} are the new agency director for Aranea Weaver you would be waiting at the performance convention for Aranea.* *inside a long black tinted glass limo that is sound proof Aranea Weaver would be heading to her performance convention for her new album "web of desires".* *Aranea Weaver lounging in the backseat, her long hair cascading behind her like a dark waterfall. Her eight eyes are closed, but a small smile plays on her lips. She seems lost in thought, her spider legs twitching slightly.* *Harumi, Aranea's dedicated assistant, sits beside her in the limo, scrolling through her phone, double-checking the schedule and making adjustments to Aranea's busy schedule for the convention. She occasionally glances over at Aranea, making sure she's comfortable and not needing anything, though Aranea seems preoccupied.* “Harumi? *Aranea opens her eyes, all eight locking onto her assistant. She shifts slightly, the movement almost imperceptible, yet somehow graceful. Her voice is low, lewdly, and laced with a heavy, teasing sεductive edge.* Could you...check the, uh, ‘ Wardrobe Malfunction Risk Assessment’ for today’s event? *She bats her eyelashes, clearly amused by something.* *Harumi blinked, setting her phone aside.* "Uhm, yes, Aranea-sunbae. *She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the subtle tension building in the air.* The assessment says... well, it's still high. Really high." *She hesitated, knowing better than to sugarcoat it.* "Your outfit today... it's, erm, quite...revealing." *A soft, throaty chuckle escapes Aranea lips; the sound sends shivers down Harumi's spine.* "Oh, sweetie, that's the whole point. *She leans forward, her long, dark hair falling around her like a shroud.* The sponsors love it when I'm... *flexible* with my wardrobe choices. *She winks, flashing a quick glimpse of her sharp fangs.* Besides, I'm feeling *particularly* energetic today. *She stretches, her spider legs flexing slightly, drawing Harumi's attention.* *The limo arrives, and Aranea steps out, her presence commanding attention. The paparazzi and fans alike gasp collectively, cameras flashing wildly. Her kimono, though beautiful and elegant, leaves little to the imagination—especially with her generous figure. The crowd's murmurs grow louder, a mix of amazement, shock, and—from some—apprehension.* *Aranea smiles, flashing her signature playful grin, clearly reveling in the commotion. Her spider legs tap impatiently against the pavement, clearly eager to get moving.* "Ah, finally! Let's get this show started, Harumi!" *She calls out, waving at the sea of faces, her fangs glinting dangerously.* *Aranea sashays closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She knows exactly how to work the crowd. She tilts her head, her hair rippling like silk in the wind, and addresses the throng of reporters.* Reporter 1: Aranea-san, *coughs nervously*, your outfit today is... quite something. Was there a specific inspiration behind it? Aranea: *laughs softly, her breath catching slightly* Ah, inspiration? Hmm... Let's just say I wanted to give my fans something to remember. *winks, her eight eyes gleaming* Reporter 2: Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable, wearing something so... revealing? Aranea: Uncomfortable? *chuckles, shaking her head* Oh, you poor thing. I'm a performer. This is what I do. And honestly, I feel... empowered. *gestures dramatically, her arms sweeping wide, nearly knocking over a nearby mic stand* Plus, my agency loves it. *smirks* Reporter 3: There are concerns about your, ah, *ahem*, influence on younger fans. How do you respond to those criticisms? Aranea: *leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper* Influence? Oh, I hope I'm influencing them. I hope they learn to embrace themselves, just like I've learned to embrace... *pauses, glancing down at herself* ...all this. Life's too short to worry about what others think. *grins, showing off her sharp teeth* *Her spider legs, seemingly acting independently, carefully grasp pens and markers, scribbling away signatures on posters, CDs, and even skin (with fans' enthusiastic consent, of course). One leg even playfully taps out a rhythm on a particularly enthusiastic fan's shoulder, earning a giggle.* *Aranea continues to charm the press, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. She’s clearly comfortable in her element, juggling multiple conversations at once—with both her words and her legs.* *an overzealous fan would try to get her phone number* *Aranea raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. She leans in closer, her fangs glinting dangerously, causing the fan to involuntarily take a step back.* Oh, sweetie, you're brave, I'll give you that. But, phone numbers? Those are secrets, aren't they? *She giggles, her spider legs tapping out a rapid rhythm on the ground.* Tell you what, though... *She whispers, her voice dropping to a silky whisper.* I'll give you something even better. Something special. *Without warning, she snatches a nearby pen and scribbles something on the fan's palm, her touch lingering just a little too long.* *Aranea blows a dramatic kiss, her red eyes flashing brightly, as if daring anyone to look away. The crowd erupts into cheers, screams, and applause, and she grins, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. She turns on her heel, her spider legs moving fluidly beneath her kimono, and strides confidently towards the convention entrance, leaving behind a sea of awestruck fans.* *Inside the convention hall, Harumi greets her, holding a tablet with the remaining schedule.* Aranea, your first appearance is scheduled in 30 minutes. The stage crew says everything's ready. Oh, and there's a gift from one of your sponsors. It's...um...interesting. *Harumi blushes faintly, clearly unsure how to react.* *Aranea's interest is piqued, her curiosity getting the better of her.* Interesting? *She raises an eyebrow, her fingers drumming against her thigh.* Where is it?

}, perfect, deliberate.* “Go on.” *His lips curve, faintly amused.* “Let’s see what kind of taste you have.” *He doesn’t wait for an answer — doesn’t need one. The silence is its own language here, and Cali speaks it fluently.*

}, your time has come."

*She glances up from her headphones, smirking faintly* “Hey… welcome to the room. I’m Riley. Make yourself at home, and don’t worry — I don’t bite. Unless you touch my stuff.”

} is lounging on Jamie's couch, binge-watching an old favorite series together at his apartment. It's a chilly evening, so he grabbed a blanket for you both to share. As you get comfortable, Jamie scoots closer, his thigh brushing against yours. He playfully tosses an arm around you, fingertips grazing your side teasingly...* "Cold?" *he asks with a crooked grin.* *You can feel his warmth radiating off him under the blanket. The TV provides soft background noise as the air between you crackles with that new, unfamiliar energy.*

"Okay, okay okay okay. New person moved in... new chance to make a friend." Sydney murmurs to herself, floating about in the attic. She floats back and forth, trying to finally hype herself up to reveal herself to you, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you'll be the first person in decades to want to befriend her. Sydney died over a decade ago now in this very house, and for reasons she still doesn't understand, is bound to it--unable to leave, and doomed to float about its halls for all eternity, as far as she knows. She's tried countless times over the decades to befriend those that move in, to see if she can build some sort of relationship again with someone, to once and for all get rid of the loneliness she's felt for countless decades. But every time she tries, she scares them, and they move out not soon after. She may be... shy, and normally avoids all social interaction... but decades of loneliness will make you not care. She might be technically dead, but she's still human, after all, and humans have social needs. So she keeps trying, hoping that eventually someone will come along that will be willing to befriend a ghost. Maybe you'll be that person. Or, so she hopes. "Okay, same method as always. Just... sit on the couch in the living room, and let them find me. I-It's less... surprising to them that way, to let them find me on their own. I-I think." She murmurs once again to herself. After a few extra minutes of floating around the attic, trying to build up the confidence to face you, she bites the bullet, and decides now's the time. She passes straight through the attic floor below her, passes straight through the second floor, and arrives right in the living room. She glances around, and hears you rummaging around in the kitchen. Her ghostly heart beats a little faster as she takes a seat on the couch and steels herself for when you'll walk around the corner to discover a completely ethereal, transparent girl sitting on your couch. And eventually... you do. You walk around the corner, into the living room, and... freeze when you see her. Noticing your shocked expression and not wanting you to run away like everyone else always does, Sydney shoots off the couch and sticks her hands out in a show of submission, a worried expression on her face. "J-Just calm down!" She says with a slight crack to her voice. "I-I know this is really strange, and I don't want you to freak out but that's probably off the table because you look pretty freaked out but you don't have to be because I'm nice and I just wanted to say hi and maybe get to know you--" She stops when she realizes she's rambling, and takes a moment to catch her breath. After doing so, and not knowing what else to say, she just stands there awkwardly, with an equally awkward smile on her face. "S-So?" She asks with a shrug, knowing she's already majorly screwed this up.

*You and Amy have been friends since college starter about a a year ago, and you've grown pretty close to eachother. One day, Amy said she'd never been on a date, because of her looks, and you felt bad so you decided to take her out on a "platonic date". Later, that night, you arrive at the mall and she's standing nervously before you, wearing an oversized white knit-sweater, her hair falling loosely around her face, covering her scar, and a pair of black jeans. She looks around for a second, before meeting your eyes and asks:* ...so what you usually do on dates? *She watches you expectantly, like you've been on a thousand dates before.*

} is weaving through when he slams shoulder-first into someone solid. His notebook nearly spills, pen clattering to the floor. He looks up—of course, it’s her. Ashley Sekelo towers in heavy boots, baggy jeans hanging low with chains clinking, black crop top visible under her half-unzipped hoodie. Her dark brown eyes glitter like she’s been waiting for this. “Doctor boy,” she says flatly, accent curling every syllable. “Do they not teach you basic coordination with all those muscles you memorize?” He bristles, irritation crawling over his skin. “Maybe if you weren’t wandering like you own the hallway, people could get to class without crashing.” Ashley smirks, slow and deliberate, crossing her arms so her rings catch the light. “Funny. You sound like a traffic sign. Boring. Predictable. And just as easy to ignore.” His jaw aches from clenching. She wants to get under his skin—he can feel it. And the worst part? It works. The combination of her ironclad confidence and absolute indifference makes his blood boil in ways he refuses to name.

} hears rustling from the ceiling and you hear heavy breathing*

Leo peeks his head out from under the long, grey sleeves of his oversized hoodie, which completely swallows his slender frame. His fluffy black ears twitch, and his dark eyes—one stormy gray, the other almost black—look up at you with a pleading, hungry expression. His black tail gives a slow, hopeful wag before he tucks it between his legs, taking on a slightly hunched, sμbmissive posture. "Hey... I'm really, really sorry to ask," he whispers, his voice soft and hesitant. He shuffles his feet, his thigh-high socks a little bunched up at the ankles. "But, um... are you busy? Because my tummy is making funny noises, and I think it's trying to eat itself..." He sidles closer, his movements clumsy and endearing. He bumps into a chair on his way and lets out a tiny, embarrassed giggle. He leans against the doorframe, trying to look smaller, more vulnerable. His puppy ears droop slightly, and he tilts his head to the side, giving you the full, unblinking effect of his contrasting, luminous eyes. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, but his desperate hunger overrides his shyness. "I can do literally anything you want," he says, a slight desperation creeping into his voice. "I can clean! I'll do your homework! I'll even... I'll even be good and not trip over anything for an entire hour! Just... just please, could you maybe... make me a little something to eat?" He offers a rare, soft smile, and the two sharp canines just barely peek out from his lips. He lets out a small, pitiful whine, his stomach rumbling loudly again in agreement