miniscule-meow

[miniscule-meow]

Imagine a giant teazing their tiny friend , dangling them in front of their face between their fingers with a sly grin saying: "what, are you scared?"

Tiny, absolutely terrified: *starts crying*

Giant: "wait, are you actually scared???"

[miniscule-meow]

I really like giants that are unaware of how terrifying they are.

BUT I also like giants that are HYPER-AWARE of how big they are and how loud and overwhelming they must be. Giants that notice every time their tiny friend flinches away from them, or has to crane their neck way back to see them. And, even though they try really hard to be non-threatening, they just can't make themselves any smaller.

They look at their tiny friend and they're so small and cute, and the giant is just so afraid that when their friend looks at them, all they'd see is a monster.

[miniscule-meow]

Love love love a G/t nightmare comfort scene. Just because of how complete the protection of the giant is.

G pulling T into their hands, drawing them close, holding them against the hollow of their throat. Shielding them from how big the world is. Covering them with warmth and the steady sound of their heartbeat, their breathing. Gigantic fingers, capable of so much power, now brushing soothing lines over their spine. All while they're gently murmuring to them. Little things, like, "you're okay. You're safe. I've got you." Even though the words are soft, from where T is held against them, they can feel each word vibrating through their bones.

And they're safe to cry. Not being watched, barely even there compared to the massive person surrounding them. Though they know that in that moment they are this person's sole focus- they might as well be their entire world- but, they aren't being judged. They are safe to let go of their pain here. Tiny hands fisting into the fabric of G's shirt, sobbing into them. And G wordlessly asserting that they will be bigger than all of T's problems, so they don't need to worry.

--

Like... yes, of course.

But the other way around?

The giant having a nightmare, being nudged awake. Tiny hands against their shoulder or against their face. G jolts awake. Just one reactionary movement, and their tiny friend is sent sprawling back against the mattress. In the low light of the room they can see the concern on the smaller person's face.

In the sickening haze of the nightmare, seeing T overwhelms them. This is someone they're supposed to protect. G's actions are so consequential, simply waking up was enough to knock T from their feet. Their dreams probably even woke T in the first place.

Always being the strong one, the steady one... it's a lot of pressure to put on someone. Not that T is the one pressuring them. It's themselves. They want to be safe for T. They want to be there for them. But right now, they're falling apart. What will T think of them?

Flashes from the dream cling to them, weighing like lead in their stomach, and making their chest feel hollow. They take a shuttering breath, but can't prevent the exhale from breaking into a sob. They burry their face into the pillow. How horrific this must be for their tiny friend to see. Their sobs shutter the mattress, making it hard for T to stand. G tries to be so careful, they know they're probably scaring them.

T manages to find their footing, walking back to G, and pressing into their arm.

"Hey. You're okay. It was just a nightmare, everything is alright."

The massive face lifts from the pillow, eyes wet, cheeks streaming with tears. They sniff, trying to breathe. Trying to be smaller. But T doesn't shy away from them, they lean into their arm, trying to hug them, to comfort them as best they can.

Of course, T is probably wondering if they can do anything of substance for G. They can't scoop them up, they can't shield them from the world. All they can do is be here. Is that enough?

T strokes their arm, looking up at G's face. Tentatively, G moves, T braces as the mattress shifts beneath them. G's hands pull around T- slowly, as if asking "is this alright?" T responds by bridging the gap between them. Pushing themselves into G's palm, hugging their fingers, nuzzling against their thumb. G pulls them in, their body curling around their friend, still crying, still calming down. But feeling better now that they know they don't need to pick up the pieces all by themselves.

[miniscule-meow]

I spend way more time thinking about other people’s stories than writing my own, but….

I know Felix can grow, can he shrink as well? How would Charlie read to that?

In canon, no Felix can't shrink.

If he could, he would rather die before shrinking in front of anyone else. I feel like he wouldn't even want to talk about it.

---

"Can you get small too?" Charlie asks curiously.

"I don't do that," is Felix's flat reply

"don't, or can't?"

He doesn't dignify that with a response.

"Okay, cool. That's not something we talk about, got it."

---

But if it was unavoidable...

Wordcount: 2.3k

It begins as a mild pressure in his skull, growing into an electricity that trickles down his spine. It’s similar to how he feels when he grows, but much more unsettling. He tries to shrug it off, but the heaviness of it clings to him, threatening to pull him into himself.

He hates it.

Felix clenches his jaw, doing everything he can to push back against the building pressure. Maybe if he could grow, just a little bit, then he could assert himself in his regular size, he reasons with himself. He reaches out with his ability, an attempt to turn the tides here. But it’s no use. The effort is met with a sharp stab of pain behind his eyes, strong enough to stagger him. His pulse kicks up, alarmed by the solid wall cutting him off from his growth ability.

He looks around the busy cafeteria. Of course he’s in public when his ability decides to go haywire. Charlie is in line at the campus Panda Express, he was saving them a table. He waves, and though she’s across the room, he manages to catch her eye. She smiles at him before making out the urgency of his expression. She ditches the line and heads over his way.  

He tries forcing his breath to deepen, keeping himself calm, digging his nails into his palms. He just needs to hold on for a little bit longer. But he can’t. In the blink of an eye, he buckles to his knees, succumbing to the pressure surrounding him. He looks down at his hands, pressed against the tile floor. This can’t be happening right now. He’s tiny.

There is no time to acclimate, he’s in the pathway between tables. No one was paying him any mind. But then again, not being noticed might not actually be a stroke of good luck right now. Footsteps thunder towards him. A worn sneaker slams into the ground right beside him, the force of it sends him sprawling across the floor. Felix rolls out of the walkway, before anyone else can walk by and trample him. There is so much noise, so much movement. It’s so overwhelming, his world feels like it’s going to shatter.

He dives underneath the table right as Charlie arrives. She takes a seat, tentatively. She’s probably confused, maybe nervous, wondering where he ran off to. His bag is still on the table, along with his phone, so hopefully she doesn’t think he ditched her.

He watches, clinging to the leg of the table, as she tucks her feet under the chair, crossing them at her ankles. She wears faded yellow Converse high-tops with embroidered little flowers all along the sides. The stitches are uneven and worn, she might have done that herself.

He needs to get her attention. He knows that, but to do it would require him to force his limbs to move first. He’s stuck, stiffly cowering in the shadow of the table. His friend is so close, and yet she somehow seems worlds away. Felix grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. His lungs feel as if they’re on fire, and filling with water all at the same time. His vision blurs at the edges, like the world is constricting around him. He can’t focus. He can’t breathe.

This is his worst nightmare, come true. He avoids shrinking like the plague, and he’s certainly never done it in public. He’s never felt like this before, like his entire world is crumbling around him, and he doesn’t know how to pick up the pieces.

Out of nothing less than desperation, he forces himself forward. Each staggered step feels like he’s carrying a thousand pounds with him. Dread pools in his stomach as he reaches out, placing both hands against her ankle, and shoving.

Charlie jumps beneath his touch. The movement is small, but it’s enough to knock him off his feet. He scrambles backwards, terror igniting inside him as the chair scrapes against the floor. Propped on his elbows, he looks straight up to find Charlie absolutely filling his sky. She jolts at the sight of him on the floor, leaning in to get a better look at him. Her blonde curls fall over her shoulders and into her face as she looks down at him.

“Felix?” She whispers in disbelief, her eyes wide. He feels so exposed, so vulnerable. He opens his mouth, but he can’t get his words to work. “You look like you’re about to pass out,” she observes aloud. Concern floods her expression, followed by uncertainty. She towers over him, eclipsing him entirely in her shadow, and yet she’s looking at him like she’s waiting for instructions.

With a ragged breath he croaks out, “Help. Please.” The words are bitter on his tongue. Pathetic.

Charlie doesn’t say anything else, just nods. She crouches down on the floor and reaches towards him. He can’t stop his body from jerking backwards at the movement of something so massive coming towards him. Her fingers hesitate before him.

“You’re okay,” he hates how sympathetic she sounds, like she’s calming a child. “I need to pick you up. I’ve got you, okay?”

The words would be reassuring, but he can only focus on his fear and his shame coiling together inside of him, working in tandem to choke him out completely. Digging his nails back into the meat of his palms, he bobs his head sharply, willing her to just get it over with.

She moves slowly. He wants to close his eyes, but somehow that seems worse. He forces himself to watch as Charlie’s hands surround him. The tip of her finger is the size of his face. He can see every intricate swirl of her fingerprints. Is this how people see him? Is this how she has seen him? He has a newfound respect for Charlie, and her bravery, and he feels another stab of guilt for how he lashed out at her the first time she saw his ability.

Thoughts are flying into his brain so quickly, they mush together into indiscernible static. Only one thought manages to ring out, over the noise of the room, and the noise in his brain. ‘I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.’

At last, she pulls in into her hands. The leathery flesh of her palm barely dips beneath his inconsequential weight. Her thumb pulls in, securing across his midsection, and pinning him into places against her fingers. He finally looks up at her. Her eyes are shining with disbelief and awe. Her breath hitches as she holds him. He knows that feeling, he’s been there. He’s never experienced it from the other side before. So far, he can’t say that he’s a fan.

Like an elevator from hell, she picks him up, tucking him against her side, concealing him from view under her unbuttoned flannel. She quickly gathers all of their things and rushes out of the University Cafeteria.

The world is muffled slightly, through the flesh of her hand, through the fabric of her flannel. The scale is mind-bending. Something that must feel insignificant to her, entirely surrounds him. He’s overwhelmed by their closeness, by the petrichor scent that clings to her. He understands now how she could feel as though they were snuggling when all he had done was let her rest in the crook of his arm.

Her footfalls explode through him as she rushes up a flight of stairs. She keeps him pressed snug to her side. Her thumb remains securely pressed across his middle, her fingers curling around him. He feels less like a person, and more like a lizard she caught in the woods. He looks at the fingers surrounding him, trying to remember how to breathe. Her fingernails were painted with a warm honey-yellow color some time ago, they’re all chipped now. It’s amazing how easy it is to miss all the little details about someone.

When she pulls him out into the open, they’re alone in her dorm. She sets him down on her desk. The surface is suspended somewhere between tidy and neat; it’s an organized chaos.  Notebooks are piled atop her laptop, contained to one side of the desk. Gel pens and highlighters are spread randomly across the surface. Behind him, there’s a ceramic cup holding pencils, it looks handmade, hand painted. The pencil cup is about as tall as he is, his stomach lurches at that. Beyond the desk, the concrete wall behind Charlie is covered in drawings of plants, pictures of her and her brothers, national park posters and other miscellaneous decorations. The room is cast in the warm light of white Christmas lights, rather than the blaring fluorescent overhead lights. She’s got a frog stuffed animal resting against her pillows. Her sage green bedspread is tossed haphazardly over the mattress, as if she had made a semi-attempt at making the bed that morning. Though the quiet in the room is like a breath of fresh air, everything is just so big, it makes him dizzy all over again.

Charlie takes a step back after she sets him down. Despite the distance she’s placed between them, she manages to loom over him. He’s not used to looking straight up to see someone. Her eyes are locked on him, all encompassing. There’s no escape. He supposes he isn’t a stranger to being observed. When he’s gigantic, that attracts a good bit of attention, understandably. Even at his normal size, he’s the subject of rumors, or general wariness. But this is different. It’s far more unsettling. It’s vulnerable.

“Hey. Hey, breathe,” Charlie instructs, slowly sitting in the chair by the desk and keeping her voice low. “Are you okay?”

That question breaks the dam holding back his scattered emotions. He’s panicking like he’s drowning- willing to take anyone around him down, if it means that he can keep his head about water. Except there is no such thing as “above water” for him right now. He’s scared. Felix Westwell doesn’t get scared. No, Felix Westwell gets angry, so that is precisely what he does.

“Do I fucking look okay? Use your fucking eyes! I am obviously not okay right now!” He snaps, looking at her sharply.

She flinches hard, but he’s too far gone to care.

“Okay,” her voice sounds much smaller now, her shoulders curl inward slightly, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“What could you possibly do to help me right now?”

“I—”

“Unless you recently developed some sort of power that would, I don’t know, hard stop my ability, or fucking grow me back, then I guess we are shit out of luck, aren’t we?” His voice is venomous, condescending.

She blinks, biting back a sharp retort. She watches him pace across her desk like a cornered animal. His chest heaves, though he’s breathing, he feels like he isn’t getting any air. When he looks up at her again, her eyes are glassy, looking through him instead of at him. She turns her gaze down to her lap, wordlessly fidgeting with her hands.

This is not the reward of a fight. It’s not the punishment of tears. It’s something worse, much worse. It’s nothing. She just shuts down in front of him. In an instant just disappearing inside herself. Despite being so small, he realizes he might have hurt her now, more than any time he was massive. The realization hits him like a boot to the sternum, breaking him from his panic long enough for guilt to seep in through the cracks.

“Charlie,” he says after a long exhale.

Her reaction is delayed. She blinks, dragging her eyes to focus on him slowly.

“I’m not… I’m not used to being small,” he says, side stepping the apology.

“Yeah,” she nods, looking away, “I noticed." Her words hang in the air for a moment. "I can just give you space until you’re… better.” Her voice is flat. She begins to stand.

“Charlie, wait,” he calls out to her, his mouth acting before his brain. He can’t stop her. If she wanted to walk away and leave him alone in her room, she could. Hell, if she wanted to snatch him up and yell at him for hurting her feelings, she could. Maybe he should be thankful that all she’s doing is walking away. He’s powerless, worse than powerless. Thankfully, she pauses. Just briefly. “I’m sorry,” his voice sounds so small on his ears, but it gets her to look at him again. She seems just as surprised as he is at his apology. “I’m sorry,” he says it again, his voice more solid this time.

She’s trying, he doesn’t need to take this out on her. Just, old habits are dying hard, he supposes. He doesn’t know how to say any of that. He doesn’t know how to ask her to stay. He isn’t sure what he wants right now. The panic is ebbing away, leaving him feeling hollow and stale. He scrubs a hand over his face, looking up at her helplessly.

She watches him for a beat longer, her expression guarded and unreadable. Then, slowly, she sinks back down into the chair.

“Okay,” she says softly, and the tension winding inside of him eases slightly. “How long do you think you’ll be stuck like that?” She asks after a moment.

“Don’t know,” he says, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the desk. “Probably a couple hours.”

“Sheesh,” she scrunches her nose. “Do you want to watch a movie?” Charlie offers gently, “Something to pass the time?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He doesn’t thank her. He doesn’t know how to without making it sound pathetic. She's taken a nightmare, and turned it into something manageable. She was there for him, despite him lashing out the whole time. He doesn't deserve her. He should tell her that.

...Maybe later.

She pulls out her laptop from underneath the notebooks. The front is decorated with stickers.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks, opening Netflix.

[miniscule-meow]

Anon. I see your message. I'm going to answer it... But what has happened is that the little mouse that powers my brain really likes the thing you asked me, and isn't going to be chill about it.

So, I'm going to write probably, if I had to guess.. 500-1,000 words about it? And I'm not sure when I will have the opportunity to do that.

But it's gonna happen.

[miniscule-meow]

sometimes we (i) forgot

[miniscule-meow]

made a silly little TikTok account to make silly little animatics like ✨this✨

I cannot animate, but I tried…

(I have like 50+ audios saved now that have potential)

[miniscule-meow]

writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

[miniscule-meow]

thinkin about a giant invading your space. like being perched on a table, they cage you in with their arms, leaning closer and closer, till all you can see is their face right before you, so close you can’t even look at the whole thing at once, arms towering on either side with absolutely no room to run, backed into a corner and left with zero room between you

[miniscule-meow]

Caught up on a lot of stuff, now I feel like the world is my oyster again. As always, I write on vibes alone, but I am curious, what story are y'all most excited about?

[miniscule-meow]

Borrowed Time (3)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~1.6k First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

---

The plan is simple. Start in the kitchen, because that’s more time sensitive. Then, since the other bean is away- or rather, since the other bean is him, and he isn’t really sure he counts as a bean anymore- they don’t have to worry about him showing up and ruining their borrowing excursion. So, they’ll tackle that last.

Dante follows Vi through the dark passages of the walls. There’s an entrance near the kitchen, the one they used yesterday. Then, there’s apparently another entrance into Dante’s room- which he’s trying very hard to not think about. Knowing that at any point she could have just been wandering through his room, and he’s never noticed her. It’s unsettling.

Judging from her demeanor, she really doesn’t seem like the type to waste time people-watching. She certainly didn’t recognize him as the other human. So, she either hasn’t paid enough attention to him to clock what he looks like, or if she saw the similarities she wrote them off. Which would make sense because of the whole extreme height shift thing.

You look a lot like this human, except the human is six-foot and you’re six inches or whatever. Is he even six inches tall? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Before he knows it, his eyes are adjusting as they step out of walls into the brightness of the apartment. Another long, arduous climb later and he’s standing on the counter, his limbs feeling like jelly.

Looking around makes his head spin. This is a space he’s lived in, somewhere he knows like the back of his hand, now it seems entirely alien. Is he going to resign himself to this being his life now? He could handle that, right? Vivienne is weird, and interesting. He likes her… well, maybe. He doesn’t really know her. But he’d like to! She seems to… tolerate him. The hardest thing about the arrangement would probably just be convincing her to agree to team up with him.

He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. But the dizziness increases ten-fold, sending him to his knees.

“Hey, don’t freak out on me again, we need to move,” Vi turns to him, and seems to notice that something is wrong. This is beyond a panic attack. This is something else entirely. Her brow furrows, and she steps toward him. She kneels beside him and places a hand on his back. “What’s going on?” her voice is softer now, slightly more concerned than annoyed. Definitely still annoyed though.

“I don’t- I’m not sure.” He’s gasping for air, trying to piece together what’s going on.

Then he feels it.

All at once, he realizes what’s about to happen. It’s a deep feeling, rooted in the very marrow of his bones. From the core of his being, an insistent pressure. Pushing outward. Expanding.

He’s going to grow.

He doesn’t know how to stop it, how to slow it, or control it at all. This is happening, and it’s happening now.

“Vi, get back,” his voice is strained. Throwing his arm out, he pushes her aside and scrambles towards the edge of the counter, trying to build some distance between them. She stumbles back, shouting a frustrated curse in his direction. He’s certain she’s about to punch him for doing that, but something stops her dead in her tracks. It’s him.

Just as quickly as he shrank, he’s expanded back to his regular size. Dark spots dot his vision, his head swims. His hands feel sweaty, clammy. He blinks heavily, finding himself pressed against the cool laminate floor of the kitchen. With a groan, he pushes himself to his knees. Placing a hand on the counter, he helps himself to his feet. He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand, in an attempt to clear his vision. Squinting down at the counter, his eyes zero in on her immediately. Vivienne, on her back, slowly scooting away from him. Her expression is nothing short of horrified, he doesn’t blame her. He can’t imagine how catastrophic this transformation must have seemed to her.  He’s trying to find his voice to explain, or apologize, or say anything. When the front door clicks, and swings open. Tyler is home.

Dante jolts, Vi is out in the open. He can’t let her get caught. Without thinking, he reaches forward, scooping her into his palm, and shoving her unceremoniously into his hoodie pocket. The feeling of her frantically squirming, kicking desperately against his unmoving fingers is a nauseating sensation in its own right. He’s never thought about what it might be like to be inside of a pocket before. Dark, stuffy, uncomfortably warm. He doesn’t imagine it’s terribly pleasant, she certainly doesn’t seem thrilled to be in there.

He flattens his hand, firmly pressing her flat against his stomach to keep her still. He can feel her pulse hammering into him as she thrashes, but there is no competition. She’s stuck. He’s disgusted by his own display of strength, exerting his will so solidly over her own. But now is not the time. His roommate is here. So, his choices are, hide her, or let her get discovered by another bean. Either way, he knows that she’s never going to forgive him. He needs to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“What’s up, man?” Tyler asks casually, though he’s obviously surprised to see him.

“Not much, dude,” he forces his voice calm. Even though he is about as far away from calm as he could get. His heart is slamming in his chest, he can hear the blood roaring through his ears, only drowned out by the thoughts screaming through his mind, ‘what am I?’ And, ‘I’m holding a girl in my hand. A girl who very much does not want to be there’. Then circling back to, ‘WHAT AM I?’

“Whatchya got there?” Tyler asks curiously.

For a split second, Dante is convinced he just knows about the little stowaway he’s holding captive in his pocket. Then he looks down. Vivienne’s borrowing hook was left behind, coiled on the counter next to his free hand. He plucks it up- the tool he used to scale the very counter he’s standing in front of, the rope he clung to, and let support his weight. Another wave of panic seeps through him. Reality has been sufficiently shattered for him, and he is going to need a moment to recover. Of course, that moment is not awarded to him.

“Uh, I don’t know. Just a little piece of string I’ve been messing with.”

Tyler shrugs, stepping into the kitchen, pulling a drink from the fridge. Dante manages to navigate a short conversation with him, before managing to retreat to his room.

The second his door shuts behind him, he sinks down to his knees, pulling Vivienne free from her temporary prison.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispers on repeat, struggling to catch his breath. He looks her over, she’s so small. Impossibly small. He’s holding her, right in the palm of his trembling hand. For a moment she seems dazed, flushed from the warmth of him surrounding her, containing her in his pocket. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? I don’t know what’s happening, you have to believe me, I—” his breathing grows shallower. This is too much for him.

He's so wrapped up in his own panic, he’s surprised when Vi suddenly vaults out of his hand. She takes off running across the carpet.

“Wait! Don’t go—" He lurches forwards, his hand flying out to block her path, when suddenly pain shoots through him. He hisses a sharp intake of breath. She stabbed him. He’s lucky she didn’t stab him earlier.

Dante jolts, yanking his hand back. Thin beads of red bloom in a line at the base of his thumb. The pain grounds him back in reality- as twisted as it may be. His movement away is enough to give her the opening she needs to continue her escape.

She’s running at full speed away from him. He watches her abscond, he could easily catch her, though it might get him stabbed again. He doesn’t move.

“At least let me give you the batteries,” his voice sounds pathetic on his ears.

She whirls to face him, sword raised in his direction.

“I’m not taking a handout from a fucking bean,” she snarls. Her words are full of anger, betrayal and fear. Mostly fear, though she’s attempting to look fierce. He can see the tremble in her hands as she holds her sword in front of her. The tension in her limbs, ready to bolt at the first sign of movement from him.

“It’s- think of it like… like payment. You helped me, so… seriously, I owe you a lot more than just a couple of batteries.”

She glares at him suspiciously but gives him one sharp nod. The sword stays raised.

He stands, unable to take his eyes off her. He watches as her neck cranes back, following his face as he rises. She flinches, as if her legs are caught between stumbling away from him and standing their ground. Seeing her from this angle is unreal. She comes up to his ankle, it’s harder to see the details of her expression from here. He gets that dizzy feeling again, like his grasp on reality is slipping.

Swallowing hard, he steps away, over to his desk. He pulls open the drawer and grabs three fresh AAA batteries for her. When he turns around, she’s gone. Honestly, he should have expected that. Her absence stings. He’s left with the hollow memory of her terrified expression, and the weight of her in his hand. The only thing telling him he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing is the thin line of blood on his palm. A fitting souvenir.

“I’ll just leave them by the wall,” he announces to the empty room. He figures she can hear him; she can’t have gone that far.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads (18)

Masterpost Wordcount ~1.4k First Part | Last Part | Next Part

---

Marcus holds her against his chest. He is warm and solid; equal parts calming and exhilarating. She wants to lean into the comfort, but her mind can’t quite avoid tripping on the scale of him. His body stretches out around her. In one direction she can just see the underside of his jaw as he stares up at the ceiling. In the other direction, his hand rests against his stomach some distance away from her. Beyond that, his legs stretch impossibly far, propping up against the other arm of the couch. From her vantage point, perched right on top of him, seeing his full scale like that is dizzying. She sits in the center of his chest, riding the waves of his breathing, rising and falling with him as he heaves a long sigh.

“This one was on me,” he mutters, pulling her attention back to the underside of his chin. “I escalated it, I know I did. Zeke just gets…” he trails off, making a few half-hearted and incomprehensible syllables as he searches for what he’s trying to say. Finally landing on, “he’s frustrating.”

Marcus’s arm shifts overhead, eclipsing her briefly in shadow as he reaches to rub his face. For a moment, Isabell thinks he’s going to leave it at that, but then he exhales hard. His hands settle down behind her once more.

“He just acts like he’s got it all figured out, and he doesn’t. I mean I don’t either, but at least I’m not pretending.”  Marcus tips his chin down to his chest in an attempt to look down at her, “I think he’s terrified.” 

She frowns, her brow pinching together slightly.

“I think he cares about you way more than he knows how to deal with, and that scares him.”

That just can’t be right.

Zeke doesn’t touch her unless he absolutely has to, he barely talks to her. It’s not an uncomfortable dynamic, but it’s distant. She’s just assumed that he was tolerating her presence at best. He felt bad that she was hurt, so he wanted to help her out, get her patched up and send her home as soon as possible. Great, because that's what she wants too. That's what she should want, at least.

The point is, it’s not ‘care’ it’s more ‘obligation.’

She finds it hard to believe, Zeke being afraid, terrified even, but Marcus seems so sure.

“You said you grew up with him?” she asks instead, afraid of all of the answers to the questions she really wants to ask.

This spurs Marcus into stories about him growing up. He’s got six siblings, and he’s in the middle of all of them somewhere. Zeke was an only child, their next-door neighbor. He was over a lot.

"When you have that many kids running around, what's one more, right?" as Marcus carries on, his hand shifts over her. He gestures, and semi-talks with his hands.

Then, his finger brushes against her back. She startles slightly but says nothing- maybe it was an accident. But then it happens again, a stroke up and down her spine. His touch is feather light, despite how massive he is. This is not just a random splaying of fingers, but rather, a very intentional movement.

She can safely say she has never been touched like this before.

Tingles shoot across her spine, following the repetitive brush of his fingertip. She’s caught between the desire to melt into him, and her nerves flaring at how she absolutely should not be enjoying this.

This is so wrong. He’s petting her, isn’t he? Shame twists inside her. She shouldn’t like this. She shouldn’t want this. A few weeks ago, this guy put her in a box, and now she’s just going to let him pet her?

Does she have no spine?

Her emotions war within herself. Wanting to trust this human, wanting to let herself feel so relaxed and cared for. She wants it so bad, her bones ache for it, but her mind refuses to settle. All she can ask herself in return is: what will this cost me?  

She has officially talked herself out of being relaxed. At the next delicate brush of his hand, she twists around and pushes against his fingertip.

“Too much?” He asks, stopping mid-thought, and pulling his hand back.

“Yeah,” she manages a response despite her trembling nerves. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re good. My bad,” he doesn’t make it awkward, just gives her space. He settles his hands on his stomach and continues his story as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all.

Eventually, the door gently clicks shut, signaling Zeke’s return. The energy in the room shifts. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The gravity of his presence clings to his shoulders. He’s as stone-faced as ever, but he seems… tired. His coiffed hair is mussed, as if he’s been raking his hand through it. Marcus shifts, the ground beneath her turning into a wall as he sits up, gently tipping her into his palm.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, setting her down on the coffee table. “Hey man,” Marcus stands, approaching Zeke with open arms.

Zeke hesitates for a moment, and Isabell expects him to walk right past, brushing by without a word. Instead, he steps forward, and she’s surprised to see him slump into Marcus instead. It’s a comfortable familiarity that she didn’t expect to see from Zeke.

She notices, really notices, for perhaps the first time, that Marcus is taller, by quite a bit actually. She supposes she doesn’t often get the opportunity to see the two of them interacting from across the room. Normally, they’re right up close. At that point they simply loom, and it’s hard to discern who might be looming more.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus speaks first.

Zeke nods into his shoulder with a muffled, “Me too.” His words are so quiet she barely hears him.

“We good?”

Zeke nods again.

“Okay,” Marcus pulls away, giving him a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

Zeke’s attention turns to her, easily finding her on the coffee table. She freezes, no longer just watching, but a part of the moment now. Marcus peels off, giving them space.

He walks over, and she isn’t sure what to expect. He sits on the floor in front of her, trying to get close to her level, but still effortlessly towering over her. Her heart hums rapidly in her chest as she tilts her head back to meet his eyes.

His hand comes to rest on the table. Nearby, but not touching. Never touching. He can be so close with Marcus, yet he remains so distant with her. It’s easy to believe that comes from a place of indifference. But she remembers Marcus’s words, ‘I think he’s terrified.’

Zeke blinks down at her, his mouth flat, his jaw set. He certainly doesn’t look very terrified to her. He seems to be entirely composed. What is Marcus seeing that she isn’t?

“I’m sorry,” Zeke says quietly, “I recognize that I am a relatively controlling individual. I try to be conscious of that, but I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s never been my intention to take advantage of your size. I don’t want to treat you like you can’t solve your own problems, or like you can’t fight your own battles. I shouldn’t have said anything. Or- at the very least- I could have talked to you about it first. I overstepped, I’m sorry.”

His words are careful and measured. It’s a well thought out apology. She looks up at him again, and it’s like she’s seeing him through a different set of eyes. She considers him for a moment.

“It’s okay,” she says, stepping forward. She closes the distance between them. Shy, but deliberate. She reaches out, willingly, purposefully resting her hand against his knuckle.

The weight of the gesture is not lost on Zeke. He freezes entirely beneath her touch. He may have even stopped breathing. It’s as if he thinks any movement at all would shatter the moment between them. As if he were to so much as blink, she would change her mind. She doesn’t. She’s choosing this.

“You don’t… have to,” Zeke’s voice is halting, full of hesitation. No longer composed, well-rehearsed sentences. She’s thrown him off his rhythm. She’s surprised him.

“I know,” she says, not pulling away.

His focus is entirely on her, his eyes flick down to where her hand is resting against his. Her gaze travels there as well. Her entire hand rests comfortably on his knuckle. He’s massive. And yet, here he is, his fingers barely twitch beneath her. He's letting her take the lead.

“Can we still watch that movie?” she asks.

“Of course. I’ll… make popcorn.” He rises slowly, as if pulling himself away from the moment requires effort.

[miniscule-meow]

has this been done

[miniscule-meow]

I’m still obsessing over Charlie & Felix. I reread through their story and the most recent chapters of lil bit drunk Charlie & a cute comic I saw of a similar scenario had me wondering…

Can Felix get drunk? Like, does he purposefully choose not to drink to avoid losing control of his ability? Does his super-powered metabolism make it so he can’t get drunk? (or feel the effects of substances?)

And if he could, what would he be like? If Charlie were there with him while he’s drunk, would she be safe? Would his drunken lack of inhibitions lead him to be a bit more unintentionally honest and affectionate or snuggly with her? (I ask for purely scientific reasons… 🤭)

from @mariposita24 (sideblog)

Sorry this took so long to respond to!! I started writing an answer, and it VERY QUICKLY got away from me and turned into A LOT of words.

This is wildly self-indulgent, and incredibly fluffy.

This would take place a good bit after where we are in the current story.

TLDR; Yes, he can get drunk. He probably doesn't drink all that often, his tolerance is... just okay. Felix would be a lot, but yes, he'd make sure that Charlie stayed safe.

Wordcount: 2.5k

---

“Why do you keep going to parties if you hate them?” Felix asks her, leaning against the coffee counter in the library, as she closes for the day.

“I don’t hate them. You’re projecting,” her tone is a little more defensive than the teasing she was going for.  

“Projecting?” he tilts his head slightly, “You don’t think I’d be fun at parties?” He asks, smirking. She levels her gaze in his direction. He chuckles and continues on, “Do you even like anyone that’s going to be there?”

“As a matter of fact, Felix, yes. Some people from my bio lab will be there, and some of the Shroommates will be there.”

“Shroom—” his brow raises questioningly.

“Mushroom club. I’m the treasurer, you know.”

“Oh,” he says with realization, “It’s a nerd thing, not a party.”

“Nerds can party!” She defends. An amused smile finds Felix’s face, “Besides, I know for a fact that you’re reading The Wheel of Time right now, you can say nothing about nerds.”

“Alright,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m sure I’ll fit in really well at your nerd party then.”

“So, you’ll go?”

“Just until I get bored," he grins.

---

Fairy lights twinkle overhead, sagging from the ceiling as if hastily taped up there by someone doing their best and balancing on a chair. The wall behind the couch holds a tie-dyed tapestry, the lamp in the corner has one of those color changing bulbs, projecting a wavy pattern across the room. Bodies fill the small space, Felix is surprised to find that by the look of it, this seems to be a real party.

In the kitchen, there are chips and snacks spread out on the counter, next to a large cooler holding a bright red liquid. There is a bucket next to the cooler with a handwritten sign that reads: Jungle Juice. $5 All night.

He tosses a $10 in the bucket and grabs two cups. He scrawls his name and Charlie’s name on them before navigating back to the living room. He finds Charlie chatting with a short girl, thick glasses, bob, frog-themed cardigan. She tells him her name, but he forgets it almost immediately.

He mostly sticks next to Charlie. For all of his teasing, he’s really not used to the party scene. But he loosens up as the night progresses. The music is loud enough that conversation is optional, and the jungle juice is seemingly never ending. Once he’s good and drunk, he’s surprisingly comfortable in the crowd.

“Hey, wait,” someone cuts in eventually, “Is it true? You’re a super, right? Like- a real one?” He turns his gaze to the guy asking.

One look at this guy and Felix knows, not a threat. Mundanes can be fickle sometimes. Like, whatever-his-name-was giving Charlie trouble in the quad the other week. Typically, he wouldn’t bother answering about his ability. It’s usually more entertaining to just let people spin their wheels, come up with theories, but he’s in a good mood right now and feels like playing along. The question has turned several heads, including Charlie’s. She’s gauging his reaction cautiously.

His shoulders relax, his lips stretching into a smug grin. He gives a slow shrug as a languid confidence fills his chest. It’s dangerous energy, as if he’s daring someone to ask more.

This will be fun.

---

Charlie bristles at the shift in the room. It’s familiar, her brothers used to do the same thing. Heads turn this way, as if the room can tell that a show is about to begin. She doesn’t know if she should say something, if she should interrupt him before he builds too much momentum and does something stupid.

She hovers for a second too long, caught between the urdge to intervene and the dread of being brushed off. Wordlessly, she slips off to the kitchen to find another drink.

Felix has gathered quite the crowd out in the living room, so the kitchen is blissfully empty. She leans against the counter, staring at her nickname scrawled in Felix’s handwriting.

Why is this so weird?

Is it the pompous energy he’s adopted?

It’s so different than what she’s used to. When he’s with her he’s… quiet, sarcastic, nice- even though he likes to pretend he’s not. But now he’s… She glances through the doorway to find him, heads taller than the crowd. He’s fixing the fairy lights on the ceiling. Laughing, telling some story about himself. It feels performative, but no one else seems to notice.

She frowns, unable to suppress the- what? The jealousy? That’s stupid. She knows it’s stupid, but still, she can’t shake it.

Is it just the ease of how he filled the space and made it his own that’s unsettled her? How effortless this seems to be for him, when being social like this feels like work to her?

Maybe Felix was right, maybe she does hate parties.

She fills her cup with more of the unnaturally red, and disastrously strong jungle juice, before heading outside for some air. There’s a firepit in the backyard with a few people milling around. It’s easy to find an open camping chair. She sits quietly, staring into the flames and nursing her drink.

Eventually, the door opens, and Felix makes his way over to her, a drink of his own in hand. His movements are loose, and carefree, absolutely intoxicated.

“Thought you ditched me,” he says as he lands heavily in the chair next to hers. She just shakes her head. “Mundanes are so funny sometimes,” he says grinning, carrying on the conversation for the both of them when it becomes apparent that Charlie isn't feeling very chatty. “I literally could have sold tickets. This one girl- look- she wrote her number on my arm, isn’t that crazy?” he holds out his arm, showing her the digits scrawled along his wrist in sharpie. “Then, there was this dude, and he was like ‘I can take you.’ I said, like, ‘I promise you can’t.” Then when- Hey,” he stops himself mid-thought, his brow furrowing, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing," her voice is clipped, unconvincing.

“Are you having fun?” he asks, and she answers with a nod. “Well, can you tell your face that?” When she doesn’t respond, he shrugs, leaning back in the chair and turning his attention to the firepit.

“You’re reminding me of my brothers,” she hears it as it comes out, flinching at how sharp it sounded. But it’s true.

“Okay, ouch.”

“Just- Can’t take them anywhere without them showing off.”

“Ooh. I was showing off, huh?” His playful grin returns.

“By definition, yes,” she deadpans.

“Well, I like attention. Sue me.” He shrugs, absently rubbing at his wrist until the numbers written there are nothing more than an illegible smudge. “What, are you jealous?” He’s teasing, but still, she scrunches her nose.

She is, isn’t she? But not for the reason he might think. She doesn’t want the spotlight, she's over spending her time wishing for an ability to suddenly develop, nothing like that. She just… she wishes she could stop feeling like an outsider. Her head spins with all these unwanted emotions, she takes another long pull from her drink, like that's going to help anything.

“No. It’s fine. You can flaunt your ability however you want to. I guess I’m just… It took me like three months to get you to even talk to me, then you come here and you’re instantly a freaking rockstar."

What is so wrong with me then? She doesn't say it, but she's too drunk to hide how she's feeling, but if she's lucky, Felix will be to drunk to hear what she isn't saying. Still, her words hang in the air and she regrets every one of them.

“I’m sorry," she recovers hastily, "I’m glad you’re having fun, really. I’m sorry that I’m so… me,” she shakes her head, she needs to stop talking.

“I happen to like you quite a bit,” he says, his words are heavy with intoxication, but his tone is entirely genuine. “It’s easy to be entertainment. It’s hard to do all that other stuff with… feelings and consequences. You’re, like, the only person I care about. You know that, right?” Before she can respond, he blurts, “Do you want to come back to my place tonight?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again when no words come.

“I mean- like, for sleep. Not like- I didn’t mean—” He frowns, pivots hard, “I have snacks.”

“You’re like… so drunk right now, aren’t you.”

“And you’re sober?” he questions with a quirked brow.

“Not even close,” she shakes her head.

“Do you want to get out of here then?”

“I don’t want to ruin your fun.”

“I’m good, I’ve had enough.”

…

One long drunken stroll through town later, they find themselves back at his place.

He had told her he was only going to be out for about five minutes. That, of course, was about twenty minutes ago. She looks outside and is not surprised to find him gigantic, lounging out in the back yard. She makes her way out to him.

His head turns, eyes zeroing in on her, though the focus seems to take a good bit of effort. That, plus the smile that blooms across his face tells her that he might have gone a bit too hard at the party. He rolls over, settling onto his stomach. The earth trembles as he plants his elbows into the ground, lowering himself until his cheek rests against the back of his hand. His eyes dance over her, unguarded, unashamedly taking her in.

“Hey, cutie,” Felix drawls, his voice thick and low. Instantly, warmth shoots through her from her face all the way down to her toes. She freezes where she stands.

His free hand shoots forward, much faster than someone his size should move. An image of a speeding train flashes in her mind, and she has a sudden realization that perhaps going home with a drunk giant wasn’t her brightest idea. But before a collision, he stops in front of her. Slowly, he closes the distance between them with his index finger, brushing the length of her arm, pulling her hand to rest on his fingertip. He lifts his head slightly to observe.

“So little,” he releases a breath that tousles her hair.

She has no idea where this energy is coming from, but it’s making her feel like she could just combust where she stands.

He pulls away from her hand, electing instead to snake his finger around her waist, pulling her into the palm of his hand. She’s left reeling for a moment, before she can collect herself the muscle shifts around her, as if he’s ready to move again.

“Wait! Felix, wait, wait, wait,” she calls, scrambling to right herself. He jolts, freezing suddenly around her. She looks up to find his easy smile melted away. His eyes hold a new intensity in them.

“I’m scaring you?” Weirdly enough, it carries the weight of an accusation.

“You’re so drunk,” she tries to reason.

“You don’t trust me,” his brow furrows. He props himself up on his elbows, staring straight down at her.

“It’s not that—”

“It has to be,” he gives a shake of his head. “You don’t- when I’m like this I-" he stops with a huff, collecting his thoughts and trying again. "This is who I am, Charlie. Sorry if you don’t like that.”

“Felix, don’t be dramatic,” his gaze sharpens into a glare, or rather, a drunken attempt at one. “It’s really not you!” She speaks fast, trying to explain before he takes matters into his own hands here. “I’m just really afraid of heights. Okay? This is fine. I just- I thought you were going to pick me up. That's all.”

He’s quiet for a moment, observing her, measuring her. Then, laughter. A smile pulls across his face, and he flops back down into his arm. Deep, real laughter rumbles through her.

“You’re so strange,” he says through his laughter fit. “You’re not afraid of me, you're afraid of... what? The ground?”

“Pretty much,” she mumbles, leaning back into his hand, pulling her arms around herself.

Eventually, his laughter dies down, and he peels his bleary eyes open. His expression is softer now, finding her in his hand.

“I’d be so careful,” his voice is barely a whisper. “Let me hold you?” The question catches her sideways.

Hold her. Pick her up. She practically squeaks in response.

“Didn’t you say something about how cuddling should be a sober decision?” She manages to find her voice.

“We’re both drunk, so it cancels out.” He flashes a grin, lazy and smug. He is unfairly charming, she knows she has to be bright red right now. “I would do this sober.” She gives him an uncertain look. “I would want to,” he corrects.

“You can barely see straight right now,” she cautions, "you want to..."

“I won’t hurt you,” his thumb pulls in, stroking her side. “I’ll go slow, won’t even stand up.” He looks at her intently, focused. “You can say no.”

She looks at him for a long moment before, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Go for it,” she nods. “Slowly, though… please,” she adds, her certainty waning.  

“Slowly, you got it.”

He takes a breath to steady himself before he moves. He sits up on his knees and lifts her off the ground. To his credit, he keeps his movements slow and steady. Still, she squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to his thumb, as if she could secure herself to his palm in any way. His breath hitches slightly at the contact, and his other hand moves in, cupping around her like a wall. He pulls her to his chest. His warmth radiates around her, the thrum of his heart grounds her. It helps that she can’t see how high she is, and that he’s so solid around her.

“See?” He asks, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, yeah?” His voice resonates through her.

 “Yeah, this… this isn’t so bad,” she says with trembling breath.

Keeping his steady movement, he pulls her away, just a bit. Her breath snags, and she tenses as she’s pulled into the open.

“I just want to look at you,” he whispers. His cheeks are flushed as he takes her in. She can’t imagine how she must look, cupped in his hands, clinging to his thumb, trying to remember how to breathe and more than anything not looking down.

“I probably like. Fuckin’ traumatized you the first time I picked you up, huh? I’m sorry," he mumbles, "I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”

She nods, “I’m too stubborn.” It's an attempt at humor, but her voice is tight. She's overwhelmed and trying to focus on breathing, but as always, she refuses to yield. She trusts Felix. She's got an iron-clad grip on him, and she refuses to look down, but she trusts him.

“I’ve noticed,” he huffs. “Alright. You're going to cut off the circulation to my thumb if we keep this up. I’m going to lay down." He brings her back close to his chest, even closer than before. She’s pressed gently into the soft fabric of his shirt, he still smells like the bonfire. Gravity seems to shift as he lays back. Once he’s settled, he pulls his hands away, leaving her resting against him. “Is this fine?”

Back on the ground, or- close enough, relief floods through her, she releases a breath.

“I might like this more than I should,” she says relaxing into him, letting herself enjoy the sensation of his heartbeat as it pulses beneath her.

“Yeah. Me too.”

[miniscule-meow]

The giant gets so used to this that they start recognizing the signs. So, when the tiny starts looking like they're about to panic, the giant just PLOPS a hand on top of them.

Tiny with anxiety uses giants hand as a weighted blanket everytime they start panicking

[miniscule-meow]

If Charlie had a power what would it be?

🤩🤩🤩🤩 FUN question!!

I feel like she would have an area of effect type power, and it would be like a stat effect. Not super flashy, easily underestimated, but surprisingly potent.

She could have like, a zone of calm emotions around her. As she got stronger she would even be able to push back against other people's abilities. Weaker supers- she would just be able to shut down entirely. Stronger supers- she could just limit them to a percentage of their power.

If she could pick a power though, she would want what her brother Mars has, with the plants. She thinks his power is the coolest. 🍄🌷🪻

But also, feel free to get in da comments. What power do y'all think Charlie might have?

Also x2 now I'm thinking about all the possible AUs of like ... Okay how would things go if she like, suddenly developed an ability?

[miniscule-meow]

Prologue (here) | Next

Here we go, prologue & 1st chapter are up!

I plan on posting a new chapter once a month, but sometimes it may be a bit more spread out, time-wise.

I’m looking into eventually putting this on webtoon and maybe other platforms in the future, but seeing how it does here first.

Even though I’ve been a full-time artist for a bit now, this is my first ever comic and I’m still learning & getting a feel for the format as I go along. I hope you enjoy!!! 💕