Happy Halloween!

I wrote this for the thirteenth day of the month of October in 2006, which fell on a Friday. I posted it at my old blog, and here’s the repost. Don’t eat too much candy, and stay warm.

I’m a fan of the horror genre in movies, books, and probably all possible media. It isn’t that I enjoy being scared, because I don’t. The horror genre doesn’t frighten me, and I derive great pleasure in depictions of fictional events that tend to cause the opposite reaction in others.

When I was very small and my mom took my brothers and me to see Alien, she struggled to cover three pairs of eyes every time something terrible happened to each member of the Nostromo’s crew. I struggled to stop her from doing that.

One could argue my mom shouldn’t have taken such small children to a horror movie of that sort, but I’m glad she did it just that once, because I loved that movie. You know that thing in children that makes them scream and avoid scary things? That fear mechanism that reacts to scary books or violent images never worked inside of me when I was a young girl.

I can’t begin to count the times my little brother (and sometimes my older brother too) begged me to let him drag his mattress into my room, because he was too scared to sleep alone, a concept alien to someone that had invariably been doing that since the age of two.

I was always giggling when Freddy was slashing and smiling when Jason was chopping, and my inclination for fiction of that sort permeates my thoughts as a giantess and as a shrinker of one tiny, defenseless little man. Not the sexy thoughts, but the ones that belong to the reader, the writer, the storyteller.

So don’t worry about the scalpel in my hand… shh, ignore the chains wrapping around your ankles and wrists, and listen as the slow drip of my words trickles down your spine.

Or your funny bone.

* * *

She wept, his side of the bed a colorless desert in the moonlight that filtered from the window she hadn’t closed in weeks. The little dunes of cotton that the sheets that should have covered him shaped blurred beyond the flow of her tears. The cold of October moved the curtains in the room, and she shivered, but refused to reach for the quilt that had fallen on the bedroom floor many unmade-bed days before.

If he was cold underground, so would she be, above it.

I’d do anything to have you here again. Anything.

She had the same thought all the minutes of each day. She had begged him to wake up when she saw his broken body on the cold slate of the morgue’s cold chamber. She had prayed to every god to return him to her, her promises shapeless words in her mind, but no god responded. Somewhere in the darkness of a world that no sane person can see, something heard her. It woke up with the smell of her grief tempting its appetite, and waited until she thought the word

-soul. I would give up my-

to act.

She woke up as though a gun had gone off in her head. She turned to look at her alarm clock. 3:34 in the morning. The quarter moon’s light had been swallowed by the same hunger that had taken the wind. She sat up, disoriented by something she couldn’t name. She looked at the clock again. 3:34 still, and she noticed the seconds blinker wasn’t moving. The only source of light in the room, its green glow looked like a photo. Her heart started pounding painfully as she realized she couldn’t hear anything.

Then it was over. Moonlight came to be again, and the clock’s light began palpitating in the room again. And she saw it.

In the white flat of his side of the bed was a small shape. She stared at it in recognition of the sweep of that shoulder, the narrow of those hips that had fit perfectly against her many times. It was him! No, it couldn’t be. This body was only a few inches in height. She covered with her hand the sharp gasp that her lungs forced from the air in the room when the tiny body moved to turn in sleep in that same manner he had always done. His arm moved to find her, and she thought she could hear him breathe.

She watched him without moving until her soul was collected from her body the moment he woke up.

He stretched his arm to seek out her warmth and felt the offense of thick, crisscrossed ropes scratching his skin where he lay. He remembered nothing of the accident, and opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. Where she should have been, his fingers touched the strange material that was their bedding. His throat felt dry as he spoke.

“Honey?”

There was no answer, but the silence in the room was heavier than words.

“What- what’s this on the bed?”

He looked toward her side of the bed and saw nothing but a mountain of darkness haloed at its summit by a green glow that pulsed behind it. Then the mountain moved. It sent a shock wave that hit him from underneath at the same time a cold wall of fingers coiled around him and lifted him in a tight embrace. Her voice ran through his body like a shattering glacier as the last word he ever heard guttered from her and her teeth closed around his neck.

Happy Hallow’s Eve Eve!

Haunting Giantess

Little Vampire

Red Lips

Boo!

A year ago there was a Halloween image contest at the website I’m always mentioning. All the entries were displayed on rotation on the board’s login page as contest participants uploaded them to the image gallery.

Because they had to fit the formatting of the page, our entries had to measure 400×400 pixels, and those are the ones at the top of this entry.

The original collages were usually larger, and we were able to upload them to the gallery as well. Those are the ones to the left of my words.

Since early childhood I’ve been a great fan of the horror genre, and while some people refuse to mix their giantess thoughts with any other fiction inclination they also have, I don’t. I like to mix and match my ideas, even those that by birthright aren’t “sexy”.

Haunting Giantess is the sort of image I always wanted to work on, but lack of material made it very difficult to do so. That’s the real Dracula castle, and I couldn’t help using it even though the giantess is a ghost, and not a vampire.

His struggles will be to no avail.

I’m no sure anyone in the community has written ghost stories where the main character is the roaming, inescapable spirit of a giantess, but I do know it’s not a new idea.

Back in my board visiting days we discussed giantess zombies and their attacks, and there are those Grildrig stories starring the undead. I was clever enough to save one before Pete’s place went belly up, although my guess is that it’s posted at the City as well.

Mauvaise Lettres: Can’t Be Choosers by Scott Grildrig

So you see, some of us get a kick out of picturing these monsters in our heads. My Little Vampire collage is about the blood-sucking little guy I’ve imagined many times, one that thinks he has power to surpass any woman on Earth’s, but eventually he’s proven wrong by the one lady that happens to laugh at his tickling bites, and smirk at his look-into-my-eyes stance, which he thought would make her pliant and still.

No suck luck, tiny man.

I don't think he'd mind a little giant nibble.

The other side of that coin is the giantess vampire in Red Lips, and her powers of persuasion always work. There is nothing terrifying about her, but that’s only the opinion of the man trapped in her grip.

He knows she wouldn’t really sink her teeth into him… not too much. Just a bit, and it’s only the sort of pressure dominant cats use on their subordinates’ necks.

I don’t think he’d lean his head back that way if he thought anything sharp was headed his way.

Did I win the image contest? Yes, of course I did, but there was a terrible mix-up and the award and points were delivered to some other GDC member, I can’t remember his name now, but he had a really dhark syde to him. It was clear to me that he hired ILM to create his collage. Some people.

The Cure – Lullaby

Tender Leg Hug

Click on image for full-sized collage.

Thank goodness for sepia layer styles to the rescue.

Male flesh alert. If you are allergic to male flesh, please take appropriate antihistamines, wear eye shields, have your fainting powders at hand, and so on.

And because I’m nice, solve this for x:

49 = (3x + 8 )2
……………x2

Brian Ferry – Slave To Love

Dear McCain Robo Caller,

Please stop dialing my number.

I hang up right away when you call.

I can tell by the little I catch of your annoying screeches that you run on paid-by-the-word hate fuel.

I’m not interested in anything you have to autosay.

I’m for the other guy.

Disassemble painfully under the crushing weight of a powerful female foot and go to hardware hell.

XXOOXX,

Undersquid

Stop.Calling.Me.

Listen here, and listen well.

If movies were dogs and cats…

…this drools:

No no no! Bad movie studio! Bad!

And this rules:

That's a nice, good fake movie poster!

I never saw the real Choke movie, nor will I ever watch it.

I’m still taking cleansing showers from Sam Rockwell’s performance in The Green Mile, in any case. Not because he was bad. On the contrary.

I wanted to create funny custom credits for my fake poster, but no time tonight. Maybe this weekend.

I don’t know what 80s song goes with this entry.

Catching a plane

Literally.

Now this is the smallest collage I ever created. At 147×124 pixels, it’s hardly avatar sized.

So why did I create it?

Because I could.

And because I like little things.

I’ve always enjoyed the idea of toying with air traffic, redirecting it, looking through those pinhead-sized windows at terrified little faces that have no idea I mean them no harm. It’d put a smile on my face, to grab that little thing mid air, that amusing little flying machine that would move through air ever so much faster if I pitched it.

But I wouldn’t do that.

Unless provoked.

Music?

Limahl – Neverending Story

(That song often reminds me of Falkor, who was needlessly murdered in a Giantess.com Live Story. Philistines.)

Tiny Coworker

"gts019" by Micronaut

It’s clear some of us think of this, because some of you collage about it. Some of my collage material includes elements to create scenarios where a tiny coworker or a gigantic lady boss is present, and I will probably get around to completing them before the first woman is elected president, if I’m still spending any time at all creating these images.

I always think I won’t be “come next year”, but we’ll see. What I’m sure of is that my imagination predated finding these images, which have to do with the first scenario, with the little guy working alongside a normal-sized woman. The first one I ever spotted was gts019 by Micronaut, who probably still posts his images at Giantess City.

As I mentioned, I had already thought of situations that would throw a normal-sized woman in the minuscule path of a shrunken coworker. I even had a dream about it.

"Dictating His Secretary" by Ktantan

I found the Micronaut collage over a year after I had that dream, and longer after I started thinking of all manner of wonderful office-based scenarios, many of them. And every single one of them has the same foundation: one man meets one woman, and she meets him right back, and serious hotness ensues.

In my monogamous visions, there are sometimes elements of ridiculousness, such as his working in the same environment as his relatively giant counterparts. Everyone has a cubicle of the same size, but his is the only one that seems empty, because all that can be found at the center of it is a tiny desk, diminutive filing cabinets, and the smallest of office chairs.

I think of how he feels every day, wearing his suit, carrying his suitcase, his intellect as equal or superior to those around him… but he has to suffer the indignity of enormous feet pounding the floor and disturbing his work, disrupting the power to his shrunken desktop computer (a Mac Micro, of course) when he’s in the middle of typing up an important report… and he gets angry at these disruptions, except when they come from her.

"gts028" by Micronaut

Because when she stands over him and asks him about memo A, or comments on project B, major hotness ensues.

I can also see him as the boss, and ooh, how delicious it is for her to be his personal assistant, and take every opportunity she can to flirt with him, to take his mind off work, to make him drop his pen and jaw (and possibly some articles of clothing), and that’s what would happen in the sequence I imagine follows Micronaut’s collage. Little boss carries that box all the way off the paper’s surface, but then, when he reaches her knee, he realizes he’s staring up at her most indecorously… and if he doesn’t take care, she’ll notice. He looks up at her—his little neck straining after all that arduous lifting—and finds out she already knows what he’s thinking about.

Extreme hotness ensues.

"rld_detention" by RLD

He could be her Personal Desk Assistant, in charge of sharpening her pencils, organizing her drawers, typing up punctuation marks on her keyboard (she only types with three fingers, and saves them for letters), applying Wite-Out, giving her loving massages after particularly difficult work days… it’s a big job, but he can do it, and she loves to watch him try. And every time he does his job well, you know what happens. Yep.

Maximum hotness ensues.

This last collage by RLD isn’t exactly office themed, but I threw it in the pile because it could be interpreted so. She holds her little assistant in her hand, and he hasn’t been very effective lately, and boy he’ll be hearing from his tall boss now… the type of thing that’s always the prelude of some sort of hotness ensuing.

Loverboy – Working For The Weekend

Her Property

It’s Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

Anything she wants is her property.

A few months into collecting images from the Internet I realized I should keep track of the places I raid for material. The easiest way to do that was to name the images using the web address where I found them, so I’m able to mention I got the fabulous background at Flickr. I prefer photos clearly marked as content I can modify or build upon, like the one above.

This collage is one of those I’ve mentioned that has a giantess in it. She’s not alone with a bunch of buildings, though. I couldn’t have collaged something like that. There are people around her, people used to giantesses it seems, because they don’t run or cower, or deviate from their usual traffic routine… but they all know who’s in charge.

She’s a nice gal, a good woman that helps them from time to time: When there are riots, she breaks them up; when someone’s roof caves in, she fishes him out as easily as she would a toy; when there’s a storm she blows it out; when it’s hot she makes wind… I could go on and on. The point is, they need her, and they know it.

So what if one day she captures one of their own for indistinct purposes?

So what if while she seems to be out on one of her lovely walks, she bends low and closes her hand around that one unsuspecting little guy she’s been secretly looking for?

He may or may not be seen again, but who’s gonna stop her?

Good luck with that.

Charlie Sexton – Impressed

What’s hair good for?

It's good for someone else's wig.

I know what you are thinking. Well, no, I don’t… but some of us have pictured the long hair of giantesses to serve many purposes. If Gulliver needs to climb up a hole in the ground, a giantess can lower her braid; if a shrunken man needs a living room rug, his normal-sized wife can weave him one using strands of her hair.

You can stuff pillows with it, cinch pants around a waist with it, secure sea vessels to port with it… climb it, sleep in it, roll around in it, and in the very worst of scenarios, be tied to it as a little hair accessory. It’s all good and fun, but at the end of the day that poor giant woman has to go home and undo all the knots those helpful—and mischievous—activities produced. It hurts, and it’s tiring.

So maybe one day she does what I just did.

My hair was getting really long and unwieldy, and I had been thinking about cutting and donating it to one of those charitable wig-making organizations, so this weekend I pulled out the scissors, and there it went. See ya, hair! Do good out there.

I don’t exactly look like this now:

But my hair is doing something a little shorter than this:

Bones – The Crank in the Shaft

Gunky hoistways are not good for the digestion.

I’ve been watching Bones for years now, and this is the first episode I actually felt something close to repugnance, which surprised me. I’ve seen fake corpses covered with maggots of different sizes, I’ve watched fake melted bodies in a tub of goo, I’ve clapped at a truckful of garbage Hodgins had to sift through as he identified different putrefied matter by smell, and I’ve generally been a Mary Poppins (you know, with the cheerful disposition, and probably a couple of rosy cheeks) about each 45 minutes, from slimy, smelly beginning, through scientifically sensible middle, until funny end.

Still, I was eating while I watched the beginning of this episode, and the whole shaft mess didn’t interrupt my meal. We can’t know what our true responses to extreme situations would be when compared to what we imagine they should be, but I have thought that if I’d ever followed a career in forensic medicine, I’d be the kind of person that can eat a quick meal while weighing a human brain.

Fun brain facts: It weighs about 3 pounds, and its constitution includes a large amount of water. If exposed to fire, it boils, creating intracraneal pressure as it expands. If the heat is intense enough, the cranial vault can crack, or explode. Much different from the brain boiling that occurs while staring at a collage, or reading a giantess story.

The whole office chair deal was slightly annoying, all the way until the end of the episode. Then it was hilarious.

New words learned: Hoistway! Lateral Epicondyle!

Details to tattoo on one’s forehead:

Special Agent Graham Kelton is dead.

Marihuana makes you stupid.

The part of Zach was played by Mr. Fisher, whose character was a caricature. I suppose that was intentional, since he’s to fleet by like so many other assistants. What he said nine minutes into the show made listening to him at any other time supportable. He spoke of the Lateral Epicondyle, and of a grad thesis he had written about the effects of falls in human bones.

That, of course, made me think of giantesses. See, this not only pops into my mind for one purpose alone. Thoughts on size differences come as stories from many perspectives, including scientific ones, the very ones I was making fun of a couple of days ago.

Say an evil giantess grabs you, and I hope that never happens to you, but say she does. After she toys with you for the prescribed amount of time, she flings you off her fingers like a dirty tissue. Three days later your splattered remains are found, and by examining the hairline fractures in parts of your bones, the height of your fall can be determined, and a warrant can be issued for the giantess’ arrest, as the estimated height of her flinging range matches the one evidenced by your poor broken bones.

The height of buildings around the area is not taken into account, as it would interfere with my scenario, and I’m sorry to say your murder will go unpunished, because who in their right mind wants to tell a giantess she’s under arrest? Probably the guy smoking pot, since it makes him stupid.

Another fun forensic fact: When your remains are found smeared all over a street or whatever, their dispersal can make it difficult to collect fluids for analyses, especially if no one finds you for days… but here it reads that vitreous humor can be used to determine time of death* for up to 72 hours. The cool detail for me was that the body in the shaft was last seen on Friday evening, and it is presumable that the first scene of the episode took place on Monday morning, so… less than 72 hours. I like!

That’s all she wrote.

*Assuming the giantess didn’t squish them as she crushed your body with the ball of her foot after it hit the ground, that is.

"g2911" by burni