A nano, barely surviving the apocalyptic descent of their friend's rear as it lands *just* shy of where they were standing on the cushion, only for the disoriented speck to be sent tumbling into the deep indentation created by their weight against the surface...

Watching the space your best friend once stood be replaced by the massive rubber tread of a sneaker—so fast you were unable to even *see* the shadow of its descent until it thumped onto the concrete. The impact sends you careening backward, sprawled across the earth.

A lone nano desperately sprinting across the wooden landscape of a cheap barstool, stumbling over microscopic grooves and hollows in the otherwise smooth terrain, losing precious seconds as an ass the size of an island blots out the blinding lights above...

I need to be so small that the fibers of a couch seat stretch like an endless, rolling landscape, warmed by the ambient body heat of an unseen giant. To be so small the cleft between two ass-cheeks is an imposing crevasse—vast enough to swallow me whole without notice…

Cute guys should have their pretty little faces contorted by terror as they’re cast in the inescapable shadow of someone’s rear—two mounds of supple flesh barely contained in a pair of form-fitting sweatpants, stretching for what seems like miles above a plush cushion landscape…

Reverse Isekai. A group of fairies traveling to the human world and being mistaken for pests—mangled wings decorating the windshield of a car or the underside of a fly swatter. A frilled princess scampering through the dirty carpet fibers of some 20-something NEET's apartment….

I wanna be tossed into the seemingly endless cavern of a boot, falling for hundreds upon hundreds of feet before crashing with a *thud* against the rough dunes of their insole, coated in mounds of grit and microscopic gunk. A soon-to-be stain within some adventurer’s gear.

I must consume ALL unaware bad-end content it is my favorite thing EVER. If you write it or draw it you are always welcome to show me so I can go “whao.” If you have recommendations you can ALWAYS link me them. That's all, love you oomfies :D.

The recurring thought of “what if I were there, but smaller” when reading size stories. To be so insignificant a single toe of the existing tiny would cast upon me a deep, mile-spanning shadow. To be snuffed out beneath the feet of an Inchling…

Guys should be vast enough that a city is too insignificant to be crushed beneath their fingertip, instead slipping into one of the countless microscopic grooves that adorn its surface. Displaced air rushes forth from all sides, crumpling buildings even without direct contact...

To be little more than lint atop one of the countless sprawling fibers of someone’s underwear. Far too small to escape as they’re hastily pulled over a pair of mammoth hips…the sky blanketed by twin moons of vast, dimpled flesh…

An air-headed giant idly scraping the remains of the “grand and storied” elven kingdom onto the side of a mountain—not unlike a hiker dislodging a bit of muck onto a trail stone. The greatest minds in the world and centuries of research reduced to a brown smear across a landmark.

To be tossed into a boiling ocean, littered with island-esque chunks of multi-colored vegetables and fatty meats, as little more than a garnish for someone's stew. A whole life worth nothing more than the infinitesimal difference in taste my body would provide...

Oh, for my last sight to be the sky-spanning rear of an oblivious NEET as they roll over in their sleep. Supple cheeks loosely hugged by a pair of ratty, unwashed underwear, descending in an avalanche of flesh and fabric across the sprawling environs of their mattress...

Meeting an unfortunate end after being spotted scuttling through the mountains of empty soda cans and chip bags adorning your boyish roommates' floor. Mistaken for just another pest attracted by the mess, your ceiling disappears behind the dirty underside of their slipper...

Battered against the cord-like fibers of a broom as you’re dragged across what feels like miles of rough tile, only spared from the unenviable fate of the dustpan when you tumble into the canyon-esque grout line at its far border, joined by a hail of crumbs larger than your body.

So small that the plush, doughy flesh of your partner's rear is almost rigid beneath your feet as you trek across the sprawling pale desert. You look out across the expanse; the sheer drop of their cleft forms a precipice in the far horizon, like a canyon through rough stone...