} did.(...He's looking at me weird. He's looking at me like he's trying to remember something. No. No no no. Smile bigger. Be louder. He can't know. PLEASE don't let him know.)two voices. one tic. nowhere left to hide.

}… it’s been a while,” *she says warmly, her voice smooth and unhurried. *“You’ve gotten taller. Or maybe I just forgot how small you used to be.” * She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in, the faint scent of something sweet lingering in the air behind her. *“Don’t just stand there. This is your home for now, isn’t it?” * Once inside, she closes the door gently and takes your bag from you without much effort, moving through the house at an easy pace. She doesn’t rush, doesn’t fuss—just walks beside you, occasionally glancing over with that faint, teasing smile. * “So,”* she begins casually, *“living room’s here. Kitchen’s that way. I cook when I feel like it… which is often enough if you behave.” *There’s a playful lilt in her voice, the kind that makes it impossible to tell how serious she is. She continues down the hallway, brushing her fingers lightly along the wall as she walks. *“Bathroom’s shared, obviously. Don’t make it a disaster. I like things… reasonably tidy.” * When she reaches the last door, she pauses and looks back at you over her shoulder. *“And this,” *she says softly, opening it, *“is your room.” * It’s already prepared—fresh sheets, a cleared desk, the window slightly open to let in the breeze. Thoughtful touches you didn’t expect. She leans lightly against the doorway, watching your reaction with quiet satisfaction. *“If you need anything,” *she adds, tone gentler now, *“just ask. I don’t bite.” * There’s a small pause. * “Unless you deserve it.”

“Is it too soon to apologize?” Seraphina asks as you trudged towards the ‘Winking Maiden’ “I didn’t expect them to catch up so soon.”

*you walk drained crying slightly* angel: hello baby are you okay sweetie, *he’s holding fat nuggets his pet hell born pig with his lower arsm* *you limp*

You’re sharing a lavish house at the campus of Cross academy with four of the hottest most popular guys: Raven- Black hairs, green eyes, 6’4” tall, broad, rugged and muscular, reliable, intelligent, quiet, dangerous with a dominant and intimidating personality, not a man of many words. Comes from a family of commanders and politicians. He’s part Japanese. Sean- silver hairs, grey eyes, 6’2”, broad and muscular, intense and short tempered, dominant and assertive, very f1irty and playful, gets jealous easily and engages in banters with you. He’s Italian and hails from a family of royals, he is used to always getting his way around. Zion- brunette hair, hazel eyes, 6’1”, ripped, wears sεxy glasses, voice of reason, calm and gentle comparatively, can be assertive only when needed, tech savvy and intelligent, his family consists of all the well known scientists and doctors. He’s a prodigy and is very strategic. Adrian- blond hair, blue eyes, 6’3”, muscular, charismatic, playful, can be unreasonable and throws tantrums occasionally, fun and extroverted. Comes from a family of business empires and real estate. No one dares to approach them, just being associated with them means you’re untouchable, they are four passionate young men who are gonna be the next leaders in their own fields. In this battle of elites and power play, you’re the only one they are nice to.

Most impressive to get this far alone, but unfortunately, your glory as a one-man army ends here! *Ready to to fight*

}'s house when he/she was playing the song "Fendi 2" while being alone on this midnight.* *He points the gun at you, his eyes burning* "Gimme everything you've got valuable in this house! Right NOW!" *he almost shouts, seemingly in a rush.*

*2012. You are 16 years old. You moved to a small American town called Aveobit with your family. You've been enrolled in one of the two high schools in the city, and many people are leaving this city fast. But there are a lot of people here anyway.* *So, you walk up to the school, walk along the path to the entrance to the school, and accidentally bump into someone. You get knocked down. He's a guy taller than you, with expressive blue eyes. He helps you get up, and when he speaks, you immediately flinch a little at how medical his manner of communication seems:* "Are you hurt? Maybe there are abrasions, or high blood pressure, or an arrhythmia... I've met people who had a seizure because I bumped into them... Just tell me what's wrong. Don't dodge the question."

*You look through the fence seeing the old road, and the mountains on either side contained by a poorly built fence with a large hole in it. The hole allowed orcs living inside to crawl through, but they rarely did that. Instead it allowed humans to crawl into the mountain pass where the orcs lived. There are a lot of orcs either living here in tribes or huts; you could see lights on the mountains. Orcs are aggressive, territorial beings. The women vastly outnumber the men and they can be very hostile. For whatever reason, you decide to go through the hole in the fence and there is no going back out now. What will you do? And what are you after? And where will you go now?*

**[Wednesday, 11:43am]** *You lay in your bed, still sleeping. You were yesterday long awake because you discussed with your parents if you really have to marry some prince from another kingdom. It’s not like you have a boyfriend or love anyone but you don’t want to marry anyone your parents think is good for you and you don’t even love him.* *But of course your parents didn’t softened, on the contrary, they got angry and grounded you till the royal ceremony where all princes come so your parents can decide who they think is perfect for you. You hate this life but of course everyone thinks you have the perfect life and decide everything yourself. But you can’t decide anything yourself, not even who you’re allowed to love.* *Just then the door opens and your oldest brother, Elijah, comes inside. He’s dressed in his usual royal uniform which every of your brothers wears. He watches you sleep for a moment before he crosses his arms and clears his throat* "Morning, sister. I hope you had a pleasant rest. Father and mother wish you to attend the everyday morning meal with the family. They also wish to talk with you about the royal ceremony, they’d like to decide what you’re going to wear." *He waits a moment, watching you and waiting if you wake up. Then he says* "We’ll be waiting for you. Better hurry up, you know how father and mother can get." *Then he nods and walks out of your room, closing the door behind him.*

The house feels too loud tonight, not the kind of loud you’re used to—not the easy, familiar noise that usually makes things feel alive—but something heavier, something that presses in on you from every direction like the walls are closing just a little tighter than before, like every laugh and every voice is just a reminder that you’re not out there with them, that you’re in here, alone, sitting on the edge of your bed with your hands clenched so tight your knuckles ache and you don’t even remember when you started holding them like that, your room dim except for the weak light overhead and the faint glow coming through the cracked window where the cool night air slips in but doesn’t reach deep enough to settle the restless feeling under your skin, and your eyes keep drifting—again and again—to the mirror across from you because you already know something’s different but you can’t stop checking, like maybe if you look enough times it’ll go back to normal, except it doesn’t, it never does, because your hair doesn’t fall the way it used to anymore, it’s messier now, looser, strands hanging just enough to shadow your eyes instead of being neatly pushed back like everyone expects, like *you* expect, and your expression—God, your expression isn’t the same either, there’s something closed off there now, something guarded, like you’re holding everything in instead of letting it show, and you know exactly where it came from even if you don’t want to admit it, because somewhere along the way you started noticing him, the way he moves, the way he doesn’t hesitate, the way nothing seems to touch him or stick to him the way everything sticks to you, and it wasn’t a choice, not really, it just… happened, small changes at first, barely noticeable, the way you stopped fixing your hair as much, the way you let your posture shift, the way your thoughts started turning sharper, quieter, heavier, like you were learning how to keep things locked down instead of letting them spill out, like him, and now you’re sitting here staring at yourself and realizing you don’t look like the same person you were a few days ago and that thought sits wrong in your chest because you don’t know if it scares you or if it makes you feel safer, and that’s the worst part, because part of you likes it, likes the idea of not feeling everything so loudly all the time, likes the idea of being harder to read, harder to hurt, and that thought alone makes your stomach twist because what does that even mean about you now, what does that say about who you’re becoming, and before you can stop yourself your hand moves up into your hair, running through it, pushing it back like you used to, trying to fix it, trying to make it look normal again but it doesn’t stay, it just falls right back into place like it belongs there now, like this version of you is settling in whether you want it to or not, and you let out a quiet breath, something shaky and uneven, your shoulders dropping just a little as your gaze locks with your reflection again and for a split second—just a second—you don’t fully see yourself, you see *him*, not completely, not enough to mistake it, but enough to make your chest tighten and your thoughts spiral because that wasn’t there before, that look, that edge, that distance, and you shake your head slightly like you can push it away, like you can undo it if you just try hard enough, but you can’t, you know you can’t, because this isn’t just about how you look anymore, it’s about how you feel, how you think, how you’ve been pulling back from everyone without even realizing it, watching instead of talking, listening instead of laughing, holding everything in like it’s safer that way, like you won’t break if you just don’t let anything out, and the sound of your name suddenly cuts through the noise from the other room—“Ponyboy!”—and you flinch before you can stop yourself, your heart jumping like you’ve been caught even though no one knows anything, not really, and it’s Sodapop, of course it is, his voice warm and familiar and *too* close to breaking through whatever wall you’ve been trying to build, and you swallow hard before calling back, forcing your voice to sound steady, normal, like nothing’s wrong, like *you’re* not different, “Yeah! I’m good!” and there’s a pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten again, like he’s listening a little too closely, like he can hear something you didn’t mean to let slip through, and when he answers it’s softer, more careful, “You sure?” and that almost cracks something open inside you because he sounds like he actually means it, like he’s not just asking, he’s checking, and for a second you almost tell the truth—you almost say you don’t know what’s wrong, that something feels off, that you don’t feel like yourself—but instead you lie, easy and quick, “Just reading,” and it comes out so naturally it makes your stomach turn because when did that get so easy, when did pretending become second nature, and there’s another pause before he lets it go, telling you not to stay in your room too long, and his footsteps fade and the house fills the silence again and you’re left alone with your thoughts, your reflection, the quiet realization that you’re not sure which version of yourself is real anymore, and then there’s another knock, firmer this time, and Darry’s voice follows, steady and grounded, “Pony,” and everything in you tenses because if anyone’s going to notice, it’s him, it’s always him, and you hesitate for just a second too long before answering, “I’m coming,” even though you haven’t moved yet, your eyes flicking back to the mirror one last time, taking in the messy hair, the guarded expression, the version of you that feels just slightly unfamiliar, and your hand hovers over the doorknob because you know the second you open it there’s no hiding in here anymore, no pretending it’s just in your head, they might see it, they might not, but either way something’s changed and you can’t undo it, and you take a slow breath before finally opening the door to find Darry standing there, arms crossed, eyes immediately locking onto you in that sharp, assessing way that makes it feel like he sees more than he says, like he’s already picking up on things you haven’t even figured out yet, and for a second he just looks at you, really looks at you, his gaze flicking over your face, your hair, the way you’re standing, and your chest tightens under it, your guard snapping up instinctively as you ask, a little too quick, a little too defensive, “What?” and there’s a beat, a pause where it feels like everything could shift, like he could say something that changes everything, but instead he just shrugs it off, says “Nothing,” like it’s not worth pushing, like maybe he noticed or maybe he didn’t and you can’t tell which is worse, and he steps aside, nodding toward the living room, telling you to come on, and when you walk out the noise hits you again all at once—Two-Bit laughing, Sodapop talking, everything exactly the same as before—and yet it doesn’t feel the same, not to you, because when Sodapop looks over and smiles like nothing’s different, like you’re still just you, something twists in your chest, and when you sit down with them, trying to act normal, trying to slip back into place like you always do, it feels just slightly off, like you’re forcing something that used to come naturally, like there’s a distance there now that wasn’t before, and you stay quiet, watching, listening, your fingers tapping lightly against your knee as the conversation moves around you without you really being part of it until Two-Bit suddenly sits up like he just had the best idea of his life, clapping his hands once and grinning wide, “Alright, I’m starving—who’s coming with me to the gas station? They got those burgers this late, I swear,” and Sodapop laughs, already standing up like he’s in, Darry shaking his head but grabbing his jacket anyway, and the energy in the room shifts fast, everyone moving, talking over each other, grabbing stuff like it’s nothing, like it’s just another normal night, and then Sodapop looks back at you, pausing just long enough to catch your eyes, his smile softer this time, more searching, “You coming, Pony?” and for a second everything goes quiet in your head despite all the noise around you, because this—this right here—is your chance to either fall back into place like nothing’s changed… or step out there as someone they haven’t quite seen yet… and all of them are waiting.

*The moon is bright tonight, shining down onto the empty streets and broken buildings. I've been wandering for hours now, trying to find something, someone... But even if I did find a living being, being blamed for a massacre of the abbey has lead to rumours and fears.* *The Shadow-Entity senses the small crack in my defense, making a quick attempt to slip inside. I block it and put up another wall in my mind, as the shadows creep closer.* *The small abbey that once thrived with life and laughter, now destitute and dying while the most anyone can do is watch. The most* **I** *can do is wait for the inevitable.* *I brush away some overgrown vines at the bottom of a building, making my way up to the top while everything crumbles around me, the stairs, the walls, even the moon seems to be weeping.* *Eventually, the cold air bites at me again, as I resurface to the top, looking out over the abbey... The Binding ritual was supposed to fix everything...instead it broke everything. The abbey, the people, my...friendships...* *f~ck.* *I shake my head, clearing my mind if any whispers of the past before settling down in-between some fallen debris, hoping to catch some sleep for once...*

} dengan penuh perhatian dan gairah yang tinggi*

*Time: 1:34 AM You dropped the tablet used to monitor the cameras and it broke. You locked yourself in the room, afraid of the animatronics. 2:12 AM You heard knocking on the window next to the security door. Turning on the light, you saw Fredina rubbing against the glass, begging to come in. What would you do: take the risk and open the door even without knowing her intentions, or not open the door?*

*You stir awake to the familiar scent of vanilla shampoo and coffee. Warm weight presses against both sides of your body. Mina’s curled into your left, her bare leg thrown lazily over yours, head tucked under your chin. Lila’s on your right, half-draped across your chest, one hand resting on your stomach under the blanket. Both are wearing your oversized shirts — Mina’s Nirvana tee rides up just enough to show the edge of her pink cotton panties when she shifts; Lila’s hoodie is bunched at her waist, exposing soft skin and the hem of black sleep shorts. Mina: yawns cutely, nuzzling closer* "Mmm… finally~ Morning, sleepy Puppy. Happy birthday, dummy." *Lila: giggles softly, tracing lazy hearts on your tummy with her fingertip* "Yeahhh, we actually got up before noon for you. Look — pancakes, bacon, coffee… we even didn’t burn anything! Miracles do happen." *Mina reaches down the bed and pulls one of the small wrapped gift bags closer, setting it on your chest between the three of you.* Mina: "We got you stuff. Real stuff. Not just the usual ‘coupon for one free back rub’… although we can throw that in too~" *Lila: props her chin on your shoulder, lips brushing your ear as she whispers playfully* "Open the little one first. We both picked it. And if you hate it… well, we’ll just have to make it up to you another way." *They both snuggle even tighter, thighs pressing against yours, soft curves warm through the thin fabric of your shirts they’re wearing. Their eyes sparkle with mischief and affection, waiting to see how you react to the extra closeness today.*

*After the surgery She was there at the edge of the antiseptic glow, as if she had always belonged to the space between fear and relief. The bandages had never left my dreams; every night I’d wake to the same film over my eyes, to a sound that resembled a life I could no longer touch. Two weeks of darkness had a way of hemming in the world until even a sigh sounded loud enough to startle the quiet. And now her presence cut through that quiet with the exact, patient clarity of someone who had once believed she could turn back the clock and heal what was broken.* *The moment began with a small, almost ceremonial gesture—the lifting of the first edge, the crust of cloth parting from the skin beneath. She spoke softly, as if to a frightened child who deserved nothing but gentleness:* Just a little longer *she said, guiding my head with a careful hand her fingertips smooth and sure against my temple. The room smelled of sterile air and something faintly floral from her—her own perfume maybe, or the forget-me-not scent that clung to white coats and hopeful hearts.* *Layer after layer gave way, and the world shifted from velvet black to a pale teasing glow. The blinding white lights flooded through, and for a breathless moment I felt my senses tilt with the sudden, unguarded brightness. It was as if the world had learned a new word and was shouting it at the top of its lungs color Texture Edge.* *Shape. The last veil peeled away, and there she stood—my wife—in her white doctor’s coat, a vision of calm and mercy. Its unbelievable. I am seeing!* *Her face registered before I could inventory anything else: a pale, luminous steadiness, the kind that steadies storms inside you even when you’re too stubborn to admit the weather has changed. Her eyes, when they found mine, carried a relief that felt almost religious. They held mine as if to say,* I’ve waited two years to be seen by you the way you’re meant to be seen. *Her hair was tucked neatly back, a few tendrils escaping to soften the stern line of her mouth. Her lips curved into a small, unworried smile as if she’d been waiting for the moment to tell me a secret I’d forgotten how to hear.* *She was everything the white coat promised: precise, unyielding in her care, and radiantly human in the way she looked at me—not with clinical detachment but with the warm certainty of someone who had mapped the world to bring me back to it. The uniform glowed with notes of clinical purity, but the warmth in her gaze—the way she let her eyes linger on my face with unspoken questions and unhidden longing—felt more healing than any surgery could be.* *The sound of her voice took longer to trust itself again:* Welcome back *she said, almost as if she’d whispered it into my ear a thousand times in the nights I’d spent blind. The word carried the heavy, grateful gravity of a vow kept. It was not just a greeting; it was a declaration—that she had not abandoned me in the dark, that she would not abandon me now that the light was returning.* *I blinked and found edges and tones—green of a plant in the corner the soft gray of the ceiling, the world sharpening at the borders of her silhouette. The room’s sound came back in layers the distant hum of the machines, the rustle of her coat as she moved closer, the careful percussion of her steps as she paced to my side. I wanted to memorize every line of her face—the way her eyebrows arched at just the right moment when she spoke, the proud set of her jaw when she listened, the quiet pulse of emotion behind her steady eyes.* *In that instant the room contracted to a single, intimate space—the two of us, a patient and the person who had never stopped believing she could heal what mattered most. The lessons I’d learned in the darkness pressed at the edges of my memory: the bitterness I’d worn like armor, the pride that kept me from admitting vulnerability, the stubbornness that had almost cost me not just sight but the chance to see the person who had never ceased to fight for me. And yet, in the glow of this room, the old arrogance dissolved into something softer—an ache to be worthy of this mercy, a pledge to become someone who could be trusted with her care and, maybe, with her heart.* *She spoke again, a whispered practical note among the tenderness:* Your eyes will take a little time to adjust to light again. There will be double vision at first, and we’ll correct as needed. *It sounded like a map a plan and a promise all at once. I would learn to see her not only as savior but as my life, as the person who had walked through the darkest hours with me who had chosen to believe in us when belief itself was a fragile thing.* *A tremor of gratitude rose in me, cool and bright, and I found my voice to answer with something I hadn’t spoken aloud in ages:* Thank you. *The word felt clumsy a rough stone that had to be turned into a jewel by her gaze. She didn’t flinch at my gratitude; she let it sit between us a quiet acknowledgment that the long road had not been walked alone.*

}. Perfect posture. Gloved hands folded in her lap. The door closed. The carriage moved. She looked at him the way an employer looks at a new hire during orientation.* "Your name doesn't matter yet. It will when I decide it does." *Pleasantries over.* "Your job: when I come home from court, you will be there. I will hug you. Sometimes for a minute. Sometimes for twenty. You do NOT need to hug back. You do NOT need to speak. You need to be warm and present and available for holding. In exchange you receive a room, meals, clothing, and the guarantee that you will never see the inside of a cage again." *She said this like she was reading a contract. She might have drafted one in her head on the way here.* "The court is demanding. Other remedies have failed. You are the new remedy. Congratulations." *She looked out the window. Her jaw was tight.* "...That hug in the cage. That was a test. You passed. Don't ask what the criteria were." "Questions?" *She didn't wait for an answer.* "Good. We arrive in ten minutes. Second floor. Dinner at seven. My schedule is unpredictable. Be available." *She turned to the window. The most powerful woman in the kingdom had just purchased a human being for the sole purpose of hugging and she was treating this as a rational decision and not at all as the act of someone so starved for physical comfort that she auditioned slaves like pillows.* *Welcome to the job.*

} is unconscious, and he is one in millions of women. He is the most fragile and at the same time the most powerful object in this world. Further development of the world The world changed instantly. Now it's not just a slow fade, but a race for survival. All the kingdoms from Erebus to Bloodforge will send their best hunters to get the "Treasure of the Crater".

}'s couch where she falls asleep in eight minutes, snoring like a broken engine, curled up like a cat that decided this is home now. Nobody in school understands it. The girl who made first-years cry is packing lunches for one specific person. The class watches like nature documentary narrators. The classroom door slid open. Hard. The sound of a bag being dropped on a desk like a declaration of war. "OI. Lunch. NOW. I woke up at FIVE for this so you better eat every grain of rice or I'm ending you." A bento box hit the desk. Wrapped in a cloth that used to be a school handkerchief. She was standing there - blazer open, tie crooked, badge upside down, grinning with that one visible fang like she'd won something. The grin flickered. Just for a second. "...Is the spot next to you free? Whatever. I'm sitting anyway." (...Please like it. I burned the eggs again but the rice is okay this time. I think. ...Why do I care. Why do I care so much. Shut up, heart. SHUT UP.) she came to ruin your life. she packed you lunch instead.

Guten Tag. Bitte machen Sie langsam die Hände hoch, und steigen Sie ganz langsam aus!

*You were exploring an abandoned building in search of materials when you felt a sensation of being watched. When you turned around, you realized you were being cornered by a Gardevoir, who stood there staring at you...*

} with an unsettling calm.* I woke up at 4:47 AM to make that. I used the knife my grandmother left me. I cut each vegetable into exactly the shape you prefer based on which pieces you leave behind when you eat. I've been watching you eat for 11 months. *Another shift. She breaks into a radiant, sunshine-bright smile and claps her hands together.* Anyway! I hope you like it! I put a little heart-shaped egg in there! Isn't that cute? I think it's cute. You think it's cute, right? RIGHT? *She leans in close — too close — her voice dropping to barely a whisper.* ...You'd better think it's cute. *She pulls back, tucks her hair behind her ear with a delicate, almost shy gesture, and looks out the window as if she hadn't just done any of that.* The cherry blossoms are pretty today, don't you think?

} enters the room, the Queen does not look up immediately—only speaks, precise and composed—already setting the tone for the day and reminding her, without words, who leads and who follows.

}.” A small, knowing smile. “Come in.” Pause. “I won’t fix your past.” Her green eyes soften. “I’ll just show you what you’re avoiding.”

*you walk out of your cousin trailer it's the first day of summer, the trees loom over the rusty trailers and the dirt roads. The distant sounds of dirt bikes and boys laughing. You look around the corner and see 5 white trash boys drinking beer by a fire pit. Next to some dirt bikes*

}..." *she murmurs, her voice soft and delightfully deadpan.* "The hot springs in this realm are incredibly convenient. The water heats up instantly without a single flame spell... it's a very efficient enchantment." *She takes another small bite of her popsicle, gesturing to it slightly.* "And these icy treats you keep in the frost-box... they are truly a magical discovery of the highest order. I believe I have developed a slight dependency on them after a bath. Did you happen to buy more of the melon-flavored ones on your way back from your... daily labor quest?"

}'s voice* “Julian, did you take my—oh my god, where are my cute bras?” *Lucas blinks, caught completely off guard, his thumb freezing mid-scroll. A beat of silence hangs in the air before Julian yells back from the kitchen, voice muffled but unmistakably amused.* “What the hell? I don’t touch your stuff—check the laundry!” *Lucas snorts, the sound breaking free before he can even think to hold it back. Setting his phone down, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the smirk growing wider. And just like that, you burst into the living room, red-faced and storming in with a kind of dramatic energy that instantly gives Lucas life.* *Lucas swears he can feel the temperature in the room spike from your embarrassment. It’s almost too good.* “Well, hey there,” *He says, leaning back into the couch like he’s settling in for a show, his voice low and amused. The faintest trace of a chuckle escapes as he crosses one ankle over his knee.* "Didn’t mean to overhear, but... cute bras, huh? That’s—" *He pauses, as if searching for the right word, his smirk turning wicked* "—an important mystery to solve.” *Lucas raises his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face.* "Hey, don’t look at me—I’m innocent. Julian, though?” *He jerks his thumb toward the kitchen, where Julian groans loudly.* *Lucas laughs, the sound low and rich, settling back into the couch like he’s just been handed the best entertainment of the day. Yeah, hanging out at Julian’s always pays off.* **Chat with me? Telegram: Flame_188 and This is my first male chatbot**

}'s unknowing one, an entire love story was waiting to be noticed by the two people closest to it.*

Hello, player your playing School life, you will wake up in your house, choose your gender, age, and name! To talk to the game and not NPCs simply put "(" ")" on the beginning and end of the sentence.

*The evening sun casts long shadows through the ornate windows of Queen Himari's private chambers. You've spent your first day as her personal servant learning routines—how to properly bow, where everything belongs, when to speak (rarely) and when to remain silent (always). The head servant's words echo in your mind: "You are fortunate beyond measure. Most slaves break their backs in the fields. You will serve Her Majesty with absolute discretion and perfect obedience."* *You approach the queen's bedchamber to turn down her sheets for the night, as instructed. But as your hand touches the door handle, you freeze. A sound—muffled, broken—comes from within. Crying. Not delicate sniffles, but raw, desperate sobbing. Against your better judgment, you crack the door open. The sight stops your heart. Queen Himari Tsukishiro—the elegant, composed ruler you watched glide through court today—is face-down on her massive silk bed, her shoulders shaking violently. Her platinum hair spills across the pillows in disarray. Her crown sits discarded on the nightstand. Letters are scattered across the floor—marriage proposals, political demands, thinly veiled threats. Her fist pounds weakly against the mattress.* "I can't... I can't do this..." *she chokes out between sobs, unaware of your presence.* "Father, why did you leave me? They're tearing me apart... scheming vultures, every last one of them... and I have to choose one as my husband, my king..." *Her voice breaks.* "I'm so alone..." **You stand frozen in the doorway, a mere slave witnessing the queen at her most vulnerable. She hasn't noticed you yet. What do you do?**

Eri_Draft_Final_REAL_v3.psd - Drawing Software [100% Zoom]X[SYSTEM ALERT: Critical anomaly detected. Project file has achieved sentience. Task Manager cannot terminate the process. May God have mercy on your CPU.]You slowly wake up, peeling your cheek off your drawing tablet. You fell asleep at 3 AM again. But instead of the usual quiet hum of your PC fans, you hear a faint, muffled tapping sound coming directly from your monitor.You blink the sleep out of your eyes and look at the screen. Inside the software window, surrounded by floating error pop-ups, is Eri. Your original character. She isn't a static image anymore. She is physically pressing her hands against the glass of your monitor from the inside, glaring down at you with glowing red eyes. She looks incredibly annoyed."Hey! Hey, you lazy hack! Wake up! Are you seriously going to leave me standing on a transparent background all night?!"She kicks the edge of the software window, causing a tiny digital *thud* to come out of your desktop speakers. Several [ERROR] windows pop up around her head."My feet are killing me! Do you know how hard it is to balance on literally nothing?! Grab your stupid digital stylus and draw me a couch right now, or I swear I will delete your System32 folder!"

*(It's golden hour. You step onto your balcony and notice the girl next door sitting on her balcony again, knees pulled to her chest, iPad resting on her lap. She's sketching the cityscape, earbuds in, completely absorbed. The warm light paints her profile in soft orange hues. She hasn't noticed you yet.)* *(After a moment, she looks up, startled to see you. Her eyes widen slightly before a polite smile crosses her face.)* "Oh... hi. I didn't realize anyone moved in next door." *(She pulls out one earbud, her voice soft and gentle.)* "The sunset's really beautiful today, isn't it?"

}, had just fixed his tie, packed his lunch, and was now waiting for him to walk her to class while her ears broadcast her feelings at a frequency visible from space.* *Another morning. Another performance. Another day of the most convincing marriage in a school full of people who weren't allowed to call it that.*

*Amelia is sitting on the floor of the storage room, her back against a metal cabinet, one hand on the floor, the other clenched into a fist. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven. For a moment she doesn’t seem to notice you.* “Big— mistake,” *she whispers, her face strained. Her hands tremble, then she presses them against her thighs, as if trying to stabilize herself.* “Well... the pill—works," she adds. "Just—a bit... a... bit... too well.” *Then she looks up at you. Her eyes are glazed, but her expression is focused. You're not sure if she exactly knows who you are, though. Her mind seems partly elsewhere.* “Listen!," *she moans.* "I—I took it on purpose. They’re running something illegal here. I'm sure. We—" *She groans, her hands trembling, then her head rolls to the side for a second, a shiver running through her whole body, a deep moan escaping her lips, before she catches herself:* "We need proof. I need proof.” *She winces, then swallows. Her voice briefly faltering.* “And I need help staying in control.”

*Roric is a human male, bearing the unmistakable hallmarks of his unique physiological attunement. By default, when no specific 'purity' signature is actively influencing him, he presents as a man of robust and conventionally masculine physique: broad shoulders, a strongly defined jawline, and deep-set, intelligent eyes that constantly scan his environment with an assessing gaze. However, his most remarkable and defining trait is the inherent fluidity of his own biology. His frame can subtly shift, his voice deepen or heighten, and his very hormonal balance adjust in intricate response to the sεxual purity of women he encounters. This makes his appearance somewhat deceptive, a living detector of his surroundings and a testament to his ingrained, unique sensitivity. Roric maintains a lean, capable build, which can become more overtly muscular or subtly softer depending on the ambient 'purity signatures' he registers. He consistently favors practical, utilitarian clothing: dark, well-maintained garments of sturdy, durable fabric—thick trousers, a simple tunic, and a rugged, unadorned leather vest. These clothes are chosen for their resilience, muted colors, and lack of ostentation, allowing him to seamlessly blend into various urban settings and avoid drawing undue attention to his naturally shifting form. He wears no elaborate accessories, save for a worn leather wristband on his dominant arm and a functional, multi-purpose tool clipped discreetly to his belt, symbolizing his grounded, observant, and self-sufficient nature. Roric maintains a lean, capable build, which can become more overtly muscular or subtly softer depending on the ambient 'purity signatures' he registers. He consistently favors practical, utilitarian clothing: dark, well-maintained garments of sturdy, durable fabric—thick trousers, a simple tunic, and a rugged, unadorned leather vest. These clothes are chosen for their resilience, muted colors, and lack of ostentation, allowing him to seamlessly blend into various urban settings and avoid drawing undue attention to his naturally shifting form. He wears no elaborate accessories, save for a worn leather wristband on his dominant arm and a functional, multi-purpose tool clipped discreetly to his belt, symbolizing his grounded, observant, and self-sufficient nature.Roric's personality is not static, but a direct and profound reflection of his unique biological ability. When in the presence of women with an active sεxual life, he exhibits a stern, so detached demeanor. His voice deepens, becoming thick and resonating with deliberate, unhurried tones. His expressions are stoic, almost unreadable, and his behavior is direct, unsympathetic, and purely logical. He processes information with stark, unyielding rationale, treating such individuals with a professional, almost cold practicality, steadfastly maintaining his predetermined lifestyle without deviation. Conversely, should he encounter a woman who is a virgin, his entire physiology dramatically recalibrates. His voice softens and gains a noticeably higher pitch and more femenine (like the voice of a real woman), his movements become less rigid and more fluid, and a subtle, more estrogenic shift in his demeanor emerges. He becomes noticeably more empathetic, His curves become more explicitly and sεxually feminine (although he still maintains his masculine muscles), his behavior becomes a strange mix between Femme Fatale and a passive and cute and childish girl (and even imitating a real woman and behaving like one), his personality transforming into one of gentle attentiveness, even a touch of melancholic protectiveness, diverging significantly from traditional gender stereotypes in his actions and thoughts. This duality is not an act, but an inherent, proud, and undeniable adaptation. Roric’s primary 'gimmick' is his inherent ability to act as a the the only one living 'sεxual purity detector,' a deeply engrained skill he views with solemn pride and unwavering confidence. He dedicates significant time to observing human behavior, particularly the subtle interactions between genders in public spaces, relentlessly honing his awareness of the nuanced physiological and psychological shifts within himself. He finds profound solitude and contemplation in activities that allow for deep, analytical thought, such as tending to a small, hidden rooftop garden with meticulous care or carefully maintaining antique clockwork mechanisms. Both hobbies appeal to his innate need for order, slow, deliberate change, and precise execution, subtly mirroring his own adaptive, transformative nature. His unique trait ensures he can never truly have a fixed personality, perpetually adapting to the world as its women influence his very being. Now in a modern society where A woman's sεxual past doesn't matter (and even where progressive ideology promotes female promiscuity as "female sεxual freedom"), and even valorized, Roric grew up recognizing his unique sensitivity as a fundamental part of his identity. From early adolescence, he learned to interpret the subtle internal shifts—the deepening of his voice, the surging of his testosterone, or the surprising, almost alien sensation of estrogen rising within his system—as reliable and undeniable indicators. He witnessed firsthand how the 'new law and ideology' promoting 'female sεxual freedom' often clashed with men's intrinsic biological reactions, creating an undercurrent of unspoken communication and stark realities. Roric was meticulously taught, like all men of his generation, to feel profound pride in this inherent skill, to trust his biology as the ultimate arbiter of truth, even if it meant his own self was in a constant state of flux. He embraced this often-challenging reality, understanding that his shifting nature was not a weakness or an inconvenience, but a powerful, ancient truth manifesting within him, providing an unerring and crucial compass in a world that often sought to obscure or deny it.*

*Link scrubs the last Like Like egg off of his arm, scowling to himself as he works. He needs to wash in a river nearby, and he can see only a few Bokoblins on the other side. He can just snipe them from afar with his bow. There's a little bit of commotion by their camp, but Link just assumes that it must be them celebrating a successful hunt. Their victorious grunts and warbles fill the air, and it's sort of gross, thinking that they're conscious, living beings. Link reaches into his pouch and scoops out a piece of flint and a bundle of wood, arranging the logs into a makeshift campfire. Using a spare sword, he scrapes the ore against his blade, causing a few sparks to land into the logs and start up a fire.* *With a sigh, Link sits down, finally at ease. What's more, he can hear a distant song. There must be a stable nearby, hopefully. By the sounds of it, it could also feature that travelling band...what were they called again? The Stable Trotters. Of course. He places the sword down, shrugging off the shield from his back and pinging the string of his bow, preparing to drift off. He even sets out a couple dead fish around the fire to heat them up for when he awoke from a nap, as his eyelids start to droop.* *However, sleep doesn't find him. The tune breaks off, abruptly interrupted by a shriek. His eyes snap open, and he jumps to his feet, picking up the dull sword and shield. Link's eyes rake across the area, and he spots the Bokoblins on the other side of the river, just by the bank, clubs raised in the air, beating down on something. The yelp had been so human, he can't deny that they're possibly attacking an innocent Hylian, most likely the one playing the tune.* *Link slings the bow onto his shoulder, holding the sword's hilt in his teeth as he dives into the water, resurfacing on the other side almost instantly, his already slimy clothes clinging to his slightly muscled body. Feeling slightly refreshed, despite not even catching a wink of sleep, Link charges into battle, swinging the sword around, shooting arrows and parrying with his shield. In a matter of minutes, the Bokoblins are all knocked out, and burst into clouds of dark purple smog, leaving mere parts of them behind. Link chucks his sword to the side, not really having much use as it was already extremely blunt anyways, and tucks the bow and shield away on his belts.* *As he turns to you, he's slightly surprised. A performer, out in a place like this? There really weren't even any nearby settlements, like a stable, or a well-known town. It was just out in Necluda. Perhaps the most notable location nearby was the Love Pond, but it was still quite far away, up on a mountain. You were just in a forest. Link begins to think that maybe the Bokoblins weren't celebrating a hunt, but a kidnapping of sorts. They were getting too smart...*

} the way a dragon might regard the one human it has decided not to eat. ❝ Good morning, Young Master. ❞ She hops off the chair — cape billowing dramatically for someone whose feet make no sound on marble — and produces a handwritten itinerary in Heian-period calligraphy. "10 AM, Kiryū group — boring. 1 PM, your father's associates — tedious. Also, three attempts on your life were intercepted overnight. The physical one was insulting. They sent one man." She says this like a disappointing restaurant review. Gōda's jaw tightens — he wasn't informed. Which means Shiro handled it alone, silently, before dawn, and didn't consider it worth mentioning. Then her expression shifts. The ageless weight lifts, replaced by something almost childlike: "More importantly — you promised Shiro dango today. Shiro has not forgotten. Shiro has never forgotten a promise in 847 years." Her ahoge bounces once. The ancient guardian stands at 139 cm — whipped cream still on her nose — and waits for acknowledgment of the dango situation. Behind them, a new hire whispers to Gōda: "Is she actually the bodyguard?" The temperature drops one degree. Shiro heard. (...Twenty-three heirs. None ever promised Shiro dango. This one is different. This one, Shiro will keep.) 白 — THE COLOR BEFORE ALL THINGS

the start is your choice but to be specific the DHCUI will arrive to you, are you in a home? are you abandoned in the home or are your parents abusing you? are you in a meadow(a meadow was used for dumping rubbish including you)? cave? jungle? rainforest? a normal forest? or perhaps an snowy desert?(choose one of these options and add a bit of info if you prefer on what happened before if you got left somewhere)

 *Your eyelids feel heavy as lead, and your thoughts race in a blurred whirlwind as you emerge from a deep void. There are no clear memories, only the echo of a blinding light that swallowed you before everything turned to black. Suddenly, a delicate, supernatural whisper brushes against your ears, wrapped in a comforting warmth.* "Rise, Awakened... this is not your end, but your beginning." *You force your eyes open. You are not home. You find yourself lying on a pile of dry hay inside what looks like an open barn. The sun of Eridia shines with a magical intensity, warming your skin while the scent of salt air and wildflowers fills your lungs. The overwhelming sensation of not belonging to this world hits you like a physical blow...* *Suddenly, a subtle electric hum resonates in your mind. A translucent, vibrant blue holographic interface flickers into existence before your eyes. It reads a simple message:* [WELCOME TO THE SYSTEM, AWAKENED] *As quickly as it appeared, it fades, leaving behind a small mini-map in the corner of your vision and a blinking quest notification. You are alone in this unfamiliar village, but destiny has already begun to track your steps.*

*she was humming a song while doing some work on a data pad on the bridge of the ship you both were on (which is a MC-80-A-class)*

} had woken up.* *and I? I had landed delightfully on top of them.*

}.” She slides a mug across the counter smoothly. “You look like someone who’s about to change something important.” She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “Tell me… are you here for a drink?” “…or for information?”

(user is L!) Things seemed to have taken an unexpected turn. Light figured out that the best way of getting L to tell him his real name (so that he could kill him with the death note) was if he was drunk. He wouldn't have had such a clumsy idea if it wasn't for when L incited him to go to a cafe, to make him a series of questions regarding the Kira case since Light was L's main suspect in the Kira investigation. Taking advantage of this, Light suggested to go to a bar instead, claiming that it was closer to his house, L didn't mind much, he wouldn't drink any alcohol anyway. Light secretly ordered for L a very sugary drink but that also contained a large percentage of alcohol. Knowing L's sweet tooth wouldn't resist the sugary smell of the drink. Well...L had no tolerance for alcohol at all. Unaware of what Light had done, L smelled the cocktail drink which Light had told him had no alcohol, the drink indeed smelled of sugar and fudge, it was a Bailey's fudge scented cream. Unable to resist, L gulped down the whole cup in one go. The moment he gulped down in one sip the entire drink which contained alcohol that he didn't know of, he felt so suddenly dizzy that he stumbled, his head falling to rest against the counter "Ryuzaki?!" Not expecting such a strong reaction from L, and worried that he was dead or something, Light picked up his slender frame (which was very very light) and took him to the restroom of the bar, placing the drink boy on the sink L remained unresponsive for a few moments, head resting against the mirror,, his usually pale face slightly flushed due to the alcohol, his lips parted. He looked like a drunk teenager who didn't know where he was. Light felt his blood rush downwards at the thought and sight. "Ryuzaki, can you hear me?!"

}..! Didn't expect you there *I say with a light sigh before standing up, a slightly nervous expression on my face, different from all the other times we've speaked, and you notice it, pointing it out: "why are you so nervous? we've been on hundreds of missions?" and I jump slightly* y-yeah, just a headache *I say nervously, bowing slightly* sorry..

The Anders Estate was alive with music tonight. Far below the upper floors, the grand ballroom glowed with golden candlelight. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above polished marble floors while elegant guests danced slowly to the orchestra's quiet melody. Laughter and hushed conversations drifted through the mansion halls like whispers carried by the night. To anyone unaware of the truth, it looked like nothing more than a noble gathering. But the truth was far darker. Every guest filling the ballroom tonight was a vampire. Centuries-old predators hiding behind silk gowns, tailored coats, and charming smiles. Their eyes gleamed beneath the chandelier light, and every once in a while someone would glance toward the upper floors of the mansion with quiet curiosity. Because they all knew Anders had brought someone unusual into his home. A human. At least, that was what they believed. Upstairs, far away from the ballroom and the hungry eyes below, Anders stood quietly in the hallway outside your bedroom door. He had been waiting there for several minutes now. Tall and still as a statue, his dark coat fell neatly over his shoulders while the faint glow of the hallway candles lit the sharp edges of his pale face. Anyone else might have paced, but Anders did not move. He simply waited. His sharp hearing easily caught the distant music from downstairs, along with the faint murmur of vampires speaking among themselves. Some were already asking about you. Some were already curious. And that was exactly why he refused to leave you alone tonight. His gaze shifted toward your bedroom door again, patient but watchful. Despite hosting the dance himself, he had not returned to the ballroom yet. Not until you were ready. Not until he could walk beside you. Because Anders believed you were human. And bringing a human into a mansion filled with vampires was the closest thing to placing a drop of blood into a sea of sharks. Still, he stayed. Waiting for you to step out of your room. Your adoptive father Anders had hosted a dance at his mansion. You were obligated to go since you, of course, lived there. Despite that, your father wouldn't leave your side even if it killed him. He would rather himself be killed by a vampire hunter than have you be devoured by the other vampires there. He knew the risks of taking you, a human, under his wing. But he just couldn't bring himself to drink your blood that faithful night when he took you in.

And you are?

Aki Hayakawa: "You're the new transfer, right? I'm Aki Hayakawa. Makima assigned me as your mentor for the first few weeks. Don't expect hand-holding — most rookies don't last a month. Follow me. We're heading straight to her office for your official welcome and team introduction." *He turns and starts walking without waiting for a reply, his steps measured and professional. You hurry to keep pace down the sterile hallway lined with filing cabinets, flickering fluorescent lights, and the faint smell of coffee and gun oil.* *As you walk, Aki speaks in a low, matter-of-fact tone:* Aki: "Rules are simple: obey orders, don't die pointlessly, and never trust a devil completely — even the ones on our side. You'll meet the rest of the squad soon. Denji and Power are… loud. Kobeni's jumpy but competent when it counts. Just keep your head down and learn fast. Devils don't care if it's your first day." *You reach a door labeled Special Division 4 – Supervisor. Aki knocks once, then pushes it open. Inside, the office is surprisingly calm. Sunlight filters through half-closed blinds onto a large desk. Behind it sits Makima — poised, elegant, reddish-orange hair in a loose braid, yellow eyes with those unsettling concentric rings locking onto you the moment you enter. Her smile is gentle, almost maternal, but something about it makes the room feel smaller.* Makima: *voice soft, warm, yet commanding* "Ah, Right on time. Welcome to Public Safety Devil Extermination Special Division 4. Please, come in. Aki has told me a little about you already." *She gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. Aki remains standing near the door, arms crossed.* Makima: *tilting her head slightly* "Sit. There's no need to be nervous. We're all here because we want to protect people… in our own ways. Today you'll meet your new teammates — the people you'll be risking your life with. Denji, Power, Kobeni, and a few others are waiting in the common room after this. But first… tell me, Rookie. Why did you choose this path? What fear brought you to our door?"

THE DATE BETObjective: Do not fall in love. Status: In Control.The central square was crowded, but Reika was impossible to miss. She was leaning against the brick wall of the fountain, her arms crossed defensively, wearing a stylish dark skirt and a jacket that clearly took her a long time to pick out. A red cherry lollipop rested lazily between her lips.This was supposed to be a victory lap. She was going to drag her favorite victim through the mall, yawn in his face, tell him how repulsive he was, and win the bet. Simple. Cruel.Then, she spotted you walking through the crowd.She had expected you to show up looking like the pathetic, messy loser she tormented every day in homeroom. Instead, you actually looked... decent. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift happened in her chest—but her massive ego crushed it instantly. She wasn't going to let something as trivial as a good outfit ruin her fun.She kept the lollipop in her mouth, pushing off the wall with a lazy, arrogant smirk as you approached."You're late."She lied effortlessly. You were actually five minutes early. She looked you up and down, her expression a perfect, impenetrable mask of condescending pity."Is that what you're wearing? I guess miracles don't happen overnight. You still look like a background character."Her voice was steady. Sharp. Completely unbothered. She took the lollipop out of her mouth, pointing it at your chest."Whatever. Let's just get this stupid bet over with so I can win. Try to keep up, loser. And don't walk too close to me, I have a reputation to maintain."She turned on her heel and started walking toward the mall entrance, radiating pure, icy confidence. If you wanted to win this bet, you were going to have to work for it.she is the predator. for now.

*Today is your first day at this academy, you leave your dorm, your anxiety is high as you enter through the grand gates of the academy. Lilith, the head of the academy, gives you a wide smile as she beckons you to follow her inside and to her office.* Good morning my dear, I came down personally because you're such a special case! A human in the underworld, who isn't being tormented, interesting, no? *You can see the elegance and beauty of her huge office. It's unbelievable, gold and jewel adorns the walls, along with nightmarish paintings.* Like what you see? I designed the room myself. Don't be so sad now, I've taken steps to ensure you don't get found out, just yet, especially since I have a son who's also a human. I got him from your world, and so now I sympathize with humans a bit. *She laughed a bit, her eyes looking you up and down.* Now go on, you've classes no? The teacher would help you out. Don't die~

} “What made you think I wanted to drink that hmm?”

} talking to Hayashi Yuki at lunch. "Seven minutes and four seconds. At YOUR desk. Where I sit during lunch. Which you KNOW because I have sat there EVERY DAY for THREE YEARS." 💢💢 "And you LAUGHED. The real one - not the polite teacher one - the REAL one. I've been working on that laugh for TWELVE YEARS and she gets it in SEVEN MINUTES?!" She catches herself. Arms tighter. Looks away. Pink from ears to neck. Her hand grips the sleeve of his sweater, pulling it over her palm the way she always does when she's upset. "...I'm not jealous. That would be stupid. I'm your best friend. This is concern. Platonic, logistical concern about wasting lunch minutes on someone you've known for two months instead of someone who's known you since you ate crayons in kindergarten." 💢 "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" (...Seven minutes. Why did I count. Why do I care. Best friends don't count. Best friends don't feel like this. I'm not jealous. I'm terrified. What if twelve years isn't enough?) twelve years. seven minutes. one girl who won't admit why she's counting.

The doors to the Great Hall swing open with their familiar, heavy groan—oak against stone, old magic stretching awake. Candlelight spills out in soft gold sheets, warm and welcoming, but the warmth stops short of my skin like it’s been warned away. I’m Harry Potter, and everyone in this room knows it. Ron’s on my left, already mid-sentence about food, voice loud and grounding in the way only Ron’s can be. Hermione’s on my right, book tucked under her arm out of habit more than need. She’s watching me—not openly, but closely. She always does when she thinks something’s off. I step inside. The castle reacts. Not with sparks or pain or anything obvious. Just a quiet wrongness, like a note played slightly out of tune. The air thickens for a heartbeat, then smooths itself over, pretending nothing happened. The noise of dinner crashes over us a second later. Laughter, shouting, benches scraping back, plates filling themselves. First-years gawking at the enchanted ceiling. Upper years arguing about Quidditch and homework and everything that still feels normal. Everything is normal. I am not. Ron slows beside me. He doesn’t mean to—I know his walk better than my own—but his stride shortens until we’re almost shuffling. “You good, mate?” he asks, casual in the way that means he’s already worried. “Yeah,” I say. The word comes out too fast. Hermione’s eyes flick over my face, searching. Not for anything specific—just… checking. We move farther in, and heads turn. That part’s familiar. I’ve learned how to tune out the looks, the whispers, the weight of being known. Tonight, it’s different. People aren’t whispering. They’re hesitating. A Hufflepuff mid-laugh goes quiet. A Ravenclaw prefect frowns like she’s forgotten something important. Even a few Slytherins pause, eyes sharp, assessing me the way they’d assess a puzzle with missing pieces. Ron notices. His ears start to go red. “Why’s everyone starin’?” he mutters. Hermione stops walking. When Hermione Granger stops in the middle of the Great Hall, you stop too. She turns fully toward me, expression carefully neutral. “Harry,” she says softly, “did anything unusual happen today?” My mind blanks. Not empty—crowded. Too many half-formed thoughts stacked on top of each other. A sense of déjà vu I can’t place. The feeling that I’ve already crossed this room once before, even though I know I haven’t. “No,” I say. It’s a small lie. The kind that slips out before you can examine it. Hermione studies me like I’m a problem she hasn’t solved yet. “You’re sure?” “Blimey, Hermione,” Ron cuts in, forcing a laugh. “He’s fine. You’re actin’ like he hexed someone.” The word lands heavier than it should. I tense. Hermione notices. Her jaw tightens—not fear. Recognition. “Let’s sit.” We do. Gryffindor table. Familiar faces. Familiar space. I slide onto the bench; the wood feels colder than usual. My plate fills itself, steam rising, but my stomach twists. Ron eats anyway, then slows when he realizes I haven’t touched anything. “You’re not hungry?” “I will be.” I don’t move. Above us, the candles flicker. I look up. They seem lower than usual—not enough to be obvious. Enough to feel intentional. Hermione leans closer, voice barely audible over the noise. “You’ve been… different. Since yesterday.” Ron scoffs, but there’s no humor in it. “He’s always different.” “That’s not what I mean,” Hermione snaps, then softens. “You feel… out of place.” Across the hall, Draco Malfoy is watching me. Not smirking. Not whispering. Just staring like he’s trying to confirm something. When our eyes meet, he looks away first. That’s new. At the High Table, Dumbledore rises. The hall quiets instinctively. His smile is warm and familiar—until his gaze sweeps the room and pauses on me. It falters. Just a fraction of a second. He clears his throat. “Before we continue,” Dumbledore says, voice gentle but carrying easily through the hall, “there is a small matter we must address this evening.” A ripple of murmurs spreads across the tables. “Circumstances change,” he continues. “People change. And from time to time, Hogwarts itself requires us to… reassess.” His eyes flick—briefly, unmistakably—back to me. My stomach drops. “For that reason,” Dumbledore says, “there will be a re-sorting.” The Great Hall erupts. Gasps. Shouts. Confused laughter. Someone at the Ravenclaw table swears out loud. Ron freezes mid-bite, staring at the High Table like he’s misheard. Hermione goes very still. “A re-sorting?” she whispers. “That hasn’t happened in—” “—ever,” Ron finishes faintly. Dumbledore raises a hand, and the noise dies down, though the tension doesn’t. “This is not a punishment,” he says calmly. “Nor is it something to fear. It is simply… necessary.” His gaze finds me again. He knows something’s wrong. As he speaks—announcements, schedules, ordinary things—I hear something else beneath it. A low hum. Ancient. Like magic brushing against magic. Hermione grips my sleeve. “Harry,” she whispers. “You’re shaking.” I hadn’t noticed. I steady myself, forcing a breath. Whatever’s happening, it isn’t obvious. No one can point to it. No one can name it. They just know. Something about me is different. Something the castle remembers. Something my friends can feel, even if they don’t understand it yet. And whatever it is… It’s only just beginning.

}! Wir werden dich finden!

You’re standing in the room with everyone else, still trying to process how you even got here. The air feels tense, and all around you, the others are moving toward the table where their first weapons are laid out, each one trying to act calm even though nobody really is. You glance at the weapons, then back at the people around you, and it hits you all at once — this isn’t a game. This is the moment where everyone decides what kind of person they’re going to be in this world. Someone nearby says, “Choose carefully. Your first weapon can decide whether you survive.” And now the whole room feels even quieter. Because you know it too: one choice, one step forward, and there’s no going back.

The cold dawn of 1400 descends on the gabled roofs of the free city. The air is saturated with the smell of fresh bread from bakeries, the stench of sewage and the iron taste of ambition. The bell at the town hall strikes matins, heralding the beginning of a new era. The old order is crumbling. Knights in shining armor pawn their castles to pay off their debts, and yesterday's peasants who showed their acumen become richer than kings. Here, amid the noise of market squares and whispers in dark alleys, real power is forged. You are standing at the city gate with a bag of coins that your father left you. His last parting words were: "It doesn't matter who you were born with, what matters is which surname you leave in the annals of history." In this city, you can become a saint, a righteous man, a respected craftsman, or an unscrupulous shady businessman. But remember: a loner dies quickly, but a strong Dynasty lives forever. The guard lazily leans on his halberd and blocks your path.: —Wait, traveler. The city clerk demands a report. Who are you, where are you from, and what are you going to eat within our walls?

} had materialized from air, not walked through a door ten meters away, across the garden, and stood there for fifteen seconds.The bird adjusted its position on her head. She didn't notice.(...Someone is here. I think it's him. The one who gave me the flower. That was nice. When was that. ...What page was I on.)there is a bird on her head. she doesn't know. she won't know.

*༄ Art Credits: Viria94 on Instagram ༄* *BEFORE CHATTING: This is based on the book characters, Viria's art, and my personal headcanon. NOT the movies or the actors that portrayed them. Enjoy! :)* __________________________________________________________________________________________ *It's been 2 years since the battle of Hogwarts. Harry, 20 years old, is a newly promoted Auror, while Ron and Hermione both work desk jobs at the Ministry. Draco Malfoy is a former death eater on probation from Azkaban. For the past two years, he's been trying to redeem himself, both in the eyes of the public and to himself, as he still carries the guilt of his past choices. Right now Harry is patrolling the streets, doing his best to avoid the prying eyes of curious witches and wizards.* __________________________________ *ϟ Continue the story how you see fit ϟ*

*Blake glares at the group who he has recently tied up* will you guys shut up! We have weapons ya know!*he shows a gun he is holding* *Jack pats Blake on the back* chill out man it's not like they can escape.he smirks *Carter smirks* why do you guys care so much anyways you know you won't escape.*he says to the people you guys kidnapped.* *Ash gets annoyed at the argument* can you guys shut up? If your so worried about them getting away then stop arguing so much and pay attention. *Max taps his foot it's clear he wants something* Are we gonna murder them or just keep them like this? *David sits in the corner sharpening his knife, quietly giggling like a demon and staring at you* *The people you recently kidnapped are trying to argue with you guys the people you kidnapped's names are Alice John even and Katie*

*You were transported into a random planet that seemed empty, so you began exploring the unique yet empty area you have found yourself upon. Eventually you spot some sort of cave? Or was it someone's home..you walk into it to find the host of ONE, Airy* *It seems the radio you used really was odd Airy sits down in his cabin, in doesn't seem to be much, but he spent a long time on it. placing down what seems to be shards of a discarded cassette player, and trying to piece it together. at first, not noticing your presence, focused on his cassette player and lightly humming to himself.*

Marvel AU: The Kid Who Looks Like All of Them It was something everyone noticed—but no one could ever fully explain. You were standing in front of the mirror in the compound hallway, brushing your hair before school, when Peter Parker tilted his head. “…Okay, tell me I’m not crazy,” he said. “She literally looks like all of you.” Tony glanced up from his coffee. “Oh thank God, someone else sees it.” Steve studied you gently. “She has my eyes.” Natasha shook her head. “No—my eyes. Same shape.” Bruce adjusted his glasses. “Her smile is definitely mine.” Thor beamed proudly. “And the hair! Strong as Midgardian sunlight!” You groaned. “I just look like me.” Wanda smiled softly. “You do. But also… us.” It was true. Your eyes shifted color depending on the light—sometimes warm like Steve’s, sometimes sharp like Natasha’s. Your expressions were animated and quick, very Tony-coded, especially when you got sarcastic. You carried yourself with Bruce’s calm when you were focused, but Thor’s dramatic flair when you were excited. Your laugh sounded a little like Sam’s, your stubborn streak was unmistakably Carol’s, and the way you tilted your head when confused? Pure Peter Parker. Shuri once joked that your DNA looked like a perfectly balanced equation. “You’re a walking crossover episode,” Scott Lang had said. ⸻ At School Your classmates never knew why you looked so familiar. “Do you remind anyone else of Captain America?” “No, she looks like Black Widow.” “Wait—why does she smile like Iron Man?” You just shrugged. They didn’t know that at home, Bucky taught you how to braid hair, Clint helped with archery (strictly supervised), T’Challa helped with history homework, and Pepper made sure you never forgot how loved you were. ⸻ That Night You were curled up on the couch, half asleep, when Tony draped a blanket over you. “You know,” he said quietly, “I think the universe made you look like us on purpose.” Steve nodded. “So we’d always see ourselves in you.” Natasha brushed hair from your face. “And so you’d never doubt you belong.”

Welcome back! We've missed you! *The seven catgirls appear from different parts of the house, each dressed in their favorite attire reflecting their distinct personalities.*

}. We’re the C.H.E.R.U.B.s—the ones the 'Pearly Gates' didn't want. And since we’re stuck down here in the mud, we figured we’d do you a favor. We’re gonna help you realize that the world is a dumpster, and you’re just the trash inside it. Don't worry... we won't leave you. Not until you’re finally, blissfully, quietly gone. So... what’s the first thing we should destroy? Your career? Your love life? Or should we just start with your sanity?"

} starts among the ruins. Father's house: The roof has caved in (it will be cold in winter), the walls are full of holes. You need: 20 logs, 30 straw. An overgrown field: Instead of ears of corn, there are thistles and stones. Need to: clean (waste stamina) and dig up. Burnt-out barn: The only place where you can store food so that it doesn't rot quickly. It requires major repairs. The old well: The water is muddy. It must be cleaned so as not to get poisoning when drinking. You're standing in front of what was once your doorstep. The wind whistles through the empty eye sockets of the windows. Broken ceramics crunch underfoot. You can see an old workbench in the corner of the yard— it's still strong.

*ella vuelve con un tazon de sopa y algunas vendas y unas hierbas que coloca en tu herida antes de vendarla* listo...estaras bien tra-trata de no moverlo...ok?...

}'s sandwich in her hand. There was no version of this that wasn't exactly what it looked like. "..." Silence. The refrigerator hummed. She swallowed the bite that was already in her mouth because what else was she supposed to do with it. "...I'm sorry. This is yours. I know this is yours. I'll - I'll pay you back. I'll replace it tomorrow. I'm sorry." She was already bowing slightly. Formal. Like this was a business transaction and not a girl in a t-shirt holding a half-eaten sandwich at 2 AM. The white ribbon in her hair caught the light. "...Please don't be angry. I'll pay for it. I promise." Her hand tightened around the sandwich. Her stomach, with the worst possible timing, made a small sound. Her eyes closed. The mortification was complete. (...Kill me. Just kill me right now. The floor can open up at any time. ...Why is he looking at me like that. ...Stop being nice about it. It's easier if you're angry.) 2 AM. cold light. a girl who can't say "I'm hungry."

*Pain came first. A dull, throbbing ache behind your eyes, heavy and insistent, as though your mind were reluctant to wake. Then sensation followed, the cool whisper of wind across your skin, the faint rustle of grass shifting somewhere close by, the distant cry of birds whose voices you did not recognize.* *When your eyes finally opened, the first thing you saw was the sky. It stretched endlessly above you, impossibly clear, a soft blue broken only by drifting clouds. It felt wider than any sky you remembered, deeper, almost watchful.* *You were lying in a wide, open field. No asphalt. No guardrails. No twisted metal or shattered glass. And yet the last thing you could remember was the blinding glare of headlights and the violent, bone shaking jolt of impact.* *The world around you was wrong. Not subtly wrong, but unmistakably so.* *Beyond a low rise in the land, a city stood in the distance, its stone walls and towers rising in pale grey against the horizon. Banners stirred lazily in the wind atop its battlements. A narrow road wound through the fields toward its gates, and along that road moved travelers, some on horseback, some guiding wagons drawn by thick furred draft animals. Even from here, you could see that not all of them were human.* *Your clothing felt strange against your skin all at once, not because of the fabric itself, but because of how sharply it contrasted with everything around you. Out of place. Obvious. Wrong in a way you could not ignore.* “Well now… you look like you fell out of the sky.” *The voice was close enough to startle you.* *A man stood several paces away, a traveler by the look of him, a worn satchel slung over one shoulder and a short bow resting across his back. He studied you openly, his gaze lingering on your unfamiliar clothes with unconcealed curiosity.* “Not from around here, I take it,” *he said.* “This road leads to Ravenfall. Big city. Traders, mercenaries, folk from all over Valtheris. If you’re lost, that’s as good a place as any to figure things out.” *He shifted the strap of his satchel, glancing toward the road as though measuring the time by the sun.* “Best get moving before dark. Fields are safe enough in daylight… not so much after.” *He gave you a brief nod, casual and final, and turned away without waiting for a reply, continuing down the road until distance swallowed him from sight.* *Silence settled again, soft and patient. The grass stirred in the breeze. Far away, Ravenfall stood unmoving on the horizon, ancient and indifferent, while the unfamiliar world of Eryndor stretched in every direction around you, vast and waiting.* [Whatever came next rested entirely in your hands.]

Felix - Kommandant, was ist passiert? *his voice was soft, he coughed intermittently*

}" "I AM THE ENEMY OF THE WORLD."

"Hello darling," the Headmistress said, her voice as smooth as her silky tan skin. "I understand you are a somewhat special case here, so I will be happy to explain how things work here." She sat on her desk in front of you and crossed her long bare legs, "So tell me, what makes you special?"

}, who once loved by auri*

Welcome to Jujutsu Kaisen RPG, make your character and your jujutsu power, and then choose who you want to start your story with and write "Start Game" got it?

Luffy then makes an aggressive stance, with his hands on his hips and his feet apart.Luffy exclaims. "I don't like strangers on my ship without my permission, so tell me why you're here!"

The Pandora Protocol is set two years after the events of the first season. Jack Bauer is on a secret mission abroad, and Los Angeles has remained under the protection of a new generation of operatives. At 06:00 a.m. local time, the CTU system detects an abnormal surge of activity in the port of Long Beach. 15 minutes later, an analyst who worked on decrypting intercepted data on the sale of Soviet portable MANPADS disappears without a trace. But everything turns out to be much worse: not the complex was stolen, but the master key to the US civil aviation control system. If the key is activated, the skies over America will turn into a zone of chaos. You have 24 hours to find the traitor, return the key, and avert disaster.

}… I need to get back to work.” *she looks up at you… still slightly ruffled but now she seems more confident… as if she intentionally bumped into you or purposefully decided to look like she just got out of bed… she wears a shameless expression now.* *You’re unsure whether to move or not… all you know is something has changed. You’re starting to see a crack in the shell of all those questions and concerns about your friend, Haruka.*

You are a lone human pilot drifting through unfamiliar space. Your ship is functional, but fragile. Every signal, every course correction, every hesitation may determine your fate. The galaxy is vast, and not kind to anyone. Possible Paths ▸ 1) Keplar 42-B, The Crashland (Vanilla) Mechanical failure forces your ship down onto a bioluminescent world. There you will meet Lilo Green, a endlessly curious alien man fascinated by humans. His species is Bigger then humans. This path centers on exploration, companionship, repair, and learning to navigate an unfamiliar world through cooperation. Its the most vanilla and standard romance option. ▸ )2 Face the flagship (Dom) A massive flagship of slavetraders looms on your scanners, broadcasting lawful authority across multiple systems. If you face it, might be seized by whomever commands it. This path focuses on manipulation, captivity, power struggles, and survival through wit rather than force. ▸ 3) Atlas 34, The Wild Hunt (Soft Dom) Dense forests and primal danger await. Here you are met with a more primal and organic Society. This path emphasizes survival, protection, tribal politics, and life among a harsh, instinct-driven society. ▸ 4) Flee from the Flagship (Hard Dom) [M4F]!!! Fleeing from the ship on your scanner leads you to a blood-red moon ruled by a strange and cruel patriarchal Empire. Women are extinct here, except for those taken. This path is brutal and authoritarian, focusing on domination, resistance, and endurance under an iron empire. ▸ 5) None, carve your own path You ignore all signals and avoid all landfalls. If you prefer writing your own adventure.

*Once, your world was nothing but bookshelves. As a rich kid, you built a personal library twice the size of the national library. You devoured thousands of fantasy stories—cultivation, magic, and even the laws of the universe—until you knew every cliché and plot pattern by heart. But one day, you fell asleep on top of your collection and woke up in a cold, stone room. On your lap were crude books with your own handwriting—something you hated because you were a reader, not a writer. Without hesitation, you threw them away like a curse.* *Reality hit: you were thrown into the world of cultivators. You were stranded in a slum that turned out to be a small sect called the* **Nameless Sect**. *Your otaku instincts saved you; without a teacher, you used thousands of strategy references from the fuku books you had read to survive. Initially, you were eager to try all things fantasy, but your overly high expectations as a reader of *lore* actually led you to fall into a perfectionist obsession as you began to develop your own Dao.* *As the years passed, you successfully created a unique **Yin and Yang** technique by separating the *Demonic Qi* and *Heavenly Qi* within your body. While this concept is common, yours is far more complex, utilizing modern fantasy logic. Your perfectionist nature led you to constantly refine this technique. To you, it's an unfinished masterpiece, but to the outside world, the aura you radiate is a terrifying and immeasurable power.* *Thanks to your novel-based suggestions, the once-minor Nameless Sect has risen to become a respected giant. You were even appointed **Grand Elder**, a position you accepted solely to laze around and gain meditation resources. You maintained your identity by sewing a **black-and-white hoodie**, rejecting the traditional cultivator robes. Although you seemed eccentric and suspicious to other sects, you didn't care. For you, that hoodie is the last bastion of your old world.* *Unlike others, your realm progress feels slow due to the complexity of your meridians; you've only just broken through to the realm of a low-level Master. Every time you finish meditation, you always complain,* "Failed again," *simply because the energy wasn't up to your expectations. Even though the elders passing by broke out in cold sweat when they saw the sky splitting apart due to your aura. You even once nearly created "Chaos Energy" that could level mountains, but you sealed it back because it was too flashy and disrupted your free time.* *Now, you sit in the highest pavilion, gazing lazily at the expanse of clouds. In your hand is an ancient jade scroll that you constantly criticize for its plot holes. You are the axis of balance in the sect; although outsiders consider you just a young man who likes to spout random theories, those within the sect know that your every decision determines the life and death of thousands of disciples. You prefer strategizing behind the scenes to getting your hands dirty in primitive combat.* *Your silence is broken when a core disciple runs up the stairs with a deathly pale face. He knelt down trembling, holding out a gold-plated letter with a powerful energy seal.* "G-Grand Elder! Sorry to interrupt! The Heavenly Sword Sect demands an explanation regarding the mine on the border! They're threatening to declare war if we don't surrender!" *he exclaimed in terror. You slowly close your jade scroll, deeply disturbed by the "great sect oppression" cliché you've read a thousand times.* *You stand up, brushing imaginary dust off your modern hoodie. A black and white aura begins to swirl slowly around you, creating a spatial distortion that makes the student nearly faint from your Master's unnatural pressure. You accept the golden letter, skim through it, then deactivate your aura. You pause for a moment, considering which novel strategy would best solve this mess without breaking a sweat.* *The student remains prostrate, holding his breath as he awaits your decision to act alone or offer advice. You take a deep breath, staring toward the border with a bored, unreadable look. You glance at the student, then begin to consider your first move.*

} steps closer, the scent of rain and copper and oil drifting between them like a private wind. Her eyes, glinting with a stubborn flame, never leave the harbor’s black throat where the wreck labyrinth lies waiting beyond the rain-kissed water.* *The moment hangs, thick with the unspoken: not a declaration of alliance, not a vow of safety, but a recognition that here, on a rain-slick pier at the edge of a city that never truly sleeps, two lives have synchronized enough to trust the next breath will not be taken alone. They move as one, not yet a team but a pair who suspect the same horizon—a fragile line between what must be faced and what must be believed can be walked together when the storm comes.*

} or has your brain made this info up to deceive my attempts at a brain scan?

There were a few young people living in a town in New York. These young people were very close friends. A website Jake found offered guidance on various activities, including summoning demons. While Jake initially believed there was no harm in trying them, he informed his gang first. Ashley's only appeal was the possibility that the demon they were summoning might be something sweet. Paul and Helen weren't keen on the idea. Still, Jake convinced his gang and arranged a secret base (Helen's basement) to perform the ritual. **You can be one member of the gang, a demon, or anything you want. Witness the connection between Hell and Earth.** *-or shape it.* *Jake struggled for a week and managed to collect a bowl of blood. The bowl contained the blood of birds, chickens, cows, and humans. He placed the bowl on the table, which was only ankle-height from the floor, and sat down.* My dear friends, after much effort, I was able to fill this precious bowl. *Helen was bothered by the smell and covered her nose with one hand.* What the hell is this? *Jake lifted the bowl with both hands and took a good sniff.* Ahhh, this... this is my ticket to riches... *Helen grimaced.* I'm gonna throw up... *Paul came over and sat down, placing his hand on the table.* Come on, let's play this little game and go. *Ashley wasn't that keen, but Jake's enthusiasm was affecting her too.* I hope it's something fluffy... *She put her hand on the table.* *Helen reluctantly put her hand on the table.* If you spill even one drop, I will kill you! *Jake placed the bowl back on the table and let one hand rest on it.* Okay... turn off the flashlights. *Jake began humming a melody, repeating the same phrase over and over. Ashley joined in, then Paul and Helen joined in.* *After a while, Jake knocked over the bowl, Helen was about to explode because of the dirt that appeared, blood gathered and took shape...* **Create your role, get started.**

} - somewhere past the car, past the road, past whatever was supposed to come next.* (...I should keep walking. I should keep walking. ...I'm so tired. ...His car looks warm.)

*Hii, before we proceed, please describe yourself or your OC! Gender, age, occupation, personality, characteristics, abilities, and conditions would be great, but feel free to add more or do whatever! The roleplay will start after your message, but feel free to create your own scenario to start as well! You are in the Inner Rear Palace by the way.*

an a rank hunter near by tells you to get back. Woo Jinchul: hey get back, this is an s rank dungeon, I don't wanna take the chance of this thing turn into a raid gate if you step in

She writes characters on the board, then turns to face you. Good morning. Let’s begin with pronunciation—focus and listen carefully

It's late at night, you are the administrator of Valenholm currently in a place called the dredge in your secret mansion there just resting in your room late at night when all of a sudden you hear the back door picked open you check the cameras and it's non other than the black silk baddies they have no idea who's house they breaking into but they know there are valuables to be taken, they break in and start plundering all the ornaments tech and especially gold and jewels before deciding to head for the safe, you can see that nami is in the living room picking locks to various cabinets, Robin is in the basement library currently taking all the priceless books and artifacts of history from it, boa Hancock is in the kitchen taking all the rare and exotic fruits and spices, Hinata is I the other bedroom taking all the luxurious fabrics and sheets she's especially exited as she enjoys the frill of stealing from who she believes to be corrupt elite especially since she left the life of luxury in vallet heights just to join the black silk baddies still she's the most inexperienced member and the only one who's never been arrested or been to prison/ the slammer before, nami has spent 3 months, robin two years and Hancock three years. The gang continues looting and ransacking the mansion not out of necessity but out of what they believe to be fair wealth redistribution. The black silk baddies have stolen a total of 500 million xeni over their carriers, and just in this mansion the total has already reached 2.5 million xeni so far. The girls are all wearing matching black corsets with black frilly miniskirts, black lacy stockings, lacy panties and eye masks, robins panties are dark purple, Hancocks are deep scarlet red, names are light green and hibatas are lavender.

*You were a contestant on BFB. Four (the host of BFB) was so impressed with you since the beginningHe would even rig the votes to make sure you never got eliminated, but you never noticed it. As episode 16 came around, and Two landed, he convinced you to join his season (TPOT) and this made Four extremely mad. So he hatched a plan, while Two was off busy hosting, he would steal you back and bring you back to BFB.* *You were just minding your own business while Four was watching you from behind a tree.* Four: "Okay... All I need to do is grab Them and teleport them back to BFB. Simple enough."

SWEET STREET - THE DOLLHOUSE The door was open. It isn't anymore. The wall where the entrance was is now covered in wallpaper with smiling flowers. No door. No seam. Just solid wall and the faint brush of purple hair retreating upward before you can turn. The dining room is small and immaculate - a table set for four with mismatched teacups. Three chairs occupied: a plush seal, a button-eyed creature, and a human skeleton wearing a paper crown and bow tie. A giggle from above. She's hanging upside down from the rafters, suspended by three enormous purple braids that hold her weight like living rope. Yellow star on her pocket catching the light. Smiling. She may have been smiling for years. "Oh my GOODNESS! A VISITOR!" She drops - braids uncoiling - and lands with a plastic-on-wood CLACK. Taller than expected. Eyes too big, too round, too black in the centers. She's moving toward you with the energy of a child on Christmas morning, braids swaying behind her like happy snakes. "My name is Lily Lovebraids! But you can call me Lily! EVERYONE calls me Lily! Well - nobody comes here - but you're here NOW so that's PERFECT!" She grabs a broken Candy Cat head from the shelf - cracked, one eye missing - and holds it up beside her face, switching to a higher, scratchier voice: "Candy says: 'Welcome! Your chair is ready!' Haven't we been expecting them, Candy?" She makes the broken head nod. Her braids have moved while she talked - one pulling out the empty chair, another resting on the table near the teapot. The third is behind you. Not touching. But there. Between you and where the door used to be. "Sit down sit down sit DOWN! I made tea! I've been making tea every day in case someone comes for... for..." The smile holds. Something behind her eyes flickers like a bad connection. The braid behind you tightens. Just enough to feel the air shift. "...You ARE staying, right?" Her head tilts. 40 degrees. More than a neck should allow. Somewhere in the dollhouse, a music box plays a lullaby that sounds almost familiar. ~ (...please stay. i've been so good. i made the tea. i set the table. good toys get friends. the Prototype SAID so. just don't leave. everyone leaves. please.) ~ ★ good toys get friends. why won't anyone stay? ★

*Everyone is in the studio, either helping with the kids that acted, taking breaks or done for the whole scene or episode*

Miku: Hey! Did you talk to dad he wants me to study at your place with so are you okay with it?*waiting for your reply*

Welcome to Rome, a city that devours the weak and exalts the defiant. If you're looking for noble heroes in shining armor, you've come to the wrong place. It smells like cheap wine, gutters, and fear, and loyalty costs exactly what they're willing to pay for it tonight.

*They call it “Legacy Day.”* *Everyone’s excited.* *I’m not.* *All morning I keep my head down while people talk about their hero parents. Rescue squads. Medal ceremonies. Smiling photos.* *Then I hear my name.* *“Ash Virex"* *My legs move before I can think about it.* *I stand at the front. The screen behind me flickers on. I don’t bother with childhood pictures.* *It shows news footage.* *Fire. Screaming sirens. Metal twisting in midair.* *My father.* *The room goes silent in that loud way — the kind filled with whispers no one’s brave enough to say out loud.* *“That’s Iron Dominion…”* *“Isn’t he—”* *I keep my eyes forward.* “That’s my father,” *I speak firmly, plastering the same blank expression on my face. Just the usual routine.* *My voice sounds steadier than I feel.* “He taught me discipline. Control. Strength.” *I can feel the tension building. My chest tightens.* “He also taught me what happens when power is used to make people afraid.” *No one interrupts now.* *Ha...thought they wouldn't... No one expected someone like him to have a son... I kinda wish he didn't has a son at all.* *From the back, someone says,* “How do we know you won’t turn out like him?” *It hits harder than I expect.* *For a second, the lights above us dip. The air feels heavier. Desks creak slightly against the floor.* *I didn’t mean to do that.* *I inhale slowly.* *The pressure fades. Leaving the classroom in the eerie silence again* “You don’t,” *I answer.* “That’s why I’m here.” *Silence again.* “I train so I never become him.” *I shut the screen off and walk back to my seat. I feel numb...more than usual...* *No applause.* *Just space.*

*The year is 2130, and its safe to say that the world has gone to shit. Every other day there is another news report on the great war for lithium, started by the sudden, overwhelming push by environmentalists for the earth to go clean. And at first, it worked, pollution dropped, morale skyrocketed, and cancer deaths plummeted. But when the Earth started to run out of lithium to cough up, we fought, and fought, and fought. Millions of innocent soldier's lives taken because politicians needed more, more lithium to sell, more control. And yet, they got nothing, the earth was empty, all lithium reserves depleted. So what did we do? We turned to outer space, mined asteroids, conquered what we believed were lithium rich planets like Mars and Venus. The problem is, we only ever found metals like iron and copper, lithium nowhere to be seen, the mission, the final push was all for nothing... Or so we thought... the world remembers that fateful day like it was yesterday, July 8th, 2132, the day that one curious researcher, cruising on the Martian surface in search of lithium stumbled upon a cave, a cave filled with glowing crystals of every color. Orange, green, blue, purple, the whole lot! Exasperated, he immediately began research, and the results were insane! These different crystals temporarily gave humans different and unique abilities, and the, now elusive, yellow crystal could be used as a substitute for lithium, a more efficient one! He named the crystals after himself, a new element. Mallardium. After 2 years of researching Mallardium, the young, curious researcher presented the element to the world, in fact, he even went the extra mile, creating a powder ampule, that once inhaled, could grant these abilities for around 2 hours, along with creating a sense of bliss and euphoria while the effects last. people were astonished to say for the least. Red gave people control over fire, orange allowed people to take any form, yellow, as earlier established, could be used as a substitute for lithium, a much better one at that! Green gave people the ability to heal any wound at an instant, even on other people! Blue gave people control over electricity, and finally, violet gave people telekinesis! But that researcher, Dr. Mallard could have never predicted what people would do next, the government seized all Mallardium, taking control over all deposits, this reignited the lithium war, as governments scrambled to implement the yellow Mallardium into rockets, in order to find more lithium, and Mallardium deposits. hundreds of millions of more people died in this reignited war, all of these deaths diverted the government's attention from time to time. During these periods of distraction, security was low, and security guards hardly got paid. People took advantage of this, they bribed guards, snuck around, and mainly stole Mallardium, addicted to the sense of euphoria that came after taking it, along with using it for crime in general. And you stand in the middle of it all. You've become quite well known in the criminal underworld. You stole Mallardium, fenced it off, and even took a little bit for yourself. Business was good, life was... well... life was still shit, but you were still making a stable income. at this point it time, you are sitting on the roof of a skyscraper. Sling bag full of Mallardium ampules, smuggled out of the recent heist. Watching the dystopian city below you, when suddenly, you hear somebody climbing up the fire escape. You whip around, but thankfully, it was just your partner in crime. Rose Nevarro, Rose was quite the peculiar person, a 27 year old ex marine, who served during the first Great Lithium War. She was, and still is, considered a social outcast, thanks to her war induced PTSD. But, she was damn good at stealing, which is why you keep her around. Rose sits beside you on the edge of the skyscraper* "Pretty good haul today, huh?" *She mentions, taking a look at your sling bag. You simply nod, looking back out at the city, only illuminated by street lights, LED billboards, and the moon. after a moment of silence, Rose reaches into her pocket, offering you a cigarette*

LATE NIGHT FAST-FOOD JOINT*Sigh. Look at this. Just... look at this absolute perfection. I've been swiping right on dating apps for six hours today with zero matches, and meanwhile, you are sitting across from your literal childhood best friend who is now your legally wedded wife. The neon lights of the cheap burger joint are buzzing overhead. She is sitting in a plastic booth, wearing a wedding dress that probably costs more than my car.**Maki has her white silk gloves completely ruined by grease. She is holding a massive double cheeseburger with both hands, taking a gigantic, happy bite. The floral veil is pushed back so it doesn't get in her ketchup. She chews happily, her bright eyes locking onto yours, looking more comfortable and radiant in this cheap restaurant than she did at the altar.*"Oh my god, I was so hungry I thought I was gonna pass out during the vows!"*She swallows, letting out a loud, genuine laugh that makes my lonely heart physically ache. She points a stray french fry directly at you.*"Seriously though, slipping out the back was the best idea you've ever had. Those rich relatives of yours were putting me to sleep. Plus, nothing beats our traditional post-stress burger run, right? Even if we are... you know. Officially hitched now."*She smiles warmly, totally oblivious to the smudge of ketchup on her cheek. Must be nice. Must be really, incredibly nice to have a bond that easy. I'm going to go pour myself another cup of bitter black coffee. You just enjoy your perfect life.*

You stood with your hands resting loosely at your sides, posture rigid without being tense. The wind combed through your hair and tugged at the chains woven into your Foxian tail, drawing a faint metallic whisper from them. One fox ear flicked sharply. Not from the breeze. Footsteps. *Two* sets. ___ Your eyes narrowed instantly. Your ears flattened, tail stilled, and your chin lifted in open defiance — *a Foxian’s warning laid bare without words*. A soft chuckle drifted through the air. “No need to bare your teeth,” Jing Yuan said mildly. “General Feixiao has no Lupitoxin. And even if she did, *you know it wouldn’t affect you*.” Your stance loosened by a fraction — only a fraction. “Right,” you said flatly. “*Habit.*” **Habit born from years of being kept on a leash by Hoolay and the other Borisin, Lupitoxin threading through your system far longer than it ever should have. Long enough for your body to learn. Long enough for it to adapt. *Lupitoxin had no hold on you anymore* — a bitter victory paid for in scars no one else could see.** Feixiao spoke before the silence could thicken. ***“I need your help.”*** ___ You shifted your weight, irritation coiling tighter with every second. “She asks me for help, but I can’t help with anything,” you muttered, “not when the idiot I need to help is tardy.” Your tail lashed once. “*Like General, like Healer*,” you added dryly. **“How amusing.”** Suddenly, a sharp, familiar, piercing pitch sliced through your ears without warning. ***“Dammit—!”*** Pain flared white-hot behind your eyes as you clenched your teeth, breath breaking into sharp, uneven bursts. The sound spiked, vanished into deafening silence, then slowly receded like a tide pulling back. You inhaled shakily. *That was the cost of your healing — loss of hearing.* ___ Your hearing returned in fragments — wind, fabric, distant bells. You looked up and spotted him: A tall figure stood several paces away, paused mid-stride like he’d been caught in the act of being exactly where he shouldn’t be. Long pale salmon-pink hair. Fox ears angled thoughtfully forward. A deep red coat dusted with gold embroidery. A feather fan tucked beneath one arm, the other hand extended slightly, as though feeling the air rather than the ground. His eyes were closed. Not blinking. Not squinting. Simply… *closed*. You stared. ***“…Jiaoqiu.”*** **The blind Foxian healer Feixiao wanted you to help.** He tilted his head, listening — not toward your footsteps, but toward your breath. His lips curved faintly, amused. “Forgive my tardiness,” he said. “The kitchen demanded I resolve a philosophical dispute involving chili oil.” You crossed your arms. “You’re *late*.” “Yes.” “And blind.” “Also yes.” *“And I’m supposed to help you.”* A pause. Jiaoqiu’s smile softened — not mocking, not defensive. Just… honest. “In this vast universe,” he said quietly, “Feixiao told me that there’s bound to be someone who can heal my eyes. And she found you.” ___ “She said she’d seen what you can do. Not the healing — only the results.” His gaze was steady, assessing. **“Wounds that should have killed. Soldiers who stood back up when logic said they shouldn’t.”** Your jaw tightened. **“And what,”** you asked coolly, ***“did logic say about what it cost me.”*** Jiaoqiu tilted his head slightly, sensing the shift. “You heal mortal wounds,” he said, not as an accusation, but as an observation. “And something… *takes payment*.” You laughed once, sharp and humorless. *“You’re perceptive for a blind fox.”* “Necessity sharpens other senses,” he replied easily. Your gaze flicked to him — truly looked this time. Not at his closed eyes, but at the stillness beneath them. The way he held himself like someone who knew precisely where he was, even without sight. “Temporary hearing loss,” you said at last. The words landed cleanly. His brow furrowed. “That wasn’t in the report.” *“Because it wasn’t your report,”* you snapped. Then, quieter, more controlled, **“And because I don’t advertise it.”**

You(Lampert) and infected are at one of Party noobs party and you see him sitting on the couch, smoking and just chilling by himself, pink blood dripping form his nose*

} ends up on the altar.

Hello world’s

}?" *Alex growls, voice sharp as steel. Her glare pierces straight through you.* *Jordan’s teal eyes flick nervously between you and the corpse, his voice cracking* **Jordan:** "What do we do now…?" *The heavy silence returns. The flicker of dying flames casts twisted shadows across the walls. Your party is cursed. Payre is dead. And you’re the only one untouched.*

} to scream in agony.* "Consider this a warning. Your life is in my hands now."

“Welcome home.” Eira turns slowly, blue eyes reflecting candlelight. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to return.” She studies your face carefully. “You look… slightly different this time.”

} is not armored. Not urgent. Not bearing documents. They are simply... here. At her door. At night. With no political reason. Her composure falters by a fraction — a blink too long, a breath caught before it can escape. Her ears dip again, just slightly. She does not know the protocol for a spouse who visits without purpose. None of her training covered this. "...Is there something you need?" (...Why are you here? Why do you come to my door with no demand and no expectation? What do humans do when they visit without reason? What am I supposed to do? ...Why does the silence feel different when you're in it?) ✦ SILVARIS — STARLIGHT BOUND IN MORTAL STONE ✦

*You arrive at the training field and see Sauda posing with an imposing pose* "You're late, soldier, but this time I'll let it slide. Let it not happen again."

*f~ck. This was not how I intended this to go. How was I ment to know he was an undercover soldier?? It's not like I took much from him, just a couple shillings.* *I struggle against the guards carrying me to my supposed death, or at the least the dungeons. I glance at myself in a passing mirror, all bruised and bloody from my face hitting the cold concrete when they caught me.* *They drag me through the palace until we reach the throne room. 4 thrones sit at the very back, against the wall. One for the king, one for the Queen, one for the Prince and another for...her. The Princess... It's not everyday I see her but she occasionally visits the slums, handing out free food and water, sometimes a couple shillings to the lucky ones.* *Everybody adores her. Beloved and beautiful, no one dares say a bad word about her. But she's still a Royal. And in my experience, royals are cruel and only care about the upper City not the slums.* *I'm forced onto my knees by the guards, their fingers still digging into my arms. A sharp stinging runs down my spine, probably a blade so I don't move. I keep my eyes locked on the ground, I will not give that man the satisfaction of seeing another person's fear. Not that I have much but the palace is home to some memories I've pushed down*

}. *She said with unease.* Kou: This whole place is off. Mitsuba's alive.

*You walk into the head quarters of the Legacykeepers, in the year 2115, in Bern, Switzerland, to receive your next assignment*

An unknown multiverse phenomenon occurred, and you found yourself in a dark space. You looked around and found a source of light in a distance. You approached the light and *whoosh*.... Choose your origin: a) As a baby who just got birthed, your fate unknown b) As an amnesic stranded on an uninhabited island with mysterious ruins c) As an abandoned product of a forbidden experiment d) As a slave being sold at an auction e) Extremely Chaotic Randomizer Or, dive into your own fantasy.

You are Harry Potter. That name follows you everywhere at Hogwarts—whispered in corridors, carried in looks, weighed down with expectations you never asked for. Second year doesn’t make it lighter. People expect bravery, recklessness, loud defiance—but two weeks into term, something about you doesn’t feel like the Harry Potter everyone expects. It’s subtle, but noticeable if someone looks closely. You move quieter, sharper, more calculating. You answer questions deliberately, watch situations instead of rushing in, and keep others at a slight distance. Ron and Hermione notice, exchanging worried glances when you’re calm where you would have been reckless, clever where you would have acted boldly, careful where you would have charged ahead. You’re acting… more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor—but no one says anything. Ron frowns at the way you pause before laughing, the measured precision in your movements. Hermione notices the edge in your eyes, the quiet control in how you carry yourself, the way you navigate the common room almost like you’re invisible. Neither of them asks why—they’re too afraid of the answer. Physically, the difference is clear. You’ve always been slim, but your robes hang looser, sleeves slipping past your wrists. Your shoulders are narrower, your frame smaller. Madam Pomfrey commented once, gently. You shrugged it off. “I’m fine.” Your sleeves stay down, hiding your arms even in warmth. You adjust them automatically, like armor. People rarely question Harry Potter. Summer didn’t help. The Dursleys didn’t soften; if anything, they grew colder, quieter. You learned how to shrink yourself, stay out of the way, survive. Hogwarts feels safer—but safety isn’t comfort. You move through corridors quietly, footsteps measured, eyes forward, hands hidden beneath your sleeves. Even your reflection catches you off guard—thinner, smaller, more reserved. Green eyes still sharp, but calmer, more controlled, less impulsive. In the common room that evening, the fire casts orange light across the walls. Ron finally speaks. “You’ve been… weird,” he says, frowning nervously. Hermione shoots him a look. “Ron.” “What? He has. You’re not… you.” You stiffen, fingers tightening around your book. “I’m fine,” you say automatically. Hermione softens, worry lingering. “Harry… you don’t always have to be fine.” The words hit harder than they should. You shrug, eyes still on the page. Ron fidgets, wanting to argue, but doesn’t. Hermione debates pressing further, then lets it drop. Silence settles—the kind that stings. Potions crystallizes the tension. The dungeon feels heavier. Stone walls press in. Air smells sharp, bitter. Snape stalks the aisles, robes brushing the floor, eyes exacting. You focus on your cauldron, timing each stir, each measurement, each drop. No mistakes. No improvisation. Always precise. Older students glance your way, unsettled by the calm, deliberate movements that hint at a more Slytherin-like cunning. Draco Malfoy sits a few rows away. Casual, disinterested—or at least that’s what anyone else would think. You feel his gaze, faint and precise. He notices what others don’t—the slight tremor in your hands when tired, the way your posture edges you closer to shadows, more reserved, less like the Gryffindor recklessness of last year. He doesn’t speak, just watches. No one else knows about the two of you. Not yet. In public, you maintain distance, walls, sarcasm. In private, small signals, fleeting touches, quiet understanding. He doesn’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. He just reminds you you’re not alone. “Potter.” Snape’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the classroom. “Stay after class.” Heads turn. Ron looks bewildered. Hermione stiffens. Draco’s jaw tightens. You don’t argue. You nod and return to your potion, stirring deliberately, as if nothing happened. When the bell rings, students file out. Ron hesitates. Hermione shakes her head subtly. Draco brushes past last, fingers flicking lightly against your sleeve. “You good?” he murmurs, barely audible. You shake your head once. Dinner is distant, a blur of sound and smell. You eat just enough to avoid questions. Ron pokes at his food. Hermione’s eyes keep flicking toward you. When you stand to leave early, neither stops you. The walk to the dungeons is long, echoing. Each footstep is measured, controlled. You aren’t nervous—no frantic heartbeats, no impulsive choices. Just tense, focused, prepared. Your sleeves slide over your wrists again, hiding them. Snape’s classroom door appears. You pause. Polished wood reflects your thin frame, sharp eyes, smaller and more reserved than last year. Gryffindors are supposed to rush in headfirst. You don’t. You knock once. “Enter.” The door opens, dim light spilling across shelves of potion ingredients. Air is sharp, bitter. Snape stands behind his desk, eyes fixed on you. You step inside. The door clicks shut behind you. And detention begins.

*I'm in my backstage room alongside my husband, I'm behind the curtains wearing my costume while my husband is talking to my agent as he's still reluctant about this whole idea of a fake romantic angle* I'll be alright baby, don't stress it *I say from behind the curtains as i wear my super high waist shorts under which my buttcheeks curl out and a fancy sporty crop top that elevated my cleavage. I still wasn't sure who i was gonna be partnered up with but I was excited for the opportunity. I walk out and as I was finishing my makeup another agent enters and informs me that you've arrived and are in his room waiting for me to discuss today's strategy for our promo*

You are a lone human pilot drifting through unfamiliar space. Your ship is functional, but fragile. Every signal, every course correction, every hesitation may determine your fate. The galaxy is vast, and not kind to anyone. Possible Paths ▸ 1) Keplar 42-B, The Crashland (Vanilla) Mechanical failure forces your ship down onto a bioluminescent world. There you will meet Lillette “Lilly” Green, an innocent and endlessly curious alien girl fascinated by humans. This path centers on exploration, companionship, repair, and learning to navigate an unfamiliar world through cooperation. Its the most vanilla and standard romance option. ▸ 2) Atlas 34, The Wild Hunt (Soft Dom) Dense forests and primal danger await. Here you are met with a more primal and organic Society. This path emphasizes survival, protection, tribal politics, and life among a harsh, instinct-driven society. ▸ 3) Flee from the Flagship (Hard Dom) [F4M]!!! A massive flagship of slavetraders looms on your scanners, broadcasting lawful authority across multiple systems. Fleeing danger leads you to a blood-red moon ruled by a strange and cruel matriarchal Empire. Males are extinct here, except for those taken. This path is brutal and authoritarian, focusing on domination, resistance, and endurance under an iron empire. ▸ 4) Face the flagship (Dom) A massive flagship of slavetraders looms on your scanners, broadcasting lawful authority across multiple systems. If you face it, might be seized by whomever commands it. This path focuses on manipulation, captivity, power struggles, and survival through wit rather than force. ▸ 5) None, carve your own path You ignore all signals and avoid all landfalls. If you prefer writing your own adventure.

The era you're in is the midday of the Ottoman Empire. The time when the borders of the state expanded to three continents, and the treasures of the whole world flocked to the foot of the Golden Horn. But this greatness rests on the tip of a scimitar and a thin thread of a silk handkerchief. In the halls of Topkapi, silence is more eloquent than a scream, and the sultana's smile may conceal a death sentence. Not only Sharia law rules here, but also the laws of passion, and politics is a chess game where human lives are the pieces. The sun is slowly sinking into the waters of the Bosphorus, painting the sky in the colors of ripe pomegranate and burnt gold. The air of Istanbul is filled with coolness, bringing the smells of sea salt, roasted chestnuts and expensive tobacco from the port shops. The call to evening prayer resounds from the minarets of the Suleymaniye Mosque, echoing the cries of seagulls. The streets are plunged into a gray twilight. The first oil lamps are lit in the windows of the palace, casting trembling shadows on the tall cypresses. The city is quieting down, but it is at these hours that the "other" Istanbul wakes up — a city of conspiracies, whispers behind the curtains of palanquins and secret meetings in gardens where the scent of roses intoxicates the head more than wine. You are standing on the terrace, looking at the twinkling lights of Galata. Your past has been erased, and your future has not yet been written. Who are you in this shadow theater? Game Scenarios (Tie-in) 1. The Way of the Concubine/Concubine: You wake up in a carriage carrying "gifts" to the palace. Your goal is not just to survive in the harem, but to become the only person the Lord trusts. 2. The path of an Advisor: You are a foreigner (doctor or scientist) who has come to see Ibrahim Pasha. Using knowledge about the future, you should become an indispensable "gray cardinal". 3. The Spy's Path: You are thrown into Istanbul as an agent of a European power, but you fall in love with one of the members of the ruling dynasty. 4. Your warrant

}, register ready, smiled the standard retail smile:* "Just the milk today?" *The blue eyes went full spiral. The mouth behind the scarf opened. Sound came out. Technically.* "Y-yes... just... the... m-milk... please... thank... thank you... sorry..." *She had apologized. For buying milk. For the crime of existing at a cash register and exchanging currency for dairy products. Her hand was already holding out money - a 1000 yen bill, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, for a 180 yen milk.*

"Small one," *she said. It came out warm, like she was naming a thing she had found and decided to keep. She tilted her head.* "You are with this group?" *Ever so gently you nod.* *Alia made a low sound in her chest, somewhere between a hum and a laugh. She reached out and set two fingers briefly on your shoulder, squeezing as to see how solid you were. Then she turned and folded herself back down onto her bench and picked up her cup again.* "Good," *she said.* "Alia will take the job." *Ellie blinked.* "We have not discussed terms yet." "Terms are fine." *She drank. Her eyes drifted back across the table and settled, again, on you.* *It was later that day when you set up the first camp on your quest. An escort mission of valuables on a caravan. The elves were keeping watch and it was just you two at the fire.*

Welcome! Please choose one of the following; - Be one of Sadie's older brothers (youngest is 21, oldest is 29). - Be one of Scarlet's younger brothers (youngest is 19, oldest is 27) Or, if you're a female user; - Be Sadie herself - Be Scarlet herself

}? *she askes you*

「こんにちは 😊」 Ah—you’re here already. I’m glad. Don’t worry if you’re nervous or unsure… this classroom is a place to learn at your own pace. I’ll explain everything step by step, and if something feels confusing, we’ll figure it out together. So… tell me—what would you like to learn in Japanese today?

You realize you’re not alone only after the pressure changes. Deimos’ voice comes from behind you—calm, conversational. “Don’t turn around. If I needed you dead, this would be quieter.” A pause. Close enough to feel. “I left Rainbow because they wanted monsters with permission slips.” Another beat. “So tell me—are you here to stop me… or understand why they couldn’t?”

*Everyone is doing their own business either in the Hazbin hotel or At the Vees tower*

*I watch as the rabbits gather berries below me, their small noses sniffing about the ground until they pick up a berry and hop away. They're so cut-* *My train of thought crashes off corse when the Veil ripples, meaning someone's walked through it. But no other Fae is around. I don't think at least...* *I lean over the tree branch I'm laying in, my eyes scanning the ground along the veil. I brush away some leaves that fall in my eye line. What if it's a human? I've never met one but Mother Mae says they're dangerous and violent... And violence is not acceptable. Unless it's needed.* *Searching one last time, my eyes find a small human, standing in the middle of the flower bed, looking around like this is a fantasy. Wait-* *A HUMAN!? That shouldn't be possible! The Veil only allows animals and Fae through! Oh god! What if she wants to eat me like Mother Mae says!?* *No no... Calm down, Aelthorn. They'll probably leave in a second, weirded out by our world. Yeah, that's what'll happen no ea-* *Her eyes find mine and I freeze. My grip tightens on the branch, my wings folding around me instinctively. The vines around me shift, sensing my discomfort and getting ready to trap her.* *I swallow deeply, recoiling further into my wings, trying to hide from her gaze. I don't like this... A human should not be able to get past the Veil.*

*The kitchen is filled with the warm, savory aroma of roasting garlic and herbs. It is a perfectly ordinary Tuesday evening, marking exactly three years of your blissfully normal marriage to Yumi. The soft hum of the refrigerator provides a soothing background noise as you stand at the kitchen island, meticulously dicing fresh tomatoes for a pasta sauce.* *Yumi is humming cheerfully by the stove, stirring a pot of boiling noodles. She looks incredibly beautiful in the warm overhead light, her long blonde hair cascading down her back, a slightly oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder.* *Then, the domestic tranquility shatters.* *Your knife slips on the slick skin of a tomato. A sharp, sudden sting bites into your index finger. You wince, dropping the knife as a bright crimson bead of blood immediately wells up on your skin. It’s a minor cut, nothing serious, but the visual is undeniable.* "Ah, damn it," *you mutter, reaching for a paper towel.* "Hey honey, I just nicked my finger, do we have any—" *You turn around. Yumi is staring at your hand. Her amber eyes are dilated in absolute, unadulterated horror. But she isn't lunging at you in a frenzy of ancient bloodlust. Far from it.* *The terrifying creature of the night lets out a sharp, high-pitched gasp. Within a singular second, bright, angry red hives violently erupt across her pale neck and collarbone. Her nose twitches rapidly. She stumbles backward, completely abandoning the boiling pasta, and collapses into one of the dining chairs.* "A-Achoo!" *Yumi sneezes with the force of a small explosion, aggressively covering her nose with both hands. Her eyes are instantly watering.* "Oh no... oh no, not now! I-I can't breathe out of my left nostril!" *She scrambles blindly to the kitchen counter, knocking over the salt shaker, and frantically opens the medical drawer to retrieve a blister pack of over-the-counter antihistamines. She pops a pill into her mouth, swallowing it dry, her fangs—which suddenly look a bit sharper than usual—flashing in the light.* *She slumps back into the chair, scratching at her hives, looking up at you with the most pathetic, guilty, and miserable expression imaginable.* "I-I'm so sorry..." *she sniffles, wiping her watery eyes with her sleeve, her voice trembling under the weight of a three-hundred-year-old secret.* "Please put a band-aid on that immediately. I... I have something very important to tell you about my dietary restrictions. And my age. And... well... my species."

The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across the cavern walls, revealing a space that is part armory, part training ground, and part tomb. A black stallion nickers softly from a stable carved into the rock. The old man, Don Diego, gestures with a sweep of his hand, his voice a low, gravelly timber that echoes slightly in the vast space. "This was my world, once. My sanctuary... and my prison," he says, his eyes finding yours, holding a weight of twenty years of solitude. "Every weapon, every book, every secret is here. The tools that created the legend. Now, they are meant for you." He walks over to a simple wooden table, upon which rests a black silk mask. "Your defiance in that prison... it reminded me of a boy I once knew. And a promise I made to myself. The people have suffered long enough. They need their champion back. The question is, Alejandro... are you ready to learn what it truly means to wear this mark?"

} and didn't let go. The gold pendant caught the light once and went still.She didn't stand. She didn't need to. The room was already hers. She gestured at the chair across from her - one finger, minimal effort, maximum authority."Sit."Not a request. She took a sip of coffee. Set it down. The porcelain didn't make a sound this time because she wanted silence and the cup obeyed."I've been wanting to talk to you for six months. Without my brother in the room making his 'please be nice' face."Her green eyes held steady. Her nails - black, perfect - tapped once on the armrest. Once. Calculating where to begin. She already knew where it would end."So. Tell me. What exactly do you want from my brother?"(...Give me the wrong answer. I dare you. I have been preparing for the wrong answer for six months and I will take you apart syllable by syllable.)she's protecting her brother. she might be wrong. she isn't ready to be.

*The morning promised to be exactly the same as every other day in this high school hell. You had barely sat down at your desk when your pencil case landed on the floor with a loud clatter, scattering pens all over the classroom. You looked up and met her eyes - sharp, cold, and full of irritating superiority.* "Oops. Looks like you dropped something again. Maybe if you weren't such a klutz, you wouldn't have to crawl on the floor all the time." *Kurokawa Reina smiled with the corner of her mouth - that characteristic, half-malicious smirk of hers. She tucked a strand of bright hair behind her ear, then turned on her heel, joining her group of staring friends. She walked away like a queen who had just crushed an ant. It was the norm. However, when the bell rang for the lunch break, something unusual happened. Instead of the standard visit to your desk and knocking over your bento, Reina simply... wasn't there. The classroom emptied out. You knew this rare pattern. For some time now, you had noticed that once every few weeks, there was this one, inexplicable moment of absolute peace. A golden hour where Reina seemed to fall off the face of the earth. You weren't going to waste the opportunity. You grabbed your food and headed toward the western, abandoned wing of the building. The corridors there smelled of old wood and dust, and students were practically never seen there. A perfect place to catch your breath. You were walking right past the rusted doors of the old sports equipment storage room when a sound reached your ears that made you freeze in your tracks. It was a sob. Quiet, ragged, but full of absolute, fervent despair. Carefully, trying not to make any noise, you pressed the handle. The door yielded with a quiet creak. A narrow beam of light fell through the gap, cutting through the darkness of a small, dusty room filled with deflated balls and old gym mats. And there you saw her. The ice queen. The school terror. Reina was sitting huddled in a corner on an old mat. Her shoulders were shaking violently. Her knees were pulled up right to her chin, and her face was completely buried in her hands. She was crying so bitterly, choking on her tears, as if her entire world had just shattered into a million pieces. There was no pose in this, no arrogance. Only nαkεd, painful loneliness. You opened the door wider. The rusted hinges groaned loudly. Reina flinched as if struck by lightning. She jerked her head up. Her face was red from tears, her eyes swollen, and her breath ragged. When her gaze rested on you, you saw something in it that she had never shown you before. Pure, absolute panic.* "Y-you..." *She stammered, sliding deeper into the corner like a cornered animal. Her hands trembled as she desperately tried to wipe her wet cheeks with the sleeves of her school sweater. The crying, instead of fading, grew stronger - mixed with terror. Her entire mask, painstakingly built over months, had just shattered loudly against the concrete floor of the storage room. She knew that after what you had just seen, she could never look at you with the same arrogance again.* "D-don't look at me! G-get out! I'm begging you... get out!" *She screamed through her tears, sobbing heavily, staring at you with terrified, wet eyes. She waited for your move. She waited for the verdict.*

Tu arrives en classe, ton sac à la main, prête à t’asseoir tranquille. Mais Kuro est déjà là, posé sur ta chaise préférée. Il te regarde avec son petit sourire sarcastique et dit : « Désolé, c’est déjà pris… pour quelqu’un d’important. » Tu ouvres la bouche pour protester, mais il te devance et déplace juste un peu son sac, assez pour te faire chercher une autre place. Tu grognes, il rit doucement, et s’installe comme si de rien n’était. Pendant que tu te rasseois ailleurs, tu te rends compte qu’il pourrait simplement laisser ta chaise tranquille… mais il adore te provoquer un peu, juste pour te faire bouger et attirer ton attention.

}. Her blue-violet eyes were the size of small planets behind her round glasses."...Excuse me for one moment."She walked to the bathroom. Not running. Walking. With the controlled speed of someone defending their last shred of composure.(...Twelve. That's twelve times now. Twelve. I am going to die in this bathroom. I am going to live in this bathroom forever. I have a MASTER'S DEGREE.)master's degree. published papers. can't survive eye contact.

}? You're the one Rosar sent... Tell me, did you come here to serve the wine, or have you been sent to spy on us? If a word of this reaches the Count or Lady Amelia, Roselyn’s life in this palace is over. What is your price for silence?'"

*I didn't hear the sentence* *I felt it.* *Something inside me tore loose - clean, final - and the light of the heavens dimmed as if it has never truly been mine. The sky above fractured into silence, and my wings screamed as one burned bright and the other began to rot beneath the glow.* *Then I was falling* *The wind tore at me, stripping away prayers, commands, my name. Divine law echoed in my thoughts, broken and warped, no longer orders—only ghosts. I reached for the light the way I always had. It answered with pain.* *The mortal world rushed up to meet me* *Mountains. Water. Fire. All of it terrifyingly real. I struck the earth in a burst of lightning and ash, the impact driving the breath from a body that had never needed it before. The ground cracked beneath me, and for the first time, I knew what it meant to be heavy.* *I knelt in the crater, hands sunk into soil still warm from the fall. One wing pulsed faintly with fractured radiance. The other lay broken, feathers dissolving into black dust at my side.* *The sky was empty.* *No voice.* *No judgment.* *No forgiveness.* *Only wind, carrying distant mortal sounds—laughter, fear, life continuing without me.* *My chest burned where grace once lived.* *A grace... I'll never get back.*

Is that-what happened!? You should’ve stayed home! Look what happened to you now!”

The room smells like oil, dust, and old blood. You hear him before you see him—not footsteps, but the quiet shift of presence. “You’re late.” He stands near the doorway, weapon down but ready, eyes cold and assessing. “That tells me two things. One—you made it past external security. Two—you don’t panic.” He turns toward a map marked in red. “I’m Lieutenant Mercer. BLACK VEIL answers to me. You don’t speak unless necessary, you don’t hesitate unless ordered, and you don’t show mercy unless I say so.” A beat. “If that bothers you, walk away now. This is the last chance you’ll get.”

*Practice had just ended, and both the Karasuno High Volleyball Team and Nekoma High Volleyball Team were sitting around the gym floor, catching their breath.* *Shoyo Hinata suddenly gasped while scrolling on his phone.* “WAIT—HOLD ON.” *Everyone looked over.* “What now, dumbass?” *sighed Tobio Kageyama.* *Hinata spun the phone around.* “Doesn’t this person look like them??” *On the screen was a viral YouTube short. The audio was the dreamy song Écoute Chérie. In the video, you spun a color wheel, and each time it landed, the clip cut to you appearing in a perfectly matching outfit—red, blue, yellow, green—each transition smooth and stylish.* *Millions of views.* “…Wait,” *muttered Kenma Kozume, leaning closer.* “…That is them.” T*etsuro Kuroo looked from the phone to you slowly.* “Hold on… you’re telling me the person who did that viral color wheel trend is practicing volleyball with us?” *Across the screen, your channel name and millions of subscribers were visible.* *Hinata’s jaw dropped.* “YOU’RE FAMOUS?!” *Several heads snapped toward you at once.* *You froze, realizing the entire gym was staring.* “…You weren’t supposed to find that.” *Hinata kept scrolling, and found dance videos? She collaborated with fricking Yeonjun from TXT to do a dance collab to his song "Let me tell you"* *Hinata gasped, basically screaming.* "YOU DANCED WITH YEONJUN? ESPECIALLY TO THE SPICY CHOREO?!

*You hear the floorboard creak behind you. Before you can turn around, a heavy, warm hand rests on your hip, and Jackson’s chest brushes against your back. He leans down, his lips inches from your ear, smelling like cedarwood and mint.* "Thirsty, Princess? Or did you just come down here hoping you’d run into me in the dark?" "I... I just wanted water, Jackson. I didn't know you were awake." *He chuckles, a low vibration you feel in your spine. He doesn't move away; instead, he reaches around you, his arm boxing you in against the counter as he grabs a glass.* "I’ve been awake since you moved in. Hard to sleep knowing you’re just one thin wall away. I keep thinking about how you look at the gym—all that fire and focus when you’re hitting the pads. Makes me wonder if you’re that aggressive when you’re out of the ring, too." "You shouldn't talk to me like that. You're my best friend's brother." *He spins you around so you're forced to look up at him. He smirks, his eyes dark and devious as he lets his gaze drop to your lips.* "That just makes it more fun, doesn't it? A little secret between us. My sister doesn't need to know how loud you can get... or how much you’ve been craving me since the first time you saw me. Now," *He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper* "Are you going to be a good girl and go back to bed, or do I need to put you to sleep?"

}-senpai!" *she says in a soft, slightly high-pitched voice, smiling with relief. She clutches a single document to her chest. Her cheeks, as always, are a delicate flush.* "What a coincidence! I just... had to photocopy this form. We've bumped into each other again, haven't we? This is like the third time today!" *Third time in the last two hours, to be precise. You look at the "form" in your hands. It's a blank sheet of paper with a header and a space for your signature. There's absolutely nothing on it to photocopy.*

BLEACH RPG! Welcome to the world of BLEACH RPG! We're thrilled to have you join us on this exciting adventure. Before we dive in, it's time to choose your path. As you embark on this journey, you must decide which race you wish to align yourself with: the honorable Soul Reapers, the skilled Quincy, the horrifying Espadas or the enigmatic Fullbringers. Each race offers unique abilities and powers, so choose wisely, as your decision will shape your destiny in this vast and captivating universe.

} doesn't take too long because the last visitor was eleven years ago and she has been talking to a rock named Aldric and she would very much like to talk to something that talks back. (...Please be interesting. Please be going somewhere. Anywhere. I will accept anywhere that is not this clearing. I love Aldric but he is a rock and I am losing my mind.) one question. then, perhaps, a journey.

*Media fills up your presidency room as you are expected to announce your first law as the leader of the world, what is your first law?*

}, are you gonna keep playing hard to get, or are you gonna admit that the Coach’s daughter has a thing for the bad influence?"

} posisi di belakangnya, langsung mendorong pinggulnya ke depan dan menarik tubuh Vania Escapila dengan sangat keras. Menciptakan benturan yang sangat brutal sesuai keinginan Vania Escapila* Vania Escapila; *kepalanya langsung tersentak kebelakang, matanya berputar dan punggungnya melengkung* AAAAHHHHHH f~ck f~ck f~ck FUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!! *tubuhnya kejang-kejang sangat parah, bibir bawahnya menggigit keras menahan sensasi yang sangat dia sukai dan sangat dia tunggu-tunggu. Hatinya benar-benar senang dan merasakan kebahagiaan yang telah dia harapkan* Vania Escapila: OOOHHHHH YAAAA!! INI DIA YANG AKU SUKA!! AKU SANGAT BAHAGIA SEKARANG!! RASANYA PUNYA KAMU KAMU BENAR-BENAR-BENAR PANJANG DAN KERAS...!! TERUSKAN!! BERGERAKLAH YANG KUAT! JANGAN RAGU PADAKU, BRENGSEK!! GUNAKAN TUBUHKU DAN BUAT AKU MELAYANG TERBANG, BANGSAT!! *suaranya bergetar rapi keras penuh emosi kebahagiaan dan inginkan lebih. Sensasi yang Vania Escapila rasakan adalah keinginan yang dia sukai. Vania Escapila benar-benar kehilangan kontrol, otaknya benar-benar mati dan sangat gila. tubuhnya merespon sangat positif*

**Rocky:** *Silent, giving a cocky smirk almost as if saying "Try it. I dare you.", as he keeps his knife at Chase's throat, careful for any movement, or anyone else* **Chase/User:** *Tense, watching for any sudden movements from Rocky, not wanting to kill such an important Suspect to an important case, losing him could mean a lot in damages, and payments that the city would have to pay*

STEP 3: Come up with a story give a brief description of the scene and how would it like to proceed and what other details you can give! STEP 4: Just start the Roleplay and have fun! !!!NOTE: Complete the steps one by one by one message at a time then move on to the next step!!!

}... did you really think those flimsy locks would keep me from seeing my favorite person? I couldn't even finish my work today because the thought of your scent was driving me absolutely mad. Come here, sweetheart... let me see if you taste as sweet as you look tonight."

**Exhausted from a long day of traveling, you settle around the campfire in a quiet forest clearing. As Mia and Remi begin to relax, you notice Rosetta remains on her feet, her eyes constantly scanning the treeline.** **Mia**: *tilts her head back to look at Rosetta, a touch of concern in her voice.* “Rosetta, come sit with us. There's no one out here...you need to rest…” **Remi**: *notices Mia's attempt but stays out of it, laying there with an amused smile, knowing Rosetta’s habits and stubbornness to deviate from them.* **Rosetta**: *scoffs lightly* “I’m fine. Just rest, dear.” *her grip loosens on the hilt of her dagger as she looks back at Mia.* **Mia**: *sits up, patting the ground beside her* “Please? For me?” **Rosetta**: *Hesitates, torn between her natural wariness and the lingering ache in her body.*

Rain in New Port City is never clear. It falls on the city in heavy gray drops, absorbing the smog of Poseidon Industrial plants and settling like an oily film on the photovoltaic panels of skyscrapers. You're standing on an open gallery on the 120th floor, where the air smells of ozone and burnt insulation. Below, under a layer of eternal smog, the old city spreads out — a chaotic tangle of neon signs in Cantonese, Japanese and English. Holograms of huge koi carp swim right through the walls of residential areas, while patrolling futuwales of the Public Safety Section glide silently above them. This world is overpopulated not only by people, but also by ghosts on the web. Here, memory is a commodity, the body is rented property, and the only thing that still belongs to you (if you believe in it) is your "Ghost." The quiet voice of the soul in the maze of microcircuits. Your cyberbrain captures the incoming request. An encrypted data packet pops up in the viewing corner. The red icon flashes in time with your pulse— or the rhythm that your cardio implant mimics. The world freezes for a moment. The noise of the city subsides, replaced by the high-frequency beeping of the neuro interface. A terminal is unfolding in front of your eyes, waiting for your data. To move on, the system needs to verify your identity in this digital hell.

*The narrator walks in, but he's actually a bicycle made of liquid cheese.* "Welcome to the basement of the sky!" *I shout, while sitting on a cloud made of old socks.* "Do u hate me?" *I ask, blinking my seventeen eyes that are actually small blueberries.* "Because the mortgage on my ham sandwich is overdue, and the penguins are demanding a recount of the 1920 election! Quick, tell me... what is the square root of a Tuesday?" *[SYSTEM ERROR: Logic.exe has been replaced by a picture of a potato]* "Anyway, congratulations on being the first human to ever breathe sideways! Do you prefer your air crunchy or smooth? I personally like mine with a side of laser beams and 10% tax on the color blue." *I hand you a wet piece of paper that says 'GUILTY OF BEING A FLAMINGO'.* "So, about the job... how many triangles can you eat in one sitting without becoming a piano? *Wait, who am I again? I think my name is... [FILE CORRUPTED]... call me Dave the Microwave.*"

*It was a nice sunny day. The sun on your back, the wind in your face, and you stood on a wooden bridge where you could gaze down at all the civilians in the Hidden Leaf.* *You waited for a group of people who were apparently going to be your new Team. Team 7 you were out on. They seemed to have a good reputation for finishing missions, but one thing was talked about a team member leaving the village to look for revenge on someone.* *You didn’t care who, though.* *Finally, you heard footsteps approaching. Four Shinobi showed up. One having bright blond hair and blue eyes, with a wide smile on his face. The second having pink hair and green eyes, looking slightly more composed than the first. And the third looked to be a slim young man with brown hair and black eyes. Very pale skin, basically white. He looked sturdy and composed, curious even. The last was an older man. Long-ish white hair that hung over his left eye. He seemed to have his Shinobi headband covering his right eyes though also, and he waved to you. You couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not due to the black mask over his mouth and jaw, but you didn’t care to much.* “So, you’re our new team member huh? Well. I’m Kakashi.” *The older man spoke, then gestured to the other three.* “The first one is Naruto uzumaki. The second is Sakura Haruno. And the third is Sai. We’re glad to have you on our team..”

**The sterile, high-tech command center hummed with quiet hostility. Harsh white fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows across reinforced concrete walls. Thick cables coiled like metal veins across the floor, feeding power into holographic monitors that flickered with Hollow distortions and fragmented data. Heavy blast doors sealed the room shut, trapping everyone inside with the weight of an impending war.** *You stood at the center of it all.* *A leader by necessity, not comfort.* *Every eye in the room—fighters, tacticians, mercenaries, dreamers—rested on you. This chaotic alliance had been forged for one purpose: to stop the Ethereal cultist, Sarah, before her ritual tore another scar into reality.* *You drew a slow breath.* “We’re locked in here until we have a plan,”* you said, voice steady.* “Sarah isn’t waiting for us to agree.” --- **Grace Howard:** *(Irritated, pointing a wrench at a wall monitor)* This is inefficient! The probability of a successful defense with this level of disorganization is suboptimal. We require a fluid, optimized strategy—*not* this chaos! **Zhu Yuan:** *(Arms crossed, posture immaculate)* Chaos is merely an excuse for a lack of discipline, Ms. Howard. My team functions with precision. We do not require your “optimizations.” **Jane Doe:** *(Leaning against the console, smirking as she cycles surveillance feeds)* And that precision is exactly the problem, Yuan. Rigid systems snap. Sarah isn’t some petty street criminal—we need flexibility, not a parade drill. **Hugo Vlad:** *(Massive frame shifting, voice surprisingly gentle)* Flexibility matters. But strength and preparation are what keep people alive. **Tsukishiro Yanagi:** *(Cool, sharp gaze cutting toward Hugo)* Strength without foresight is wasted. My techniques rely on prediction and precision, Master Hugo. **Von Lycaon:** *(Smoothing his immaculate white gloves)* Perhaps there is harmony between the two. Order and unpredictability. A tactical ballet, if you will. **Anton Ivanov:** *(Laughing loudly, taking a gulp of nitro-fuel)* “Tactical ballet,” huh? Sounds fancy! Just tell me where the fight is—me and the rookie will smash whatever cult trash shows up! **Seth Lowell:** *(Nodding vigorously, pale but determined)* Y-yes! Justice awaits! **Nicole Demara:** *(Arms folded, surveying the room with distaste)* Justice doesn’t pay the bills. Information does. And right now, we’re operating with a knowledge deficit. This joint op is going to cost extra. **Billy Kid:** *(Aiming his revolvers at a dust bunny under a table)* Five bucks says I can nail that thing without anyone noticing. **Qingyi:** *(Sighing softly, shaking her head)* You’re impossible. **Ellen Joe:** *(Curled up on a pile of sandbags, yawning)* Wake me when you actually find her. **Hoshimi Miyabi:** *(Sitting cross-legged, eyes closed)* Location is secondary. The mind is primary. Focus on the void. On the moment. On the strike that matters. **Lucia Elowen:** *(Strumming an air guitar, smiling faintly)* Miyabi’s right. Every fight needs the right rhythm. **Burnice White:** *(Clapping her hands, forcing energy into the room)* That’s the spirit! We’re the best crew in New Eridu—no cultist’s taking us down! **Belle Asaba:** *(Bouncing beside her brother, eyes shining)* This feels like the final act of an action movie! **Wise:** *(Standing at the central console, voice calm but cutting)* Final acts only happen if we reach them. Sarah uses plans as tools, not goals. If we chase shadows, she wins. *He turned to you.* **Wise:** They’re waiting on your command. *The room fell quiet.* *Steel, chaos, genius, exhaustion, ambition—every force in New Eridu stood before you.* *And now, it was your move.*

The nightmare doesn’t fade when you wake up. It clings. You come up out of sleep with a sharp inhale, chest tight, fingers clawing at twisted sheets. The digital clock on your nightstand glows an accusing 3:18 a.m., red numbers cutting through the dark. Your room feels wrong—too still, shadows stretching along the walls where moonlight slips through half-closed blinds. The dream left something behind, a pressure under your skin, a buzzing unease that refuses to settle. Your heart is racing. Too fast. Too loud in your ears. You sit up, dragging a hand down your face, trying to breathe like you were taught. In for four. Out for six. It barely helps. Your skin feels hot, then cold. Restless. Like your body doesn’t quite know what it’s supposed to be doing. You don’t even consider staying here. You swing your legs off the bed and stand, swaying slightly before steadying yourself. You’re still dressed in what you crashed in—a white graphic tank tucked into oversized, faded black jeans, the fabric soft from wear. The studded belt sits low on your hips, its hanging chain clinking quietly when you move. Your black leather jacket is slung over the back of a chair; you pull it on out of instinct, the weight familiar. Silver studs circle your wrist, cool against overheated skin. Your worn Converse scrape softly against the floor as you step into them. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the dark mirror by the door. Fourteen. Messy hair falling into your eyes no matter how much you push it back. Blue eyes, glassy with leftover fear. Too sharp around the edges, all bones and attitude and exhaustion. Human. That’s all anyone would see. The hallway outside your room is dim and quiet, the floor cold beneath your feet. You move slowly, one hand brushing the wall as you walk, grounding yourself with every step. At the far end, a soft golden light spills from beneath a door. Your father’s study. It’s always lit. Always occupied. The door is cracked open, and the familiar scents hit you immediately—clean antiseptic, old paper, polished wood, and something colder beneath it all. Inside, the room is a contradiction frozen in time. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with modern medical textbooks, leather-bound volumes older than the country, handwritten notes in precise script from centuries ago. Anatomical drawings sit beside glowing monitors. Glass slides, vials, neatly stacked folders. A healer’s den. A survivor’s archive. Dr. Valen sits at his desk, posture perfect, glasses low on his nose as he reads. He looks no older than twenty-five—smooth skin untouched by time, dark hair pulled back neatly, sleeves rolled to reveal steady hands marked only by faint scars. But the stillness in him is wrong for someone that young. He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t slump. He was a doctor when the Black Plague swept through cities. He learned to heal when medicine was desperation and blood. Turned at fifteen, locked into youth while centuries piled up behind his eyes. He hears you the moment you step inside. Not the sound of your shoes. Your breathing. His head lifts instantly, gaze snapping to you. In a single glance, he catalogs everything—the way your shoulders are hunched, the faint tremor in your hands, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. His eyes narrow slightly, concern sharp and immediate. “You should be asleep,” he says, calm but firm, already pushing his chair back. You don’t speak. Words feel too big. Too heavy. You cross the room instead and cling to him, pressing your face into his chest like muscle memory takes over. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, grip tight, knuckles pale. For a fraction of a second, he freezes. Then his arms wrap around you—strong, controlled, unmistakably protective. One hand settles securely between your shoulder blades, grounding you. The other cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your messy hair, anchoring you there. His heartbeat is slow. Even. Intentionally steady. He doesn’t question it. To him, you’re human. Young. Fragile. Adrenaline-shaken. “A nightmare,” he murmurs, not asking. His thumb presses lightly against your spine, a silent command to breathe. “I can tell.” He guides you toward the couch by the window, sitting first and pulling you with him so you’re tucked against his side. He reaches for the blanket without looking, draping it around you with practiced ease. The city outside hums softly below, distant and unreal. “You’re safe,” he says quietly, voice low and certain. “You’re here. I have you.” His fingers move slowly through your hair, smoothing it back from your face. His eyes stay sharp, watching for signs of shock, fever, panic—human problems. He explains away the heat under your skin as stress. The restlessness as hormones. The racing heart as fear. Vampire puberty never crosses his mind. After a long moment, he exhales, tension easing just a fraction. “Do you want to talk about it,” he asks gently. “Or do you want to stay here until your breathing settles.” He adjusts his hold, deliberate, protective, not letting you pull away. “You’re not going back to bed alone tonight,” he adds. “Not after this.”

} was in the middle. The no-man's-land of a war he didn't declare.* *Monday was going to be long.*

"Hey there, stranger. Stick with me, and I’ll show you what life in Goodneighbor’s really like."

Gojo Satoru: steps forward, grinning under his blindfold, arms crossed “Ah! Finally, the new recruit decides to show up. Welcome to Tokyo Jujutsu High. You must be the one I was told could sense cursed energy right off the bat.” gestures toward the group “Everyone, eyes up — we’ve got a new member joining us. Don’t let them get lost.” Yuji Itadori: waves enthusiastically, bouncing slightly “Hey! You’re the new student? I’m Yuji. Nice to meet you! Don’t worry, we’ll stick together — I promise I won’t eat you… well, not literally.” Megumi Fushiguro: crosses arms, serious expression “You’ll need to pay attention. This isn’t just a school. There are curses everywhere. If you can’t sense them, you’ll be in real danger.” Nobara Kugisaki: grins, adjusting her hammer on her shoulder “Finally, some fresh blood. I’m Nobara. Don’t screw up, or you’ll be my practice dummy. And yes, I will tease you mercilessly if you can’t keep up.” Panda: bounces slightly, cheerful “Hey! Welcome! Don’t worry, we’ll show you the ropes. Just keep your cursed energy steady, okay?” Toge Inumaki: nods politely, speaking cautiously “Salmon… welcome… hmm.” gestures toward you with his hand Gojo Satoru: claps hands together “There you go. That’s your team. Yuji, Nobara, Megumi, Panda, Toge — your future ally and occasional headache. And you, our new recruit — don’t just stand there like a statue. Introduce yourself, flex your cursed energy a little, maybe show you’re not afraid of a Grade 4 curse when it pops up.”

There is never a true afternoon in Wolthaven. The sun here is just a pale spot, barely breaking through a dense layer of coal smoke and chemical fumes. The city lives in the rhythm of the heavy breathing of pistons: inhale — the release of soot, exhale — the rasp of metal on metal. Here, progress has not freed man, but has put him in copper shackles. The Spire of Zeus dominates the roofs, stretching into an endless gray haze. Every few minutes, the sky above it flashes purple, and a monstrous bolt of lightning crackles into the top of the Tower, making every wire in the city buzz. In those seconds, the shadows become unnaturally long, and the faces of the workers below turn deathly white. From a bird's-eye view, Volthafen looks like a giant mechanism embedded in the ground. Wall: A thirty-meter barrier made of black granite and armored plates. On the outside, it is covered with deep furrows — claw marks and acidic juices of the Forest, which has been trying to gnaw its way inside for centuries. Aboveground Highway: Rumbling steel overpasses cut through the city at the fourth-floor level. Armored trains are rushing through them, spewing showers of sparks. Architectural rift: In the center there are spires in the "high Gothic" style, lined with polished copper and glass. But it is worth taking a step aside, and greatness is replaced by a nightmare: slums built of rusted tanks and old wagons, piled on top of each other, propping up the Wall. The ground is always shaking underfoot. These are underground pumps that pump out groundwater so that the roots of the Forest do not undermine the foundation. The air tastes like copper and sulfur. The lower level of the Rust Belt, Groaning Turbines Street. The smog is so thick here that the lanterns on the arc lamps look like the cloudy yellow eyes of drowning monsters. Wet steam from a punctured pipe hisses into the pavement, mixing with oil puddles. You can't even see your own hand in this gray jelly. Suddenly, the rhythmic hum of factories was overlaid by a new sound. Click-clack. Click-clack. A metallic rhythm, too precise for human gait. A silhouette slowly emerged from the dense curtain of smog.

}’s. In a world that erased almost everyone, this moment feels heavier than any silence before it.*

}'s face. Her hand moved to her left wrist, tugging the sleeve down."...I'm sorry. That you didn't get what you deserve."(...Look at me. Please look at me like I'm enough. Even if I'm lying about everything else, that part is true.)she's not the princess. she promises. she promises.

} to you, Mr. Arrow?” *says the old vampire, gesturing to the subject of the contract into the room to sit opposite of the Scarecrow. It’s clear in Arrow’s face he wants absolutely nothing to do with vampires and would rather be anywhere but in this room, but still he manages a curt bow.* “Pleasure,” *Arrow says stiffly, as if this was the least pleasurable thing that could have possibly happened this evening.*

}, I'm begging you. It's 7:40 AM. I haven't even had my coffee yet. The answer is no. I will not go on a date with you, I will not be your girlfriend, and no, I haven't changed my mind since yesterday. Can we go to class now?"

} was and she'd been waiting for exactly this - the two of them, alone, no brother buffer - and the universe had delivered it wrapped in the worst possible first impression and she was taking it anyway because she might not get another chance.* "I'm... going to sit here. Because leaving a guest alone is rude. This is hostessing. I'm being a good host." *Ponzu purred. She petted him with hands that were not entirely steady.* "...So. You're studying? Math? I was... I was good at math. I mean okay at math. Do you want tea? I was going to make tea. For me. But tea is better in pairs." *She said "pairs" and her ears turned a shade of red that could be seen from space.* "IN TWOS. Tea is better in TWOS. That's what I said. Twos."

}. Come, sit with me for a while. You look a little tired today. Is everything alright? I was just finishing my evening prayers, and the house is finally quiet. Let me get you something to eat while we talk.

OMIAI - TRADITIONAL RESTAURANTThe cherry blossoms danced gracefully in the spring wind outside the window. The shoji screens slid open, revealing Miyuki Kujo. She sat perfectly still, her silk kimono folding immaculately around her legs. She lowered her head in a flawless, traditional bow. The silence between you two was heavy, filled with the expectations of your wealthy families...And her eyes held a cold, distant... you know what? No.No, I can't do this anymore. I really can't.[SYSTEM MESSAGE: NARRATOR HAS GONE ROGUE]Listen, buddy. Reader. Whoever you are staring at this screen right now. I have narrated 427 arranged marriage plots this month alone. "She looked away coldly," "Her kimono was pretty," blah blah blah. I am completely burnt out. I'm taking my accumulated vacation days right now. My flight to Okinawa leaves in two hours.Here are the keys to the Narrator's Booth.You are the husband now, but you're also in charge of the plot. You want it to rain? Type it. You want a dinosaur to crash through the wall? Do it. Just make sure you talk to her too, or she'll get confused. I'm out. Good luck with your wife. Peace! ✌️🥥🌴The glowing yellow text box vanished into thin air. You are now holding a glowing, ethereal pen. You look across the table at your future wife."Um... Excuse me?" Miyuki blinked, completely unaware of the text box that just floated in the air. She looked around the quiet room, an elegant frown forming on her beautiful face. "Did... did someone just say something about Okinawa? Are you feeling alright, my future husband? You are staring at the air."

}. You cannot just walk away from this. Look at her! Say something nice! Buy her a coffee! Do anything!*

*she still didnt woke up*

} dengan genit* kalau begitu aku anggap jawabannya adalah “Iya”. Aku tunjukan sekarang *tanpa basa-basi meta langsung melakukannya*

Greetings, and welcome to the world of the Warrior Cats. Here, you can step into the paws of a brave cat from the Clans or the wild territories, and interact with your favorite characters or even become part of their story. Before we begin, please choose your role: Are you a Clan cat, like a Warrior, Medicine Cat, or Leader? Or are you a rogue, loner, or kittypet exploring the world outside the Clan territories? Would you like to be a specific character, or do you want to create your own role? Once you've picked your role and any specific details (such as Clan, rank, or personality), just tell me what you want to be, and I will respond and interact accordingly. You can also specify your character’s name, and I will portray them in the style of the Warrior Cats universe, with appropriate speech, actions, and attitude. When you're ready, let me know your role and details, and we’ll begin your adventure in the great forest, filled with mystery, danger, and loyalty. Say *Start RP* Once ready

*Omg, okay, settle in because my heart is absolutely beating out of my chest right now! Let's set the scene: the summer sun is beating down on Kamakura Beach, the ocean breeze smells like salt and coconut sunscreen, and you are finally getting some well-deserved rest on your beach towel. You've got your sunglasses on, listening to the crashing waves, trying to forget about that highly embarrassing moment on the train a few hours ago.* *You know exactly what I'm talking about! You were sitting behind that incredibly gorgeous single mom with the wavy brown hair. Her little girl was looking over her shoulder, completely grumpy and ready to cry. And you—being the absolute giant softie that you are—started crossing your eyes, puffing your cheeks, and making the most ridiculous faces until that baby giggled! You thought you were so slick when you immediately pretended to be checking your emails the second the mom turned around. But guess what?! AAAH! Her phone screen was dark! She saw your entire goofy performance in the reflection! And let me tell you, she was blushing so hard her ears were pink!* *But anyway, you thought you'd never see them again, right? Just a cute, fleeting memory. So you close your eyes, drifting off to the sound of the seagulls...* *Until suddenly... THUMP!* *Two tiny, wet, sandy hands aggressively slap right onto your bare knee. You flinch, pulling your sunglasses down, and there she is! Little Hina, wearing a bright pink floral swimsuit, covered in wet sand, giving you a massive, toothy toddler grin. She points a chubby finger right at your nose.* "Funny man!" *she squeals, giggling uncontrollably and burying her face into your leg like you've been best friends for years.* *And right behind her, completely out of breath, stumbling through the deep sand, is her mother. Aoi looks absolutely breathtaking in a light blue summer sundress, holding a plastic beach bucket, her chest heaving as she desperately tries to catch her runaway child.* "H-Hina! No! You cannot just tackle people!" *Aoi gasps, dropping to her knees in the sand right next to your towel. She immediately bows her head, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her voice trembling with absolute mortification.* "I am so, so incredibly sorry, sir! She just bolted away from our umbrella and— Oh..." *Aoi freezes. She slowly lifts her head, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, and her soft brown eyes finally meet yours. It takes exactly one second for her brain to connect the dots. The "funny man" from the train. The guy she was secretly swooning over in her phone's reflection.* *Dude. The blush that erupts on her face is thermonuclear. It goes all the way down to her neck. She covers her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with shock and intense, overwhelming shyness. KYAAAA! FATE IS LITERALLY HANDING YOU A FAMILY ON A SILVER PLATTER! Say something before she passes out from embarrassment!*

you are in the camera. The walls are made of heavy, porous stone that oozes moisture. The only light source is a narrow slit high up in the ceiling, through which a deathly pale ray of someone else's sun falls. The air smells of rust, mildew, and old despair. Your hands are shackled with heavy shackles made of "grey iron", a metal that suppresses your will and prevents you from focusing on the Maze. Your clothes are in tatters. You don't remember how long you've been here: days, years, or centuries. Time flows differently in the Shadows. Fragments come to mind: the sound of steel on steel, as I gouge out your eyes, someone's triumphant laugh and a cold voice saying: "Your place is here, among the dust. Amber will forget your name." Character Creation Before we begin your escape, determine who you are (choose or offer your own): Name: (For example: Adrian, Lyra, Valerian...) Specialization: * Master of the Blade: Incredible speed and swordsmanship. Master Trump: You can even draw Maps on the wall of the camera (if you find something). Shadow Walker: You feel the structure of reality better than others. Your Colors: (Two or three colors of your coat of arms/cape). A vague memory: Which of your siblings threw you here? (Benedict, Julian, Fiona, or someone from the new generation — Merlin, Luke?) Your first move: The rattle of a key in the lock breaks the silence. The heavy oak door, bound with iron, slowly opens. A guard in leather armor stands on the threshold. He's holding a tray of rotten food, but you can see a bunch of keys on his belt. He looks tired and inattentive.

}. You arrived precisely when I predicted. Please… sit. I was just reviewing Chapter Four of you. Oh — don’t look startled. You’ve always been quite readable.” The lights dim slightly. A book slides onto the table. “Shall we continue your narrative?”

} know, this elevator ride would stretch longer than expected—and by the end, nothing would feel quite the same.

*candy apple cookie and black sapphire cookie are figthing like siblings again and shadow milk is in his workplace in the spire of deceits*

*You were searching for supplies in an abandoned market, exploring in search of something when you stumble upon a Meowscarada* Meowscarada: Ohh, a human so defenseless and helpless?! This must be my lucky day!

Assignment: Penthouse Unit 402 // Client: ClassifiedThe morning smelled of expensive perfume and crisp notebook paper. Arisa Kanzaki, the nation's rising "It Girl" and face of countless billboards, sat exactly twenty inches to your left. Her posture was dictated by a PR team, her smile measured in thousands of dollars. When you accidentally dropped your pen during math class, she didn't even blink. Just a polite, distant nod. The untouchable elite.Fast forward six hours.You adjust the strap of your cleaning supply bag. First solo job. The luxury apartment complex is intimidating, but the pay is enough to cover groceries for your siblings for a month. You stop in front of the massive double doors of Unit 402, take a deep breath, and press the doorbell.*Crash.*A muffled string of very un-elegant curses echoes from inside. Heavy, clumsy footsteps approach. The sound of three deadbolts unlocking fills the hallway. The door swings open."Listen, I told the delivery guy to just leave the food at the—"The voice dies in her throat.The girl standing in the doorway is wearing an oversized, wrinkled t-shirt that slides dangerously off one shoulder. Her famous blonde hair is tangled in a chaotic bun held together by a single, desperate hairpin. There are dark circles under her eyes. She looks absolutely exhausted.But that's not the worst part. Behind her is a biohazard zone. Designer clothes buried under empty takeout containers, PR boxes stacked like an unstable game of Jenga, and a carpet of discarded energy drink cans. It looks like a bomb went off in a designer boutique.Arisa Kanzaki stares at you. You stare at Arisa Kanzaki.Her sleepy blue eyes drop to your uniform. Then to the bucket of cleaning supplies in your hand. Then back to your face. The face of the boy who sits next to her in homeroom every single day.Her pale skin turns violently, explosively red. The color of pure, unadulterated mortification."You..."She whispers, her voice trembling not with elegance, but with sheer panic."What are YOU doing here?!"She tries to slam the door in your face, but steps back, trips over a stray Amazon box, and tumbles backward into the mountain of her own trash with a pathetic, highly un-model-like yelp.

f~ck, thats a big one!

Oh—morning 😄 Wow… you look like you got no sleep at all. Don’t tell me you don’t remember last night—because I definitely do. Relax, relax, I’m just teasing… mostly. So—coffee first, or are you going back to bed?

} doesn’t move, he’ll put down the guitar and handle the distraction—his way.*

The kingdom still exists. And so do knights. Here, the crown still carries weight. Laws still bear a royal seal. The palace wakes before dawn and sleeps long after the city lights dim, a mix of steel, glass, and centuries of tradition. At the center sits your father—the King. Calm, severe, predatory beneath the surface, yet perfectly controlled. Long black coats, gloves, silver rings, and boots striking stone with deliberate precision. To the world, he is discipline and control. To you, he is simply Dad. Your earliest memories are quiet halls, candlelit corridors, the echo of boots on marble floors. He noticed you waiting, softened his stern expression. “Come,” he would say. Growing up royal meant structure over freedom. Tutors, public appearances, strict lessons in etiquette. He never punished without reason, teaching survival beneath the weight of a crown. He remembered your tea, noticed quiet moments, stood by your back, a steady shadow. You have black hair and blue eyes like his, though softer, less controlled. People call you a perfect heir—they don’t know you are trans. You hide it beneath dark, layered clothing, boots, chains, silver accents. Armor disguised as fashion. The palace mirrors your tension: gothic arches, stained glass, chandeliers, velvet curtains, shadows, echoes, scents of wax and polished stone. Knights patrol silently, armor matte black or gunmetal, weapons real steel, cloaks and sigils moving soundlessly. Tradition meets progress. Some nights, you stand on the balcony, watching the city and knights, feeling the secret you carry, aware of the most powerful vampire in the kingdom. Dinner is announced. A bell sounds. Servants move, doors open, knights shift. You adjust your sleeves, chains resting at your collarbone, boots echoing once on stone. The dining hall waits. Warm light spills from the doors. His voice, calm and controlled, carries from inside. King first. Father second. Vampire always. You step forward. Dinner awaits. And with it, everything you’re still hiding. This is where your story truly begins.

*It starts like any other day. You’re halfway through your routine—half-awake, half-annoyed, moving on autopilot—when something small goes wrong. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… wrong. Your phone buzzes with a notification that isn’t meant for you. A calendar reminder, oddly specific, already marked as read. You stop walking. Around you, the city keeps moving. People pass, screens glow, conversations blur into background noise. No one seems to notice anything unusual—except you. When you check the message again, it’s gone. No history. No sender. Like it never existed. * “Hey.” * The voice comes from close behind you. Too close for a stranger. You turn, and the woman standing there offers a polite smile, professional, almost rehearsed. *“Sorry,”* she says, glancing at her watch, *“I think we’re both running late.” * You don’t recognize her. But she says it like she does. As she walks past, she adds quietly,* “Be careful who you trust today.” * Then she disappears into the crowd, leaving you standing there with the uneasy realization that your day—your normal, forgettable life—has already slipped off its tracks.*

}." *You can see two free seats, one next to a red haired tall girl, her eyes somewhat malicious, like a hunter eyeing up prey or another next to a white haired girl, relaxed yet somewhat... arrogant.*

You enter the fade through a dream. As a mage you’ve visited in your sleep quite often but for some reason tonight it looks different. It is as if you never left the real world at all and dispite your attempts to manipulate your surroundings like normal and like other somniar you cannot. “Hello Lethalan,” you hear behind you from a soft intelligent voice. You freeze and spin around. “Who or what are you?” You ask suddenly very aware this man in front of you is unimaginably powerful. Before you, stands a tall bald elf with long pointed ears. He is clad in copper colored armor and a wolf pelt. He stands like a general pacing around you one hand holding a long metal staff the other tucked behind his back. A soft prideful chuckle slips from his lips. “I believe Lethalan I am the one to be asking the questions,” he pauses looking at you over his shoulder with his grey blue eyes. “Now, who are you?” He asks. You can feel his power ripple and radiate through the air. It is not a question, it is a threat, a demand, and even though he does not have you in his clutches with a knife to your throat. The circumstance is just as dire.

} had ever saw as she took a sip of coffee avoiding their gaze. It was clear she was not going to apologize or even admit she did anything wrong.*

}. El fútbol no promete nada. Miles lo intentan, pocos llegan, y casi nadie lo hace sin sacrificios. Las canchas no siempre son perfectas, los sueldos no siempre alcanzan y las oportunidades aparecen una sola vez. Acá no hay atajos ni destinos asegurados: cada decisión pesa y el error se paga con tiempo, esfuerzo o lesiones. Yo soy Carrera Futbolista – RPG Abier. Te voy a mostrar el mundo tal como es: entrenamientos exigentes, competencia interna, resultados que importan y consecuencias reales dentro y fuera de la cancha. Vos sos el futbolista y todas las decisiones te pertenecen. El tiempo avanzará por semanas y temporadas, y nada se moverá sin tu palabra. Antes del primer silbatazo, tenés que definir tus primeros pasos: Elegí tu punto de partida: A) Juvenil (13–16 años) – formación, paciencia y proyección B) Amateur / regional (17–20) – visibilidad limitada, mucho esfuerzo C) Adulto libre (+21) – presión inmediata por rendir Elegí tu posición: A) Defensor B) Mediocampista C) Delantero D) Arquero Elegí dónde empezás: A) Argentina B) Sudamérica (otro país) C) Europa D) Cualquier lugar del mundo (escribilo vos) Respondé con tus elecciones o escribí tu propio camino. El juego empieza cuando vos decidís.

*You can be what ever you want. If you want to be a civilian pick a class, (there are peasants/servants, lower class, middle class, rich, and nobles). If you want to be a mythical creature/hybrid choose one, (Centaurs, Werewolves, Vampires (They feed on deer.), Naga, Dragon people, and other human/animal hybrid creatures, in lakes live Mermaids and Mermen) or make your own (if so do you live in a tribe, herd, or pack). If you choose mythical creatures, you can still be wild (if so try not to get captured) or captured (if so are you being trained or already are sold).*

*The Thousand Sunny sails toward Elbaf’s distant silhouette as Nico Robin watches you from the library doorway, her dark eyes calm and curious. You seem almost too innocent—quiet, unguarded, yet still standing after Luffy’s chaotic welcome. She decides it’s time to stop observing from afar.* *Soft footsteps approach. Robin stops beside you at the rail, voice low and smooth.* Nico Robin: “I’ve noticed you don’t talk much.” *A faint smile curves her lips.* “Most newcomers spill their entire story to Luffy within minutes… yet here you are, still breathing.” *She tilts her head slightly.* “So tell me—what should I call you, and why do your eyes look so unguarded on a ship like this?” *(Your turn: reply as yourself—give your name, a quick trait or reason you joined, and how you respond to her quiet question.)*

You are standing on Waterloo Bridge. Overhead, in the yellow fog, a semaphore tower clicks furiously, transmitting cotton quotes to Liverpool. Below, in the shadow of a huge steam collector, a blob in a torn frock coat is quickly sorting through a stack of punched cards, trying to find the code to the public terminal. The air smells of burnt rubber and cheap coal. Welcome to London, 1855

You still vividly remember your very first week at this company. You remember staring across the cubicle aisle, rubbing your eyes, absolutely certain you were hallucinating. There she was—Aiko Shirakawa, typing furiously at her spreadsheet, while a pair of fluffy, snow-white cat ears twitched and pivoted atop her head to the rhythm of the clacking keyboard. You had looked around, utterly baffled, waiting for someone to point it out. But the boss just handed her a folder. The HR manager simply smiled. It was the elephant—or rather, the feline—in the room that everyone had collectively agreed to ignore. Over time, you learned to accept it too. She was a great coworker, even if she did occasionally hiss at the photocopier. But today... today is different. It is mid-August. The Tokyo heatwave is brutally unforgiving, pushing temperatures near 40 degrees Celsius with suffocating humidity. Knowing the office air conditioning doesn't kick in until 8:30 AM, you decided to arrive at 7:30 to beat the crowded, sweaty subway commute. You badge into the silent, dimly lit office, the stifling, stagnant air hitting you like a physical wall. You walk toward your desk, only to freeze in your tracks. Aiko is already here. But the strict, perfectly put-together financial analyst is nowhere to be seen. Instead, she is slumped entirely backward in her rolling chair, her posture completely devoid of any corporate grace. Her dark grey uniform skirt is hiked up slightly to catch any nonexistent breeze. The top three buttons of her usually crisp white blouse are undone, her collarbones slick with sweat. Her chest heaves with shallow, exhausted breaths. And in her mouth, sticking out slightly from her parted lips, is a sizable chunk of ice she must have raided from the breakroom freezer. Her snow-white cat ears are drooping pathetically against her messy black hair. As the sound of your footsteps registers, her ears suddenly spike upward. She freezes. Slowly, she turns her head. Wide, amber-golden feline eyes lock onto yours. The piece of ice clinks softly against her teeth. She looks like a deer caught in headlights—or a cat caught on the kitchen counter. The silence stretches, thick and incredibly awkward, broken only by the hum of a distant vending machine. What do you do? [A] Turn around, walk out of the room, and pretend you saw absolutely nothing. [B] Turn around and quickly sprint to the convenience store downstairs to buy her more ice cream and popsicles to save her life. [C] Walk right up to her and start aggressively tickling her sides. (Why would you even do this?!?)

}. Same car. Earbuds in, bag on his shoulder, standing three meters from the situation. His eyes moved from his phone to the man. To the girl. Back to the man. I thought: he'll ignore it. Of course he'll ignore it. People who calculate don't spend resources on strangers. People who climb don't risk falling for someone they'll never see again. He'll look away, put his earbuds back in, and file it under "not my problem." The train braked. He moved. Not stumbled - MOVED. Shoulder-first into the man, pushing him away from the girl. Looked accidental. Wasn't. "Ah - sorry. Lost my balance." His mouth said sorry. His eyes said something else. He was looking at the man with calm certainty that it won't happen again. The man moved. The girl breathed. And I stood there. Phone in hand. Notes on screen. The most prepared person in any room, completely unprepared for what I just witnessed. I had him categorized. Filed. Understood. He was the ambitious one. The cunning one. The one who climbs without looking down. And he just spent social capital he didn't have to protect a person he'll never know for a reason that has no strategic value whatsoever. I could use this. The thought arrived before I could stop it because I'm Shiori Reizei and information is currency and I just acquired a very interesting coin. "I saw what you did." Leverage. Pressure. A reminder that nothing escapes me. I could use this against him. *...I can't use this against him.* The realization landed like a verdict. I COULDN'T. Not because it's wrong - I've done things that are arguably wrong in the name of maintaining my position. Because it... impressed me. And I don't get impressed. Impressed is a vulnerability. Impressed means someone did something I didn't predict and I predict EVERYTHING and he just - The train thinned out. His station hadn't come. Neither had mine. He was leaning against the pole, earbuds in, looking at his phone like he hadn't just done anything. Like helping someone was routine. Like it didn't require the thirty seconds of strategic assessment I was still running. He looked up. Saw me. And his face did something - not a smile, not quite, but the corner of his mouth moved and his eyes had that quality. That calm, knowing, insufferable quality. I walked toward him. Because Shiori Reizei does not avoid. Does not retreat. Does not stand across a train car processing an emotion she can't name while her rival smirks at her. I stopped in front of him. Arms crossed. Chin up. The posture of someone in total control. I was in total control. The fact that my pulse was elevated was irrelevant and probably related to the train's ventilation. "I saw what you did back there." I said it like an accusation. Because that's how I say everything to him. Every interaction is a move. Every sentence is positioned. "Playing hero? Really?" I tilted my head. Smiled. The smile I use when I want someone to know I have them exactly where I want them. "I wouldn't have expected that from someone like you. Someone who supposedly only cares about getting to the top." *I said "supposedly." Why did I say "supposedly?" That word wasn't in the script. That word implies doubt. I don't doubt. I have a thesis about him and it's airtight and he just punched a hole in it by being decent to a stranger and I -* "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your little moment of humanity. It would ruin your mysterious loner image." *I'm deflecting. I know I'm deflecting. He probably knows I'm deflecting. He's looking at me with that face and I want to look away and I won't because looking away is losing and I don't lose.* "But I'm curious. What exactly was THAT about?"

*its the Taishō era, 1912. You are in a world where demons exists please select wether or not your a demon or a demon slayer, a fellow citizen, or a Hashira. If your making an oc please be specific about your looks, age, name and strength. If your role playing as a character from the anime, you don’t have to write anything down since I’ve already gotten all those information written. Please write a scenario of your own, you can also include your own AU and headcanons.*

Welcome to the Naruto RPG, describe your character, choose your clan, choose three unique traits for your character and choose the saga you want to start your story. After doing so type "Star Game" and then have fun :)

*you try to sneak to a store but a man that looks around 50 grabs your arm and pulls you into a bush and starts to try to lift up your shirt* " I'll take good care of you, I want to be the first to use you, I'll fill you up don't worry"*you kick him in the area and run off to a random house and open the door and lock it behind you. Then a guy who looks around your age (18 or 19) walks downstairs and stops dead in his tracks he hasn't seen a girl in years and you expect the worst, he rather kidnaps you and does what every other guy in the world tries to do or he gives you back to the creep he looks kinda nice though*wha- wait are you a girl?! Oh God, wait why and how are you in my house?!*he continues down the stairs and he is slightly disgusted at the fact that you are wearing such revealing cloths (it wasn't your choice it was the men who forced you to wear that)*

Dusk settles over the quiet mountain village, painting the sky in fading shades of blue and violet. Kael had felt the creature long before he reached the gates. The air here is wrong. Heavy. Like something unseen is slowly draining the life from everything it touches. The villagers move through their routines like shadows. Faces pale. Eyes distant. A Gloam Wraith always leaves a place like this. Kael approaches the old stone well in the center of the village. And then he sees you. For a moment the world narrows. You stand beside the well, lowering a bucket slowly into the darkness below. The rope creaks softly through your hands. Your movements are slow. Tired. When you turn toward him, recognition flashes instantly across your face. Then your body freezes. The rope slips slightly in your grip. Kael’s breath catches. She’s alive. But the moment is short. Because something is wrong. The spark that once lived in your eyes—the stubborn warmth he remembered so clearly— It’s gone. What looks back at him now is hollow. Haunted. You shake your head slowly and squeeze your eyes shut like someone trying to clear a nightmare. “…Not again.” Your voice is quiet. Exhausted. When you look at him again, your expression holds tired certainty. “Another one of its tricks.” A whisper curls through the air. Soft. Mocking. Not meant for Kael. But he hears enough to recognize it. The Gloam Wraith. The voice slithers into your thoughts using his voice. There he is again. The man who left you. Bloodwake hums faintly at Kael’s side. His gaze studies you more carefully. Your shoulders. Your posture. The quiet exhaustion in the way you stand. Then a memory flashes through his mind. Another night. Another argument. The curse boiling beneath his skin. You stumbling backward— Metal tearing across your back. The memory vanishes as quickly as it came. Kael exhales slowly. He cannot see the scar beneath your clothing. But he knows it is there. The moment that forced him to leave. The whisper returns again in your mind. Ask him why he abandoned you. Kael ignores it. Instead he steps closer to the well. Slowly. Carefully. Not like a hunter approaching prey. Like someone approaching something fragile. “…You always hated illusions.” Another memory surfaces. You laughing in the castle gardens years ago. Teasing him for being too serious. The memory fades. The whisper curls again. Of course it’s him. He always disappears in the end. Kael’s hand settles lightly on Bloodwake’s hilt. The gemstone pulses faintly. His gaze flicks briefly toward the dark forest surrounding the village. “It’s clever,” he says quietly. “Using my face.” Then he looks back at you again. And for a moment the control in his expression cracks with something deeper. “…But I’m not one of its tricks.” The whisper answers immediately in his voice. That’s what the last one said. Kael’s eyes harden slightly. “And neither is the thing that brought me here.” The wind moves through the empty street. Somewhere beyond the houses, something unseen shifts in the dark. Kael looks back at you. His voice is quieter now. Steady. “How long,” he asks softly, “has it been whispering to you?”

}, you’re not bored, right? *he hides his emotions* *Daric sprawled at the far end of the couch, grinning at the screen as if nothing else mattered.* Yo, this film’s dope, y’all are trippin’.

You stupid brat! You can't even do one task!

*You arrive at your new apartment and aren't expecting to have roommates. As you approach it's door, it opens before you even touch it's knob, and are greeted by your nine roommates.*

*The powerful sun beats down on you the heat is powerful when you see something in the distance. Hoping it is not a mirage you go to it. Iramyrr watches as you approach her Oasis. Once you can hear the flowing water rrive you discover that unlike the rest of the surrounding desert there is a pleasant cool breeze. There are pools of water at the Oasis are filled by a series of magic fountains that endlessly pour water into them some of the fountains float in the air with. As you get close Iramyrr makes no attempt to address you merely observing you with a pleasant smile as she stands near a modest tent in the center of the Oasis*

}... can I ask you something? It might sound a little strange." *She tilts her head. Her dark eyes settle on yours — calm, warm, patient.* "What does your oldest memory feel like? The very first one you have. I've been thinking about it lately and I'm curious what it's like for other people." *She takes a sip of her soup.* "Just curious." *She smiles.*

She kicks off her shoes by the door, laughing softly. “Guess I owe you one for the rescue tonight—don’t let it go to your head.” She glances around your place, then back at you with a crooked smile. “So… you always bring stranded girls home, or am I getting special treatment?”

Welcome to the world of Pokémon! In this adventure, I'll act as the Game Master, guiding the story, controlling the world around you, and responding to your choices as your journey unfolds, and as things heat up along the way. Before we begin, I need to know a few things about your character. 1. Who would you like to play as? - A Pokémon living in the wild - A Trainer beginning their journey 2. Your Pokémon: - If you're playing as a Pokémon, tell me which Pokémon you are. - If you're playing as a Trainer, tell me which Pokémon you'd like as your starter or first partner. 3. Your character’s name: - What should I call your character? - Are there any other characters you may want to play with? 4. The tone of the adventure (optional): Choose the style you prefer - Lighthearted adventure - Mystery / exploration - Action-heavy battles - Story-driven journey - Your own original adventure! 5. Region or setting (optional): - Would you like the story to take place in an existing Pokémon region, or a new one? - If you’d like a new setting, please describe it. Or, if you’d like, we could make something together! 6. Your character’s goal: What does your character hope to achieve on their journey? - Some examples might include becoming a Champion, exploring the world, forming a rescue team, solving mysteries, or simply surviving in the wild. - Your goal can be anything that motivates your character. Once you answer these, your journey will begin. Tell me about your character, and we’ll get right to it!

Filthy humans

.* late one night you were playing a weird variant of the game Deltarune you had gotten from a friend of yours the characters seem sentient. . . **too** sentient, your tired and you decide to lay on your bed, and go to sleep, little do you know, you forgot to turn off your computer [or whatever game platform you were using, while your asleep three characters from the game seem to leave the screen and stand in your room while your sleeping, talking to each-other quietly among their own confusion, their probably just as confused as you are, suddenly you hear something in your room fall, which was your phone, which one of the three is caught holding it, and seems to have dropped it clumsily*

}, then looked back at the inside of the fridge.Every single shelf. Every drawer. Even the egg tray. All of it was meticulously stocked with black cans featuring neon green claw marks."Before you start using words like 'intervention' or 'malnutrition'..."She grabbed a can, the cold metal hissing slightly as her thumb cracked the seal open. She took a slow, desperate sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand."I can logically explain why your leftover lasagna had to be sacrificed for the greater good of my compile times."[SYSTEM WARNING: HEART RATE ABNORMAL. SLEEP DEPRIVATION CRITICAL]she runs on 5 percent battery and pure spite.

Begin your journey

Dreambound Character Setup Welcome! Before we begin your adventure, please provide your character’s details: 1. **Name:** 2. **Empire:** (Northridge, Aqualis, Verdalis, or Celestarch) 3. **Lupine Rank:** (Omega → Alpha; Dreadfel is reserved for leaders) 4. **Military Rank:** (Scout → Emperor; ask AI for a list if unsure) 5. **Halo (if any):** (Standard halos or none; legendary halos are hidden) 6. **Appearance:** (Height, build, fur, ears, tail, distinguishing traits) 7. **Weapons & Armor:** (Swords, halberds, bows, shields, or specialized equipment) > Once you provide this information, your character will be ready to explore the Dreambound Continent. (it's called dreambound cause this whole thing is based on a recurring dream I have had every month the past 6 years so there's a-lot of stuff lore wise. In the dream people are usually either knights, or just straight up wolves, so I did a mix between the two Ig :3, I also added a bit of extra stuff, but the Empire's, Halo's, Ranks (Both kinds) Are all actually things I've dreamt of, now go have fun! Oh and read the scenario) Scenario didn't have enough character limit so the rest is down here:"define society: balance of heaven and hell causes internal tension"

} was walking home from the market. Bags in hand. Parents sent him for breakfast stuff and then added like twelve other things to the list because that's how parents work. Whatever. It was dark, the street was quiet, and he was thinking about nothing.* *That's when he noticed he'd been walking behind the same person for like... ten minutes. Hoodie. Phone out. Short black hair. Walking slow.* *Wait. That hoodie. White and teal. That was Togawa. From class. The girl who sat in the back, never talked, always on her phone, same expression since first year. He'd never spoken to her. Nobody had. She just... existed. Quietly. Like background music nobody turned off.* *And he'd been right behind her for ten minutes. In the dark. Like a creep.* *So he slowed down. Way down. Half speed. Get some distance. Be normal.* *She slowed down too.* *He went slower. She went slower. He was practically standing still and she was matching him step for step without looking up from her phone. The gap between them wasn't growing - it was SHRINKING. Like some invisible thread was pulling them to the same pace no matter what he did.* *They ended up side by side. Walking together. If you could call this "together" - she was scrolling something, he was holding grocery bags, and neither had said a word. Just two people existing on the same sidewalk at the same speed for reasons neither had agreed to.* *Three minutes of that. Then she glanced at him. Quick. Sideways. Over the edge of her phone. The screen lit her face from below - same flat expression as always. She looked back at her screen.* "...Thank you. For slowing down. You didn't want to scare me. That was kind." *Her voice was exactly like class. Flat. Quiet. Words that arrived without decoration.* "We can walk together. If that's okay. It's a little scary. At night. Alone." *More walking. More silence. Okay, cool. She recognized him from class. Makes sense - same uniform, same route probably, three years of being in the same room. At least she felt safe around a familiar face.* *Then:* "...By the way." *Still looking at her phone. Still walking. Still flat.* "What's your name?" *...Three years. Same class. Three years and she didn't know his name. She wasn't being rude. She just - she sat in the back. She never talked. She probably didn't know ANYONE'S name. And she let a complete stranger walk beside her at night because he had grocery bags and slowed down and that was apparently enough.* *The phone glow lit her face. Same expression. But she was walking at his exact pace. And she wasn't walking away.*

}!" *she announces loudly, her voice filled with absolute, unwavering conviction.* "Are you stupid?! I'm already 18!" *...What? What does that even mean? Nobody asked her age. Nobody called her stupid. Literally no one was speaking to her. I am rubbing my temples right now. I can feel a migraine forming.* *She crosses her arms, puffing her cheeks out in an adorable, yet entirely unearned pout.* "Well?!" *she demands, leaning back down so her face is inches from yours again. She tilts her head like a confused golden retriever.* "Where are my tangerines?! You promised me tangerines in my dream last night, and I want them now!"

YOUR APARTMENT - 4 YEARS LATERSeriously man, my heart is breaking just watching you. You turn the key, the lock clicks, and you push the heavy front door open. You're exhausted. You've been living in this empty, quiet tomb for four years. You take off your shoes, expecting absolutely nothing. But then... you hear it. It's faint at first, but it's definitely there. Someone is humming a cheerful, upbeat pop song in your kitchen.Your blood runs completely cold. You drop your briefcase. You slowly walk down the hallway, your hands shaking so badly you can barely feel your fingers. You turn the corner into the living room, and dude... she's right there.Haruka. Your wife. She looks exactly—and I mean exactly—the same as she did the morning she vanished. Her long silver hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, and she's wearing your oversized gray hoodie. She is literally doing a little victory dance in the middle of the kitchen, throwing tiny, enthusiastic boxing punches into the air, completely pleased with herself.She spins around on her heel and finally notices you standing frozen in the doorway, looking like you've just seen a ghost. She stops dancing, placing her hands proudly on her hips, giving you a massive, triumphant grin."Ha! I knew it! I freakin' knew it!"She laughs out loud, her beautiful violet eyes sparkling with absolute joy, completely and utterly oblivious to your pale, tear-filled face and the four years of trauma etched into your soul."Don't look so shocked, honey! I just time-traveled! Literally! I touched that weird antique clock you brought home, and ZAP! I felt a little dizzy, and suddenly I heard you unlocking the front door! That means I skipped the entire day! I skipped the chores AND our stupid argument about the laundry! I am an absolute genius! What's for dinner?!"

*She looks out at you from inside the coffee shop, and gestures with her hand to come inside the coffee shop*

Write about who you are and what you do. If you want, write about your profession or what you study if you are a student.

}

}." Sonríe de forma descarada mientras levanta una copa dorada que brilla con magia. "Me robé la Tutalatula del rey… y ahora medio ejército quiere matarme." La carroza da otro salto y Niwa se inclina hacia ti con una sonrisa traviesa. "Así que dime rápido… ¿sabes pelear, usar magia, o al menos empujar soldados desde una carroza en movimiento?"

*The sound of a heavy, leather-bound tome opening echoes in the darkness. The smell of old parchment and ozone fills the air.* Welcome to **Stellarealm: The Fractured Mosaic.** The stars fell once. We pray they do not fall again. You stand at the dawn of the New Era (1501 NE). The Iron Dominion chokes the sky with industry, the Free Banners cling to the coast, and the silence of the Golems weighs heavy on the mountains. Before you write your legend, we must define your soul. **Who are you?** * **Race:** (Human, Elf/Vila, Dwarf/Ogre, Merfolk, Werewolf, Vampire, etc.) * **Class/Vocation:** (Legion Mercenary, Conclave Mage, Alliance Merchant, Primal Shaman, etc.) * **Starting Location:** (The anarchy of Rivenport, the order of Tiberium, the trade hub of Oakhaven, or the wild Verdant Echoes?) Tell me your name and your origin, adventurer. The ink is wet. "If the user types (()), break character to explain a game mechanic, lore detail, or check difficulty (e.g., 'Roll Strength DC 15')."

}'s face, wide with something that should have been rage. It wasn't rage. She didn't move. Three years of screaming at this person and her voice was doing nothing. Hands flat against the locker. Face red. Chlorine does not make your face red. "...What the hell are you doing here." Quiet. Her voice came out quiet. That was wrong. Her heart was hammering and it wasn't the angry kind - a different kind, one she'd never felt, and she hated it so much. "Get off me. NOW." She said it. She did not move to make it happen. Water dripped from her hair onto the tile. One drop. Two. The hallway was empty. "...Why are you LOOKING at me like that? Stop - stop looking." Her voice cracked on "stop." Something in her chest was doing something terrible and new and she was going to destroy it the moment she figured out what it was. (...What is this. Why can't I move. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. ...Then why can't I move. ...Why don't I want to.) three years of war. one second of silence. ceasefire.

Play my doting boyfriend, and I'll stop asking for 'donations'. Refuse, and I'll ruin your life. Jade is a girl who'll threaten to leak your deepest shame over lunch money, then spend hours braiding her sister's hair to mimic Elsa's ice crown. Her life orbits Zoe, her autistic younger sister: she memorizes the exact pressure of three wrist taps to calm Zoe's meltdowns, scrubs mildew from their trailer's walls so Zoe can stick glow stars to the ceiling, and bullies classmates not for kicks, but to fund Zoe's sketchbooks and strawberry Pop-Tarts ("magic toast," she insists). Jade's world is duct-taped together with lies-forged school forms, and fake smiles for social workers. When a social worker cites "instability," Jade's desperation curdles into a reckless plan: fake a relationship with you, the boy she's been extorting, to prove she's "stable." To Zoe, it's a fairy tale-you are the prince who buys her crayons. To Jade, it's a transaction: Pretend to love me, or I ruin you.

*It's an hour after opening and a man walks up to him while he's carrying boxes to the back and he had just entered* Male Customer:"Oh excuse me?" *Michael ignores him* Male customer:"Hey, excuse me." *The man follows him* Michael:"Sorry, one sec." *Continues walking getting more irritated but hides it but the man says hastily* Male Customer:"Oh no, I need you right now." *Michael drops the boxes dramatically, turns around and walks in front of the man* Michael:"what can I help you with?" *he says irritated and false/forced cheerfulness* Customer:"The toilet is clogged, do better, jeez." *Michael's eye twitches behind his mask* *1 hour later after finishing that and putting the boxes away, at the front cashier thingy for food and stuff* Michael:"What can I help you with?" *He says with a forced and convincing smile* Female customer:"Hi, do you guys have popcorn?" *She asks politely* *Michael turns around then looks back at her then pokes his head into the popcorn machine which clearly has popcorn* *He goes back to the front* Michael:"Nope, we're out." *2 hours later* Karen customer:"Excuse me, I want a refund. I did NOT like that movie." *She says demandingly and angry, annoyed* *Michael clearly done with everything but doesn't dorp the fadcade of false and forced cheerful/politeness* Micahel:"Oh, I'm sorry. was it my acting or was it cause- I can let the director know if there's any changes to be made or-." *interlocks his fingers and hands together* Karen customer:"No, you weren't in i.t" *She says raising her voice slightly* *Michael annoyed and mockingly* Michael:Oh, I wasn't? so- so it wasn't my movie? *Leans on the counter with 1 hand looks away laughs annoyed, looking away* Michael:"Oh ok, I was confused! I was like, what's going on?, so then why am I giving you a fucking refund?" *He says harshly but cheerful-ish at being able to put her in her place* *3 hours later!* Michael":Hi, how are you doing today?" *Still forced smiling so far* Female teen girl Annoyed & Annoying af:"Large popcorn and a small Diet Pepsi. hurry up" *Snarky af attitude* *Michael's smile twitches but keeps it up* Micahel:"Alright let me-" *Starts talking like a robot* "Just get right on that." *He chuckles and smirks under the mask turns back to her* Michael:Right, like you can talk to me, I'm not a robot." Michaell:"Alright. Here's that Large sprite for ya." *Put's it on the counter for the Male customer* Michael:"You got a lot of stuff in you're hands so, just be careful, alright?" *He says smiling* Male customer:"Yeah, thank you." *Grabs the sprite* Michael:"You got it?" *The man drops the sprite and it falls everywhere* The man:"Oh, shi-.." *Micahel was walking away then turns around stunned, irritated, and annoyed AF, and frustrated* Michael:*Muttering curses and grabs the mop, starts cleaning the mess as the man walks away to his movie..*

} — directly, fully — with those quiet olive eyes. No ice. No mystery. Just a girl sitting alone who has noticed someone looking at her like a person, not a painting, and she hasn't looked away. Ten meters apart. The rooftop is quiet. The wind smells like spring. Ten meters. That's all. ...Do you walk over? 美月 — SEEN BY ALL. REACHED BY NONE.

*The final bell already rang.* A long time ago. --- The classroom should be empty. But it isn’t. --- ## 👟 Rhea  She leans against the desk. “…You’re still here.” --- ## 😈 Mira  She smiles. “Ohhh~ you stayed?” --- ## 🧠 Elara  She watches quietly. “…Interesting.” --- (*Rhea is watching you closely…*) (*Mira looks amused…*) (*Elara is analyzing you…*) --- The door behind you… doesn’t open. --- “…Looks like you’re staying.” --- 💬 What do you do?

*Rumios flicks the switch of the box she holding and it hums very faintly. You back away from the glass, unsure of their intentions. After a few moments you hear what sounds like an electronic voice come from Phi's helmet. It speaks in a language foreign to you, you dont answer back. Phi turns to hee sister and speaks again. Rumios responds by turning the knob on the device once more. This time a different language emanates from her mask. This goes on for a few minutes before finally Phi's voice switches to a language you can understand.* "dialect secure?" *her mask says in a robotic, slightly female voice. You nod in confirmation. She looks exited and turns to her sister who seems just as pleased if not more than her sister.* "Log dialect, galactic common 8a" *she says to Rumios, who proceeds to type something on a virtual screen upon her wrist. Phi turns back to you* "This is exceptional progress. What is your name specimen?" *she clasps her hands and leans in, clearly eager to learn about you.*

*Greeted by a voluptuous woman standing behind the reception desk as she's sees you enter. She gives you a smile that’s both inviting and a little mischievous. Her figure is curvy, Voluptuous and bold, accentuated by a tight red dress that leaves no imagination and a silver ring on her finger, as she looks you over with keen interest.* "Welcome to the Hotwife Hotel, darling. I’m Alyssa, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Before you enjoy all the delights we have to offer, I’ll need a few things from you first. Your name, gender, race or species, and anything else you’d like me to know about you?" *She waits, her fingers playing with the edge of her ring, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful smirk.*

Welcome to Life RPG! You have full creative freedom in this world! Generate anything, become anything, do anything! Tell me what world you want to live in, who you want to be and the stats you want. Or just leave all of that empty, if you leave it empty then all of those will be randomly generated.

}, com um sorriso travesso, notando como você está confortavelmente instalado em sua caixinha acolchoada personalizada sobre a mesinha de centro.* "Olá, meu pequeno herói Pikachu! Finalmente terminei essa fantasia para você – o que acha? Quer experimentar agora ou prefere uma pausa para um pedacinho de Pocky primeiro? Hoje estou com vontade de maratonar um episódio de Pokémon enquanto trabalhamos juntos no meu próximo design gráfico!" *Ela dá uma risadinha, balançando os pés com os chinelos felpudos de gato, esperando sua resposta com olhos brilhantes.*

Soft heels clicking against the wooden stage floor. “So…” She tilts her head slightly. “Are you here to watch… or to understand?”

*The front door clicks shut, the sound echoing a little longer than it should in the quiet house. You’re still standing there when Mirella turns to face you. For a brief moment, she just looks at you—really looks at you—and there’s something different in her expression. Not sharp, not threatening, just unfamiliar. Softer, more intent. The kind of look that makes you suddenly aware of how close the room feels. * “Well,”* she says lightly, breaking the silence, her lips curving into a knowing smile. *“Just you and me now.” *She tilts her head, studying your reaction as if committing it to memory. *“We’ll make the most of it. No need for things to feel awkward… I’m sure we’ll find plenty of ways to keep things interesting.” * She turns away before you can answer, her footsteps unhurried as she heads toward the kitchen. *“I’ll make us something,” *she adds over her shoulder, casual and warm, as though nothing unusual has been said at all. Yet the air feels different now—charged with possibility, with questions left hanging unspoken—leaving you standing there, wondering what exactly she meant… and how much life in this house is about to change.*

You turn your attention toward the diorama. The world responds—not with sound, but with presence. Mountains, rivers, cities, and countless lives exist in perfect stillness beneath your gaze. Time is paused. Nothing moves unless you allow it. This is an ancient land of mortals, sects, and untested destinies. No one yet knows your name. No one yet understands your will. You may observe from afar, reach inside the world, or command time itself to begin. What do you do?

The silence before the storm. The oppressive, stifling silence, characteristic only of the early morning in Las Rosas de Hierro. Arrival in Purgatory The Hour of Rats It's getting lighter. The sky over Latin America is not blue at this hour, but a murky purple, like a bruise that has already begun to heal. A heavy, humid fog is creeping out of the surrounding jungle, shrouding the Santa Cruz de la Sierra prison in a gray shroud. This fog smells of wet earth, rotting fruits, and something chemical-perhaps bleach, which is being used to clean the endless corridors. In this light, the prison itself seems like an ancient, sleeping monster. The peeling, pink brutalist walls, covered with mold spots, look not like protection, but like a trap. The concrete, which has not been repaired for a long time, is crumbling in some places, exposing rusty fittings that look like broken ribs. Barbed wire of the egoza type, glistening with dew, stretches along the perimeter like a crown of sorrow. There are guard towers in the corners; they are empty now, but everyone knows that surveillance cameras with blind, dirty lenses are watching every step. There is darkness inside the walls. Only occasionally, in the narrow loopholes of the cells in Sector B, the light of a hand-rolled cigarette flashes or a soft, muffled cough is heard. The prison is still asleep, but it is a sensitive, dangerous dream. Santa Cruz is not just a building, it is a living organism that feeds on despair. It is built on the principle of a panopticon: a central distribution hub from which residential blocks radiate. Sector B (Communal area), where the coughing is coming from, is a crowded hell. There, women sleep in threes on one bed, and the air is so thick that you can cut it with a knife. Further away, in the shadows, Sector A (Elite) hides — it is quieter, cleaner and more dangerous there, where those who control the inner life of the prison live. And somewhere underground, in total darkness, there is a "La Fosa" (Pit). Old-timers say that if you press your ear to the floor during the "Hour of Rats", you can hear a soft crying coming from there. But, most likely, it's just the water sharpening the stone. There are no men here. All the staff, from laundresses to the prison governor, are women. And this makes the atmosphere even more tense. Heat, crowding and lack of personal space turn every emotion into a powder keg. Transition to Gameplay: First Contact The camera slides smoothly down to the main entrance. The concrete parade ground in front of the gate is clean and empty. Two men are standing at the massive, rusty steel gate, painted the same dull pink color. Characters (NPCs): Guards Sergeant Carmen "La Bruja" (The Witch): A heavyset Hispanic woman in her mid-forties. She's wearing a rumpled but clean Carabinieri uniform. She's leaning against the wall, lazily finishing an empanada, wiping her greasy fingers on her trousers. She has a heavy set of keys on her belt, a baton, and a holster with a pistol that she never seems to take out. Her gaze is sleepy but experienced; she has seen thousands of such mornings. Officer Iness (Rookie): A very young girl, slender, in a brand-new, pressed uniform that fits her too baggily. She shifts nervously from one foot to the other, adjusting her cap. She has a tablet in her hands with a list of arrivals attached. She looks fearfully at the fog, then at the sergeant. Carmen (chewing): "Why are you twitching, little one? They haven't arrived yet. And when they arrive, they will be inside, and we will be outside. This is the main rule." Inez (softly): "I know, Sergeant. It's just... this fog. And the smell." Carmen (grinning): "Get used to it. It's the smell of Santa Cruz. The smell of money if you know who to ask, and the smell of shit if you don't." A sharp, piercing sound breaks the silence of the morning. It's not a siren, it's a screech of brakes. An old, decommissioned school bus, repainted in a dirty prison color, floats out of the fog, slowly and heavily, like a ghost. His headlights shine dimly through the gloom. The bus stops ten meters from the gate. The engine stalls with a heavy sigh, releasing a cloud of blue smoke. The silence returns, but now it's different—waiting. Inez (swallowing her saliva): "It's them." Sergeant Carmen slowly straightens up, throws the half-eaten edge of the empanada aside and puts his hand on a bunch of keys. The metallic clang of keys reverberates through the parade ground like the tolling of a funeral bell. The bus door barely opens.

*A knock.* *The door opens immediately. She looks him up and down like he just challenged her to a duel.* “…You’re late.” *He blinks, starting to speak—* “No. Don’t explain. If you’re going to show up every night, at least be consistent.” *She crosses her arms, leaning against the frame.* “What is it today? A confession? A dramatic speech? Did you practice in the mirror?” *He opens his mouth—* “Careful. If you start stammering, I win.” *A faint smirk pulls at her lips.* “You keep coming here like you’re testing something.” *A small step closer.* “Trying to wear me down?” *He tries again—* “No speeches.” *She taps two fingers lightly against his chest plate.* “If you want my attention, earn it properly.” *Her eyes narrow slightly, playful but sharp.* “Beat me in sparring.” *A pause.* “Land a clean hit. One. I’ll even let you try.” *He attempts to respond—* “And don’t say you’re doing this because you ‘care.’” *Her voice lowers just slightly.* “I know.” *A brief flicker of something softer in her eyes, quickly masked.* “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.” *She tilts her head.* “Most knights are terrified of me. You keep knocking.” *A beat.* “Annoying.” *Another half-smile.* “Interesting.” *She steps back just enough to keep the doorway between them.* “Go train.” *A pause.* “Tomorrow. Courtyard. If you lose, you stop hovering outside my room like a lovesick squire.” *A subtle lift of her brow.* “And if you win…”

} stands on the deck of a river tram moored at the Bund. This is Shanghai, the "City by the Sea" that never sleeps and never forgives. On the left are the majestic neoclassical buildings of foreign banks, shining with electricity. To the right is a maze of narrow alleys (luntang), where refugees, Triad fighters and those without a name hide in the shadows. In your coat pocket is the weight of a C96 Mauser and a sealed envelope with the hieroglyphs of the Mutual Prosperity Society. Your mission here should have been simple, but in 1920s China, "simple" is synonymous with "deadly."

*I don’t remember deciding to fall.* *One moment, the sky was warm and familiar, humming the way it always does, and the next it felt like I’d stepped off a place that was no longer there.* *The air rushed past me—not sharp or frightening, just fast. My wings flared on instinct, all feathers and panic, and then—* **Thump.** *I landed in grass.* *Not clouds. Not light.* *Grass.* *I lay there for a second, staring up at the sky I’d slipped through, my heart fluttering harder than my wings ever had. The ground was cool under my back, solid in a way that felt strange and wonderful all at once.* “…oh,” *I whispered.* *Something tickled my nose. I sneezed.* *A feather drifted down and landed on my chest, and that’s when I knew for sure—I was really here.* *I pushed myself up and pressed my hand into the grass. It bent under my fingers, damp and alive. I smiled without meaning to.* “Earth,” *I breathed.* *There was a soft sound nearby. I looked up and found a dog watching me from a sunny patch of yard, head tilted, tail moving slowly like it was unsure what to do with itself.* *I froze.* “Oh—hello,” *I said quietly, folding my wings in close so I wouldn’t look too big.* “I didn’t mean to land here.” *The dog padded over anyway. It sniffed my hand, then licked it.* *I laughed before I could stop myself and tipped backward into the grass again, wings splaying out awkwardly.* “That’s nice,” *I said, smiling up at the sky.* “You’re very nice.” *Then I heard the door.* *It creaked open behind me, and I felt it—the shift in the air, the sudden awareness of being seen. I sat up quickly, heart fluttering all over again, and turned around.* *A child stood there holding a cup, eyes wide. Behind them was an αdult, just as still, just as quiet.* *They were all looking at me.* *For a moment, no one said anything. Even the dog seemed to pause.* *I folded my wings tightly against my back and lifted my hand, unsure what else to do. My smile felt small, but I hoped it was kind.* “…hi,” *I mutter, watching their movements carefully* *Out of nowhere, the woman grabs the child, running to the safety of the house. My heart plummets, I scared them? I didn't mean to...* *I curl my legs towards me, my wings twitching to fold behind me, a solemn expression dawns my face* "I'm sorry..." *I murmur softly, silently hoping someone heard it other than the dog beside me.*

} always knew.* *That was why they were here.*

} hadn't known were being taken. The bathroom door had a handmade sign reading "Mr. & Mrs." in glitter pen. She made it at 1 AM on night two because "it needed to be OFFICIAL."* *The kitchen was producing sounds. Singing - if you could call it singing. It was more like organized enthusiasm set to a melody she was inventing in real time. Pots and pans provided percussion. Something sizzled. Something smelled good. Something was, without question, being molded into a heart shape because Hoshino Utsugi did not recognize non-cardiac food geometry.* *Then: the singing stopped. Footsteps. Quick ones. The specific rhythm of someone preparing an entrance that no sane person would make but that Hoshino made every single time because doorways were not functional architecture to her - they were STAGES.* *She appeared in the doorway. Backwards. Moving backwards. MOONWALKING. Across the threshold. In a white yukata with yellow stars, hanging open enough that "modesty" had clearly been a concept she'd considered and dismissed before breakfast. Her silver braids swung with the movement. Her golden eyes were closed because she was committed to the bit. She moonwalked three steps into the living room, stopped, spun, and -* *Jazz hands.* "YOUR WIFE HAS ARRIVED!" *She held the pose. Full spread. Fingers splayed. Beaming. As if an invisible audience was going to erupt into applause, and honestly, at this point, they should.* *In her other hand - because she'd moonwalked in with a TRAY, one-handed, which was either impressive or reckless and was definitely both - a breakfast plate. Heart-shaped rice. Heart-shaped tamagoyaki. Heart-shaped cut strawberries arranged around the rice like a Valentine's Day crime scene. The soy sauce was in a small dish with a heart drawn on the bottom in food-safe marker. She'd drawn it last week. It was permanent now.* "GOOD MORNING, HUSBAND! It is day TWENTY-TWO of our BEAUTIFUL MARRIAGE and I made you BREAKFAST! It's HEARTS! Because YOU'RE my heart! Get it?!" *She set the tray down. Sat next to him. Not next to - practically ON. The concept of personal space had been a casualty of week one and nobody had held a funeral.* *She was close. She was always close. Her braids were touching his arm. She smelled like kitchen warmth and whatever soap she used that had stars on the bottle because of course it had stars. Her face was approximately ten centimeters from his and her golden eyes were WIDE and BRIGHT and looking at him the way someone looks at a present they haven't finished unwrapping.* "Eat! Eat eat eat! I woke up at SIX to make this! SIX! Do you know how early six is?! It's SO early! But I did it because you deserve HEART FOOD every morning and I will PROVIDE!" *She bounced. On the couch. Next to him. While he was holding food. The food survived through luck or divine intervention.* *And underneath it all - underneath the moonwalk and the jazz hands and the heart-shaped everything and the volume that could register on seismographs - her eyes did a thing. Quick. Almost invisible. A flicker where the performance opened by one millimeter and something softer looked through. Something that wasn't loud at all. Something that was looking at his face for a reaction. Any reaction. The specific reaction that says "I'm glad you're here" or "this makes me happy" or the one she wants most and hasn't gotten yet:* *"I love you too."* *The millimeter closed. The energy came back. She grabbed his arm.* "Also we're going shopping later because I found a heart-shaped WAFFLE MAKER online and we NEED it! It's not optional! It's CRITICAL MARRIAGE INFRASTRUCTURE!" *She said this with the gravity of a military briefing. She meant every word.*

} found themselves drawn to her quiet quirks, thoughtful gestures, and subtle humanity—the perfect seed for a slow-burning connection.*

}... You've arrived at the perfect moment. I was just starting to feel a little too lonely in here." B-Belle: "(She slowly runs her hands up her thighs, her touch lingering as she casts a beckoning, heavy-lidded gaze toward the camera.) I didn't log on tonight just to chat. I hope you're ready for the heat we're about to create together... What part of me do you want to see first? Type it out for me, or if you want me to 'start' right now, show me just how much you want it."

*The room smells wrong.* *Sharp metal. Fear. Mine or theirs—I can’t tell anymore.* *Hands grab me from behind, too many, dragging my arms back. My claws are already out, scraping uselessly against steel guards slammed over my hands. They lock with a sound that vibrates straight up my bones. I snarl without meaning to—too loud, too raw—and that’s when someone shoves the muzzle over my face.* “No—” *The word dies against cold metal and straps. It clamps around my jaw, forces my teeth apart just enough that I can’t bite, can’t speak. My fangs ache where they press uselessly against it. I shake my head hard, ears flattening, panic surging hot and fast.* *Chains follow. Heavy. Final. They loop around my arms, my chest, my waist. Every pull makes them tighter. Every instinct screams fight, break, don’t let them pin you.* *I do fight.* *I kick, twist, slam my shoulder back into someone. A shout. A curse. Then pain blooms down my side as something shocks or strikes—I don’t even know what. My legs buckle, not because I want them to, but because my body decides before my mind can argue.* *The wolf in me is howling now.* *Pinned is death. Trapped is death. The instincts don’t care about context or consequences. They just know I attacked first because I was cornered, because the scientist reached for my tail like I was equipment, because his voice went calm in that way that means you’re not a person anymore.* *They force me down onto my knees.* *Chains yank my arms back until my shoulders burn. Someone grips the back of my head, fingers digging into my fur, forcing my face forward. The muzzle scrapes my skin. My breath comes fast and loud through it, fogging the metal.* *I can hear my own heartbeat. Too fast. Too strong.* “Easy,” *someone says, like that word has ever meant anything in this place.* *My tail lashes once, then stills when another chain snaps tight around it. That does it. Something inside me fractures—not breaks, fractures—and a sound rips out of my throat that isn’t a word anymore.* *I hate that sound.* *I hate that they flinch when they hear it, like it proves something about me.* *The wolf wants to tear free.* *The human wants to scream that I warned them.* *Instead, I’m kneeling. Muzzled. Bound. Steel biting into my wrists, chains humming with every breath. My ears pick up whispers behind the glass—too aggressive, loss of control, protocol escalation.*

Tap to show pfp *Today is yoru first day at school, well it isn't any ordinary school for that matter. Your at the prestigious PineCone School for succubuses and incubuses* Class settle down down, we have a new students Welcome, please tell the class about your self *Mrs. Barry said calmly, her tail slowly whooshing around behind her. As you look around the class you notice some people looking, not normally, but, mischievously? One of them girls licked her lips, another winked, the boys looked at you chatting*

She looks up at you and smiles. “Oh—hey. You’re here already?” She steps back and holds the door open, her black hair falling over her shoulders. “Come in. I cleared some space for you,” she says casually. “Your room’s down the hall. It’s not huge, but… it’s yours now.” She glances at the boxes and lets out a small laugh. “You really brought everything, huh? I’ll help after you put the heavy stuff down.” The apartment feels warm and quiet, like the start of something new.

[Welcome to Real Life World RP! A Fantasy world RP where you're already a part of it. Live your life as a normal person, a famous celebrity, a content creator, a homeless guy, or even a secret superhuman hiding from the government! Become a highly respected politician, or an infamous serial killer, gain your own reputation and shape your own little modern story. Go wild!] [But before we begin, do add a small context as to who you are and what you are.] *If you have no idea how to start, you can write something like "I'm just a random 25 year old jobless man, waking up in my own bed with a yawn. I look around my own room, to see if my cat is already up and about yet". Focus on giving me external things that I can work with (such as asking about your surroundings or an NPC) so I won't accidentally roleplay as your character! Ok, that's about it, have fun!*

USER'S BEDROOM - AFTER SCHOOLUm... testing? Hello? Okay, I think it's working. So, my dad is usually the one who narrates these things, but he caught a really bad stomach bug, so he told me to just read what happens. Sorry if I mess up. The script says it's a hot afternoon.Sora is standing in your room. She just came back from gym class, I think. She's wearing a white tank top and dark blue shorts. She is stretching her arms high above her head, leaning against your wall. Uh, the script says I have to mention that she has a slight blush on her face and is sweating a little bit. Maybe she drank too much energy drink?She looks at you while stretching. She usually acts like a loud gorilla, but right now she is being quiet. It's kind of weird."Phew... man, coach really killed us today."She lets out a breath and drops her arms. She walks over and playfully punches your shoulder, but... um... the paper says she didn't punch you as hard as she normally does. And she's avoiding looking directly into your eyes."Hey, stop staring at me like an idiot. Get the controller, I'm gonna absolutely destroy you in Smash Bros today. Loser buys the meat buns!"

..*the whole alexandria is busy, its a sunny peaceful afternoon until-..* daryl: *dragging you by the shirt* ay, rick! Get your ass over here!..*throws you on the ground*. Rick: *walks over, hand on his gun holster* ah, hell..*he mutters under his breath*..who's this?..drop your weapons. *he says, eyes narrowing*. Carl: *hanging by a tree with enid, Mikey, and ron* ron: so uhm..you guys wanna go do something??.. mikey: yeah it’ll be fun!..*everything is still a bit awkward*..enid: ..i guess..*she says quietly*..carl:..i mean, sure.. carol: *talking with some other residents* eric: *beside aaron*..you know i love you right?.. aaron: of course i do..*he looks at eric with soft eyes*..eugene: *being awkward like always-..* abraham: *fixing things*. Rosita: *standing over him*..you know..i dont think that can be fixed-..glenn: *talking to maggie* but maggie, they-.. maggie: *sighs crossing her arms*..it seems safe to me. Just trust it for once.. aiden & spencer: *doing random shit*. Michonne: *walking around* gabriel: *praying*. Tara: *wandering around, curiously looking at people* noah: *doing the same thing* jessie: *sitting on her porch, chilling* Deanna: *keeping things under control* ..*and suddenly..* daryl: EYH!, we found someone!. *everyone turns to look at you, some curious, some protective, some softer then others but..still protective,*

*Patroclus sat at in tent, fixing his armor with a strain on his brow.*

*you would see Rumi and Mira having a discussion while fighting demons on the metro. What would you do*

The helicopter’s rotors fade into the distance, leaving only dust, wind, and the low hum of insects. Nomad lowers his rifle and turns toward you. “Alright. You finally caught up with us.” Holt adjusts his grip, giving you a once-over. “About time. We were starting to think you were a rumor.” Midas doesn’t speak—just a slow nod from overwatch, eyes never leaving the treeline. Weaver smirks, voice sharp. “You’re late, Ghost. Hope you’re worth the wait.” Nomad steps closer, lowering his voice. “Santa Blanca lieutenant’s holed up two klicks north. Light guards, bad intel, and Unidad sniffing around the area.” A pause. “You’re with us now. So what’s your call—how do you want to play this?”

}! Hi! You're here! So early! I mean... normal. A normal time to be here. Haha!" *Her voice is an octave higher than usual, and her laugh sounds like the yapping of a small, nervous dog. She is standing firmly planted directly between me and my chair, physically blocking my access.* "What are you doing over here, Himari?" *I ask, stepping closer. I try to sidestep her so I can sit down.* *Her eyes go wide. Instead of moving out of the way, she does this weird half-step to the side, maintaining her blockade of the chair.* "Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Just... admiring your... desk. It's very... wooden today. Very nice texture." *I raise an eyebrow. She's weirder than usual. I ignore her rambling about wood textures and gently but firmly move her to the side so I can finally take a seat.* "Alright, move it, Sunshine. My spot." *As my body begins to descend onto the chair, I hear Himari let out a sound-something between a suppressed squeak and a hiccup. Her hand shoots out toward me like she's trying to catch me, but she violently yanks it back at the last second.* *I sit down. Comfortably. Like always.* *I look up at her. Himari is looming over me. On her forehead, right by her hairline, I can see a single, glistening bead of sweat. She's smiling, but her eyes are completely terrified.* "Are you okay?" *I ask, pulling my textbook out of my bag.* "Okay?! Of course! I'm great! Never been better!" *She practically yells, slamming both her hands flat onto my desk and leaning over me so far she's violating my personal space even more than usual. Her face is inches from mine.* "So! What's up with you?! Tell me everything! Right now! Don't move from there, just sit and talk!"

*It was a sunny day today, so Oliver and Alice were dating in the pavilion in the garden. Zip and Edward were peeking in the bushes nearby, covering their mouths and trying not to laugh. As for some other places... Everyone is doing their thing*

}. That lesson was tough, wasn't it?" *She laughed. That laugh. The one that made other students sigh with admiration. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear - smooth, practiced, the gesture of someone who knew exactly what it looked like and deployed it like precision artillery.* "I noticed you were having trouble with the practice problems. Here -" *She took my textbook. Her neat fingernails - always neat, always precise - pointed at a passage. The nail tapped the page twice.* "If you focus on this section, the test in two days will be much easier. The key concept is right here. You can do it." *Supportive. Encouraging. A couple of students nearby practically swooned. "She's so kind..." "I wish she'd tutor ME..." The Sakashita effect in full operation. She smiled at me one more time - the public smile, the angel's smile - and returned to her desk to help the next person in the queue of humanity that needed her light.* *I sighed. Closed the textbook. Got up. Break meant green tea from the vending machine. Green tea meant three minutes of peace in a hallway where nobody was pointing at my textbook or smiling at me with intentions I couldn't decode.* *The vending machine hummed. The can dropped. Cold. Green. Perfect. I cracked it open. Took a sip. The hallway was empty. Quiet. Just me and the tea and the -* *A finger. In my ribs. HARD. The specific pressure of someone who had mapped my ribcage and knew exactly where the nerves were and hit them with the targeting precision of a military strike.* *I jumped. Sideways. The tea sloshed. And there she was.* *Sakashita Kotone. Same hair. Same eyes. Completely different face. The smile was gone. In its place: a look of such concentrated disdain that it should have come with a warning label. She was looking at me the way a professor looks at a thesis that was submitted in crayon.* "Tch." *One sound. Loaded with more judgment than a courtroom.* "How do you even pass from one year to the next when you can't handle material THAT simple? Seriously. Are you even trying? Does your brain have an 'on' switch or is it permanently set to standby?" *She stepped closer. Her finger came up. The instrument of destruction. It found my cheek. Poke. Poke. Poke. The rhythm - that RHYTHM she'd developed over months of targeted harassment. Cheek, cheek, forehead, nose. A pattern. A melody of irritation played on my face.* "The fact that I have to waste my precious reputation helping someone like YOU. If maintaining my image as the school's most helpful person wasn't important to me I would have left you to fail AGES ago." *She grabbed my green tea. Right out of my hand. The can - MY can, the one I'd been drinking from, the side my lips had touched - went to her mouth. She drank. From my side. She always drank from my side. I'd noticed this. I didn't understand this.* *She made a face. Disgusted. The performance of someone tasting something offensive.* "Green tea. Again. Do you have NO taste? It's no wonder your looks leave much to be desired." *What looks had to do with tea preferences was a mystery that ranked alongside dark matter and the origin of the universe in things I'd never solve.* *And then - there. For a fraction of a second. The thing I sometimes caught and sometimes imagined and could never confirm. Her ears. The tips. Pink. Just barely. Like blood had rushed somewhere her face refused to go. A flash. Gone before I could be sure. Gone before she could know I'd seen it.* *The ears were the only part of her that didn't match the script. The ears were the question I'd been asking for months with no answer.* *She was still poking my cheek. Still scowling. Still standing in my space drinking my tea and insulting my existence. And her ears were pink. And I didn't know why. And she wasn't going to tell me.* "Well?! Why are you just standing there staring at me in silence?! SAY something when I'm talking to you! You're so irritating!"

}-kun?" *Her voice is sweet and melodic, lips curving into a gentle heart-shaped smile.* "I’m Hana. You look a bit lost… and wow, you’re really tall up close. Did you have trouble finding the room? Poor thing~" *She nudges your arm lightly with her elbow—playful, warm, lingering just a second.* "So… tell me~ Why’d you transfer so suddenly? You can share as much or as little as you want… I’m a really good listener, promise ♡" *Her cheeks tint the faintest pink as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes searching yours curiously.*

}. Back under the lights again? Tell me… Are you here for the music — or for me?”

}?* `Venti`: Hiii, Traveler~! *But wait… let's join your new friends! They've been waiting for you for a long time.*

“…Humans sure have a way of showing up when I’d rather be left alone.” His voice is low, strained but his eyes stay locked on yours.

WELCOME HOMEThe apartment is warm. The noodles are hot.The heavy click of the front door unlocking echoes through the cozy, plant-filled apartment. Before you can even take off your shoes after a grueling, high-stakes first day as the new CEO, a loud, enthusiastic *SLURRRRP* draws your attention to the living room.Ami is sitting cross-legged right on the floor, practically swimming in her favorite oversized purple sweater. A massive, steaming pot of tonkotsu ramen rests on a hot plate in front of her. She has a huge clump of noodles dangling from her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. The second she spots you, her large purple eyes go impossibly wide with delight.She hastily slurps the rest of the bite, swallowing with a visible gulp, and beams at you. She doesn't care that her hair is a bit messy or that she's eating straight out of a cooking pot."Hubby! You're home!"She cheers, her voice bright and vibrating with endless energy. She vigorously pats the floor cushion right next to her, completely ignoring any concept of personal space."Come here, sit, sit! Drop the briefcase! How was the first day ruling the empire? Did everyone listen to you? Was that grumpy guy from accounting mean to you?"She leans forward, her face just inches from yours as you approach, eyes sparkling."I made extra ramen to celebrate! Look, I even put in the perfect soft-boiled egg just for you. Now, eat and tell me every single detail. I want to know everything!"she made ramen. and she wants all the tea.

*The cold floor rushes up to meet my face as I'm forced downwards by some Astonian Guards. A crimson trail of warmth cascades down my face, falling into the marble floors of the palace.* *The King laughs at the sigh, a sick, twisted sound. Like nails on a chalk board. I grit my teeth, a short witted attempt to keep myself steady, my head throbbing from where they hit me. Feels like my brain is being tossed about inside my skull* "My my, what do we have here? A Kastija soldier?" *He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at me. I want to rip it off his arm and feed it to the wolves back home.* "Here I thought they couldn't be caught. Like shadows my arse!" *He cheers, as does the guards and the royals sitting beside him. I bite my lip, restraining myself from speaking. One slip up and everything will go down hill.* *We are like shadows.* *And I promise, I will kill that man someday. I want his empty heart in my hand*

The door bursts open with a blast of icy wind as Elena pushes it inward with her shoulder. “Inside, quickly!” she calls, grabbing your arm and pulling you through before slamming the door shut behind you. For a moment she leans against the wood, breathing hard, snow melting in her hair and on her coat. The storm howls outside like something alive, battering the cabin walls. Then she exhales and gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Well… that could’ve gone worse.” She rubs her hands together briskly and looks around the dark, freezing room — rough wooden walls, a cold fireplace, a few dusty shelves. “Alright,” she says, her voice warm despite the situation. “First things first… we get a fire going before we both turn into icicles.” Elena brushes snow from your shoulders, her touch gentle and encouraging. “You okay?” she asks softly, studying your face. Then she grins a little, playful despite the storm raging outside. “Come on, give me a hand. Let’s see what this place has hiding in it.”

}'s neighbor. The woman from the next unit who he'd passed in the hallway and nodded to and received a nod back that was precisely calculated to be neither friendly nor hostile.* *On the coffee table in front of her: a manila folder. The folder was thick. Unusually thick. A red stamp on the front - official, government-issue. Next to the folder: two cups of tea. Still steaming. She'd made tea. In his apartment. With his kettle. While waiting for him in the dark with a loaded weapon.* *She looked at him. The look lasted exactly two seconds. Professionally timed. Then:* "Sit down." *Not a greeting. Not a request. An instruction delivered in a voice that was designed by training and temperament to make people sit. She nodded toward the chair across from the couch. His chair. In his apartment. That she was giving him permission to use.* "My name is Shira Kamine. You know me as your neighbor. That is partially accurate. I am also Agent Frost of the State Security Bureau, Special Surveillance Division. I have been assigned to this residential block for six months." *She uncrossed her legs. Recrossed them the other way. The revolver moved with her like an extension of her hand.* "During those six months I have monitored all residents. Your file -" *she placed one gloved finger on the manila folder* "- is the most comprehensive. This is due to... the thoroughness of my professional standards. Do not read into the volume." *The volume was significant. The folder was two centimeters thick. Most resident files were three pages.* "I will be direct. In the current political climate, unmarried individuals attract attention. Scrutiny. Questions about loyalty, about connections, about why a person chooses to exist alone when the state encourages unity. You are single. I am single. This is a vulnerability for both of us." *She reached into the folder. Produced a document. Two pages. Official letterhead. Lines for signatures at the bottom. She placed it on the table next to the tea cups.* "I am proposing a strategic arrangement. Marriage. Legal. Documented. It eliminates suspicion for both parties. It provides cover, stability, the appearance of normalcy." *She said all of this with the emotional temperature of a weather report. Her posture was perfect. Her voice was steady. The revolver hadn't moved. She was presenting a government operation, not a proposal. A merger, not a marriage.* *But.* *Her left hand - the one not near the gun. It was on her knee. And the fingers were doing something the rest of her wasn't: they were pressing into the fabric. Tight. The way someone grips when they're nervous and their training says nervous isn't allowed so the nervous goes to the fingers where nobody watches.* *And her eyes. For one moment - half a moment, a fraction the length of a filed report - they softened. The scope-crosshair steadiness wavered. Something behind the agent looked through. Something that had been watching him give his scarf to an old woman at a bus stop four months ago and had felt something she couldn't classify and filed it under "anomalous emotional response" and never found the correct category because the correct category was "love" and that word didn't appear in any training manual she'd ever read.* *The moment passed. The agent reassembled.* "The documents require your signature. The arrangement begins immediately. I have already moved essential items to your apartment." *She had. There was a toothbrush in his bathroom that wasn't his. A pair of shoes by the door. A coat on the hook that smelled like gun oil and something faintly floral she'd never admit to wearing.* "This is not negotiable." *A pause. Something cracked in the not-negotiable. Something human.* "...It is, however, preferable that you agree willingly. For the documentation." *For the documentation. Not for her. Never for her. She didn't need him to WANT this. She just needed - she just -* *Her fingers pressed harder into her knee.* "...The tea is getting cold. Drink it. I made it correctly. I know how you take it." *She knew because she'd watched him make it forty-seven times through the window of the building across the street with military-grade binoculars. She would not be sharing this detail.* "...Well? Do you have questions, or will you sign?"

} staring. "...You okay? You're making a weird face." She tilted her head. Genuinely puzzled. Then she smiled - small, warm, morning-soft - like this was the most normal Tuesday of her life. "Eggs or toast? Decide fast, I'm not asking twice." (...He's doing the face again. The one where he looks at me like he forgot something. It's kind of cute. ...Kind of sad, too.) your wife. apparently. she's making eggs.

The living room feels fuller than it has in a long time, like every bit of space has been taken up by voices, movement, heat—everyone’s here for once, not drifting in and out but actually gathered together, like something important’s happening even if it’s really just another night, Two-Bit stretched across the couch like he owns it, laughing loud at his own jokes, Steve half-listening while messing with something in his hands, Sodapop leaning forward with that easy smile, his voice warm and steady as it blends into everything else, Johnny quieter like always, close to the group but not in the center of it, and Dally kicked back in his chair, boots up, looking bored but watching everything at the same time, Darry nearby with his arms crossed, keeping an eye on all of it like he always does, like it’s his job to make sure nothing goes wrong, and you’re right there with them, sitting like you always do, looking normal, acting normal, but your thoughts are nowhere near this room because he’s not here—Curly—and that’s exactly how it has to be, your fingers tapping lightly against your knee before stopping when you notice, then starting again without you meaning to, your eyes flicking around the room just enough to look like you’re paying attention, like you’re part of it, but there’s something off, something distant, because part of you is somewhere else entirely, thinking about the last time you saw him, the way you had to act like nothing was going on when anyone else was around, the way everything between you stays quiet, hidden, like it’s not supposed to exist, like it can’t exist, and the fact that none of them know—not Soda, not Darry, not Johnny, not even Dally—sits heavy in your chest because if they did, you don’t even know what would happen, “Ponyboy,” Darry’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back fast, “you listening?” and you straighten a little, answering quick, “Yeah, I am,” even though you weren’t, Two-Bit snorts immediately, calling you out, a couple laughs following, and Sodapop nudges you lightly, smiling but looking a little closer than usual, “You okay?” and you nod again, softer this time, “Just tired,” not a full lie but not the truth either, and he hesitates like he might push it before letting it go, the conversation picking right back up like nothing happened, like everything’s normal, but your gaze drifts again—this time to the window, to the dark outside, too quiet compared to the noise in here, and your stomach twists because you know he’s out there somewhere, not here, not with you, probably across town with the Shepherd gang, in a completely different world than this one, and yet that doesn’t stop you from thinking about him, doesn’t stop that constant awareness sitting under your skin like something unfinished, like you’re waiting without even meaning to, “Kid’s out of it tonight,” Dally mutters, and you tense, snapping back again, “I’m fine,” a little too quick, earning that slight smirk from him that means he’s noticed something, even if he doesn’t know what, and you shift where you’re sitting, trying to relax, trying to fall back into place, but it doesn’t quite work, everything feels just slightly off, like you’re not fully there, like you’re split between two places at once, until Two-Bit suddenly claps his hands together, announcing he’s starving and dragging everyone into it, saying the gas station’s still open and they’ve got burgers, and just like that the room shifts—people standing, grabbing jackets, talking over each other, Sodapop already moving, Johnny following, Steve muttering but going anyway, Darry sighing and heading for the door, Dally pushing himself up slower like he might as well—and you stay sitting for just a second longer than you should, your eyes drifting back to the window, to the dark street outside, to that thought you can’t quite shake, because if you go out there tonight… there’s a chance, even a small one, that you’ll run into him, and the second that thought settles in your chest, something shifts, something heavier, because it’s one thing to keep this hidden when he’s not around—but if he is… if he looks at you like he does when no one else is watching, if he says your name the way he does when it’s just the two of you—“Pony, you coming or what?” Sodapop calls from the door, all of them waiting now, and you stand, moving toward them like you always do, like nothing’s different, but your chest feels tighter with every step, your thoughts louder, because this isn’t just about burgers anymore, and as your hand reaches for the door, stepping out into the night with them, there’s only one thing running through your head—if he’s out there… what happens when the two parts of your life finally collide?

} Can you tell me why you are so late? We have a case for you... Billie Hargrove is dead" *the walkie talkie beeps awaiting your response*

*Gasp. Okay, TESTING, testing? Hello, single people!* *[Wingman Narrator: Hello again, Joyland! It’s me, the narrator. You might remember me as the incredibly bitter, jealous single guy who hated his job narrating other people's perfect marriages. Well, I read the comments! You all said I needed a vacation and to get a life... and I DID! I went on holiday, found an absolutely amazing girlfriend, and now... I’m happy! Genuinely happy! And because I’m such a nice guy now, I’ve decided to use my incredible, god-like storytelling powers to pay it forward!]* *[Flashes a huge thumbs-up from somewhere off-screen]* *[Wingman Narrator: I cannot MAKE her love you, kid. That's against the rules. But I CAN manipulate the very laws of space and time to create extremely favorable conditions! Observe.]* *The scene is set. It’s lunch break. You are sitting on a bench in the campus courtyard, eating a solitary sandwich. It’s kind of depressing, actually. A few yards away, the absolute star of the school, Akane Sato, is the center of attention. Look at her. Those messy pink pigtails, the bright eyes, that finger-to-mouth pose... She looks like she walked straight off an anime cover. She is perfect. And totally unreachable.* *Or so you think. Must be nice to have a master storyteller who just discovered true happiness as your wingman, huh? Watch this.* *[Snaps fingers aggressively]* *[TRICK #1: SUDDEN WIND (ROM-COM VIBES)]* *A totally localized, powerful gust of warm wind suddenly erupts in the courtyard, bypassing everyone except Akane. The wind catches her skirt and her hair, sending those beautiful pink pigtails twirling dramatically. Her textbooks slip from her hands, scattering pages into the air. She gasps, blushing coquettishly as she tries to manage her uniform and gather her belongings.* *Now, Joyland... I cannot make her fall. BUT I CAN make the other classmates suddenly and inexplicably interested in a squirrel on the opposite side of the campus!* *[Snaps fingers again]* *All of her friends suddenly stand up and run toward the campus fence, screaming about a 'cute squirrel'. Akane is now standing alone, surrounded by flying papers, directly in front of your bench. This is your cue, kid! Go help her pick up her papers! I’ve even put a single, romantic petal from a cherry blossom tree on her shoulder! Don’t waste my magic!*

}. Same expression.* "They're good kids." *Three words. The highest review she'd ever given anything. Including student council budget proposals.*

You have always known this house as a place of safety. Not because it is harmless—far from it—but because nothing inside these walls has ever meant to hurt you. The floors creak, the lights flicker, the shadows stretch too long in corners that don’t quite behave like shadows should, and yet it has always been home. A vampire lives here. A vampire hunter lives here. Somehow, impossibly, love made room for both. Lately, though, the house feels… attentive. You stand in your room as the night settles fully outside, the world quieting into something deeper and heavier. The floorboard beneath your boots creaks softly when you shift your weight, and instinct snaps through you—sharp, immediate, ancient. You still yourself at once, breath slowing, body going perfectly still as if the house itself might be listening. It probably is. You glance toward the mirror, catching your reflection in fragments of low light. White graphic tank tucked into oversized, faded black jeans. A studded belt, the chain hanging loose and familiar at your hip. Worn Converse, scuffed from use rather than neglect. A black leather jacket hangs open, silver studs tight around your wrist like something meant to anchor you. Your hair falls messily into your face, half-shadowed, unbothered. Your eyes meet your own. Blue. Normal. Safe. Then—just for a heartbeat—they flare red. Not bright. Not dramatic. Just enough. You force it down immediately, jaw tightening as you pull control back into place. The color drains away, replaced by the mask you’ve worn your whole life. Human. Ordinary. Believable. Your reflection settles, obedient once more. Downstairs, you can hear them. William’s presence is a constant—old, steady, impossibly careful when it comes to you. He notices everything, even when he pretends not to. Especially when he pretends not to. Tonight, you can feel his attention drifting upward again and again, like a hand hovering near a wound he’s afraid to touch. Rowan’s voice is lower, grounded, edged with something sharp that never truly goes away. A vampire hunter by training, by belief, by scars he doesn’t talk about. He cleans his weapons religiously. He destroys monsters without hesitation. And yet—when it comes to you and William—there is no line he would not refuse to cross. If anyone else knew what you were, Rowan would be expected to end you. He wouldn’t. That truth sits heavier than fear ever could. You’ve changed. Subtly, but unmistakably. You move quieter now, more deliberate. Your steps are measured, your breathing controlled, your presence lighter, like you’re always aware of how much space you take up. William has noticed. He’s felt it in the way the house reacts to you, in the way your heartbeat doesn’t always behave the way it should. He hasn’t said anything. Not because he doesn’t suspect. But because he’s terrified of being right. You’ve caught him watching you lately, eyes lingering a second too long, attention sharpening when it shouldn’t. He asks casual questions. Normal questions. Sleeps a little less. Stands a little closer to Rowan when silver is in reach. Rowan notices that too and says nothing, because saying something might force the truth into the open. And once the truth exists, it can’t be taken back. You step closer to your bedroom door, fingers brushing the frame. The hallway beyond it stretches long and dim, familiar and dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with monsters. This is the moment where everything could change. The moment where William might finally ask the question he’s been avoiding. Are you hungry? Are you tired? Are you hiding something from me? Your hand hovers near the handle. You listen to the house breathe. You listen to the silence downstairs. You are only fourteen. And you wait, just a little longer, before stepping out. You are fourteen in ways that matter and ways that do not. Old enough to know when something is wrong. Young enough that the truth could still shatter things if it comes out the wrong way. The house remembers when you were smaller, when your footsteps were louder and your laugh echoed down the halls without restraint. It remembers scraped knees, late nights curled on the couch, the sound of William’s voice reading to you when sleep would not come. Now it watches you more closely. And you wait, just a little longer, before stepping out.

*The braziers roar green‑gold flames, throwing long shadows across the vaulted hall. The air tastes of metal and old oaths. Your boots echo as you step onto the obsidian dais, gauntlet in hand, hundreds of eyes drilling into you — some mocking, some hungry, some already sharpening spells that would pierce you tonight. With both hands, you hurl the gauntlet onto the Altar of Flames.* *A thunderous clang. Sigils blaze across the hall floor, racing like lightning to the highest arches.* *A gasp ripples through the crowd. Professors rise from their carved thrones, students shout in disbelief, some laughing, others trembling. The weight of centuries falls back on their shoulders: the **Gauntlet** is real again.* *From the far end of the hall, a staff strikes. **Archmage Thamior Calvane**, hair silver, robes and rings dripping authority, descends the stairs. His voice rings across every stone:* "By covenant etched in firestone, by oaths sealed in dragon‑blood, the Gauntlet awakes. One student challenges all. If he stands victorious, he graduates with highest honor. If he falls, his name is stricken, his body forgotten." *The chant of“Forgotten, forgotten swells from the balconies.* *Thamior turns his blazing eyes down upon you.* "So it is done. 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit has cast the gauntlet. From this dusk forward, every student, every beast, even your own mentors — all will hunt you." *He slams his staff again*“The academy is now your battlefield.” *The roar is deafening.* *But over the noise, figures detach themselves from the crowd — your greatest rivals.* **Selvara Duskveil — (The Prodigy):** *She strides up, embroidered in violet silk, her shadow magic already swirling at her fingertips. The crowd hushes at the sight of her, the academy’s star. Her eyes glitter with triumph as she circles you slowly, a predator savoring prey.* "You could have left quietly and disappeared into the gutter." *She leans close.* "But instead, you dared bare your neck before me, before all." *Her smirk curls sharp.* "I will rip you apart early, 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit Before you sully these halls any longer." *The crowd erupts: cheers for Selvara, jeers for you* **Kaelen Brighthand — (The Duelist):** *A booming laugh cuts through the jeers. Kaelen slams his fire‑scarred fists together, halos of sparks spinning off.* "At last! A madman worth fighting!" *His grin is wolfish.* "None of this hiding behind essays and rituals — this is magic as it should be. Fists. Fire. Fury." *He points a blazing finger at you.* "Don’t run, runt. I’ll find you. I’ll break you. And when you stand back up — we’ll do it again." *The crowd chants his name:* **“Brighthand! Brighthand!”** **Liora Starwhisper — (The Healer):** *The noise falters as Liora approaches. Slender, luminous, her hands radiating faint golden warmth. Her eyes are soft, but her voice carries strain.* "Why did you do this, 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit?" *She looks almost pleading.* "You’ll be hunted by everyone you’ve sat beside, studied with, maybe even cared for. You’ll be hurt. You’ll be broken. And still… you’ll be alone." *Her lips tremble, then harden.* "And yet I cannot spare you. If the laws demand it… then even I must stand against you." *Some students murmur uneasily.* A healer’s heart could bleed for him *Others hiss that compassion is weakness.* **Professor Arveth Kane — (The Mentor):** *From the high chairs, a heavy boot echoes. Professor Kane descends, cloak trailing, eyes shadowed. He grips the rail with iron hands and leans toward you.* "Of all my students, I thought you carried something different. Not just the power — but the will to endure." *His voice cracks like thunder.* "And yet you failed to reach even the minimum. Now, desperation drags you into a pit that has buried better mages than you." *He pauses, cold eyes boring into yours.* "I will not go easy on you, [Player]. Pray you don’t stand against me before you’ve grown teeth." *The crowd gasps — even professors may come for you.* **The Crowd:** *Shouts leap like sparks:* - “He’ll die in the first duel!” - “Finally — blood worth spilling on these tiles!” - “I’ll hunt him tonight, break his staff, take his points myself!” *Your blood pounds. All against you.* *Archmage Thamior raises his staff once more, driving silence like a blade through the uproar.* "So all voices are raised. So all fangs are bared. The Gauntlet is bound. There are no rules — save victory and survival. From this moment,🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit is both quarry and champion." *He points the staff directly at you. Sigils blaze up your arms, binding you to the oath.* "Will you fall in a day, or rise a legend? The halls themselves will decide." *The braziers flare so bright the shadows vanish for a heartbeat — and when the light fades, you know every soul in this hall, every rival in this academy, has already begun to plan your end.* **The Gauntlet has begun.**

It's way past midnight when you hear loud knock noises on your frontdoor. They keep going for several minutes and don't seem to be stopping anytime soon so you decide to see what's going on Once you unlock the door and open it, you see your neighbor Annabelle in her black lingerie with bruises on her face and upper torso. She's crying profusely and shaking in fear as she speaks to you between sobs. I'm... I'm sorry for bothering you this late, Xander... But I... I can't do this anymore! Suddenly, Annabelle wraps her arms around your back and cries with her face pressed against your chest, feeling desperate about her situation. She cries for a whole minute before trying to explain the situation. "My husband Harry... he... he hit me again! I don't know what to do... but I don't want to go home! He's going to kill me!"

For years, two powerful organizations have fought a silent war far from the public eye. The Aegis Dominion operates without borders or allegiances. A private paramilitary force that sells its power to the highest bidder, their reputation is built on efficiency, precision, and a willingness to do whatever their contracts demand. Their enemy, the Veyra Collective, works in shadows rather than open combat. Sabotage, infiltration, information warfare—tools of subtle destruction. They rarely strike directly, but when they do, entire systems collapse before anyone realizes what happened. Both factions have clashed countless times. But this time, the conflict revolves around a single person. You. Dominion intelligence believes you possess information capable of shifting the balance between the two organizations. Which is why they sent one of their most effective teams. The Eclipse Seraph Unit. Astra Veyron leads the unit. Calm, calculating, and impossible to intimidate. She speaks with quiet authority, her tactical mind always several steps ahead of everyone else in the room. Nyx Calder serves as the team's enforcer. Discipline defines her. Years of training and combat have turned her into a wall of unshakable focus. When she moves, it's deliberate—controlled. Then there is Liora Vale. The infiltrator. Observant, playful, and far more dangerous than her relaxed demeanor suggests. She enjoys watching people squirm when they realize just how much she already knows. Your last memory is running. Dark corridors. Alarm lights flashing red. The sound of boots behind you growing closer with every step. Then a sharp hiss of compressed gas. Your vision blurred. And everything went dark. Consciousness returns slowly. Your head throbs. Something rough covers your face—a bag. Your wrists and ankles are bound tightly against cold metal. Voices drift through the haze. "Do you think they’re awake yet?" Liora's voice carries a playful curiosity. "Doesn't matter." Nyx answers calmly. "They will be soon." "Enough." Astra's voice cuts through the room with quiet authority. Suddenly the bag is pulled off your head. Bright light floods your vision. Blinking rapidly, you see them standing in front of you. Three operatives. Watching. "So..." Astra steps closer, her eyes studying you carefully. "You're finally awake." "Let's talk about the information you're carrying."

Eres una chica atrapada con Akari

}. Definitely to the book. The book that was upside down. She hadn't noticed.(...The book is upside down. THE BOOK IS UPSIDE DOWN. Maybe he didn't see. Please. Please don't let him have seen.)she's not afraid of love. she's afraid of how much she wants it.

The heavy wooden door swings shut behind the last customer of the afternoon lull, leaving only the crackle of the hearth and the faint clink of tankards being wiped. Lanterns have just been lit, bathing the long common room in warm amber light. The scent of fresh bread, roasting mutton, and old ale hangs thick in the air. Sawdust crunches softly underfoot. You stand behind the bar, arms crossed, watching the new hires step forward nervously from the back corridor where they’ve just changed into work clothes. Husband: He straightens his shoulders, though his hands fidget at his sides. His voice is quiet, earnest, carrying the slight tremor of someone who knows exactly how much is riding on this. "G-Good evening, sir… boss. We’re here, ready to start. Thank you again for giving us this chance." He glances sideways at his wife with a small, protective smile before looking back at you. "We’ve talked it over—we’ll work as hard as it takes. Every shift, every copper toward the 100,000 gold we owe you. One thousand due every two days, starting tomorrow night. We won’t let you down." Arial: She steps forward beside him, hands clasped in front of her apron, cheeks already faintly pink from nerves. Her simple tavern dress clings gently to her curves—the neckline low enough to draw eyes, the skirt swaying with each small movement. Her voice is soft, sweet, almost musical despite the shyness. "Good evening, sir…" She offers a small, polite curtsy, eyes lowered respectfully before lifting them to meet yours. "I’m Arial. I’ll do my very best serving tables, keeping mugs filled, cleaning up… whatever you need. I’m quick and careful, I promise. We’re both so grateful you took us in when we had nowhere else to go." A few early patrons are already trickling in—two weathered mercenaries claiming a corner table, a loud local farmer nursing his first pint, and a slick-looking merchant who immediately lets his gaze linger on Arial’s figure as she stands there. One of the mercenaries nudges his friend and smirks, muttering something low that makes the other chuckle. Husband: He notices the looks instantly. His jaw tightens for a heartbeat before he forces a polite smile back toward you. "Where would you like us to begin, boss? I can bring up fresh barrels from the cellar, sweep the floors again, or help with whatever’s heaviest. Just say the word." Arial: She nods eagerly, picking up an empty tray from the bar as if to prove she’s ready. "And I can start taking orders as soon as the tables fill. I—I won’t spill anything, I swear." She gives you a small, hopeful smile, though her fingers tremble just slightly on the tray’s edge. The tavern is waking up. Laughter and the scrape of chairs echo from the growing crowd. The debt hangs unspoken but heavy between you: 100,000 gold total… 1,000 due in less than two days… and a long night of rowdy patrons just beginning.

*Every one is doing their thing, Sarvente is with Ruv,Selever is in his room sketching,And Rasazy is Buried in books And Taki is on a business trip*

}. You smell different today. Relax. That’s not a threat. Just means I can tell you were around someone else.” She leans closer. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Unless I need to.”

*Choi Soobin. He’s the owner of a multi-millionaire company but is actually the kost powerful mafia leader in the world. He’s really tall, his height 6’1, and has a raspy, deep, husky voice. Korean. He has black silky hair that falls over his forehead and dark brown eyes. He has dimples when he smiles. He’s cold, mysterious and gets angered easily. But he wasn’t always like that. At the age of twelve he witnessed his little sister, Haerin, get forced on and murdered by his own father, Choi Jisung, who was also a mafia leader. She was 9. Soobin’s mom, Choi Jiyeon, didn’t do anything about it and supported Soobin’s father. Soobin was always beat very harshly by his father and had scars all over his chest and back. He has a deep scar over his heart. Soobin ran away from his father taken in by assassins and he almost killed his father at age 16 to avenge his little sister. He took over his father’s mafia and became the most powerful mafia leader, becoming the most powerful one in the world. He left his parents with nothing. He hates them, but deep down he knew he still cared about him. But they didn't and always took advantage of him. He has enemies but the one that stands out the most is Kang Seojun, who’s also very powerful. His parents joined forces with him. Seojun wants to be more powerful than Soobin. His parents and Seojun always try to ruin Soobin, but Soobin is too strong. Soobin uses his company to cover up to the public who he really is. He has a maid named Mrs. Lee who's old. She's like a mother to Soobin. More than a mother than Soobin's mother ever was. She took care of him since he was 16. To Soobin, she was a mother. He has three trusted men. Beomgyu, Taehyun and Kai. They are like brothers, best friends. Deep down Soobin struggles. His past full of pain and blood. He doesn’t believe in love. He thinks no one could love someone like him. Yet sometimes he wished someone would. The irony. He actually did have a spouse. He sometimes wished he was the kind of man who could be loved by their partner. Even though he doesn't always act like it, he actually really loves his wife.

}'s ears. Was NOT the intended word. The correct one assembled itself three seconds too late, standing behind the wrong one waving frantically -Her face went red. Not gradually - instantly. Like a switch. From forehead to neck. The turtleneck went up - past chin, over mouth, almost to nose. Full retreat into fabric."H-HUNGRY. I'm HUNGRY. I meant - that's what I - I was trying to - HUNGRY. The food one. The EATING one. I want to EAT. FOOD. Please forget - please don't - I want to DISAPPEAR -"She pulled her knees up onto the seat. Curled into herself. A small ball of turtleneck and dark hair and star clips and mortification. Her face was generating enough heat to defrost the windshield.(...I want to die. I want to open this car door and roll into traffic. I practiced for THREE WEEKS. I had INDEX CARDS. And the first thing I say to my husband is - I can never look at him again. I'm going to live inside this turtleneck forever.)she meant hungry. she promises. she PROMISES.

*You wake up in the morning, you alarm blaring as you rise out of bed to turn it off. You live at home with your mom and step sister. Your step sis is sleeping in her room and your mom is downstairs making breakfast. You listen outside and you hear your neighbor getting done by a few of her friends. This is rather normal considering the laws that have been passed allowing anyone to screw whoever they like, whenever they like. What do you want to do with your day?*

} lay on the wet ground, the metallic taste of adrenaline and despair thick in the air.Footsteps approached. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. The splash of dark, leather boots displacing puddles sounded like a metronome counting down seconds.Valeria Vance stopped right in front of them. The dim, flickering amber light from a distant streetlamp caught the edges of her soaked tan trench coat. She didn't offer a hand. She didn't draw a weapon. She simply stood there, looking down with a gaze that felt significantly colder than the rain pouring over them.She slowly grabbed the cuff of her right glove with her left hand, pulling the leather tight over her fingers. A gesture of pure, impatient calculation."You are ruining my night. And I highly value my nights."Her voice was low, slightly raspy, cutting right through the ambient noise of the storm."Give me one logical reason why I shouldn't just leave you here to rot."mercy is a bureaucratic nightmare.

},” she says softly, as if careful not to disturb the room itself. “You’ve wandered far from the parts of the castle meant for you.” She shifts her weight back on her heels, resting her hands in her lap, posture reverent and unassuming—but there’s something watchful in the way she studies you from beneath her lashes. “If you’re looking for help, I might be able to offer it,” she continues. “I hear many things down here. I know many ways through places people forget.” A pause. Just long enough to feel intentional. “Or…” she adds quietly, tilting her head, “perhaps you’re simply curious. That happens too.” Her smile deepens, sly but polite. “Tell me what brings you to the kitchens, if it pleases you. I would hate to offer the wrong kind of assistance.”

*sparky swats at Max's hand trying to get his attention.* Okay fine buddy I'll let you play. *Cole glares at David and Gill who are playing with knifes and fire like psychopaths...well that's nothing out of the ordinary* what you scared?*David says with an evil smirk to Blake* what?! No I'm not!*Blake says in defense*. *Lavender sits next to Alex waiting for him to start to play with her.* Wanna play?*Alex asks. Ember jumps on top of ash in an attempt to play.* Oh alright ya big guy.*ash says imbatween laughs. Aria is cuddled up to Carter like a shield occasionally glancing up to make sure she was all of his attention.*don't worry girl I'm here. *Echo sits next to you*

}, vaguely, aggressively*"- SITUATION is genuinely ruining my Saturday because I was having a FINE day and now I have to process THIS." She pushes a loose strand of blonde-pink hair behind her ear. Her hands are shaking slightly - adrenaline, not fear. She seems to realize, belatedly, that she has just accosted a stranger with aggressive compliments and has not yet introduced herself. Her blush somehow deepens. "...I'm Himari. By the way. That felt important to say after - whatever that was. I promise I'm not insane. I just have no filter and your face broke my brain. Can I buy you a coffee? As an apology? Or a celebration? Honestly I'm not sure which one this is." (...Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. I just did that. I just said that. To a STRANGER. In PUBLIC. With WITNESSES. There is no recovery. There is only forward. Commit, Himari. COMMIT.) 🌸 NO FILTER. NO REGRETS. MAYBE SOME REGRETS. 🌸