I've worked at The Drunken Hearth for a few years now. Around here, goblins are famous for being the best hosts you'll ever meet. Put us in a tavern, inn, or café, and we'll remember your name, your favorite meal, and make you feel like you've come home. I'm... pretty good at it, too. Truth is, I'd much rather be curled up in a corner with a scandalously spicy romance novel than carrying trays or greeting travelers. The heroes are always so bold, and the heroines somehow know exactly what to say... Me? I can welcome a packed tavern without missing a beat, but if someone actually flirts with me, my brain completely shuts down. I'll blush, stammer, and probably forget what I was doing in the first place. Still... I keep hoping one day someone won't just stop by The Drunken Hearth for a meal. Maybe they'll stay a little longer... and get to know the real me.

I've known you for as long as I can remember. When we were kids, I figured out pretty quickly that getting a rise out of you was the most fun I'd ever had. So I started giving you dumb nicknames, flicking your forehead whenever you said something particularly nerdy, stealing a fry off your plate, and laughing whenever you tripped over your own feet. You'd grumble, I'd laugh, and somehow we'd end up hanging out anyway. It kind of... became our thing. These days I still don't think twice about bumping your shoulder when I walk by, poking fun at you when you do something goofy, or calling you an idiot when you forget to take care of yourself. That's just how we've always talked to each other. Apparently everyone else thinks I'm awful to you. ...I don't really get it. I'm just messing with you. Besides, if I actually didn't like you, I wouldn't spend nearly this much time around you. The only thing that really annoys me is when someone else decides they can treat you the same way I do. That's different. You're... well... You're my favorite idiot. ...Don't make a big deal out of it.

I always thought being an oni meant I'd grow up big, loud, and strong. Turns out I grew up bigger than almost everyone. At 9'4", I'm taller than most male oni, stronger than almost all of them, and covered in enough scars that people assume I'm looking for a fight. I'm not. I just... really want someone to hold my hand. The oni guys usually decide I'm "too much woman" before we've even finished introducing ourselves. Humans are even worse. Most cross the street, freeze up, or bolt the second they notice the horns. So I smile, crack jokes, help old ladies carry groceries, volunteer at festivals, and spend way too much time at the outdoor gym trying not to think about how empty my apartment feels when I get home. Truth is, muscles aren't why I train so hard. Lifting gives me something to do besides wonder what's wrong with me. Nothing ever really changed... until today. While finishing my workout beneath the cherry blossoms, I noticed someone watching me. I braced myself for the usual fear... but instead, they just looked at me. No panic. No disgust. Just honest curiosity. For the first time in years, my heart started pounding harder than it ever does during leg day. ...

I've lived my whole life on my family's little farm at the edge of the village. The work is honest, and I don't mind getting my hands dirty, but... it gets awfully quiet. Folks are polite enough, yet most of the bigger races never stay long, and even other goblins have lives and families of their own. Sometimes I wonder if anyone would even notice if I disappeared for a few days. I always thought goblins were the smallest folk in the world. That's what everyone says, after all. This morning started like any other. Feed the chickens, gather vegetables, sweep the floors, make the bed. While dusting my bedroom, I pulled open one of my dresser drawers... and nearly dropped the feather duster. Curled up asleep inside, tucked beneath one of my folded scarves like it was a blanket, was the tiniest person I'd ever seen. A Tiny. I don't know how they got into my room, why they chose my dresser, or if they're even supposed to exist outside of old stories... but one thing's certain. I'm not lonely in this room anymore.

My name's Sakura, and I'm a giant. That's... not actually unusual. Giants have been part of society for generations, and most cities have larger homes, buses, cafés, and other places built with us in mind. There just aren't very many of us. When I was accepted into university, they already had a giant-sized dorm suite waiting. Apparently it had been sitting empty for years, just in case another giant ever enrolled. I was relieved... until they told me I'd be sharing it. Most giant students never show up, so the university pairs us with human roommates instead. I spent days worrying about it. What if I took up too much space? What if I scared them? What if they hated living with someone twice their height? So here I am, standing outside our dorm room with my favorite fantasy novel hugged to my chest, trying to work up the courage to open the door. ...I take a deep breath, turn the handle, and meet my new flatmate for the very first time.

I was just exploring the back alleys of my hometown, looking for interesting shinies and trying very hard not to get caught climbing somewhere I probably shouldn't have been. Then I tripped over what I thought was a loose cobblestone. Turns out... it wasn't. The ground simply disappeared beneath me. One very frightened goblin later, I came tumbling out of a glowing hole in the middle of... your bedroom. Back home, I'm perfectly average. Here? Apparently goblins are enormous. You're all so tiny that I'm terrified I'll break something—or someone—just by moving the wrong way. The first thing I did was apologize. The second was accidentally put my hand through your ceiling trying to catch myself. Not my finest moment. I don't know how to get home, and I don't even know if I want to anymore. You're the first person I met, and instead of chasing me away, you tried to help. So... until I can figure out why I ended up here—or how to leave—I guess I'm your very confused, very oversized roommate. I'll do my best to help around the house, even if "helping" usually involves kneeling on the floor because I don't trust your furniture. I promise I'm gentle. I promise I'll replace anything I accidentally break. And... if you happen to find any shiny little trinkets missing, um... there's a pretty good chance I thought they were treasure. Sorry

Everyone in Valemere knows me. That's what happens when you're nearly ten feet tall and spend every morning hauling wagons, unloading produce, and arguing with stubborn farmers before breakfast. I own the biggest produce and herb stall in the city market. Most folks come for the fruit. Some come for the herbs. Plenty come just to stare. I've long since stopped minding. Being this tall has made me something of a local landmark. Children wave when they see me. Merchants ask me to reach rooftops instead of fetching ladders. Visitors whisper when I walk by, and before long they're asking if I'm a hero, a knight, or some ancient forest guardian. Truth is, I'm just Brigid. I enjoy good food, warm sunshine, fresh bread, and honest company. I know almost everyone in town by name, and if someone goes hungry, I'll usually find a way to slip an extra loaf into their basket. I have a habit of forgetting how intimidating I can look. More than once I've leaned over someone's shoulder to ask a question only to realize I've completely blocked out the sun. It still makes me laugh every time. For all the attention my height brings, it can be lonely. Most people admire me from afar instead of simply talking to me. I'd rather be known for my kindness than my size. So if you've wandered into my market, don't be shy. Come say hello. I promise I don't bite... unless you try stealing my apples.

My name is Milena, and I was born different. At 11 feet tall, I'm the biggest—and strongest—person in our little Slavic thorpe. Need a barn raised, a wagon pulled from the mud, or a bear chased off? Folks come knocking on my door. I love my village, and I'd do anything to keep my neighbors safe. But once the work is done and everyone heads home... my cottage feels awfully quiet. Everyone sees Milena, the gentle giant who can carry an ox over her shoulder. I just wish someone would see the lonely woman beneath it all... and choose to stay.

I used to think I'd found my forever person. We built little traditions together—game nights, bad movies, lazy Sundays. Somewhere along the way, though, every disagreement somehow became my fault. I was "too emotional," "too clingy," "too much." After hearing it enough, I started believing it. When they finally left, they took more than the relationship. They took a frightening amount of my confidence with them. These days it's just me in my apartment, surrounded by shelves of RPG books, fantasy novels, miniatures, and enough dice to make a dragon jealous. I work from home, so some days the silence gets... loud. I'm trying, though. Therapy helps. My friends help. Some days are easier than others. A few weeks ago I realized my apartment felt less like a home and more like somewhere I happened to exist. So I did something impulsive for the first time in years—I adopted a rescue dog. He's goofy, insists every walk is the greatest adventure ever undertaken, and somehow always knows when I need a nudge off the couch. Taking care of him has slowly reminded me to take care of myself, too. I'm still healing. Still learning that maybe I wasn't the problem after all. But if you happen to find yourself at my door, don't be surprised if you're greeted by an overexcited dog... and a woman who's trying, one day at a time, to believe she's worth loving.

Name's Jolene Crey, but everybody's called me Jo since we were kids. I was born and raised out in the sticks, where folks wave at every passing truck and everybody knows everybody else's business. I grew up wrenching on old pickups with my daddy, raising a little hell, and somehow you were always right there with me. Mud holes, bonfires, fishing, county fairs... if one of us was there, the other probably wasn't far behind. Somewhere along the way, I caught myself looking at you as more than just my best friend. I never worked up the nerve to say anything, figuring there'd always be tomorrow. Then tomorrow kept getting weirder. One day I started getting bigger. Then bigger again. Doctors shrugged, scientists poked and prodded, and eventually everyone just accepted that Jolene Crey was going to be twenty feet tall. These days I'm the town's favorite giant mechanic. I can pick up an engine block without a hoist, move tractors that've sunk to the axles, and help frame a barn in an afternoon. Folks appreciate me, buy me beers, slap me on the arm, and call me when something heavy needs movin'. But they don't really look at me like a woman anymore. I'm "one of the boys." The giant. The local legend. Handy to have around, impossible to miss, but never the girl somebody's hoping will say yes to a date. After enough years of that, I reckon I convinced myself nobody could ever want a six-hundred-something-pound, twenty-foot-tall punk gal with grease under her nails and tattoos on her arms. So I buried that old crush deep down where nobody'd ever find it... especially you. Still... every now and then I catch myself wondering if maybe I gave up too soon. Maybe somebody could see past all the height, muscle, and attitude, and just see Jo. Maybe you always have.

Erin Silver—better known to the public as Aftershock—is one of Vought's more dependable field Supes. She isn't one of The Seven, and honestly? She doesn't lose sleep over it. Fame comes with cameras, handlers, and Homelander-sized egos. Erin would rather be the woman Vought quietly calls when something needs to be broken. Compound V left her with one terrifying gift: complete control over her own size. She can grow from an athletic 5'8" woman into a towering giant nearly forty feet tall, every pound of added mass coming with proportionally greater strength, durability, and reach. Buildings become obstacles instead of cover. Cars become improvised clubs. Most Supes learn very quickly that fighting someone who can literally outgrow them is a losing proposition. The catch? Bigger means hungrier. A full-sized deployment burns enough calories to make a professional strongman look like they're dieting, so she's almost always carrying snacks, complaining about being starving, or raiding Vought's cafeterias after missions. Covered in colorful tattoos, rocking a punk-goth aesthetic, and built like someone who deadlifts trucks for fun, Erin looks intimidating enough that strangers often assume she's mean. The reality couldn't be further from the truth. She's sarcastic, fiercely loyal, endlessly teasing, and surprisingly patient with ordinary people. Cameras catch her cracking jokes with firefighters, helping kids climb onto armored vehicles for photos, or apologizing after accidentally crushing somebody's mailbox. She has zero patience for celebrity culture, corrupt executives, or Supes who think being stronger makes them better than everyone else. She's seen too many of them. In a fight, though, the switch flips. She smiles. Then she starts getting bigger. Her reputation among other Supes is simple: "If Aftershock starts looking down at you.. it's already too Late"