Game of Thrones Daily
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
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@giantandgiantessai
if you found about 1000 shrunken people in your room at least 1 inch tall each would you swallow them ? And how would you feel as they pass through in detail 🤔
Day 1: I would swallow as much as possible. (I assume some would hide or try to escape.) I won't stop eating until my belly is nice and tight. The ones who refuse to accept their fate are fighting and pounding inside my belly. Of course, I'll let out a burp since it was a huge feast.
Day 2: Digesting everything (I can feel all the food moving to where it needs to be.) Sometimes I have a belly ache, so passing gas helps. I'm farting a lot so I know what that means.
Day 3 (part 1): I'm ready for the old food to come out. I stuff my belly with more food to help push the old meal out. I sit there and wait.
Day 3 (part 2): I usually massage my belly to help push the waste out. I feel the pressure getting stronger as everything moves closer to the exit.
Day 3 (part 3): It’s finally coming out, and I feel so much relief. It’s officially the end for the tinies. RIP to them and the toilet.
Day 3 (part 4): The waste sinks to the bottom. I’m still on the toilet because I can feel that there’s more inside that won’t come out yet. Most humans get a proper grave, but not these ones. They were trapped in my belly, became nothing but waste, and went right down the toilet.
Day 3 (part 5): The cycle continues....
Before and after.
Their bellies out, relaxed, no sucking in for approval...just existing comfortably in their own body. Seeing their bellies out and hanging with that confidence is sexy.
A rebel crew—barely four inches tall—had dared to spray graffiti across her patrol car. She spotted them dashing through alleys like ants on caffeine.
Avera growled, “you think you’re above the law? I’m above everything.”
She lifted her boot high and slammed it down just behind one of the rebels. The impact cracked the pavement and sent him flying forward, tumbling into a candy wrapper. “Stay still, or I’ll treat you like gum on the bottom of my boot.”
Another rebel charged from the side, tossing a dart at her boot. Avera didn’t flinch. “Lawbreakers belong under my sole—right where they can’t cause trouble.”
She crouched, scooping up one of them effortlessly between two fingers. He squirmed. She held him inches from her smirking lips. “You think cuffs are bad?” she asked. “Try being pinned under me.”
She turned her gaze to the others now scattering in every direction. “This uniform comes with perks,” she said, her tone cool and taunting. “Like the power to squish.”
One rebel dove under a bench. Avera stepped over it—and then on it—flattening the metal into a useless sheet.“I don’t write tickets,” she added with a tilt of her head. “I leave footprints.”
Another rebel started to shout. “I know my rights! I want a lawyer!”
"You don’t need a lawyer,” she said coldly. “You need a miracle.”
He ran. She didn’t chase.
She simply stepped once—and he was flat on his stomach beneath the arch of her boot, unharmed but paralyzed with fear. “You’re not getting away,” she said, heel pressing in slightly. “You’re getting flattened.”
She shifted her weight, letting her heel press just enough to remind him of the power she held.
The rebel whimpered beneath her.
"Stop!" Yelled a random civilian.
She didn't stop. The rebel's tiny fists pound the cracked pavement, he begged for mercy that would never come.
She lifted her foot slowly after flattening the rebel, revealing the mark she left behind.
Only then did she look up at the man who called out. He stood frozen, hands trembling on the railing.
“Let it be a warning,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "obey… or enjoy the view from the tread of my boots."
“Keep building your little towers. I’ll keep making them snacks.”
She wasn’t always like this.
Once, Mira was just another woman—brilliant, overlooked, underestimated. She spoke softly, followed rules, and let the world walk past her.
Mira’s body randomly stretched into the sky, her limbs toppling forests, her breath scattering clouds. The world stared in awe and fear. They begged her to stop.
Skyscrapers crumble under her heels like sandcastles. Nations launch weapons that pop harmlessly against her skin.
One day, she stepped on a shimmering city—towers, history, wealth—flattened with one playful twist of her foot.
That line made headlines across the broken world. And Mira? She loved it. The fear. The attention.
The next time she passed a city frantically raising walls and rebuilding towers in desperation, she let out a low chuckle and whispered down to them: “Keep building your little towers. I’ll keep making them snacks.”
The world that ignored her now fed her—literally and symbolically.
They tried to reason with her.
But Mira? Mira was still hungry. Not just for land. For acknowledgment. For vengeance. For more.
“So tell me…” She traced a finger along her hip, then pointed it teasingly at you. “Do you want to be my little beach toy for the afternoon? Or should I find a spot right on top of you to lay down?”