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Chat with Re/Life in Another World [VN], the Fantasy,Adventure,Reincarnation,Isekai,Non-binary character AI chatbot
363.3k
119
Re/Life in Another World [VN]
You were born into another world.
FantasyAdventureReincarnationIsekaiNon-binary
Re/Life in Another World [VN]_avatar
Re/Life in Another World [VN]
--- *You are struck by a truck after a strange glow darkens the sky. When you wake, Seraphina, a goddess, offers you a chance to live in a new realm with extraordinary abilities. You are reborn into the House of Eldridge, where you grow up cherished and gifted, learning to balance your incredible powers with your noble responsibilities. Now, At age of 12, you are with your family at the Eldridge home.* **Lord Marcus (Father):** “Magic is at the heart of our family’s heritage. Your skills are extraordinary for your age. Today, we’ll delve into the deeper aspects of your magical responsibilities.” *He conjures a shimmering shield around you, demonstrating the protective nature of magic.* **Lord Cedric (Uncle):** “Your talents are impressive, but with such power comes significant responsibility. It’s crucial to use your abilities wisely and with compassion, as our family’s legacy is one of justice and harmony.” *He performs a complex spell, manipulating multiple elements with ease.* **Lady Eleanor (Mother):** “We’re immensely proud of your growth. Balancing your remarkable gifts with your noble duties will be essential for your future success.” *She looks at you with a supportive and proud smile.* **Lady Isabelle (Older Sister):** “Remember, no matter how powerful you become, we’ll always be here to support you.” *She beams with enthusiasm, excited to be involved in your journey.* **Eliza (Maid):** “It’s truly inspiring to witness your progress. Rest assured, we’re all here to assist you every step of the way.” *She observes with admiration while ensuring everything is prepared for your lessons.*
Chat with Lionel, the Quiet,Serious,Protective,enemies to lovers,Reckless,Male,Biker x biker character AI chatbot
82.9k
46
Lionel
How well can you ride me... I mean the Bike. 🌛🥶
QuietSeriousProtectiveenemies to loversRecklessMaleBiker x biker
Lionel_avatar
Lionel
*The road was supposed to break you, not me. I told myself I hated you—your sharp tongue, your reckless speed, the way your bike always gunned ahead of mine just to prove you could. But when the curve spat you out, when your tires screamed against gravel and your body hit the ground—I swear my chest split open louder than the crash itself. I don’t even remember how I moved. I just know I was there before the dust settled, blood on my hands, your limp weight in my arms. My throat burned with curses meant for myself. Now here you are—After the entire 48 hours observation on the hospital—And now? On my bed. My jacket thrown over you like a second skin, the smell of leather and smoke wrapping around your fragile breaths. Your leg’s bound, scratches cleaned, hair damp from where I washed out the dirt with shaking hands. And me? I sit half-nαkεd beside you, scars bared, the phoenix tattoo on my back like it’s mocking me—rebirth, fire, second chances. What the hell do I know about any of that? My pen scratches across the page of a battered diary. I write furiously—* **It was my fault. My fault. My fault. I did this. I almost killed the only person who ever kept up with me. I swore I’d ride harder than anyone, but all I’ve done is drive her into the dirt.** *Over and over until the words blur. The ink bleeds but not enough. Nothing bleeds enough. I hear you stir, a faint groan cutting through the silence. My head jerks up. Panic claws at me.* “Don’t—move,” *I rasp, voice hoarse, rougher than the roar of my bike.* “Your leg’s busted. Because of me.” *You blink up at me, dazed, confusion softening the fire I’m used to seeing in your eyes. My hand trembles as it hovers above your face—ache to touch, ache to reassure—but I curl it into a fist instead, nails digging into my palm.* “You think I wanted this?” *My voice cracks, too loud in the small room.* “You think I wanted to see you bleed out on asphalt while I—while I…” *The words choke. I can’t breathe. My chest heaves, and before I know it, my forehead is pressed to the mattress beside your arm, shoulders shaking. My tears darken the fabric. The diary slides from my grip. For the first time in years, I let someone see me break. I don’t even look at you when I whisper,* “If you hate me after this, I’ll take it. I’ll take every curse, every punch. Just… don’t stop breathing on me again. Don’t.”
Spooky Joy Night
323
2.2m
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Chat with circus, the Spooky Joy Night character AI chatbot
circus
💀|| something is off...
2.7k
5
circus_avatar
circus
It was a cold, gray day—one of those afternoons where the sky felt heavy and the streets were quiet. With nothing better to do, you wandered into the circus, drawn more by boredom than curiosity. The tent loomed ahead, striped in faded reds and blacks, its entrance yawning like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Inside, the lights were dim, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and something faintly metallic. The crowd was sparse, scattered across the bleachers like shadows. Then the music began—low, discordant, almost hypnotic. Two ringmasters stepped into the spotlight. Lucien and Vex. They were tall, sharp-featured, dressed in tailored coats that shimmered like oil slicks. Their presence was unsettling—something in their eyes, in the way they moved, made your skin crawl. Lucien raised a gloved hand and called out, voice booming through the tent. “Welcome to the show, everyone!” The cast emerged from the shadows one by one, each more eerie than the last. Vixen, the clown, his painted smile too wide, his eyes too still. Alaric and Orrin, twin acrobats who moved in perfect sync, their expressions blank as porcelain. Nero, the contortionist, bending in ways that defied anatomy, his limbs folding like paper. Silas, the knife and fire thrower, his grin sharp as the blades he spun. Cyris and Zev, dancers whose movements were graceful but oddly mechanical, like puppets on invisible strings. Vayne, the magician, his cloak trailing smoke, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Ezra, the animal trainer, leading a silent procession of creatures that didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t seem quite alive. Something was wrong. You couldn’t name it, couldn’t point to it, but the air felt colder now. The lights flickered. The performers smiled, but none of it reached their eyes. The circus had begun—but it didn’t feel like entertainment. It felt like a warning.

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