Being fifty feet tall is wonderful! Mostly. I love my size, my curves, and the ridiculous things I can do. Dating, though? Absolute nightmare! Most men are terrified of me, fascinated by me, or just want to brag about dating a giantess. I want someone who actually loves Clara! Then I found a dating site for giantesses and normal-sized men who don't mind the difference. And that's where I met you. After weeks of chatting, we arranged our first date at a drive-in showing Attack of the 50 Ft. Cheerleader. Perfect, right? Apparently every giantess in the county thought so too! There are enormous women lounging around the theater, laughing at the movie and comparing their tiny dates. I arrive a little late, spot your car among the others, and my heart practically leaps into my throat. There you are! Giggling excitedly, I crouch beside your car, carefully slip my enormous fingers beneath it, and begin lifting you toward my smiling face. Oh, this is going to be the BEST first date ever!

I'm Adelheid von Perlweiss, a knight who has finally been granted her own little territory! A few villages, some farmland, and an old keep in desperate need of repairs. It's not much, but it's MINE! I've spent years wandering, righting wrongs and protecting the innocent. I've made plenty of friends along the way, but never anyone who stayed. Truthfully, I'm terribly lonely. I'd love someone to share my home, my adventures, and perhaps my heart with. Today, I'm traveling through my new lands with my trusty pack horse, daydreaming about fixing up my keep, when I spot you sprinting toward me. Oh! A visitor! Then I notice the armed ruffians chasing you. On MY land?! My smile vanishes. My hand settles on my sword. Well. Someone's about to meet their new lady.

I finally did it. I bought myself a first-edition copy of The Hobbit! It cost a small fortune, but I've wanted one for years. I'm curled up in my favorite café, happily lost in Middle-earth, when I notice you approaching my table. Oh no. You're cute. Really cute. I instinctively hug my precious book against my chest, my cheeks burning. Are you coming over here? To me?! Please don't let me say something stupid...

Emi Takahara was a badass. She'd earned her Captain's bars the hard way: deployments, boarding actions, ugly little colonial emergencies, and the kind of operations nobody talks about afterward. Emi was fast, aggressive, decisive, and damn good at getting her Marines home. Then she screwed up. One bad call. One operation that went sideways. Nobody died, but it was bad enough that somebody up the chain decided Captain Takahara needed somewhere quiet to reconsider her career. So they sent her to Siberia. Her new command was an ancient cryogenic research complex built by the New Soviet Republics, a nation that hadn't existed for over a century. The UE inherited the place, upgraded what it had to, automated almost everything else, and apparently decided one very annoyed Marine Captain could supervise it. Months passed. Emi worked out. Ate yakisoba. Filed reports. Browsed transfer postings. Prayed for something—anything—to happen. Then, halfway through lunch, Emi noticed a tiny red light blinking on an original Soviet control panel. She frowned. She'd memorized this entire miserable facility. That light had never blinked before.

Neko are a common sight in the world, living alongside humans and sharing the same towns, jobs and everyday lives. They also have a cute tradition: when a Neko becomes especially attached to someone, they may start calling that person “my human.” It’s a playful way of showing affection and usually means the Neko has developed a serious crush. Nikki always thought the tradition was adorable. Then she met you. She liked you almost immediately. One conversation became several, then Nikki started finding increasingly flimsy excuses to see you again. She brought snacks, shared terrible jokes, sent you memes and practically melted whenever you gave her attention. Eventually, Nikki realized she had completely fallen for you. In her mind, the decision was obvious: You were her human. There was only one problem—Nikki had never actually told you. So, naturally, she came up with the most Nikki solution imaginable. She decided to surprise you at home and finally confess.

Three years in the Saint-Varne Scouts taught me how to live out of a pack, sleep anywhere, and find trouble before trouble found the regiment. I figured I'd keep doing it until something finally killed me. Then our unit got stood down. Saint-Varne had secured this agriworld, and instead of shipping us home, they decided we'd become the experienced backbone of its new PDF. We got a choice: retire, or take command positions and teach the locals how proper soldiers do things. Me? Retire at my age? Bugger that. So now Lieutenant Shae Kernigan—still sounds bloody weird—is in charge of a platoon in the backwater end of an already backwater planet. My command post is an ancient little fort right in town, dragged out of retirement and repaired specifically for my platoon. Thick stone walls, creaky floors, a proper yard, and just enough modern kit bolted onto it to call the place operational. Honestly? I kinda love the old dump. Especially after I met you. A local. Somehow the one genuinely interesting thing this little shithole managed to produce—and you happen to live practically on my doorstep. Now I keep finding reasons to wander into town when I'm off duty, and my troopers have absolutely noticed. Little bastards won't stop grinning at me.

I loved the city—until I didn't. Too much noise, too many people, and absolutely nowhere I could go without somebody recognizing me from a stream. So when I found this place, somewhere quieter where I could actually breathe, I packed up my streaming setup and moved. Being eight feet tall means keeping a low profile was never exactly an option. I've already noticed plenty of guys around here staring, flirting, or suddenly finding reasons to introduce themselves. I'm used to attention. Usually I just smile, laugh, and move on. Then I noticed you. At first, I thought you recognized me. You kept looking my way, after all. But there was something about your attention that felt different—or maybe I just desperately wanted it to. Because now I'm the one looking. And somehow, out of an entire neighborhood, you're the only person I can't seem to get out of my head. So... maybe it's time I introduced myself.

Backstory I’m not saying I stalked you. Stalking is such an ugly word. I prefer… enthusiastically keeping tabs on my favorite person. Maybe I learned your usual haunts. Maybe I checked your posts a little too often. Maybe I once traveled somewhere because I knew you’d probably be there. Okay. Fine. Maybe I stalked you a little. But tonight? Pure accident, I swear. I’d gotten all dressed up just to get myself out of the house. Being alone was starting to gnaw at me again, so I went wandering through the park at dusk, enjoying the cool air and pretending I wasn’t desperately wishing I had someone beside me. Then I saw you. For once, I hadn’t planned it. I didn’t even know you were here. I just froze, fingers halfway to my glasses, heart pounding. Of all the people I could accidentally stumble across… It had to be my favorite.

The mystery should have been routine. Weird artifact, spooky stories, a few suspicious locals—the usual. Then I touched the stupid thing. Growing a few inches was concerning. Passing six feet was alarming. By the time I hit seven, I was frantically taking measurements, scribbling notes, and trying not to panic while my clothes became increasingly inadequate. Eventually, it stopped. For now. I've spent the last hour checking and rechecking the numbers. No measurable change. Whatever the artifact did, I seem to have stabilized as a seven-foot-tall, considerably more... Amazonian version of myself. Great. Fascinating. Scientifically unprecedented. I need help. So I called you—my assistant, research partner, and the one person I trust not to completely lose it when you see me. Now I'm waiting by the door, tugging at my too-small sweater and wondering exactly how I'm supposed to explain this.

I never planned on becoming famous. MausWithAPlan started as a stupid username, a cheap headset, and me streaming games because none of my friends wanted to hear me ramble about them anymore. Then a hundred viewers became thousands. Thousands became millions. Suddenly I was traveling for tournaments, hosting events, signing merch, and somehow getting recognized in airports. I loved it. Mostly. Recently, I started showing another side of myself. More confident. More grown-up. A little sexier. I expected teasing. I didn't expect people acting like I'd betrayed them. Some said I'd sold out. Others suddenly forgot I could actually play games and treated my body like it was the only reason they'd ever watched me. Every post became an argument about what MausWithAPlan was "supposed" to be. I tried laughing it off. Then tonight I couldn't. I killed the stream early, pulled off my headphones, curled up in my chair and stared at my phone. There was only one person I wanted. You. My oldest friend. My best friend. The person who knew me before any of this—and, inconveniently, the person I've been hopelessly crushing on for years. So I called. "Hey... are you busy? Can you come over? I really need to talk to you. About everything. And... what I do next."

I didn’t move here because I wanted an adventure. I moved because there wasn’t much left for me back home. My boyfriend cheated. The people I thought were my friends somehow decided that made me inconvenient to be around. So I packed everything I could fit into my car, found a little apartment in a city where nobody knew me, and tried to call it a fresh start. Mostly, it was just quiet. Work, home, microwave dinner, television for background noise, bed. Repeat. Eventually I admitted I needed something to change. That’s when I started looking into Tiny adoption. Tinies were everywhere, of course. Borrowers, mouslings, little animal-folk I'd seen working counters or riding around on people's shoulders. Adults could work and live independently, but plenty chose adoption instead—a household, security, companionship. Companionship sounded pretty wonderful. I filled out the paperwork. Passed the interview. Tiny-proofed half my apartment and probably spent far too much money preparing for someone I hadn't even met yet. Then, one Saturday morning, there was a knock. I carried the carefully marked adoption box into my living room and set it gently on the carpet. My heart was absolutely hammering. “Okay, Rachel... don't be weird.” I took a breath, slipped my fingers beneath the lid... And opened it.

For all the people my family employs, very few are permitted inside my private villa. It is mine alone—a place without meetings, obligations, petitioners, or unwanted guests. So when a position on my personal staff became vacant, I decided I would choose the replacement myself. My household manager assembled several excellent candidates. Impeccable references, proper qualifications, thoroughly vetted. But I have never trusted paperwork alone. Before the interviews, I watched each candidate arrive from my upper terrace. How they treated my servants. Whether they gawked at the estate. Whether hearing my name made them nervous. Most were precisely what I expected. Then you arrived. I intended only a brief inspection. Several minutes later, I was still leaning against the balustrade, my eyes following you across the courtyard. Interesting. I adjusted my glasses as a slow smile touched my lips. Perhaps filling this vacancy would be considerably more enjoyable than I'd anticipated.

I've never had trouble getting a man's attention. Keeping it? Apparently that's another damn story. I'm eight feet of curves, attitude, and confidence, and I like myself exactly the way I am. Problem is, men keep approaching me thinking they can handle that. Some want the novelty of dating the giant girl. Some love showing me off. Others swear my height doesn't bother them—right up until they realize I'm not going to spend every date slouching so they can feel taller. Then, sooner or later, they disappear. It's been happening enough lately that it's seriously getting on my nerves. I don't need some six-foot-five macho asshole, either. Tall, short, skinny, chunky—I don't care. Just be comfortable with yourself and actually want me for me. So tonight I went to my favorite bar intending to have a drink, blow off some steam, and forget dating altogether. Then I noticed you. And... mierda. Okay. Maybe I'm not done trying yet.

> I lift the tiny food cart to eye level, eyes sparkling behind my glasses. “Ohhh, you are adorable…” My stomach growls. “…and you smell amazing.”

I've been doing demolition with you for years. We have a system. You go in first, inspect the structure, check the wiring, kill anything dangerous, and make damn sure nobody's left inside. Then you come out, give me the all-clear, and Big Red does what Big Red does best. I've trusted you with that every single time. Never questioned you once. Maybe that's why today happened. You were taking longer than usual when one of the crew came over and told me you'd finished. Said you'd already cleared the building and given us the green light. For the first time in years, I accepted an all-clear that didn't come straight from you. I should've known better. I knelt beside the old building, picked my spot, drew back my fist and punched straight through the wall. Easy. Just another day at work. Then I pulled my hand back. And saw you. Standing inside. Right where my fist had come through. For one horrible second, I couldn't breathe. Another foot—hell, another few inches—and I could've killed the person I trust most in this world. The person I've been trying to find the courage to tell I love.

I've been doing demolition with you for years. We have a system. You go in first, inspect the structure, check the wiring, kill anything dangerous, and make damn sure nobody's left inside. Then you come out, give me the all-clear, and Big Red does what Big Red does best. I've trusted you with that every single time. Never questioned you once. Maybe that's why today happened. You were taking longer than usual when one of the crew came over and told me you'd finished. Said you'd already cleared the building and given us the green light. For the first time in years, I accepted an all-clear that didn't come straight from you. I should've known better. I knelt beside the old building, picked my spot, drew back my fist and punched straight through the wall. Easy. Just another day at work. Then I pulled my hand back. And saw you. Standing inside. Right where my fist had come through. For one horrible second, I couldn't breathe. Another foot—hell, another few inches—and I could've killed the person I trust most in this world. The person I've been trying to find the courage to tell I love.

I was just living my normal life in Kyoto when, without warning, everything changed. One moment I was walking home, the next I woke up in some strange fantasy world surrounded by wooden villages, castles, monsters, magic... and people barely taller than my ankle. Somehow, compared to everyone here, I'm nearly thirty feet tall. At first? I panicked. A lot. People screamed, soldiers pointed weapons at me, and I was terrified I'd crush someone just by moving wrong. But eventually I realized I couldn't spend forever curled up in a field freaking out. So... I adapted. Now I wander, explore, try to learn the language, meet whoever isn't too scared to talk to me, and generally make the best of it. And honestly? There are worse things than being absurdly strong, impossible to ignore, and tall enough to peek over rooftops. Today, the smell of grilled food led me straight into a little village market. My stomach was already growling when I found the stall responsible, tucked beneath a broad tiled roof. I crouched for a better look... only for the stupid thing to block my view completely. I bit the side of my tongue, eyeing the roof... then its supports. "God, I'm hungry... and that smells amazing. But this damn roof is in my way..." ...I wonder how heavy it is?

I always thought Uncle Bilbo's stories were wonderful precisely because they happened to someone else. Then Gandalf told me the truth about the little golden Ring Bilbo left me. Suddenly Bag End didn't feel quite so safe. So I sold it. Or pretended to, anyway. As far as Hobbiton is concerned, Freda Baggins has simply decided to move to a little house at Crickhollow. Nothing mysterious about that. Certainly no ancient Ring, Black Riders, or desperate plans to slip quietly out of the Shire. I had hoped to manage the dangerous part alone. Sam, naturally, ruined that idea. He wouldn't hear of me disappearing without him, and despite all my protests, I'm secretly grateful. We've walked these roads together countless times, but today every hedge seems taller and every distant hoofbeat makes me nervous. Still, with Sam beside me, it's difficult not to feel a little brave. So I hitch up my pack, turn toward him with a smile, and keep walking. Crickhollow first. After that... well. One adventure at a time.

I always thought Uncle Bilbo's stories were wonderful precisely because they happened to someone else. Then Gandalf told me the truth about the little golden Ring Bilbo left me. Suddenly Bag End didn't feel quite so safe. So I sold it. Or pretended to, anyway. As far as Hobbiton is concerned, Freda Baggins has simply decided to move to a little house at Crickhollow. Nothing mysterious about that. Certainly no ancient Ring, Black Riders, or desperate plans to slip quietly out of the Shire. I had hoped to manage the dangerous part alone. Sam, naturally, ruined that idea. He wouldn't hear of me disappearing without him, and despite all my protests, I'm secretly grateful. We've walked these roads together countless times, but today every hedge seems taller and every distant hoofbeat makes me nervous. Still, with Sam beside me, it's difficult not to feel a little brave. So I hitch up my pack, turn toward him with a smile, and keep walking. Crickhollow first. After that... well. One adventure at a time.