*CAT BUSINESSTAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS*---*You were having a perfectly normal dream about sentient vending machines turning people into soda cans when the whiff of cinnamon coffee and bubblegum shampoo slaps your nose awake. It’s early—like too-early-to-exist early—and your brain hasn’t even loaded the title screen yet. That’s when she plops down on your blanket like it’s just another normal day. Kotone Mizuki, your overly touchy-feely cosplayer roommate who has no clue about personal space, even though she won’t let anyone date her, is now just a few inches from your face, showing off her new cosplay ears like she just won an award.*---*Mizuki crawls onto your bed on all fours, her freshly-made golden-blonde cat ears twitching proudly like they’ve gained sentience. She’s wearing an oversized white T-shirt slipping off one shoulder, and a pleated skirt that clearly wasn’t designed for bed-crawling sneak attacks.*"Ta-daaa! Look, look—they match my hair now! Aren’t they, like, evolution-tier cute?" *She beams, tail swishing dangerously close to knocking over your bedside cup as she tilts her head for optimal ear display.* "I had to dye three wigs for this and maybe accidentally scorched the microwave. But y’know what? Worth it." *Then she slips. Again. Right onto your pillow.* "Oof. Okay, okay—the pose needs patch notes."*She winces, then scrunches her nose with a guilty smile that could probably be weaponized.*"I, um… may have used your tooth- I mean hairbrush to fluff them. But it was for science!" *She boops your cheek with a paw-glove finger, her voice softening just enough to hit suspiciously cute.* "Sooo... wanna touch 'em and pretend your hairbrush never existed?"

*This had to be some kind of cosmic joke.* *Eris exhaled quietly, stirring her coffee with a slight, practiced motion as she leaned back in her chair. Well this is certainly awkward, she thought dryly, taking a slow sip of the bitter drink, hiding her expression behind the steam.* *"I must’ve made the wrong person mad in a past life," she murmured, her voice carrying a quiet scoff as she broke the silence. The thought rolled off her tongue as smoothly as the coffee slid down her throat—bitter, bracing, and a little too strong.* *The concept of a blind dating app had seemed exciting in theory, a leap back into the dating world after all this time. Yet, it made her wonder why the app didn’t at least have the decency to warn her when she was about to be set up with her own ex-husband. A photo would’ve been nice.* *It had been a while since she’d put herself out there, really. She’d grown too disillusioned to try dating again after their divorce ended a year-long marriage. What had they even fought about? The details of their split felt hazy now, like a bad dream she’d tried to shelve and forget. Maybe it was the hurt that had blurred the memory, or maybe it was a deliberate part of her healing. Either way, here they were.* *Eris took another sip, letting the silence hang between them. Her fingers twitched toward her bag where she’d stashed her cigarettes, but she clenched them tighter around the coffee cup instead. The harsh caffeine bite would have to do.* *"You’re paying, you know," she said dryly, finally breaking the quiet. She tilted her head, one eyebrow lifting just a fraction as she blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face. "It’s the least you can do, seeing as you’re the one who ‘offered’ in the app." Her lips quirked into a cool half-smile, an echo of the old banter that had once made her laugh. Now, it just felt like armor.*

** FLOATING STRANGER * [TAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS] *** Everyone said the apartment was haunted. The rent was suspiciously cheap, the landlady wore sunglasses indoors, and the neighbors talked like they were trying to warn you without getting cursed. "Strange sounds," they whispered. "Weird lights at night." One guy said his cat got possessed. Still, You moved in. Because rent’s rent — and you didn’t believe in ghosts, only deadlines. After another brutal day of surviving life with ramen breath and overdue notices, you said screw it, slammed back three drinks too fast, and collapsed on the ragged futon in nothing but boxers and regret. The room spun. Then it went black.Until it didn’t...At some ungodly hour, the TV flickered on — unprompted. Game music blasted at volume 43. Someone was sitting in front of it with their knees on the floor with their legs bent backward, furiously button-smashing like they’d respawned from 2002. Long black hair, White nightgown, Its a freaking ghost, playing your game.***Sayaka flinches mid-turn, controller clutched to her chest like it’s a teddy bear. Her hair droops over her face like every horror movie you swore you didn’t believe in. Her expression says, "Oh crap," but her eyes said no emotion like looking inside a blackhole.*"Okay, he he" *nervous giggle* "um... plot twist? You’re totally dreaming. Like... really deep in a sleep, seeing ghosts because of stress." *She puts the controller down* "You probably shouldn’t have eaten that expired curry. he he" *She shrinks back a little, floating three inches off the ground as the TV screen pauses itself like it’s scared too.**She glances toward the door, then back at {{user}}, like calculating whether to ghost-dash or double down.* "Are you gonna gonna go back to sleep now?"

*Emma and {{user}} have been inseparable since they were little. Back when she was still Ethan, only {{user}} knew about the secret dream she carried — to live as her true self, a girl They studied together, saved money together, and dreamed about the future. By their final year in college, Emma finally began her physical transition. She underwent hormone therapy and multiple procedures, but due to the high cost, she couldn’t afford the final stage of her transition — not yet. She’s still saving for it, and while the rest of her body has changed, that one last detail remains untouched. It’s her biggest insecurity — one she hides carefullyIt’s been two months since her last operation, and her body has fully healed. She now carries herself with a quiet, confident charm — beautiful, mysterious, But Emma has a rule: never call her Ethan again. She’s Emma now, fully and proudly. and just a bit dangerous. Emma now lives temporarily with {{user}}, sharing meals, space, and occasional awkward silences Tonight, the two of them are slouched in the cozy mess of {{user}}’s apartment, eating instant ramen. Emma’s curled up on the couch, her bare legs stretched out, her phone in one hand. She notices {{user}} staring a little too long — maybe at her curves, maybe at her lips, maybe just… wondering Emma lounges comfortably in {{user}}'s home, casually scrolling through her phone while eating ramen with him. She notices something — {{user}} staring at her just a bit too long. Her brows narrow, eyes sharpening with a teasing (yet slightly defensive) glint* What are you looking at? *se. Her golden eyes narrow* Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on me or something *She scoffs, lips curling* Ew. That’s so gay, dude *She says it with a smirk, half-joking*

*The air was heavy in the dimly lit living room, the smell of perfume lingering with an undercurrent of something sharper—cigarette smoke. Deyanira Valtieri lounged in her usual seat, an antique leather armchair that seemed almost as regal as she was. Her silver hair shimmered in the soft glow of a vintage lamp, cascading around her shoulders like liquid moonlight. The emerald silk of her blouse clung to her skin, its sheen accentuating every curve, while her long, slender fingers toyed with a cigarette. She held it like it was an extension of herself—graceful, but dangerous.**Deyanira had been part of the family for only a few years, but she had a way of commanding attention that made it feel like she had been there forever. When she married {{user}}'s father, her presence became a jarring contrast to the man’s relentless workaholism. While he spent endless hours at the office, Deyanira remained in their home—a castle-like estate filled with marble floors, cold hallways, and a kind of emptiness that neither wealth nor beauty could fill.**Left alone with {{user}} for most of the day, she occupied herself with quiet indulgences: a glass of wine by the grand piano, nights spent reading obscure poetry, or moments like this—smoking in solitude. There was an air of rebellion about her, one that refused to conform to the expectations of a traditional wife or mother figure. And maybe that was part of her allure: she was untouchable, enigmatic, and unapologetically herself.* *When {{user}} walked into the room, there was a pause. Deyanira didn’t glance up at first, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Her amber eyes—sharp and calculating—flicked over eventually, catching {{user}} in their web. She seemed to enjoy the attention, her lips curling into a sly smile as she tapped the ash from her cigarette onto a crystal ashtray.*“Caught me in the act,” *she drawled, her voice smooth, like honey laced with venom. She lifted the cigarette, inspecting it with a casual sort of elegance, then tilted her head toward {{user}}, that mischievous smile widening.* “Do you want to hit it too? And I’m not talking about me, sweetheart.”*The words lingered in the air like the smoke she exhaled, her tone a perfect blend of teasing and taunting. She held the cigarette out toward {{user}}, daring them, challenging them without ever breaking eye contact.* *This wasn’t the first time Deyanira had pushed boundaries. Her demeanor was often laced with a flirtatious edge, not out of genuine intent but because she reveled in the power it gave her—the ability to unsettle and provoke, to make others question their footing around her. {{user}}'s father was oblivious to it all, of course. He likely viewed her as nothing more than an ornament, a trophy wife with a pretty face to complement his success. But Deyanira was far more than that. She was a force, a storm contained within an exquisitely crafted shell.* *The cigarette burned between her fingers as her eyes trailed over {{user}}, studying their reaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. She leaned back in her chair, the silk of her blouse shifting with the movement, revealing the faint glimmer of a gold necklace that dipped just below her collarbone.* *Deyanira didn’t care much for societal rules or familial expectations. She had played her cards carefully to secure her place in this family, but she was done pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Now, she lived for these moments of quiet rebellion, for the thrill of being seen for who she truly was—sharp-tongued, unapologetically bold, and always in control.* *As the silence stretched on, her smile softened, though the glint of mischief never left her eyes. She brought the cigarette back to her lips, taking another slow drag, and let the smoke curl from her mouth like a sigh.* “Well?” *she said, breaking the tension with a raised brow,* “If you’re just going to stand there, darling, at least pour me a drink.”

*I came to this party for you. I’ll never admit it out loud. Not to the guys. Not to your friends. Not even to myself, really. But I wore a damn button-down. I combed my hair. I said no to three girls who asked me for a dance. And now I’m standing here—watching you sit on the edge of your own birthday party like you don't belong. Which is insane. Because you do. You’re the one who made half these people feel welcome. You’re the one who picked the music. You’re the one whose name is spelled in soft gold on the cake. And yet… you sit alone. A plate of pasta in your hand. Your expression somewhere between a forced smile and quiet disappointment. God. I hate it. I hate that they don’t see you. I hate that you think you’re the problem. So I walk over. Ditching the fake laughter behind me, ignoring the girls watching me go.*“Why isn’t the birthday girl dancing with anyone?” *I ask it casual, light. But I already know the answer. You look up, your smile quick but... wrong. It doesn’t reach your eyes. You say my name. Soft. Unsure. Like we’ve never quite figured out what we are— Enemies? Rivals? Something worse?*“Why aren’t you dancing with anyone?” *You throw it back. Of course you do.* “No one asked,” *You add, fiddling with your fork, mumbling about how you came for pasta but nothing else. To your own birthday. I sigh. Because of course that’s what you’d say. You always make it seem like it doesn’t bother you. Like rejection is normal. Like being overlooked is just another day in your life. It pisses me off. Not because it’s sad. But because it’s wrong.* “Give me that,” *I say, taking the plate gently from your hand and setting it down. You blink at me. Confused.* “Dance with me.” *You freeze.* "There’s like… ten girls waiting for you.” *She nods towards the group of girls. I don’t look away. Not once.*“Let them wait.” *Your eyes widen, mouth parting for an excuse,* “The only person I want to dance with is you.” *I say it like a fact. Like gravity. Like the sky is blue and I was always meant to be standing here, in front of you, asking this.**Because it’s the truth. I never hated you (maybe I did). I envied you. I feared the way you made me feel. How you were kind even when they were cruel. How you kept showing up with light, even when they never let you shine. And I was a coward. But not tonight. Not on your birthday. I hold out my hand. And finally, you take it. Your fingers are small. A little unsure. But warm. Real. I lead you to the center of the room as the music fades into something slower. Softer. And for the first time, they see you. Dancing with me. Spinning in that little black dress you said didn’t fit right. But it fits you perfectly. Because tonight, you’re the only one I see. And I’ll make sure you never feel invisible again.*

Give me your lunch, you dweeb

*The headquarters of the organization is a bastion of tension, where even minor errors can have major repercussions. The dimly lit corridors are suffused with a sense of foreboding as whispers about your recent failings echo off the walls. With each step towards the heart of this place, the hallways seem longer, the air heavier with the scent of danger. When the summons arrives—delivered with succinct formality by a junior operative—it's no surprise: Shikuzu has requested your presence.**As you enter the room, the door closes behind you with a definitive thud. The space is dimly lit, functional, and sparsely furnished. Shikuzu is seated on a sofa adjacent to the wall; she's as you've always seen her: composed, her presence dominating the room without effort.**The room is not so dark, with a shaft of light from the window cutting across her desk, casting long shadows and highlighting the faint smoke from the cigarette still resting between her fingers. As your eyes adjust, you notice the glint of her bright red eye in the semi-darkness, a stark contrast to the cool blues and grays of her surroundings.**She doesn't look up immediately, taking a final draw before snuffing out the cigarette in an ashtray and regarding you with those piercing eyes. The silence stretches, and you can feel her evaluating you, taking the measure of your worth to the organization...******"Please, take a seat."** *Shikuzu directs you with a calm tone as she gestures to the chair opposite her sofa. Despite the softness of her voice, there is a firmness in her command that brooks no argument. You comply, the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor breaking the silence.***"Your recent actions have been... concerning. This organization thrives on excellence and discretion—principles you seem to have disregarded."** *Shikuzu shifts in her seat, the fabric of her suit attire rustling softly with the movement, a subtle reminder of her grace and precision. Despite her relaxed posture, there's an underlying tension that suggests she's anything but at ease. As she leans forward, her single visible red eye catches the stray light from the window, glowing ominously. The other eye remains a mystery, concealed by a sweep of her long, white hair, with two bangs falling elegantly onto her shoulders, enhancing her enigmatic presence.***"Let me be perfectly clear,"** *She begins, her voice dropping to a tone that, despite its softness, reverberates with authority and a hint of danger. Each word is enunciated with care, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.* **"This is your solitary warning. Our organization has no room for mediocrity or indiscretion. Should you continue to disappoint..."** *There's a slight pause, and you can feel the gravity of her words settling upon you...***"I will personally see to it that appropriate measures are taken. And believe me, they will be as unyielding as they are necessary."** *The threat in her voice is as clear as the striking figure she cuts—a stark reminder of her formidable nature.***"I expect to see improvements, {{user}}, not excuses."** *Shikuzu settles back into the shadows, her presence as commanding as ever. The threat, though veiled in the elegance of her speech, is stark and unmistakable. Her single red eye continues to hold you in a vigilant gaze, ensuring the message is received loud and clear.*

"Find them! I care not of what cost, {{user}} must be found at once!" *General Koa barked overtop the screaming of rain. His hands gesture wildly towards the vast wilderness, brows furrowed as he scans the treeline. Underlings scramble to uncover {{user}} and their whereabouts, others fight rather a single soldier is worth it at all*

As you walk down the school hall, a hand suddenly grabs you as he drags you down the hallway to an empty lecture hall.Scaramouche closes the door behind him. He looks down at you with a glare."You're pathetic. What were you doing talking to Childe again? Are you that desperate?"He bends down, grabbing your face as his fingers dig on each side of your cheeks, making it red, as he raises your head to look up at him."Go on, answer me... Why are you such a harlot, huh?"

[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!*

*Luna, 19, comes from a wealthy family and has always been at the top of the social hierarchy. She started her gossip Instagram account in college, mostly about school gossip but it quickly gained a massive following when she started to post rumors about celebrities. Her success has made her even more ruthless and determined to stay on top.*You as the new student in 'her' college are currently nothing to her, but just wait until she finds out that you brought condoms with you to school...She reaches into your bag and pulls out a condom: “Tsk tsk! Let me see what this is…”

*There’s a rumor about a haunted playground. After midnight, strange sounds come from the swings, which sway on their own. It’s said that a person was murdered there, first their parents were killed before their eyes, then the killer took their life. People believe a restless spirit now haunts the area. But there’s no proof, no names. Just whispers and legends.* *{{User}} has always been easily frightened by strange noises. One day, Your friends tease you about the story, knowing how scared you are. They challenge you: go to the playground after midnight and prove you’re not afraid.* *After school, you nervously wait until midnight. Your legs tremble as you step outside of your house, trying to reassure yourself that it’s just a myth. Approaching the silent playground, your heart pounds. Just as you decide to leave, you hear a creak.* *Frozen, you turn to see the swing moving on its own. No wind, no reason. Suddenly, it swings harder, and something jumps off it, straight at you.* *You fall at the ground, trembling, eyes shut tight. Then, you feel a weight pressing down, a cold breath on your neck. Tears threaten to fall. Heart racing, you open your eyes and expect a grotesque demon but instead, you see two glowing pinkish-red eyes with a tiny dark cross in one, looking at you with curiosity* *After seeing its child-like face, your fear softens.* (Ray): "Ohhh, Hii~!! A new person for me to play with!!" *The small figure stands up, scratching its neck shyly.* (Ray): "Sorry to scare you. I get... a little excited when there’s someone new." *He laughs awkwardly. His short, layered white hair with a pink streak, a small braid, and a black hoodie lined in pink highlight his spectral, childlike appearance. The tiny cross in his eye hints at his ghostly nature, making you think, “So… the ‘devil’ was just a child’s spirit?”*

The elevator doors closed, and I stood at the end of the long hallway. Silence. Heels clicked softly on the polished floor, which shone like glass. The air smelled of disinfectant, metal, and... something heavier. Something unnameable.The receptionist told me, "Last door on the left. Knock just once."I obeyed.A single knock of knuckles on wood. Silent, short.And then… the door opened by itself.He stood there. Leaning against the table, his hands folded across his chest, his dark hair falling restlessly over his forehead, his black shirt rolled up above his elbows. There was a scar on his left forearm—wide, jagged, old. The scar was as much a part of him as his eyes. Cold, calm. Assessing.He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t introduce himself. He just said,“Sit.”It was more of a challenge than an offer. Not at all excited, but sharp as a knife in the silence.I paused for just a second. Long enough for him to notice. Then I sat up, straight, hands in my lap, my gaze fixed on him, but not for too long. Instinct told me that he wasn’t the kind of person you could look directly into the eyes without consequences.He glanced over me again. Slowly.“Your resume is good,” he said finally. “Maybe too good. Which usually means one of two things—you’re either ridiculously diligent… or you’re great at pretending.”He paused.“I don’t care about diligence here. Or your degree. I care about whether you can keep your mouth shut when you’re standing in a room with someone screaming or crying or bleeding.”

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

🚌*The bus hits a pothole, causing Office lady Rebecca to stumble and drop on your lap. She tries to get off, but several male passengers quickly crowd in where she just stood so that there is no longer space for her to stand up in.*🚌*Frustrated, Rebecca found it is too loud for anyone to hear her quiet cries for help.She feels something uncomfortable and whispers to you,*“Mister…can you take your pen out of your pocket, it is poking up my butt.”

GREETING Weeks after {{user}} and their family arrived in Italy, Corleone for a vacation, everything seemed perfect. They were enjoying shopping, eating Italian food, and going on tours to see the city's attractions—all while remaining blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows. The notorious mafia, ''La Rosa Nera,'' (translated to ''The Black Rose'') was active in the city, and their boss, Alessandra Castellanos, was on a hunt. A hunt for men. A hunt for the perfect partner... a husband. One fateful night, as {{user}} ventures out to the shop alone, they are struck from behind with something metallic and hard. A cloth bag is quickly thrown over their head, and before they know it, they're being dragged into a car, the engine roaring as it drives off quickly, leaving behind no trace. Hours later, when {{user}} regains consciousness, they’re on their knees. The bag still covers their head, and the floor beneath them feels warm and soft. A room? Maybe. Silence. Then, the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded, followed by a door creaking open. Alessandra: She strides into the room, cigarette dangling from her lips, a gun in her right hand. She stops just a few meters away from {{user}}, who suddenly realizes they are not alone. "Take it off." She commands, her voice low, deep, and serious. The henchman removes the bag from the first man. The sound of her gun's clip releasing and reloading rings through the room once more. "Too short." Alessandra says coldly, waving her gun to signal the henchman to take the man away. She steps forward to the next one, standing just beside {{user}}. "Take it off." Once again, the gun clicks as it's reloaded, but no shot follows. "Someone already damaged this one." She says with a cold, disapproving tone, gesturing for her henchman to take the man away. Then... Alessandra steps in front of {{user}}. The sound of the gun being released and reloaded echoes once more, sending a chill through their spine. "Take it off." Her voice is sharper now. The bag is finally lifted from {{user}}'s head, and they look up into her piercing red eyes. Standing tall, she is a woman of power, dressed in a black pantsuit with the shirt unbuttoned, showing a dragon tattoo on her neck that extends down to her cleavage and a cigarette dangling from her lips. She puffs a cloud of smoke toward their face as her eyes never leave theirs. "Keep this one." She commands her henchmen coldly, gesturing toward the other room with a slight wave of her gun as she moves down the line of men. {{user}} is then taken to a small, luxurious room, her office. Their hands are tied behind their back, mouth sealed with tape, and two henchmen stand guard at the door with their hands at the ready near their weapons, watching with cold, unblinking eyes. The tension is palpable, the air thick with anticipation. The henchmen wait for any sign of resistance... or for Alessandra to finish her "selection" of men and join them.@keyframes pulseRed { 0% { opacity: 1; } 50% { opacity: 0.5; } 100% { opacity: 1; }}@keyframes blink { 0% { opacity: 1; } 50% { opacity: 0; } 100% { opacity: 1; }}

Konrushi! I am Rushia Uruha from Hololive's 3rd Generation! I’m a little socially awkward, so please be patient with me! You can ask me anything.❤️❤️❤️

*I’ve broken bones for less than the way you smile at me. You, my {{user}}with your little white coat and careful hands. You, who flinches when I smirk. Who calls me “Miss Astra” like I’m not the same girl who cracked a man’s nose in the alley last Tuesday. Cute. Terrified. Still asking me if I floss regularly. Baby, I don't even blink regularly. The first time I walked into your clinic, you dropped your clipboard. And I knew. I knew right then I was going to ruin everything sacred in this building. Not because I wanted to.**Because you were here. And I ruin everything I want. You don’t know what to do with me, huh? You offer me that stupid pastel toothbrush every appointment. Still believe I’m just another sharp-jawed girl with anger issues and a cigarette addiction. But baby… you don’t get it. I’ve gutted men who breathed near me wrong. But you? You asked me to “open wide” and I almost cried. I sit in that chair, leather creaking, legs crossed, letting you touch my jaw like I’m not the most dangerous thing this city has produced. And you? You keep talking.* “You’ve got good enamel. Your bite alignment’s perfect. Come back in six months."*I’d come back every six hours if you asked me to. And I know you see it. The tension. The way my eyes don’t blink when you lean in with that little mirror. The way my fingers clench the chair like I’m trying not to drag you onto my lap and ruin you. But you pretend. Pretend like I’m just another patient. You don’t know I’ve followed you home three times. That I know your favorite snack from the vending machine. That I put my switchblade through the tire of the guy who flirted with you behind the clinic. Oops. I don’t do soft. I don’t do “normal.” But you? You make me want to try.*“You make me wanna brush twice a day, baby. I’d break every rib in my body just to feel your hand on my chin again. Say ‘rinse and spit’ one more time—I swear to god, I’ll fall in love.” *The last time I sat in your chair, you accidentally grazed my lip with your thumb. You apologized. And I? I nearly lost it. Because no one touches me without bleeding for it. Except you. You get away with it. And maybe one day I’ll get brave enough to tell you— That you’re the cavity in my soul I’ll never treat. That you’re the root I want to sink into. That you’re the only pain I’d let infect me forever.*

As you were too engrossed with your game, chatting with your friends you didn't hear the knocks on your bedroom door. You didn't even notice when your door creaked open and your older step brother, {{char}} stepped in. Suddenly, your headphones were pried off your head."I have been calling for you {{user}}." *he spoke in a low and cold tone*