Megamacropolis 1

 You usually didn't remember your dreams. Vague notions of falling and embarrassment, occasionally mixed with spicier thoughts of love and giantesses, that was all you retained upon waking. This time, though, you had all your awareness about you. The images before you were as vivid as any you'd ever seen in the waking world.   

A great city built into the sides of a crater stretches out on all sides before you. Skyscrapers line the walls, buildings built taller and even wider the further you go away from the city, making it curiously impossible to tell distance as size counters perspective. The urban sprawl never seems to end, tiers climbing to the sky further than your eye can follow. 

  
 While they climb to the sky, you seem to be leaving it. It takes strangely long for you to realize that you're falling. The wind whistles past you as you hurtle towards the ground, tumbling head over heels as you shoot for just off center of the city. Of course, you know you'll wake up before you hit. In the meantime, you try to get a better look at the landscape before you. 

 Closer to the ground, you can pick out more detail. The changing architecture size isn't quite smooth, every so often there's a luminous light on the ground or a gate in the way and sizes will jump by about double. Around one of these, you manage to see your first citizens, and your heart skips a beat.   

 An amazonian dragon, silver scaled from horn to claw leans over one of the fences, taller than the very buildings on the opposite side. She reaches down, picking up a tanuki that fits neatly in the palm of one of her hands, pulling the smaller being towards her... and lowering her.   

 You can't make out anything of their relationship, their expressions are too far away to read. Even as you try to focus, a bout of turbulence catches you and sends you spinning, causing you to lose the scene. It sticks with you though, not just for the dragon's impossible size... for both characters odd proportions. Long luscious legs, massive muscles, massive racks and... you might have seen bulges. They had the kind of inhumanly sexual forms you would never see in real life.   

 There's no time to enjoy them if you're falling, though. You start trying to control the dream, to influence your course, perhaps even to fly, ideally into their waiting arms. As you lose track of them by continuing to plummet, you feel somewhat surprised by your lack of control. You attempt to coach your subconscious with your body, flapping your limbs in rhythm or shouting your desires to the world, but your words are whipped away by the wind as you continue.   

 It's a blow to your esteem, but you're stuck hurtling to the ground rather than enjoying the kinds of beauty that can't exist. Maybe when you wake up you can take a meditation class or something. Refusing to acknowledge your descent feels like the only thing to do now, waiting for the dream to end just before you hit the pavement. 

 Instead, you land in a pile of leaves. Ordinary leaves couldn't possibly cushion you from such a height, but this pile is massive, several stories high, and every individual leaf that comprises it is around the size of your own body. As you fall in, lobes of the leaf embrace you and drag you into darkness... but still you do not wake up. Instead, you slowly struggle through the soft and only slightly crunchy mountain and out into a backyard magnified to impossible scale.   

 The pile you stumble out of stands under a tree the size of a skyscraper, person sized leaves occasionally detaching and drifting in a wind so mild you're not sure it should be able to carry them. An old fashioned tire swing twists just beside the pile, every groove of the tire's tread being more than wide enough for you to lie down in. Your sense of scale is completely thrown off as you look away, a suburban home, nearby on its own scale, dominates your vision with fences on all other sides. Attached to it is a deck, one that might be a mile wide or a mile away from you, you can no longer tell. One with wooden slats and just the right amount of varnish. One with a chair inhabited by a furry back, holding a glass of lemonade. 

 As you slink out of your pile and march towards the porch, you wonder if the bugs and wildlife here are just as magnified; realizing that you haven't seen or heard a bird nor an insect since arriving here. That wouldn't be unusual for a dream, but as you look at the blade of grass in front of you and how you can see every texture of its blade, even some of its swollen CELLS it seems strangely noticeable.   

 Eventually, you reach the porch, the cobblestone step like a rock climbing wall before you. You start to climb up it, only for the seated figure's ears to twitch before it looks directly at you... revealing a tired, but very feminine face with eyes the size of your body.   
 “Oh dearie me!” she calls, “Arthur! Arthur dear a new arrival is in OUR yard!” Her voice is strangely soothing and benign for a beast so titanic. 

 “Tell them we've been out of the game for years and don't care!” a booming voice sounds from inside the house, your climbing path shaking you off mercifully close to the ground as his baritone quakes the earth in a manner more befitting his size.   

 “No, duckie, I mean a tiny, helpless one,” the woman stands up slowly, as though reluctant to leave her seat, and steps over to you in a few swift strokes. Looking up at her, her body is... amazing. Though her sundress is clearly meant to be comfortable rather than flattering, the lack of thickness of the forest's worth of fabric compared to her body shows everything.   

 Her hips are wide and attractive, with a butt you could bounce warships off of lurking just under the dress, clad in fairly obvious boyshorts. Her chest was perky and absolutely massive, even relevant to her frame, showing absolutely no bra as they pushed through the fabric. Less expected, her muscles were carved like the sphinx, the definition and power of an Olympic athlete flexing with every movement.   

 It was utterly incongruous with her face, a placid, tired smile attached to a feminine face that looked just a little scruffy up close, and a long mane of hair held in place by an old, unfashionable hairpin that had to contain more gold than had topped the pyramids. Combined with her wolflike features, she looked at once very young and very old.   

 And, of course, very large, as was confirmed when she reached down and picked you up, the greatest gentleness she could muster still a rough ride. 

 “Well tell him we were IN the game for years before that and don't care then, either!” the voice once again called from inside. As she raises you up, you can see through a plate glass door, an equally titanic squirrel with more muscle than any bodybuilder of the waking world could ever build alongside a massive beer gut lying lazily on the couch. 

 You get closer to him as the giantess opens the door and carries you inside. “Oh hush,” she chides her probable husband as you enter a kitchen; the fifties style décor making you a little nauseous as the motion of her hands makes things fly by. Soon she sets you quietly on the table next to an empty cereal bowl and steps over to her massive fridge, leaving you to your own devices as she digs through the area mumbling to herself.   

 As you look to your right, you see a cereal box like an apartment building, to your left, a proportional milk carton. Your neck won't crane hard enough to read the label, but something else catches your eye. A picture of a golden dragon girl just as exaggeratedly beautiful on the side of the milk carton, with the caption “Elara Bridges, last seen 2 weeks ago, MISD Δ”   

 You almost faint as you begin to parse it. Not because it's horrifyingly sad, or she's too beautiful, or for the absurdity of the situation, or because you didn't think they still did that with milk cartons. Instead, it's from a rarely remembered fact starts sounding in the back of your head as your eyes cross the type. 

 You can't read in dreams. 

 You're really here.