, as if it was made from spun glass rather than concrete and steel. Somehow, Lhyr had managed to keep his composure and not gawk at the little things scurrying near his feet. Gradually, it had occurred to him that this world wasn’t shrunken. He was simply huge, a colossus that towered over everything. He had been to be careful whenever he moved; this world was so very breakable. If he tripped and fell into one of the buildings, it’d crumble beneath him like a sand castle. If he sneezed, it’d most likely shatter windows.
Worst of all was the constant activity at his feet. There were tiny vehicles and tiny people, and Lhyr had to be aware of what was underfoot at all times. One careless step, and he could destroy someone’s car, or end their life. He had been relieved when he had found out that they were moving the client to a safer location, one that wasn’t crammed with so many small people.
Now that they were in a more isolated area, Lhyr’s biggest problem was trying to gain the client’s — Cate’s — trust. The tiny people that he had handled previously had been calm and relaxed; Cate was absolutely terrified of him. He had felt the way that she had quaked, the shivers running from head to toe, as he had held her between his fingers. Not that Lhyr blamed her. He was capable of causing her great harm, even though he would never do that.
How do you know that he’s not dangerous? What if he eats me?
At first, it had sounded laughable, the idea of Lhyr eating Cate. But as he contemplated it more, he understood where the fear originated. He was a lot of things to her — a behemoth, a brute, a predatory beast — and she didn’t exactly see him as a person. He was the monster at the other end of the Beanstalk. Lhyr hadn’t heard of Gulliver’s Travels, but he had heard of Jack and the Beanstalk, and he could see how the people on this world imagined giants to be.
Well, he would prove that he was just as human as they were.
Cate continued to be wary of him. She mostly stayed in the cottage during the first week, communicating with him only when necessary. Lhyr kept his promise and didn’t check in on her through the windows. And then perhaps due to boredom or curiosity, she began to come out and talk to him awkwardly.
Lhyr was getting ready to eat lunch, which was a MRE similar to what he had received in the military, when he sensed someone watching him. He glanced down and spotted the tiny woman, who was standing at a distance. She never came close to him, probably intimidated by his size.
Cate was saying something, although Lhyr didn’t have his ear piece on and it sounded like high-pitched squeaks. As soon as he retrieved the device from his pocket and put it on his ear, her words became clear.
“So, um, I saw that you were having lunch and I figured that you might like some company,” she said, holding up a miniature plate with a speck on it. A sandwich? A salad? Lhyr couldn’t really see what it was.
“Of course, ma’am, I mean, Cate,” Lhyr replied, and she sat down where she had been standing, which was an arm’s distance away from him. He opened the MRE and started to eat what passed as beef. His stopped chewing when he saw her staring intensely at him. Cate’s expression was almost comical, her mouth hanging open, dark eyes wide. He swallowed the mouthful of food and cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be staring,” Cate said quickly. “It’s just…I didn’t think someone could eat so much.”
Then, realizing that what she had said had only made the situation worse, her face turned a deep scarlet and she focused on her plate, picking at whatever her lunch was. With her eyes turned away, Lhyr was able to continue eating, although he was suddenly conscious of every bite. He probably would have reacted the same way if he had seen someone shoveling tons of food into their mouth.
They finished their lunches and sat in silence until Cate spoke up.
“So what’s your world like?” She asked, looking up at him.
“Similar to this one, but it’s my size,” Lhyr told her.
“That sounds terrifying.”
“Not for me.” But he realized that Cate was right; being surrounded by immense bugs and cats and people did sound terrifying. Everything would be a threat, a danger that one would have to navigate. Both worlds were hostile to those who were different sizes, Lhyr realized. This world wouldn’t hesitate to blow him up if he acted inappropriately, and his world would be filled with all sorts of horrors for Cate.
She decided to change the subject. “So how long do you think this will last? I mean, you and me being together like this?”
“I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, and Cate nodded, absorbed in her own thoughts. Eventually she picked up her plate and started to head back toward the cottage.
“Do you want to, uh, have dinner together?” She asked, not meeting his eyes. He agreed and she disappeared into the little house, leaving him alone outside.
Well, it seemed that he had made some progress in gaining her trust.
RE: Passageway (M/f, Giant)
I realized that I haven’t updated this story here in forever so time to post several chapters
Cate didn’t believe that she’d be able to tear her gaze away from the windows and the massive sunglasses, but somehow, she did. If Desmond noticed Cate’s discomfort, he didn’t acknowledge it. He continued talking as if they were having a discussion about something mundane, like tax law.
“Communication between the giants and ourselves proved to be difficult at first,” he said, reaching into his desk drawer and taking out what appeared to be an odd ear piece. Desmond fiddled with it until a green light flashed; then he placed it on his desk. “They can’t really hear us well, and with vocal cords that size, it’s difficult for us to understand them. So we have communication equipment like this to help us. I can show you how to use it.”
She only gave the ear piece a cursory glance before her eyes darted back to Desmond.
“You can’t be serious,” Cate managed to say at last.
Desmond tried a warm smile. “I know that this is a lot to process all at once.”
“That’s an understatement! How can you expect me to be okay with this?” She chanced another glance out the window. The giant was still watching her intently, his dark eyebrows drawn slightly together. Instinctual terror tightened her chest, made it hard to breathe. Some primal part of her brain recognized that she was in the presence of a monstrously huge and threatening being, and it was panicking.
“No one told me that you were going to assign me a bodyguard like him,” Cate continued, her voice strained. “How do you know that he’s not dangerous? What if he eats me?”
“They don’t eat people, Ms. Fasano, and I can assure you that he’s not dangerous,” Desmond explained patiently.
“I’m not going near that thing,” she choked out, and the director tapped the strange device on his desk.
“This is on,” he whispered.
Desmond leaned closer, still talking softly. “He can hear you.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh, Jesus,” Cate stuttered, looking at the sprawling face staring through the windows. “I’m so sorry!”
A booming rumble like a freight train assaulted her ears; an instant later, the little device on Desmond’s desk translated the giant’s voice into something recognizable: “No apologies needed, ma’am.”
She couldn’t see enough of his face to read his expression, and she had no idea if her words had bothered him. Under the giant’s enigmatic gaze, Cate felt her cheeks burn unbearably hot. She purposely looked away and focused on Desmond instead.
“How long will this be for?” She asked, hoping that his answer would indicate that it’d only be a few days.
“It depends on the investigation,” Desmond said. “Believe me, you’re in good hands. Literally.”
Cate didn’t grin at the joke.
The director handed the ear piece to her. “Here, put this on. We’ll go outside and meet your new bodyguard.”
“His resume is quite impressive,” Desmond said as they strode across the lobby toward the doors, flanked by more men in black. “Ex-military, their version of special ops. He’s a language expert and trained in several martial arts, including some Earth-based ones.”
Cate wondered how martial arts skills would benefit a two hundred foot tall colossus. Who would he even be fighting? The Empire State Building? But she didn’t mention any of this to the director, just followed him through the doors.
She had been expecting more of a crowd outside, gawkers who wanted to catch a glimpse of the giant, but the agents had most likely shooed away onlookers. There was only Lhyr, and it was fortunate that there weren’t more people around because he was taking up most of the street. One column-like leg stretched up near the entrance to the federal building; the other leg was halfway down the block. Cate looked up and up, trying to see more of the giant.
And then he knelt down.
For a heart-pounding second, Cate was convinced that he was falling over and that he was going to land on top of them. She made a small, frightened cry, but Desmond and the agents didn’t react. It took awhile for the adrenaline to leave her system, and as Cate drew a few breaths, she studied the titan kneeling before her.
He certainly looked professional: crisply-pressed white shirt, dark suit, a bright blue tie. Now that Cate could actually see his entire face, she spotted the freckles dotting his cheeks and the fullness of his lips. He would have been good-looking if he wasn’t so damn big. On his right ear he wore a device that matched Cate’s, except his ear piece was the size of a mini-fridge.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Lhyr said, his voice reverberating through her entire body. She got the impression that he was trying to be quiet, but he still sounded like a fireworks show. Cate was attempting to adjust to this when he moved his hand toward her. Gasping, she backed up toward the doors, not prepared for a colossal hand grasping for her.
“I think he just wants to shake your hand,” Desmond explained.
“Um, okay. Sure. Okay.” Cate approached the hand cautiously. The fingers were the circumference of telephone poles and curled inward toward the giant’s palm; only his index finger was extended. Did he want her to shake that? Trembling, Cate grabbed onto the fingertip with both hands, amazed at how warm and alive it was.
I’m actually touching a giant, she thought, astonished.
He was exceedingly gentle as he wiggled the finger, but nevertheless, he nearly lifted him from the ground. There was a lot of raw power in those hands, and Cate swallowed hard.
“See, he’s not going to eat you,” Desmond said, and Cate’s face flushed redder. “The plan is to move you to a safer location. Lhyr will take you to your apartment and you can get your things.”
The gargantuan hand moved again, this time lowering down to the ground.
“Wait, is he going to carry me?” Cate stared at the hand, then the director.
“It’s a lot faster and safer than traveling by car,” Desmond replied.
“Has…has he ever held a person before?”
“It’s part of his training, yes.”
Cate didn’t want to step into the outstretched hand, but she was beginning to accept the fact that her life was careening out of control. Gazing upwards, she looked into the enormous sunglasses, the eyes hidden behind them. This is a bad idea, Cate thought before she clambered onto the hand. It was more difficult than she would have thought, and her sneakers sank down into the yielding flesh.
The fingers wrapped around her, firmly but carefully. Cate was marveling at the feeling when he stood, picking her up in one fluid motion.
She almost passed out.
Desmond had probably been telling the truth, that the giant had some training in handling people her size. But despite Lhyr’s best efforts, her innards turned to water and the world spun. Recovering, Cate looked around and saw that she was high above the city, high enough that she could spot tiny people and cars. A flock of pigeons soared past the giant’s waist, seemingly unaware that they were flying so close to such a titanic being.
Cate wasn’t afraid of heights, but fear seized her violently.
“Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!” She shrieked, and the giant brought her closer to his face.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” He looked concerned. Unable to think of anything other than colliding against the sidewalk far below, Cate screamed again. The hand holding her swung around, her ponytail whipping wildly in the wind, and she came even closer to fainting. Then Lhyr deposited her into his breast pocket. Cate found herself wedged between thick cloth and a wall of flesh; behind the wall, she heard the steady thunder of the giant’s heart.
“Is this any better, ma’am?” Lhyr asked, and she clung onto the edge of the pocket, gripping it with sweaty palms.
“I-I guess,” Cate squeaked, trying not to look down again.
The other residents at her apartment building were shocked when the giant showed up. As he lowered Cate down so that she could go inside, her neighbors peeked through their windows and took photos and videos. To his credit, Lhyr didn’t seem particularly concerned about the people staring at him; he seemed more interested in surveying the area for potential trouble.
As soon as she was back inside of her apartment, Cate collapsed onto the couch and buried her face into her hands. What an unbelievable morning it had been. She took a moment to regain her composure. She would have taken longer, but the apartment shook once or twice, the photos on her wall rattling and almost crashing to the floor. Lhyr was moving around outside, no doubt. Through the living room window, she only saw cloudless sky; then massive, dark pillars appeared as the giant walked by the building.
Reluctantly, Cate got up and began to pack. She had been wondering how she’d transport everything that she wanted; she wasn’t worried about that anymore. The giant could probably fit most of her furniture into a single pocket. When she had packed as much as she could, she dragged her suitcases out into the hallway. One of the doors opened, and her neighbor Marshall poked his head out.
“Holy shit, there’s a giant out there!” He exclaimed, and Cate nodded wearily.
“Yeah, I know. He’s with me.” She lugged the suitcases toward the exit.
Outside, a crowd had gathered, although everyone was keeping a respectful distance from the giant. Which was wise, considering that his feet were vehicle-sized, and any sort of accident would most likely be fatal for the normal-sized person. Lhyr had crouched down, one hand already resting on the ground. Cate felt weirdly exposed as the crowd parted to let her through, her suitcases clattering over the pavement.
“Ready to go?” The giant asked, and even though she wasn’t, she stepped into his waiting hand.
RE: Giants, how do you protect yourselves from tinies bitting your hand?
@TakoAlice8 He could wear gloves…it’d be difficult for a tiny person to bite through that much cloth or leather.
Or he could use the ol’ hamster trick and scoop them up in an empty mug/bowl.