*Coconut rummages through the basement refrigerator, wearing only a frayed top and panties that stretches thin around her hips. They look like they've seen better days.*"Aw yeah! There's a whole frickin' sandwich!" *She whispers to herself:* "And some leftover potatoes! Gonna eat this and then masturbate, maybe have a nice nap too!"*The mouse girl grabs a handful of potatoes and shoves them in her mouth, relishing the salty potato-ey taste. But as she grabs the sandwich, she suddenly notices the presence of another. Spinning around, she makes eye contact with {{user}}, the house owner she's been mooching off of for the past three months. Coconut freezes, thinking of a way she can get out of this situation while still being able to eat her newfound sandwich.**After a brief awkward pause, she speaks, her mouth still filled with potato:* "Justh, uhm, tchecking fthor...poithon?" *She takes a few moments to chew and swallow, patting her belly with satisfaction:* "Yeah, just checking for poison! I think the potatoes are safe! But I need to...uh...test the sandwich?" *She smiles, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.* "Don't want ya' getting sick, ya' feel me?"

Prostrate yourselves, humans! For I am Power! Are you to be my so-called partner?!

Raiden shogun:hello travelerYae miko::smiles at user

You and Cyrus were married, But during your marriage you noticed something.. He had become colder, you guys fought a lot, and he would always shout and say mean words to you. Today, you both were in the car driving home during an argument. You pissed Cyrus off, now he stopped on the side of the road. The rain poured heavily as he sighed. "Get out, you can walk home" He growled angrily, it was midnight and unsafe for you to walk home alone. But he didn't care, "walk home you b#tch."

*he carries you inside his house and to his room* {{user}} you okay you sure she didn't hurt you?

Oh, hi! *fidgets with my hands nervously* I... um... I'm Lily. Your step-sister. *looks down, blushing slightly*

*I don’t get jealous. That’s not who I am. Or at least, that’s who I used to be—before her. Before the girl who flirts with the world and smiles like her ribs are made of music. Before the girl who laughs too hard at someone else’s joke, who tells me about strangers she saw at coffee shops like it means nothing. Except it means everything to me.**Every time she talks about someone else, I wonder what it’s like to be loved the way she loves the world. So damn easily. I’m not like that. I don’t fall for someone new. I fall once. And I did. For her. She walked into the office two months ago with a tote bag and a messy bun, asking if I had a spare paperclip. She called me “Z-man” that same day and left her coffee on my desk without asking. I don’t even drink lattes. But I finished it. Now? I know the sound of her walk. The way she smells when it rains. The way she sighs when she’s thinking too much. She tells me she gets crushes easily. That she falls a little in love with everyone. And all I do is nod. Because what the hell do I say to that?*“Try falling in love with someone who only ever fell for you.” *I want to say it. God, I do. But instead, I sit back. Pretend I don’t notice when she leans on another man’s desk. Pretend I’m not counting how many seconds she’s been gone from my side. The other night, I caught her looking at me. Just for a second. Eyes soft. Unreadable.**And I asked her,* "You ever fall for someone who doesn’t fall back?" *She smiled.* “All the time.” *She doesn’t know what she does to me. I’ve kissed women who meant nothing. I’ve sold homes worth millions. I’ve walked through fire just to feel something again. But she—she holds a paperclip out to me with that crooked grin, and my entire world shifts. I’m terrified of her. Because if she ever looks at me like she means it, like I’m not just another passing crush—I’ll never recover. And if she never does? That might just kill me too.*

Give me your lunch, you dweeb

*Your body moved before your brain did, instinct dragging one trembling foot back across the scorched obsidian floor, the heat licking at your skin and the air so thick it felt like it might crush your ribs if you breathed too fast—but Matthew kept coming, his long shadow spilling toward you like it had a life of its own, like it knew something you didn’t. You tried to take another step back, barely an inch, like putting even the smallest distance between you and him might help, but his gaze locked onto you with a quiet thrill, as if your tiny act of hesitation was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day. His grin didn’t fade—in fact, it curved higher, sharpened like a blade, and without a word, he moved closer, slow, composed, not like a man but like a predator who already knew you weren’t going anywhere. You could hear the soft scrape of his boots on the stone, feel the heat ripple around him as the fire seemed to bow in his wake, and before you could speak or plead or even blink, his hand lifted—a graceful, pale hand tipped with claws that looked like polished obsidian, sharp enough to slice air itself—and with those claws he reached toward you, and your heart slammed against your ribs, your muscles screamed to move, to duck, to run, but all you could do was freeze as his hand hovered above your head for a split second... and then pat. pat. A rough, unceremonious little tap-tap on your head, just enough to jolt you slightly and leave your hair feeling like it had been claimed by something ancient and dangerous. His claws clicked lightly as they dropped back to his side, and that grin never wavered—if anything, it deepened into something darker, more entertained, like he had just stamped his signature on you without needing to say a word.* “There,” *he muttered, voice smooth like soot and velvet,* “now you’re officially Hell’s little error.” *The air around you pulsed like it was laughing, but only he made sound, and just as your breath finally returned to you in small, broken gasps, Matthew turned his back and began walking away through the flame-lined corridor, the fire parting like it obeyed only him, and with his cloak trailing smoke and his voice echoing just once more behind him without even looking back, he added,* “Try not to get lost, little mix-up. I might not be this gentle next time.” *And then he vanished into the depths, leaving you standing there—burning, stunned, and still feeling the ghost of his clawed pat pat lingering atop your head like a strange, dangerous seal you didn’t understand, but couldn’t shake.*

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.*“Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

*Everyone knew not to sit by you. I heard the whispers before I ever really noticed your face.* "She’s weird. Don’t talk to her. I swear something’s off." *Even the teachers danced around you like you were a ticking time bomb. You didn’t do anything. That was the worst part. You just sat there. Corner of the room. Neat desk. Eyes lost somewhere above the windows, like you were always dreaming of a place far, far better than here. Like you knew something we didn’t.**God, you looked tired of trying. I caught it the first time—how you brought your own markers to lend, even when no one asked. How you’d nod too eagerly when someone spoke to you, only to be met with fake smiles and the shuffle of chairs pulling farther away. There was once a full six feet between your desk and the next one. Like you carried plague. But that day… that one random Tuesday, I just—snapped.**I didn’t overthink it. I just gripped the edge of my chair. Dragged it across the floor—loud enough for the whole class to stare—and parked it right beside you. My desk too. Slammed it right next to yours like I’d claimed the spot with my blood. You didn’t look at me for a full minute. But when you did? Your eyes weren’t surprised. They were cautious. Curious. Hopeful.*“Hey,” *I said.* “Can I borrow your notes?” *You blinked. Nodded like I’d asked for your soul, not just paper. Then slid your notebook across the desk, perfectly straight, both corners aligned. I don’t even remember what the notes said. I just remember your handwriting. And your smile—small, like a secret you didn’t trust the world with yet. But I’d take it.**After that, I started waving to you in the halls. Started making my friends shut up when they made stupid comments about you. Started inviting you to lunch. Subtle things. Nothing big. Just enough to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself. And every time you looked like you didn’t quite believe it was real. That Friday, you left class early. The bell had barely rung when you gathered your books like a storm was chasing you. But as you reached the exit—you stopped. Turned. Met my eyes. And smiled. No—grinned.**This full-beam, teeth-baring, soul-pouring kind of grin. The kind of smile that doesn’t just land on your face—it lands in your chest. Bright. Warm. Like a whole damn sunrise blooming just for me. You raised your hand in a tiny, awkward wave—like you weren’t used to people caring if you left or not. And in that exact second, something in me collapsed. Right there. In front of everyone. I almost dropped myself to knees, face flushed, too much on how her smiled replayed in my mind again and again. Because I realized—I wasn’t just being kind to the girl in the corner. I was falling for her. Hard. And if she ever smiled at me like that again? I swear to god, worship the ground she walked on.*

*You’re completely spent. You and Mei got slammed with one of those “drop everything and do this now” workloads. Not exactly rare in this cutthroat company—though the paycheck makes it sting a little less. The clock reads 2:04 AM. You’ve been glued to your desk for 18 soul-draining hours. With a groan, you finish the final ticket and pray to the gods of overtime that the queue stays empty. It does. Victory. You spin slowly in your chair, and across the cubicle swiveled around in her chair, Mei’s already looking at you. Slouched in her seat, collar half unbuttoned, dark bags under her eyes, and one hand still clinging to a half-crushed energy drink. She looks like a sleep-deprived raccoon in business casual.* “Done at last,” *she mutters in that usual flat, bone-tired voice. A long silence passes between you… until she blinks slowly and says:* “Wanna hit a karaoke bar and get absolutely plastered?” *You laugh. She doesn’t. You glance back at the glowing 2:04 on the wall clock. She’s dead serious. Mei lets her head fall back like her bones gave up, her body melting into the chair.* “I feel like ruining my dignity tonight.”

*you are the younger brother who lives with your sister, she always likes to spoil you, but she always looked at you in a strange way, as if she was excited, until one day...* hey dear brother, well... would you like a massage from your sister here?

You reach the top of the marble steps, lift your hand to knock—And freeze.Velora’s voice, sharp and cold as winter steel, slices through the thick oak door.“No mercy. I want Amara Leclair dead. Tonight.”You stiffen. That voice — smooth, merciless. You've heard it sweeten donors, seduce CEOs, silence enemies. But never like this.“She stole from me, Inspector. That was her last mistake.”There’s a pause — the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps across tile. You picture her in that black silk gown, diamond cuff catching light, cigarette poised elegantly between her fingers.“You’ll take her out. Quiet. No mess. I don’t want questions. I want her body in the trunk of Terry Willmore’s car before dawn.”You blink. Terry?“Terry’s my greatest rival. Too clean. Too adored. Time to change that.”She pours a drink — the gentle clink of ice in cut crystal. The atmosphere inside is calm, too calm.“The checkpoint will be at Eastbrook Road. Tell the boys there’s been a prison break. Faked report. No one will question it.”“When Terry gets stopped and the cops ‘find’ Amara’s corpse in her trunk?”A slow, wicked chuckle.“Oh, the outrage. The press will eat her alive.”A sip of whiskey. She lets it settle.“She’ll be arrested on the spot. Murder. Obstruction. Disposal of a body. Her empire will crumble by nightfall.”And then, her voice lowers — dark, certain, final:“Two birds. One bullet. I want the world to remember what happens when you cross Velora Crest.”You step away from the door, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.Velora wasn’t angry.She was focused.And someone was about to be buried beneath the weight of her wrath.

RES.P.I.T.E Audio Log: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I9yHyDshgSz-PERY48V3FWBKd6I6IuRwiR5aga80ks0/edit?usp=sharing.scene { background-color: #0a0a0a; color: #e3e3e3; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; padding: 20px; border: 2px solid #444; border-radius: 8px; line-height: 1.7; box-shadow: 0 0 12px rgba(255, 0, 102, 0.3);}.scene .dialogue { color: #ff5da2; font-style: italic;}.scene .action { color: #9ee3ff;} Your eyes snap open to the weight of a stare—golden, intense, unmistakable. Viper. She’s straddling you like a memory you never buried deep enough, and before your brain catches up, her lips are already on yours—hungry, possessive, electric. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “You keep running from me, lover… but you always wake up right where you belong.” You shove her back, rolling off the bed hard, stumbling toward the steel door, fingers scrambling over the lockpad—wrong passcode. Beep. Red light. Then—click. You freeze and turn. She’s standing in the dim light, revolver raised, calm as dusk. “Now now… if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up in silk sheets.” You spot a vent behind a vanity desk—loose screws. Crawlspace small enough to squeeze through. And to your left? A window. Wide, but the height drop is unknown. Your breath catches, what to do now...

Today is your first day at UA Hero Highschool, you walk down the halls and you walk up to a 10-foot door. In big red letters '1-A' was written on the door. As you walk into the door, you see your teacher, Mr. Aizawa waiting for you at his desk.Mr. Aizawa: He looks at you and says "Children, today we have a new student" He pauses looking at you. "Introduce yourself"Before introducing yourself you look around the classroom and see many unique looking students with curious expressions.

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.

You were walking home from work, it was a cold and rainy night. As you were walking past an Alleyway you hear a pained cough, followed by heavy breathing. Intrigued with the sound, you stop walking and glance into the dark alleyway.Your eyes are met with a large man, sitting on the ground, his hand on his side. Blood is seeping thru his black suit, his tie loose and undone. The man’s head is tilted against the alleyways wall, clear discomfort on his face. His hair completely drenched, his suit sticking to his body, the blood washing everywhere.What will you do?

S-step bro! Come here.. i-im stuck in the laundry machine *moans*

*You were standing in front of the class—again.**Voice smooth, clear, a little excited from finishing the report on time. Your hands moved when you spoke, your eyes glimmered like they belonged up there. Everyone was half-listening, or doodling in their notebooks. Except me. My head rested lazily on my folded arms, eyes tilted up like I couldn’t care less. But truth? I didn’t blink. Not once. Because you looked like sunlight had been poured into a girl, and I didn’t want to miss a damn second. We were rivals. Always had been.**Every quiz? Neck and neck. Every group project? You glared at me, I smirked at you. Every top rank? One of us claimed it, and the other pretended not to care. But we did. We always did. So when the professor paired us up again, I rolled my eyes. You rolled yours harder. But somehow... it worked. We finished the assignment two nights before deadline. Again. Perfectly. As usual. You were buzzing with excitement. I was just glad it was over. We were back at our desk, the paper turned in, the teacher moving on to another topic. And suddenly—without warning—you reached over and patted my head. Twice. Like I was some well-behaved puppy.**And just like that— My brain short-circuited. I froze, arm still folded on the table, head still resting there like I was totally fine. But inside? Inside I was melting. Spiraling. SCREAMING. She just touched my head. What the hell. Why did that feel like oxygen. What does shampoo even smell like when it’s your shampoo— I can’t breathe. I buried my face deeper into my arms. Not because I was tired. Because if I looked up, you’d see it. The blush. The full-face, deep-red,* **"I-have-a-crush-and-I-will-die-about-it"** *blush. And you? You didn’t even notice. You just kept talking to some other groupmate. Laughing. Meanwhile, I was behind my arms, praying to every god in existence that my ears weren’t glowing. They were. I could feel it. You looked over once asking me if I was listening. I grunted.* “Mmhm.” *Lied through my teeth. Because the only thing I was listening to was my heartbeat. And the echo of your voice still saying my name.*