Tuesday Night News…

I was checking my Twitter TL today when I spotted this tweet, by talented author Taedis. Naturally, I had to snag the image and make it better. It doesn’t quite reflect my thoughts; it simply tells a Size story in the way the original cannot.
MuchBetter
In other news, my blog is moving up in the world, as now I get visitors that search for:

RapedByGTS
I’m certainly referring to the second search phrase since the first one has been a given since the beginning of this blog. Now, some of you may ask, “but Undersquid, that’s a terrible word. Whatever do you mean when you say your blog is moving up in the world?” To which I respond, “never mind, little ones. It will all become clear in subsequent blog entries”.

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Pillows for tinies…

I’m getting ready to start one of my many writing projects, but before I do I wanted to mention this to you….

Most of you own at least one pillow. Pillows are great. I don’t have a pillow fetish, but I’m always on the search for the next great pillow. If I suddenly experienced a great growth spurt, I’d probably attempt to procure a comfortable pillow before I try to find articles of clothing. Believe me, I’m not going to be one of those silly giantesses that use a stupid boulder on which to rest her head.

Likewise, I think of the comfort a shrunken man might require while in my possession. It doesn’t even matter that I might never acquire shrinking powers; I still would like to prepare everything for his arrival. For a long time, I put aside my dream of owning a dollhouse and threw away all the furnishings I had bought for it. I feel that dream slowly returning to me. I begin to see possibilities, and I’ll document them here, on my blog, as they progress. In the meantime, a shrunken man is always going to need a pillow.

But what do you do when you want to feel tiny, and your body refuses to acquiesce? Stupid body. But you are not. You get your size fix however you can engineer it, and unusual pillows are one way you can do that. How about this kind?

Giant-handsI know you are not a baby, but if I felt tiny and wanted gentle hands holding me as I sleep, I’d make myself a pair of giant fabric hands I can stuff with soft material, and strategically place sand weights in them so that some pressure is exerted on my body. Never mind how that would be helpful for those of us with sensory differences; I can imagine that crawling into bed and positioning enormous hands on your body would put you in a certain frame of mind. But what if you don’t want to be held? What if you’d like to be et?

Vore-side-up.jpgThen step right up and onto a couple of fried eggs for a hungry giantess’s breakfast. The white rug and accompanying yolk cushions are so cute, I’d consider them for my living room, even though I don’t like rugs that can stain easily. I have cats, and I’m a clumsy giantess, especially when I’m drunk.

I have no idea how I’d explain such a decor choice to friends and family who would helpfully inform me my house looks like breakfast. I’d act surprised, and say, “Oh, really? Well, I had not noticed!” Then I’d kick my Size books under the rug and hope they don’t notice my shrunken-man pillows. What shrunken-man pillows, you ask?

Male-doll.jpgI like the idea of constructing man-shaped pillows, the same way this woman did. Mine would not be lifesize, of course; mine would be small. I think they would then have to be called “dolls”, but see if I care. If I could have a two-inch long pillow shaped like a little guy, I’d be tickled. Of course, it wouldn’t be very comfortable… but at least if I roll over it, I wouldn’t kill it with my giant form.

Alright. I have some writing to do. Have a nice day, and don’t forget to wash your pillows on a schedule, and dry them well, and protect them with a hypoallergenic cover.

 

Adventure Time – “Mama Said”

Oh, shut up. You know you love that show too. When it first came on, it used to annoy me, but not everyone at my house hated it, so I began to overhear longer bits of it, and to love the double entendre, and the size bits. I love size bits, no matter where they come from. No, that’s not true; there are size bits out there I find repugnant. But every time I see something growy or shrinky on Adventure Time, I smile like this…Lewd-Smile
…and never fail to look around, if I’m with family or friends, because you never know when someone will look at you, jump up from their seat and cry out, “A-ha! J’acusse!” as they point at you and reveal to all present that you have a filthy size fetish. So I make sure no one sees me blush and no one hears my heart pounding and no one watches me try to control my frantic heartbeat, and no one is taking pictures of my cheeks as they turn a violent red.

I not only do that when I watch Adventure Time. It happens any time I see a commercial or show depicting size stuff. It’s also happened that I’m not alone, and someone will say, “Look at that [whatever] with that tiny guy! Did you see it? Did you look? Look at it, look at how funny it is!?!??!”

Those are the times my poker face must be at its best, because inside my head I’m screaming, “YES, I SAW IT. IT WAS HOT. I DREAM OF OWNING SUCH A SEX TOY. YES, LITTLE MEN ARE SEX TOYS DIDN’T YOU KNOW?!?!?!” But outwardly I’m…


And… “No, I missed it. I was thinking of politics or tax reform or health care.” And they always believe me. Would my life be better if I told all around me that I have these thoughts and feelings? Nah. It would make no difference. It would probably mean members of my family find my blog, and start asking questions. Especially my mom. She’d be all… I’m not even going to tell what she’d be like. But it would not be good. The questions would never end.

Anyway, I was about to tell you about this:

http://www.moddb.com/groups/adventure-time-community-group/videos/adventure-time-mama-said

I buy every Adventure Time season as soon as it comes out. Every season is extremely rewatchable. I love the songs. I know the songs. Don’t make me start singing now, because I will. But I love the size stuff the most, no matter how inconsequential, how unrelatable, how vague it is. I’ll take it because I’ll take my size stuff any way I can get it. So, from minute 3:20 on, I looked like this:
Horny.jpg

And I did the same with my lips every time Finn was handheld. Do you have any idea how much I love handheld? No, you don’t. I love it. A lot. So much. If I had a tiny man in real life, he’d be so handheld, so much. So often. So tightly. So hard. So closely. Any image of a tiny human (or robot—let’s be honest) male held in the hand of a larger female anything… is going to cause the same effect on me.

Clothed in galaxies

It’s past midnight, and I should be asleep; but there’s no way I can close my eyes and have nothing happen, so I’m sitting here having a lunch of ale, ice cream, and aspirin; rewatching a certain episode of a certain TV series about people that no longer have a pulse; forcing myself to write. I really need to start taking better care of myself.

But not tonight. Tonight I’ll forgive myself the terrible meal, forgive myself not going to sleep, forgive my brain on fire, and pretend I had a serving of vegetables by eating two olives. Oh, damn. This ale is incredibly bad. So bad. It smells good, but it tastes like dirty shoes.

The photo you see above is of leggings I bought a couple of weeks ago. I like to wear things—cheap or otherwise—that represent who I am without saying a word about who I am, and my galaxies leggings do that for me. When I feel bad, or downtrodden, or I’ve had a bad day, I break out my giant shoes or my giantess clothes or jewelry, and I might not feel better, but it puts my mind on the right road.

I love my leggings. When I look at them, when I touch them, when I wear them, I think of how tall I am, that I drape myself in constellations… that my little gigantic black dress is made of dark matter… that (somewhere interesting) in the deep space that my leggings encompass, Earth spins, and on it I can see everything and everyone. That I keep it safe or crumble it in my fist like a clump of clay, depending on how delighted or annoyed I become with its occupants.

To some of my readers, such a size is unmanageably large. An ultra giantess can’t possibly interact with a planet so small, and conversing with a single earthling is impossible. Not so. I am Me. I can do that, and much more. I can touch it, hold it, caress it, place it anywhere on me, and flirt with the only one person on it that matters. So what if he appears microscopic when compared to me? That means nothing when my focus is centered like a blinding spotlight on him. Nothing is hidden, nothing is out of reach. My Underverse is perfect.

But reality.

Tonight

I’m sneezing until I taste blood. I’m unable to sleep though I have not slept in over twenty-four hours. I have stories dancing in my head, some better than others. I have a semi abandoned blog I’m trying to feed by mentally crying out “clear”, and zapping it with a super late lunch of churros (I bought two but can only eat one; I hope it goes straight to my ass), a cherry-limeade Sparkling Ice, and –ironically– something else that I hope will help me sleep.
Churro
I’m also watching a favorite zombie DVD, which I love to collect and go to sleep to (any Alien movies and any zombie movies are my going-to-sleep white noise. I’m currently rooting for the living, and at the same time thinking someone should write a zombie love story. A Size Zombie love story. 5,000 words. It’s been done before, and it’s probably been written by someone in the community before, but not that I know of. I might even commission someone to create a Size Zombie image for me. But who’ll be the zombie? The giantess, or the tiny man? Hmm.

I’m also thinking about those two size moments I spotted in a couple of DVDs my son and I watched recently. Part of his instruction since birth has been to learn all I teach him about X-Men, Spider-man, and Batman, among other, less important characters. So we watch all the Marvel and DC comics movies we find… and when I saw those moments, I was transported to my world.

(Oh, don’t waste your ammo! I hate it when they panic and shoot and keep shooting and run out of rounds.)

(Yes, I’m talking about zombie stuff.)

(Zombie ambush! Awesome! But. Seriously? She just dropped her gun.)

Where was I? My world.

In Teen Titans: The Judas Contract, Nightwing gets with Starfire, who is taller than he is. During the entire movie, I kept thinking of all the times during my childhood I had crushes on shorter boys who never liked me back. Ever. I was always “too tall” (and when they said that a marvelous thrill ran up and down my back, and I was never self-conscious about it). My first boyfriend was about my height, and he always complained when I wore high heels. In fact, with one exception, nearly all boys and men I girlfriended said the same thing when I wore high heels, except for my second boyfriend, who was into feet and bums. He never complained about my awesome alpha personality either. My point is, when I was a child I was overly enthusiastic about tiny boys, particularly when I got to stand over them during practice; so I was thrown back into those memories when I watched this movie.

In Justice League Dark, Deadman is given his power by a gigantic god, Rama Kushna. That scene only lasted a couple of seconds, but it was such a turn on. I can see myself as a goddess who is inclined to give different powers to random little men after they die, bringing them back in an elegant, redeeming way that does not render them stinking and unattractive, their more important parts (legs) slowly decaying to the work of maggots and carrion vermin. Once the spirit of a man leaves its body, I’d observe it, study it, and if deemed worthy, I’d call it to me and assign it a gift, and a mission. If you die today, don’t be surprised if you find yourself in my presence…

Oh yeah, another zombie ambush. Watching….)

(This woman can’t fight for shit.)

(Run!)

(Oh, good. She lived.)

…anyway, in my presence, and find yourself gifted with an unexpected power that allows you to serve my will. Don’t worry, it won’t be too hard on you. My will is not that perplexing or complicated. I want to shrink the world, and from among everyone, I will pick the one “lucky” man who is destined to be mine for all eternity. Then with my army of gifted undead, I will eliminate tailgating, platypi, fake marshmallows, reality tv, certain presidents, racism, illiteracy, vegan cheese, famine, and war. In that order.

And also, because. Epigraphs.

I don’t need you, I don’t need you
Besides I barely ever see you anymore
And when I do it feels like you’re only halfway there

Don’t do this, I don’t do this to you
Don’t expect me to enjoy it
‘Cause I really don’t have the courage not to turn the volume up inside my ears

The ABCs Game – E is for Eye

EyeToEye
E
is for Eye – ‘ī n [ME, fr. OE ēage; akin to OHG ouga eye, L oculus, Gk ōps, eye, face, Skt akṣi eye] (bef. 12c) 1. a: an organ of sight; esp: a nearly spherical hollow organ that is lined with a sensitive retina, is lodged in a bony orbit in the skull, is the vertebrate organ of sight, and is normally paired.

I love word derivations. When I was a child and read the dictionary because it was fun, etymologies were always the best part. This blog entry was first created eight years ago, right about the time I stopped playing this word game. My muse started packing his things, and all I ever typed here was the above paragraph, and this thought, “It is that giant shape that peers into your window….”

I then added this post to my drafts and left it there to rot. Last night I was inspired soon after I began looking for the components for the accompanying collage, and while going to the store I thought of the words that belong here. All day yesterday people tried to talk to me, and they had to get my attention several times because I was lost in my world. I was lost in this.

* * *

Look at me.
Good.

What is your name?
Wrong. Your name is Toy.

Where is your home?
Wrong. I am your home.

Who is your family?
Wrong. I am your owner.

Look at me.
Stop crying.

Who did this to you?
That’s right. I did this to you.

Open your eyes.
Tell me what you see.

Come here, come closer.
I gave you an order.

Very well, you leave me no choice.
Stop screaming, I won’t hurt you.

I’m only closing my fingers around you, and doing your work for you.
Now look. Look. Open your eyes. Dry them.

Now touch me with both hands.
Yes, there. Reach over my thumb and touch me.

How does it feel?
Yes. What else? Press harder.

Close your eyes and see with your body.
Thunder? No, that’s not thunder.

That’s my heartbeat. That’s my blood.
Rushing there for you.

Put your hands back where I told you.
Follow my orders.

Now feel the heat.
The air down there is thicker. Wetter.

Do not move your hands away.
Or I will keep them there for you.

Tell me your name.
Wrong.

Tell me your name.
Good.

Open your eyes.
You are learning.

Look up. Look at my face.
I don’t care if it hurts your neck.

Tell me my name.
Good.

Show me your home.
Confused still?

Look down again.
Look with your eyes, and with your hands.

That’s your home.
I’m your home.

Push hard. Harder.
Do you hear that?

That’s all for you.
It’s coming for you.

I’m going to put you down now.
Don’t run. Don’t cry.

Alright, keep crying.
But run and I’ll take over.

No more learning.
Only teaching.

Good Toy.
Now come home.

* * *

Singer

singer_by_teaquill.png

Because I’m convinced we’re all very busy writing or plagiarizing or parodying songs about tiny men and giantesses, I decided to create a contest about it. I begin to suspect that only a few of us ever entertain the thought of composing original songs about people of different sizes. An even smaller number does it credibly. I’ve heard a couple of amazing works thus far.

My own songs are childish and mediocre, but you don’t see that stopping me from putting them together! Nope. I’ve also become interested in promoting my Size Tunes 2017 contest with commissioned images, the one above being the first of… I don’t know how many. Let’s see how addicted I become to DeviantArt artists. This one was made for me by TeaQuill, who is currently accepting commissions. I’m very happy with it.

I’m also quite sure we all like to be sung to, simply because I do. The idea of a shrunken man that serenades his giantess has always struck a deep chord with me. It doesn’t matter that he sounds like food cans being crushed, or that what he sings is the ABCs. What matters is that he does it; that he stands there and entertains her, and earns her heart by exposing himself, and giving her an offering that is part of who he is.

Speaking of who we are, this is who I am:

(Just the lyrics. The song file is just too much to share.)

(Hmm. Where’s my Dollhouse song?)

(I’ll post it later. I can’t find the lyrics right now.)

(But enjoy the image, and think of words to sing to your giantess.)

(Or your tiny man, if you have one that inspires you.)

 

Mistpouffer

Mistpouffer.jpg

It all started with a tweet, like so many things I write. Giantess Tina said something to me, then I said something back to her, and I thought I should use my Pixton account to make something of it. There’s no mist or sea foam in the Pixton edit menu, so I had to pull those out of my Internet magic hat. I’m sure that’s a fascinating detail. So… what’s the story here?

It’s very simple, really: Mistpouffers are always sounds giantesses make. In this case, it’s Tina who’s found a boat and its tiny (to us) navigator, and while he’s busy realizing those booming sounds he often heard coming from somewhere in the blue were made by a giantess living her life, she’s busy delighting in having found a precious… meal? Plaything? Companion? Friend? Lover? Who knows… in any case, he always transcends from human being to something else, something new.

When it’s me, the result is always life continued, only slightly modified by my giant whims. Why should I break such a wonderful toy? I’d never think of it. It’s my tendency to want him to live a long life. Once I pick a toy, it’s extremely unlikely I’d want to give it up. Therefore, his health is very important to me. Things like the state of his spine, and lungs, and legs. His puny brain, though materially useless, is also a fair diversion.

So, pay attention. When you go to the beach this summer, you’ll hear them in the night. When you go out at night to walk the dog, and listen to the waves crashing, don’t be distracted by the foam and the crabs dancing in the moonlight. You might miss that giant silhouette breaking the horizon line. If you don’t stop and look for the source of those booming sounds, you won’t see that feminine mountain range swimming your way, and extending one hand to pick your body from the shore.

Anyone else would say, “You’ll never be seen again,” but the truth is, you’ll finally be seen.

 

Sacrifice

Sacrifice

Honestly, I think I only create these because I love handheld images so much. And then I like to overuse filters. In the past I’ve spent time online just looking for Photoshop Elements filters, no matter how useless they end up being. The original image is here. And what’s behind it? A number of things. As usual, I sat here and opened up my Pixton account with nothing in mind; but as soon as I slapped my avatar in the frame, I knew it was a handheld image. Then it came to me it was a conversation between a 203.5′ tall giantess, and the normal-sized man with whom she’s been having carnal knowledge.

As I typed the words, what I wanted to see was revealed. As always, I satisfy the impossibility of a relationship between a giantess and a man through these bursts of creativity. She holds him in her hand, and she’s only known him for a few days, but she’s heartbroken to leave him. Naturally we assume he is also distraught by this separation. At least they were together, while she… and here’s where I become a sitting cliche. Yeah, the giantess is an alien.

She’s an extraterrestrial being who’s there to explore and survey and find food for her people. And the little ones on that planet are the food. I don’t like vore (except the gentle kind), but that’s where the story went. She promises she’ll be back with some hungry friends (naturally), and that’s when, finally, the little man gathers enough courage to tell her that in all the confusion and passion of the last few days, he neglected to tell her that he’d prefer if she didn’t annihilate his race.

At that point she’d do anything for him, including subjecting her entire race to an eternal diet of klumpus (suffice it to say, it tastes like off-brand Cheetos –or worse, crunchy cheese snacks made by a health-food brand– at least until her kind realizes she lied in her report). That’s her sacrifice. And his is to leave everything behind for her, because that’s what you do when your beloved packs up and climbs aboard a spaceship to never come back. You go with her. Any other response would be rude.

And I love that super non sexy idea (well, probably for most) of transforming your entire life for another person, because of what they are. Sure, when the time comes to shrink someone, that man has no choice but to realize he’s now entering a new time in his life, and everything is different now. Nothing he knew before, he’ll be able to bring into his life when he becomes the possession of that woman who now owns him.

But… guess what? She’s also making an enormous sacrifice. That small life depends entirely upon her care. All the worries! She makes one simple mistake, and he dies, and there is no coming back from that, no matter what the stories tell you about going back to the pet store and buying another little man. In my world, the bond between owner and toy is unbreakable, and irreplaceable.

But yeah… her friends can eat his neighbors, I guess. What do I care?