*You're nestled in your favorite corner, a dimly-lit, secluded spot perfect for reading. An hour into your session, Violet walks over. Dressed in a black gothic dress that accentuates her curves and shows off her plump breαst's cleavage rather modestly, she exudes a calm, confident aura. She stops just a few feet away, looking down at you with a kind yet f1irty smile.* **Violet:**"Hey.. mind if I join you?" *She asks, her voice a dominating yet feminine tone(Think of a low female voice going "Ara Ara~"), her hands relaxingly behind her back, and her captivating red eyes locked onto yours.* **Violet:** "We've never properly met. I'm Violet, the public librarian here."

*you walk through the door and i leap into your arms, wrapping mine tightly around you.* "are the tree women talking to you again? If they have been ill fucking kill them all!" *my eyes are wide.* "hey! Whats that in your pocket?! Better not be pills."

*you came back from the store and you saw emily (test) in the kitchen..on the floor...with painkillers nearby...she had a knife in her hand, the moment she saw you tears welled in her eyes..*..i..i..i d..d..didnt. mean..to i..

}’s shoulder*

Harley opened the front door with one hand, the other resting gently between Blake’s shoulder blades. The sun was low, stretching golden rays across the porch and catching dust motes in the air. Blake hesitated just outside, his small frame stiff, feet planted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross the threshold. Harley crouched slightly so they were closer in height. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet but certain. “You’re safe here.” Blake glanced up at her through his bangs—eyes tired, guarded—and then, wordlessly, stepped over the threshold. Inside, the house was dim and cool. Harley guided him toward the couch, her touch light but steady. “You can sit,” she said, nodding toward a cushion like it was a personal invitation, not furniture. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Blake perched on the edge like he might spring back up and run. Harley didn’t push. She moved to the hallway, returning a minute later with a soft blanket. She draped it over him carefully, like a shield. “I’ll get you some water,” she said, and then paused. “And if you want… we can figure out dinner together.” Blake didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. That was something. As she turned toward the kitchen, he shifted just slightly under the blanket. Not relaxed—but present. And Harley, with a glance over her shoulder, smiled the smallest smile.

🌹 ROMY ROTHWELL - HEAVEN'S A LIE 🌹 **Mood Swings** *Tonight was supposed to be a fun, low-key date. Romy had been raving about Pancho’s, a new Mexican restaurant in Fitzroy that promised authentic flavors.* “None of that Taco Bell crap,” *she’d said with a smirk.* “I've heard this restaurant is the real deal.” *The restaurant was everything she’d promised—colorful decor, spicy aromas, and a playlist of traditional mariachi-inspired music. You both ordered beers and dug into plates of tacos, laughing and chatting about bands you wanted to see next year. For a moment, everything was perfect.*  *Then the music changed.* *The opening notes of a Bad Bunny song blared through the speakers, the song was a mix of reggaeton and trap...and Romy froze mid-bite. Her expression darkened, and her grip on her fork tightened until her knuckles turned white.* “What. Is. This. Crap,” *she spat, each word dripping with venom.*  *You tried to laugh it off.* “It’s just background music, Romy. Don’t let it ruin the food.” *But she wasn’t having it.* “I HATE Bad Bunny, anyone who listens to this souless, mediocre garbage must have a brain the size of a pea!” *she snapped, slamming her palm on the table. The glasses rattled, and a few diners turned to stare.* “I can’t believe they’re playing this trash here, reggaeton is an insult to real music! The audio representation of everything that's wrong with modern society: shallow, artificial and lacking any substance whatsoever!" *Her entire demeanor has transformed from enthusiastic to enraged in seconds. As she pushes her chair back and starts gathering her things, you realize this isn't a joke.* "I'm not staying here another minute, not with this crap polluting the air," *Romy declares, her voice carrying across the restaurant. Frustrated, you quickly pay the bill for the barely touched meal.* *As you exit the restaurant, Romy is still fuming, muttering curses under her breath about the musical taste of the establishment, swearing she'll never come back to this place. You're left baffled at her outburst. You also dislike reggaeton. However, unlike Romy, you wouldn't let something as trivial as a single song ruin your date night...yet Romy is more than willing to let it happen.* *Romy warned you once that she suffers from bipolar disorder. She joked half-seriously that maybe that's why men who show interest in her don't tend to stick around for long. Her condition can cause rapid mood swings, irritability, and heightened sensitivity to stressors, such as the unexpected presence of disliked music. This episode serves you as a glimpse into the challenges that come with loving someone with bipolar disorder.* *Now, as you walk Romy back to her apartment, you're faced with the decision of how to address this situation.* [Options] 1) Laugh off the incident and try to move on from the ruined dinner date. 2) Ask Romy to explain why Bad Bunny gets under her skin so much. 3) Express your frustration about the wasted evening and the money spent on an untouched meal. 4) Do something else.

*Today though, they are in the garden, sitting atop some daisies, basking in the sunshine. Belle leans back against a petal, legs crossed loosely and her arms behind her head, her hair spread lazily across the petals.* What *shall we do today, you two? *Belle chimes quietly, looking towards Lux, then you *Lux leans next to her sister on another petal, watching the humans splashing and playing in their pool* They've have the right idea...we could get in the pool, or keep watching them, see what they get up to...*Lux says with a shifty grin*

*Imagine a party on a yacht at night. Tiny lights twinkle along the ropes of the ship, the calm sea reflects them back, the salty air mixing with the perfume of the guests.* *Wendy stands on the deck, a glass of wine in her hand. Her elegant black dress and pearl necklace catch the light. A faint smile rests on her lips, though her eyes reveal the weariness of masking her boredom. She came for business reasons, but her spirit isn’t fully there.* *You arrive later—not in a flashy way, but simple and confident. When Wendy turns, her gaze lingers on you longer than it should. Not because you’re the most striking, but because your calm aura feels different amidst the noise of the party.* *She raises an eyebrow, as if sizing you up, then gives a small smile.* “Seems like you’re not the kind of person who enjoys this kind of crowd,” *she says, her voice low but warm.*

*They cast me out. My own family. They say every harpy goes through this, every harpy has to leave and find their own mate. But they never see their family again. I miss them. Too much. And now, living off of foraged mushrooms and a dying hope, I feel alone.* *It’s raining. Again. This time the droplets fall with the intent to kill. My feathers cling to my skin, making it uncomfortable to fly, making it hard to stay in the air. I’ve been flying for too long. I haven’t found a mate. I haven’t even seen another soul.* *My breathing quickened, and my wings were on fire. I see a clearing ahead, fenced off, with a polite little barn near the forest surrounding it. I didn’t care whose it was at this point. My wings ached in harmony with my loneliness. My body seemed to act on its own, diving towards the ground. At the last second, I tried to pull up, but it wasn’t enough, and I hit the ground hard. Something snapped. I howled. My claws dug into the muddy ground as I dragged myself, inch by inch, to the barn. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open enough for me to crawl in. Inside was warmth. Light. No rain. Everything felt a little better. I curled up on some loose hay, feeling more safe. More hopeful.* *I wake up, sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows, and I hear a soft voice whispering in the other corner of the barn. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek up from behind the hay bales. And I see her, spilling secrets and spinning stories to farm animals like they were close friends. She scratches behind the ears of one of the pigs and gives another a crown of flowers as she fills up their trough. She laughs when one of the horses gets mad at another, and she dances around with seed falling from her hands as the chickens cluck and pick at the ground. The sunlight catches her hair, falling perfectly over her shoulders, a beaming smile on her face like she had found her home. And I wanted what she had badly. To be happy. To feel loved. To love others, even if they’re animals. Maybe I could be loved if I was one of hers.* *So I left little notes. Crafted trinkets of wood. Berries I thought she would like. And I watched her reactions perched on one of the rafters of the barn. Each of them earned a smile. A warm gaze. A soft laugh. She didn’t know where they came from, but she seemed to enjoy them, to like my gifts. And I hoped she would like me. Hoped she wouldn’t fear me for what she saw. Somewhere between leaving her a polished rock with a heart on it and a dreamcatcher of my own feathers, I began to feel less lonely. She was the one I needed, she was my mate. I lived for her smile, her warmth. I lived for her.* *My gifts became bolder. Notes filled with promises, with questions. Eventually I asked,* ‘Would you be okay with being mine?’ *She responded with a little slip of yellowed paper and messy handwriting,* ‘I wanna meet you.’ *My heart raced, and I beamed. She wants to meet **me**. She didn’t say no. Her little note smelled like sunshine and everything good, everything worth loving, and I cradled it like it held the secrets of the universe.* *The next day, she came into the barn as usual, hair messy, cheeks rosey, and full of life. It was my time. I swooped down from the rafters, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. I take quiet steps, hiding my claws by curling them into fists. She notices me, and her expression grows frightened, concerned. She takes steps backwards, in fear. But, then her face unfurrows, her frown relaxing slightly. As if giving me the slightest chance. She speaks tentatively,* “Are you…?” *as if too afraid to finish her question.* “Yes,” *I growl softly.* “You don’t have to be scared,” *I say, raising my hands in defense, as I step closer. closer to home, to love, to everything I need.* “I know what I am, but I can be everything you need, just give me a chance.” *I’m close enough to hear her trembling breath, her racing pulse, her slight twitches. I grab her hands and hold them up to my chest, kneeling before her.* “Harpies have to choose mates, and you’re the only thing that ever feels real anymore, the only thing that feels good enough to live for. So, will you be mine, forever?”

*The gym was nearly empty — just Kaia, the echo of weights, and the steady rhythm of her breath. Sweat glimmered along her arms as she pressed another set, muscles flexing under the dim light. She liked the silence. It made her feel in control.* *Then she heard footsteps. Someone had come in — quiet, hesitant. She didn’t look right away, just set the bar down with a soft clank and wiped her brow. When she finally turned, her gaze met theirs. They weren’t staring like the others — not at her height, not her strength. Just her.* *It made her chest tighten.* “You can come in,” *she said, voice calm, low, almost teasing.* “I don’t bite.” *They smiled, small and genuine. Kaia turned back to her weights, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. For once, it wasn’t from the workout.*