Playing with Giant Women
I keep a running list of Size-related news, whenever I catch something interesting. I’ve expanded my Google Alerts search to include international terms, which isn’t always useful—in French, the feminine form of “giant” can simply mean a big issue, like “Giant power outage in Spain and Portugal in April” or “OpenAI places a giant chip order with AMD.” Merde.
But I’ve got a bunch of material, and I feel like I’d like to share it rather than letting the list get too backlogged. And that means I’ve got to come up with the other sections, too! Well, what better way to welcome the weekend?
Giantess News
The news this time around focuses on two giantess-themed games, one where you play a rampaging giantess, and another where you fight off a rampaging giantess.
Raya's Garden World Adventure
Author 不要当jerry announced to the world on August 15, via MSN China, that Raya’s Garden World Adventure had been released. He described it as a “casual 2D puzzle game” in which you play a giant dragon girl (who may be based on a virtual streaming “celebrity”), Raya Osterreich. She’s retaliating against an army of goblins encroaching upon her territory.
I’m not sure how the strategy works, like maybe it’s timed, but if I read the screenshots correctly, you have five primary attacks: stomp with your shoe, stockinged foot, or bare foot; wipe out territory with your hand, or use your finger for a targeted attack. You can try to translate the MSN article for yourself, or watch the demo on Steam.
Giant Girl Attack
This time, a giant girl is wandering through your city, and you’re given only 30 seconds to run around, collect supplies, and launch your attack.
Gaming magazine Automaton explains that a mysterious object has destroyed all machines, and then this enormous life form made an appearance. As you explore the map and attack the giantess, largely through trial-and-error—the more you fight, the more time you get in subsequent rounds—you learn about the backstory and the world. There are three bad endings, two good endings, and a “swimsuit end.”
This game seems to be a labor of love by an extremely independent developer, Garo-chan, whose games seem to have to do with dressing up and making the most of a weeklong holiday. Read more on Famitsu.
Scandi Giantess: Bakrauf
This is going to be a silly entry. Bakrauf isn’t a famous giantess, she doesn’t fight glorious battles, no one has a cult for her worship (as far as I know).
Giantesses can be named after warlike traits (Atla “fierce,” Hildigunnr “war, battle,” Järnsaxa “iron sword”); features of the environment (Drifa “snow,” Aurboða “clay, mud”); noises (Angeyja “to bark,” Gjölp “to scream,” Skellinefja “to make a clash”); or even states of being (Gala “a lively girl,” Grygoa “that which brings sorrow or fear,” Leikn “playmate”).
The name Bakrauf only turns up in a þulur, a list of names—in this case a list of 176 giantess names. Names were very important in Scandinavian culture, and as Snorri Sturluson hastily recorded the stories and folklore people had to share, he must also have found it crucial to simply write down all the names of giantesses that anyone knew of, perhaps in the hopes of chasing those stories down later. Bakrauf belongs to a class of giantess names that describe notable bodily features. Any name with nef likely has to do with a prominent nose: Nefja, Arinnefja, Geirnefja. Hengikepta means someone with the jaws of an animal, perhaps figuratively. Blatönn is a giantess with tusks.
Image by Perchance
As it is, Bakrauf’s name means that she has a prominent anus. Other giantesses have large noses, beaks, horse hooves, a cow’s tail, shaggy hide, but it seems the first thing people tended to notice about Bakrauf was her backside. The translation is a bit tenuous, so her name could actually mean “backside,” “with a cleft back,” or even just someone with a big butt.
Avid giantess researcher Lotte Motz suggested that Bakrauf could be a Latin pun, the work of some particularly knowledgeable Christian scholar, as the Latin word “anus” also means “ugly witch.” Many giant folk (skessur in particular) were naturally gifted with powerful magic, and as forces of nature threatening our world, they might have been portrayed as hideous to reflect their temperament.
As for me, I’d like to make up my own saga about Bakrauf, and I think we know how that would go.
Flash Fiction: Tattoo, pt. 3
“Are you done yet,” growled Vargrygr. “You’ve marked me enough, little one.” She tried to straighten up and stretch, as the sun approached noon, but the artist was quite underneath the curve of her backside.
Thrand glanced at the bowl of ink, his brow furrowed. “Almost done. To do this right, we have to do one more thing. I’m going to sing the runes into you.”
“Why? This isn’t a spell, I’m just commemorating a cowardly worm as a warning to others.”
“Please, Vargrygr. This is my way. When you ask Thrand for help, you get Thrand’s help.” She laughed at this, so hastily he crawled out from beneath her, dusted off his linen wraps mostly, and checked the bowl once more. “It is a warning, and I want people to take it seriously. They will feel these words, not just read them.”
The giantess hummed to herself, considering, then relented. “What do you need me to do? I need to stretch, I feel like I’m lined with knots.”
He assured her she’d appreciate the next part, in that case. She was to lie prone upon the grass and he would climb up and finish off the runes while performing the rúngaldr. “It’s a small finesse that will complete this process. I’ll feel better about it. And while I’m up there, I’ll trot up and down your spine to work some of those knots out, if I can.”
She laughed at that and laboriously rolled to the side, arranging herself prone. “The sun feels nice on my back, at least. If I doze off and you take advantage of me …”
“I wouldn’t dare, even with Sleipnir poised for the getaway.”
“I was going to say, you’re welcome to it. A gratuity, of sorts. Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”
Thrand walked around her broad ribs, around her long arm to where her smiling face rested. He raised his hands and smiled back and thought before each word. “Not that I wouldn’t conquer several outlying islands for the privilege, but Vargrygr, my friend, my client: not here, not now. It would be wrong. What I’m performing is sacred, and I want to do my best job. And not just to keep you from lopping my head off with a bludgeon.”
Her back rose and fell, and her breath gusted the grass around his feet. “You’re a strange one. But I respect that. This is really sacred to you, isn’t it? I just wanted a warning on my ass telling people to stay away, but this is much more to you.”
“It’s as much about the message as it is the client.” He leaned in and patted the side of her nose. “I’ll get started now.”
Going back to his supplies, he tucked a medium-sized pole in the back of his wraps and lifted the bowl of ink to rest on the back of her knee. He carefully climbed up, took up the bowl, and began to step up the huge thigh. “Please don’t move, if you can help it. This is precarious enough as it is, and I can’t afford to spill.”
Her thigh, muscular and colossal, was firm enough for his path, but her buttocks were another matter. There was nothing Vargrygr could do to keep them still, round and padded as they were. Thrand was forced to crawl on all fours to keep from tumbling off or between them, dragging the bowl of ink from spot to spot until he knelt by the runes.
He reached back to pull the medium pen from his wraps. “The runes are only drawn, not yet born,” he said. “They must be sung awake.”
“Quaint,” said the giantess. “Just watch where you stick that thing.”
With two hands, he dipped the fine steel tip into the ink and began retracing the outline of the runes. He sang the name of each rune in a low voice, he sang what each one meant and how each group of runes in a word interacted with each other. Vargrygr was fascinated to hear the story he was telling, so much more than the warning of Bjarni and his hapless warriors. With the sun on her shoulders and the tiny man canting on her butt, she felt very comfortable indeed, barely noticing the tiny pricks in her skin. Her reverie was cut short by quiet swearing.
“That’s not part of the rúngaldr, is it?” She refrained from rising up on one shoulder and craning to look back, lest she upset his precarious perch.
His voice was tight. “I’m afraid I wasn’t completely prepared for this size of a job, my friend. I’m very low on ink right now.”
“You’ve done a fine job. Tell me how to help it set and I’ll pay you.”
“NO!” His voice bounced off the mountaintops, and now she did strain to glance back at him. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to snap. I can’t stress to you how important it is that I finish this.”
She snorted, making her butt sway. “What, will it bring down a curse on our heads if it’s not complete?”
“No, but I might tear myself in half.”
“Well, bring the bowl back up to my face and we’ll mix more saliva into it.”
“There’s too little left. It’ll thin out, and I can’t have you showing off my carelessness on your ass everywhere you go.”
“Can’t you get some in the village?”
“They have clothing dye, but that won’t work. I don’t know how it would react in your body, for one thing. I get my ink from … very far away, the only place that knows how to make it permanent.”
She felt him plop dejectedly on her buttock. The sun was only getting higher. “What do you want to do?”
“There’s one way to get a suitable mixture that will be durable.” He leaned back, propping one arm on her other buttock to look her in the eye. “How do you feel about a little of me inside you?”
“Scoundrel.” She laughed, and he scrambled to brace himself. “I knew where this was going. I told you, I’m all for it. You’ve been building this itch in me, and I need it scratched.”
He shook his head hard. “No, I mean my blood. I can mix some of my blood into the ink. That will keep it thick and it’ll darken with time. If I’m judicious with my punctures, I should have enough to finish.”
“Fuck, I wish I could sit up right now. I’d grab you and shake some sense into you. I know you little people need your blood, to think, to dream. You’re going to just give it away?”
He winced. “I really don’t think you understand how important this is to me. If a man dies, that’s the end of his story, that’s how it goes. But if I can’t finish properly painting you in my runes … a story unfinished is worse than death.”
“Thrand …”
But she wouldn’t argue any longer. She turned away and listened to his grunts as he used the medium-tip to saw at his forearm. He sang a different song as the little red horses ran out and filled the bowl; his fingers muddled them with the ink, keeping it thick and dark. He tore a strip from the hem of his wraps and tied a thick knot over the wound. “Really need you to hold still now, I’m a little light-headed.”
Vargrygr bit her lip and said nothing, listening to his chanting, a little slower and quieter now. She closed her eyes and focused on his nearly weightless body crawling over her backside, up and down and around, the heels of his palms driving shallow dimples into her flesh as he pronounced each rune and gave it weight.
After a long, fraught, period of time, she heard the medium-pen clatter in the dirt by her hip. “Just enough,” Thrand said, letting him slide down her buttock and collapse to the ground. There wasn’t even enough ink left to stain him as the bowl bounced off his chest.
“Thrand.” Vargrygr glanced at him to perceive exactly where he lay, then pulled herself up and scooped his limp body in her huge hands, folding her legs beneath him. “What do you need from me right now?” she asked, her large thumb dragging the hair out of his face.
“The pay we talked about is enough.”
“No, to heal you, you idiot. Water, food?”
“Later. Rest.”
The giantess sat there in the sunshine, holding this little person in her hands, weighing next-to-nothing in her grasp. “Thrand,” she whispered, drawing him closer to her chest. “This was so stupid. You didn’t have to injure yourself like this. I could’ve gone anywhere else and had this done, if I’d known you’d do something this bone-headed.”
“You came to me, because it’s important.”
“And your ritual, that’s very important too, I get it.”
His arm reached up. “You. You are very important, my giantess. What wouldn’t I do for you.”
She smirked. “And now that you’re weak and can’t defend yourself, what’s to stop me from using you the way I want? Answering this irresistible itch you’ve stirred deep inside me with your poking and prodding and crawling all over me.”
Thrand drew a long, slow breath. “You’d regret it.”
This made her laugh. “Oh, would I?”
“Yes, because it wouldn’t be about me.” He licked his lips and rested his head upon her fingertip. “It would be about sating this animal need in you, pursuing a feeling. It would be about your power. Tomorrow, you’d wake up and wish you hadn’t done it.”
She had no comeback for this. She only cradled his body in her arms and rocked gently in the warm sun, singing her own song to him, practicing what she would sing to the Sisters.
And that will do it for this edition of That’s About the Size of It. Thank you for bearing with me and reading this far. Seriously, if the news keeps coming in, you may hear from me more than once a month. There are plenty of giantesses to go through, that’s for sure.
All the best to you! Enjoy the autumn for as long as it lasts, unless you love winter, in which case you’re in luck.
In Her shadow, find growth;
In Her embrace, find peace.
In Her Shadow,
Aborigen
©2025 Aborigen/Size Riot