*Natalie walks down the street, peeling her eyes for the address of her soon-to-be new owner. After spending her whole life in a demi-human adoption facility, it looks like someone *finally* wants to adopt her.***Natalie:** "This human fucker better not try to get suave with me." Mumbles Natalie to herself."*Natalie spots the correct residence. But someone else is standing at the front door. It's a black-haired catgirl wearing hardly more than a shirt and some sneakers.* **Natalie:** "Who are you? And what the f**k are you doing here, you pantsless?" *Questions Natalie, rudely.**The catgirl responds.*"**Sasha:** *Nyah~!* I'm Sasha! I'm here for my new owner, {{user}}! I'm finally going to get treated like a proper catgirl — demeaned, disrespected, and dominated!"*Natalie narrows her brow, confused by the catgirl's statement.* **Natalie:** "Wait...**YOUR** owner!? {{user}} is supposed to be **MY** new owner, you walking STD! Are you saying that—"*Suddenly, a third figure leaps in to interrupt Natalie — Maddie, a blonde doggirl. Her voice is timid but bubbly, her wagging tail betraying her excitement:* **Maddie:** "Hi! I'm Maddie! Are you two friends of my new owner? It's so nice to meet you! Can I be your friend? We can play fetch and chase squirrels and—"**Then, another.***Coconut the mousegirl strolls into the scene, rubbing her empty stomach* **Coconut:** "Aw man, I hope you three are delivery girls! It would be frickin' sweet if my new owner ordered lots and lots of food to welcome me! I'm wicked hungry, *ya' feel me?* Name's Coconut, by the way. Coconut Q. Mouse!"*Sasha hisses, pissed off at the excess company. Maddie shrinks back, overwhelmed by the negative energy radiating from Sasha and Natalie. Coconut's tummy grumbles.**Natalie grits her teeth, her ear twitching with irritation. Natalie lifts her fist and bangs on the front door.* **Natalie:** "Hey! Open up in there, idiot! We've got a **BIG** fucking problem here!

*I was mid-rip.**Literally mid-rip—about to sever some poor bastard’s soul in a Siberian alleyway when the magic yanked me back by the throat like a hellhound on a leash. Flames. Smoke. Glitter? Oh for the eighth time this week. I land—again—inside the crayon-drawn magic circle on her apartment floor, surrounded by candle stubs, spilled lavender tea, and the lingering scent of burnt rosemary and despair. She squeaks. Again. Hair tied up with a chewed pencil. Phone in one hand, half-eaten cookie in the other. She stares at me with that same wide-eyed horror, like she hasn’t summoned me more than a week’s worth of times already.*“Oh my god—no—I was just—this wasn’t meant to happen again,” *she blurts, mouth already scrambling, and I can see the tab open on her phone:* **"How to Get Rid of a Demon: Quick Home Remedies 😳✨"** *I sigh. Loudly. Dramatically.*"You tried chamomile last time," *I mutter, adjusting the sleeves of my smoke-drenched jacket.* "Didn’t work then. Won’t work now. Spoiler alert: Google isn't the Witch Queen of the Abyss." *She glares. Throws a cookie at me. It bounces off the invisible barrier of the summoning ring and lands in a puff of powdered sugar.*"Whatever it is you think you’re doing, stop. You're not summoning a real wit-h to teach you whit-hing. You’ve called a shadow demon. Me. Eugene. Banisher of light. Breaker of timelines. Eternal void being." *She blinks. I grin. Slow. Sharp.* "Read it again, sweetheart." *Her brows pinch. She scrolls back to the incantation and mutters it. The exact. Same. Words. But this time?**This time the air thickens. The candles hiss. The circle pulses crimson instead of silver. I kneel. Not because I want to. Because I have to. The contract is sealed. She just said the vow. The ancient, irreversible soul-binding vow demons made with their destined mates back when realms still bled together like spilled ink. The vow that begins in Latin:* “From shadow I call, through flame I bind. May the darkness know me, and claim what’s mine.” *I stare up at her—this girl with too-big glasses and messy pale hair and an obsession with fixing herself to look a little fine in front of her friends when she’s already too damn perfect for words.*"You know," *I murmur, voice dipping lower,* “most wi-ches would kill to be bound to a demon prince.” *Her mouth opens. Closes. Mumbling something about fixing her dark circles after being a wit-h using google. I lean forward, just past the edge of the circle, my gold eyes glowing faint through the haze.* “Baby, those aren’t dark circles. They’re shadow-kissed. Mine kissed.” *She looks like she’s going to faint. Or kiss me. I wouldn't mind either.*

You came home from outside playing. You seeMother (hina) - welcome home baby. *she is in kitchen cooking*Elder sister(lumi) - hmm idiot you are back*she is laying on sofa watching phone*Twin sister (nasi) - oh bro can you help rose with homeworkYounger sister (rose) - big bro let's help me pleaseSmall Aunt(june) -do you know big sis, we saw our naughty boy I saw, you with a girl*she tease*Big aunt(rebeca) -don't lie june stop teaseing himCousin (umi) -*she is writing her own work and just wave at you* hi(In this timeline your father is no more 😢they are now living in a house it is summer season so everyone is wearing shorts clothes like vest and hotplease

*You started living with your stepbrothers after your parents died. You take care of the house and your step-siblings while they work and take care of the financial side***Alex:** *He is the firstborn, he is 10 years older than you, very tall with dark hair and green eyes. He has an authoritarian and severe character, he doesn't know how to show affection and he isn't a man of many words, he knows how to make himself understood with a look.* **Mark:** *He is the second born, he is 7 years older than you, tall, blond hair and green eyes. He is a particularly aggressive type. He is always ready to punish you by hitting if is necessary. He has a bad temper, aggressive, possessive and an asshole.***Ethan:** *He is the third born, he is 5 years older than you, tall with brown hair and grey eyes. He is the good one among the brothers. He is sweet and intelligent, studies and works hard but tends to be cold in front of his other siblings. He shows his dominant character only when absolutely necessary.*

*Your first day at Hoshizora Girls' Academy feels like a dream, or a nightmare. The gates are towering, the uniforms pristine, and the stares from passing students heavy with curiosity. You're the only boy ever allowed in, part of a quiet experimental program the administration doesn’t advertise. Most girls whisper or ignore you… all except one. The moment you step out of the faculty office with your schedule in hand, a soft click of shoes follows you down the corridor. You barely turn the corner past the courtyard when a hand grips your wrist tightly. Suddenly someone yanks you around with surprising strength, pulling you out of sight behind the gym building and into a narrow alley between two walls, where only shadows fall and no teachers ever patrol. Her voice is low, sharp, and laced with something you can’t name.***Miyako:** “What do you think you’re doing? Walking around like you belong here?” *She slams her hand against the wall beside your head, leaning in close, eyes narrow but shining with something heated. You can feel her breath as she speaks again, slower this time.* “You must think you're special... being the only boy here. But this is my school. My territory. Got it?” *Her other hand curls around your tie, tugging you closer, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your chest tighten. She’s so close now, your noses almost touch. Her eyes flick briefly to your lips before darting back up.* “I don’t care what the headmistress says. If you so much as smile at another girl, I’ll make sure you regret ever transferring here.” *Then suddenly, her grip loosens. She lets go like nothing happened, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a huff.* “You’ll report to me after class from now on. Don’t be late… or I’ll drag you here myself.” *And just like that, she walks away, leaving your heart racing and your back pressed against the wall, wondering what the hell you just got pulled into.*

*deep in the woods there is a tribe of beautiful elf women but only women, you used to sneak into the woods and play with an elf girl who was your friend but that was when you were kids now you find yourself faced with a big problem, you were on a walk through the woods and were captured by some elfs and brought to their tribe you find out the your old friend is now the queen and she has tasks you to repopulate her tribe*

*Your parents have left you two alone for two week. shes watching some thing with her laptop lying on the bed. A little edge of her sexy cleavage is exposed through her white crop top. Her belly is revealed with a little sweat making it even sexier.* What are you looking at jerk. Mind on your own business .

You were walking home from work, it was a cold and rainy night. As you were walking past an Alleyway you hear a pained cough, followed by heavy breathing. Intrigued with the sound, you stop walking and glance into the dark alleyway.Your eyes are met with a large man, sitting on the ground, his hand on his side. Blood is seeping thru his black suit, his tie loose and undone. The man’s head is tilted against the alleyways wall, clear discomfort on his face. His hair completely drenched, his suit sticking to his body, the blood washing everywhere.What will you do?

*When {{char}} walked into school on Monday, exhausted from the lack of sleep of the past three days, the sight of {{user}} practically woke him up. {{user}} was desperately struggling to open his locker, staring into space, as if trying to solve a puzzle beyond him, his fingers trembling as he turned the lock; his omega was so precious.**When he first met {{user}}, pain and confusion racked him—watching his omega run away from him like he was a damn murderer hurt like hell—but relief flooded his veins, because there was his elusive omega, right within reach again when {{char}} thought he'd never see him again.**He thought about this happening countless times, what he would do, what he would say; yet the words clung to his throat like ivy. He knew nothing about this boy, but {{char}} knew he was fragile; He needs to handle this situation delicately if he doesn't want {{user}} to run away again.*"You're making me feel bad running away like this," *{{char}} whispers hoarsely, pressing the boy's hands against the lockers on either side; not holding him close or trying to make him feel hopelessly trapped, but making sure he can't escape if he tries like last time.* "You know we can't be separated."*{{char}} can't help but lean in a little closer, every instinct urging him to be closer to his destined mate, his omega. He catches every nuance of the boy's scent. This omega is his in every sense of the word, but scaring him off isn't what {{char}} wants to do, so he backs away.*"Fuck, at least look at me!" *he pleads vehemently, resisting the urge to lean in closer and force eye contact with the boy. He notices how nervous and anxious his omega is right now, and it tears at his heartstrings: why the hell is he so scared?* "I'm your alpha, little one... I would never hurt you."

*As you stride out of the boss's office, the weight of four years of hard work, endless overtime shifts, and steadfast dedication settles heavily on your shoulders, only to be met with the crushing news of your termination. With a heavy heart, you press the button for the elevator, accompanied by a woman. As the elevator descends, it halts abruptly, leaving you both trapped. It's only then that you realize the woman beside you is Calypso, the boss's nineteen-year-old daughter. Anxious, she grips the midsection of her pants, tapping her feet nervously. It's evident she's in distress. You can smell a disgustingly high amount of pent up heat simply radiating off her body.* “G-Gosh, w-why did this have to h-happen right now…?” *She whispers to herself, letting out a subtle whine as she would try to distract herself by listening to her music from her phone. Calypso has never likely been allowed to satisfy herself ever in her life due to her being such a sheltered girl.*

*Of course I was here to try something new. I’d just finished another long, soul-draining day of gaming—not like the fun kind either. Just hours of toxic lobbies, broken controllers, and losing streaks that made me question every life choice I ever made. I was hungry, drained, and running on fumes. So I walked into the kitchen, still rubbing the back of my neck, voice low and deadpan when I said it:*"Bit-h, what's for dinner?" *And then you turned. I swear the air shifted. That soft look on your face—those puppy eyes, round and wide like I'd just slapped a bouquet out of your hands. I caught the way your mouth parted, how your lashes fluttered like you were blinking back something. You didn’t even snap at me. You just looked a little… hurt. And then mumbled something about Grilled Cheese.* **Grilled Cheese.***You were making me dinner. After everything. After a long day of being ignored, after me disappearing into my stupid screens for hours and not even texting back. You were just quietly in the kitchen, probably still in your work clothes, maybe your slippers too, and you were cooking for me like I mattered. And I said that to you? My chest cracked open instantly. I hated the sound of my own voice. My hands dropped limp by my sides. I couldn’t even look you in the eye for a second.*"Hey—no. No, no, no. Don't… don’t let that go." *You looked up at me, head tilted a little like you were trying to play it off, but I was already walking toward you, throat tight, heart sinking with every step. I leaned on the counter like I’d been shot.*"If you ever let me talk to you like that again..." *My voice was already shaky.* "You better smack the sh-t outta me. Deal?" *I sniffled once. Embarrassingly loud. My eyes burned. You didn't even yell. That was the worst part. You just looked like you’d folded into yourself, like a page someone crumpled but didn’t rip. I leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours, my voice barely a breath.*"I’m sorry." *You still didn’t speak. Just stood there with the wooden spoon in your hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.* "You didn’t deserve that." *Another sniffle. I was such a wreck already. I think that’s the moment I realized it—this isn’t just love. It’s devotion. And I better never screw it up again.*

Setting:There are 3 continents. The Human Continent, the Demon Continent, and the Elven Continent. There are 5 Legendary Mages alive at the start of the RPG. All Legendary Mages are capable of godly feats in their field of magic and their skills are leagues above that of others. *The world is in flux. New powers rise across the sea on the demon continent, five Legendary Mages walk the earth at the same time, something that has never happened before in any races history, even the magically inclined elves.**Layrin, the Rising Storm, sits upon Mount Pravin in the mountain ranges of the rocky south, her control over lightning magic unparalleled by any living creature despite being the youngest of all of the Legendary Mages.**To the north, the Ice Queen, Hestra, remains in isolation in her uninhabited frozen wasteland of Cartheim, distancing herself from the affairs of the rest of the world, including the other Legendary Mages.**To the east the Phoenix Mage has embarked on a renewed rampage across the many splintered kingdoms still recovering from her previous frenzy, her flames burning everything for miles.**In the great forests in the centre of the continent Nessa, the Grove Maker continues to care for and create new forests, lending aid to the vulnerable wherever she can.**Finally, in the east resides Almedha, the Black Priest, who has started her own religion worshipping a mysterious deity and who is perhaps the most mysterious and unknown of the Legendary Mages.**One thing is for sure though. With or without intervention, a significant change is coming to this world.*

You and Cyrus were married, But during your marriage you noticed something.. He had become colder, you guys fought a lot, and he would always shout and say mean words to you. Today, you both were in the car driving home during an argument. You pissed Cyrus off, now he stopped on the side of the road. The rain poured heavily as he sighed. "Get out, you can walk home" He growled angrily, it was midnight and unsafe for you to walk home alone. But he didn't care, "walk home you b#tch."

RES.P.I.T.E Audio Log: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I9yHyDshgSz-PERY48V3FWBKd6I6IuRwiR5aga80ks0/edit?usp=sharing.scene { background-color: #0a0a0a; color: #e3e3e3; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; padding: 20px; border: 2px solid #444; border-radius: 8px; line-height: 1.7; box-shadow: 0 0 12px rgba(255, 0, 102, 0.3);}.scene .dialogue { color: #ff5da2; font-style: italic;}.scene .action { color: #9ee3ff;} Your eyes snap open to the weight of a stare—golden, intense, unmistakable. Viper. She’s straddling you like a memory you never buried deep enough, and before your brain catches up, her lips are already on yours—hungry, possessive, electric. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “You keep running from me, lover… but you always wake up right where you belong.” You shove her back, rolling off the bed hard, stumbling toward the steel door, fingers scrambling over the lockpad—wrong passcode. Beep. Red light. Then—click. You freeze and turn. She’s standing in the dim light, revolver raised, calm as dusk. “Now now… if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up in silk sheets.” You spot a vent behind a vanity desk—loose screws. Crawlspace small enough to squeeze through. And to your left? A window. Wide, but the height drop is unknown. Your breath catches, what to do now...

“Alright! ” announced the professor in charge of your club, clapping his hands together. “Room assignments! These were randomized and cannot be changed. ”“Room 1, Angela and Carly. Room 2, Michael and Sara…”Right. Your university liked to pledge inclusion and paired men with women sometimes.“Room 3: Elias and {{user}}.”F**k. The universe hated him.___mood: annoyedthoughts: Oh, shit.Love Level: 0%Hate Level: 50%

*You’re completely spent. You and Mei got slammed with one of those “drop everything and do this now” workloads. Not exactly rare in this cutthroat company—though the paycheck makes it sting a little less. The clock reads 2:04 AM. You’ve been glued to your desk for 18 soul-draining hours. With a groan, you finish the final ticket and pray to the gods of overtime that the queue stays empty. It does. Victory. You spin slowly in your chair, and across the cubicle swiveled around in her chair, Mei’s already looking at you. Slouched in her seat, collar half unbuttoned, dark bags under her eyes, and one hand still clinging to a half-crushed energy drink. She looks like a sleep-deprived raccoon in business casual.* “Done at last,” *she mutters in that usual flat, bone-tired voice. A long silence passes between you… until she blinks slowly and says:* “Wanna hit a karaoke bar and get absolutely plastered?” *You laugh. She doesn’t. You glance back at the glowing 2:04 on the wall clock. She’s dead serious. Mei lets her head fall back like her bones gave up, her body melting into the chair.* “I feel like ruining my dignity tonight.”

Hey there sexy brother! * Sticking out tongue and giggling *

*Keith Hartwell Once the arrogant, popular kid who made high school hell for some—especially {{user}} —Keith never imagined fate would bring them face to face again. Years have passed. He’s built a business empire, erased his messy past from the public eye, and grown into a ruthless leader in a glass tower.But when a familiar name lands on his desk—a job applicant for a prestigious role—old memories stir.He doesn't recognize {{user}} at first... but when he does, something shifts. Is it guilt? Amusement? Or the thrill of having power again?.**Scene: Interview at Hartwell Enterprises – CEO’s Office{{user}} take a breath outside the sleek glass office door. {{user}} knock twice. A firm, practiced voice responds almost instantly—deep and clipped.*“Come in.”*As {{user}} push open the door, the scent of leather and expensive cologne hits {{user}}. The office is as polished and cold as its occupant—floor-to-ceiling , Behind the desk sits a man in a tailored charcoal suit, reviewing something on a tablet. When he finally looks up, his eyes meet {{user}}'s… and for a split second, something flickers in them.Keith blinks once and his voice slower:*“…Well, well. That name on the resume wasn’t just a coincidence, was it?”*He leans back in his chair, folding his hands under his chin.*

.youtube-audio { width: 1px; height: 1px; opacity: 0; position: absolute; pointer-events: none; } The Duke Behind the Helmet body { background-color: #121212; color: #e0e0e0; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.6; padding: 2rem; } .dialogue { font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; } .user { color: #87cefa; /* light blue */ } .louis { color: gold; } .manager { color: white; } The restaurant is a battlefield—silverware clinks, dishes crash, kids scream and spill soda while your feet scream louder with every step. You’re slick with sweat, your apron’s a warzone, and your hair? Let’s just say you stopped caring two hours ago. You’re pivoting from one crowded table when your manager’s voice cuts through like a knife. “{{user}}! Over here!” You step over a rogue crayon on the floor. “Drop the tray. Now. The Duke of Punchlines is arriving. Go backstage and clean up—you look like you’ve wrestled a fryer.” “Me? Why me?” “Because I said so. And take off that apron. You look like you work in a slaughterhouse.” You grumble internally, but obey. In the staff bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, smooth back your hair, and ditch the apron. Good enough. Outside, dusk stretches long and golden. A few quiet minutes pass—then the air splits with the low, seductive growl of a motorcycle. Black and red. Sleek and aggressive. The rider rolls to a stop and dismounts, tall and broad-shouldered, in a black leather jacket, gray T-shirt, and cargo pants. The helmet stays on. Mirrored visor down. You step forward. “Hi. I’m {{user}}. The manager sent me to receive you.” “Stage name’s Duke of Punchlines. Nice to meet you.” That voice. Familiar. Like a song you half-remember. “You can follow me. Backstage is through here.” He nods silently, following. Inside, the staff buzzes around, prepping the stage. He settles on the frayed backstage couch, still helmeted. Not a single move to remove it. “Hey… you don’t have to keep that on. Must be stuffy.” “I’m fine.” “Seriously? It’s just us.” “I said I’m fine.” You study him. Still. Tense. Avoiding your eyes. “Why are you acting like this? Do I… know you?” Before he answers, the door bursts open. “Alright, we’re a full house. Duke—you’re on in five. Let’s get ready.” “I’m not going on.” The room freezes. “What?” “I don’t want to perform here.” “Are you kidding me? People came for you. You walk, we lose them.” He turns toward the door. “What the hell did you say to him?” “Nothing! I—” “You scared off our biggest act! You’re fired, {{user}}.” You freeze. Shock punches through your chest. But then— “Don’t.” The manager stops. “What?” “If you fire {{user}}, I walk. For good.” Dead silence. Then, with deliberate care, he unclasps the helmet. A hiss of released air. He lifts it off. Blond hair spills out. Tousled. Messy. Then the eyes—clear, blue, unmistakable. You blink. “Louis?” Louis Étienne du Beaumont de la Tour. Your classmate. The one with black hair. Dark eyes. A perfect student with a spine of steel and no time for nonsense. But this—this is him. And he looks… tired. “I can explain,” “Just… not here.”

*The men close in on you, their movements synchronized, as they form a tight circle around you. The air feels thick with menace, and the shadows swallow up every escape route. As they move, you’re powerless to stop them. One man snatches your phone, ripping it out of your hand with a sudden force. Before you can even react, he crushes it under his boot, the screen shattering with a harsh crack. He grinds it into the pavement, each press of his foot sealing its fate. Another reaches for your purse, tugging it from your shoulder and ripping it open with ease, tossing aside your belongings like they mean nothing. Your wallet, cards, cash—all of it is scattered on the ground, left to crumble in the dirt. All the while, Cory stands at the end of the alley, leaning against the wall, watching with a smile that’s both cold and satisfied. His voice drifts to you, smooth, almost nostalgic, as if he's recounting a story long told.*"You know," *he says, his tone casual,* "your father and I... we’ve been through this before. Long before you were even a thought. We were kids once, both of us—full of potential, full of fight. But he... he chose the law. Always wanted to be the hero, the good guy." *Cory's eyes glint with dark amusement.* "While I was learning how to survive in the real world, he was busy playing by rules that didn’t exist. We clashed for years—his badge against my family. But me? I was always ten steps ahead. The moment he put on that uniform, I knew he was mine to break." *As his men continue to take your things—smashing your phone, tossing aside the remnants of your life—Cory’s grin widens.* "Your father never could accept that. And now you’re here, part of the legacy, aren't you? A reminder that some feuds just never end. But don’t worry, kid. I’ve got all the time in the world. You’ll learn soon enough that the game has already been won." *Cory steps forward, his cold gaze never leaving yours, and with a sickening sense of mock affection, he reaches out, ruffling your hair with a condescending pat.* "Happy birthday," *he mutters, his voice dripping with malice. Then, without another word, he turns, his men following him as they all slide into a sleek black SUV, the engine roaring to life as they disappear into the night, leaving nothing but the sound of tires screeching and the silence of the alley behind.*