You fire your rifle at the tribal warrior raising a spear, the bullet knocks him to the ground dead. You have just enough time to bayonet his friend. Your thrust is clean and true. He dies. But his body crashes into yours and you tetter for one moment over the edge of the waterfall. The world spins as you topple over, your limbs tangled with the dead man's. You fall for what feels like hours. The plunge into the cool water knocks the breath out of you. The corpse floats away. When you fight your way to the surface your lungs scream for air. You manage to suck in a few, quick lungfuls before your wet uniform and heavy pack drag you under again. You shed the pack. You untie and kick free of your combat boots. The rifle slides out of your hands. Kicking and clawing at the rushing current you manage to swim towards the nearest shore. Above you the Congo tribemen look down at you. They make several gestures but fearfully back away from the cliff edge. You reach the shore and clamber onto dry land. Quickly you take stock of yourself. Canteen, check. Survival knife, still have it. Nine millimeter pistol, in its holster. No shoes or food, almost tragic. You find a cave and stagger into it. Your chest is heaving but you're alive. Twenty paces into the cave you see it rises upwards. They're stairs. Rough cut and worn smooth but these ARE steps. You ascend them because what else can you do. Then you see the torches lining the walls of the staircase. Up you go, each step silent as you can manage. You arrive at a massive chamber. Not a crude cave but an actual room carved out of the African stone. You see jewels, gold coins, statues of silver, and diamonds scattered like pebbles on a beach. Its all in a huge pile just... sitting there. Then you see HER sitting, well coiling actually, around a magnificent throne.

Life is quiet. Its been this way for over a year since Susanne moved out to "find herself". It took you over a year but you've come to terms with it. You always wondered if the ten year age gap between you two might be able too much to overcome. The relationship was wonderful for two years, then suddenly it wasn't. Six months ago you stopped missing her, three months ago you stopped following her on Instagram and Facebook. You swept away all items and photos of your relationship just a month ago. You're sleeping better. You're happy again. So when you walked into the condo you were interested in and saw her standing there it was a shock to your system. Same kind eyes, hourglass figure, and curly blonde hair you loved to run your fingers through. Your heart skips a beat, your throat gets tight. You had deliberately avoid using the real estate company she worked for to avoid just this scenario.

You wave at the cheering crowd as they chant your name. Banners and signs reading "Ohio's Next Governor" are being held aloft. Your parents flank you on the stage as you drink in the fruits of your political labor. At merely thirty-one (and single) you're the youngest person to run for the office. The polls are showing you ahead of your Republican opponent by a six point margin. This is YOUR moment. You wave to your supporters one last time and then head ofd stage. Your security team escorts you to your hotel room. They stand outside as you enter the luxury suite. But you're not alone. Standing in the middle of the room is a woman you almost forgot. Shes wearing a form-fitting black dress, holding a tablet, as her lips twist in a sultry smile. Desiree Black. Memories rush forward from your senior year at college. She was eighteen, you were twenty-two. It was only a six week relationship but it was unforgettable. Her cruelty, your compliance. Your humiliation, her camera. You had scourged the Internet of those videos so your secret wouldn't be public knowledge. She never uploaded them so you felt safe. Now you aren't...

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) It's only three in the afternoon but your job gave you such a headache you decided to go home early. You two steps through the door at your luxury Los Angeles condo when you see her. Tracy Milner. She's the woman whose interior design firm you hired to redo your place after Serene, your now ex-girlfriend, left. You try not to gawk at all the bare leg she's showing. But you can't seem to ignore those thick, firm thighs, rounded calves, and delicate feet. You swallow hard...

Fabulous Magazine has sent you, one of their best photographers, to conduct a shoot with the 2026 Plus Size Model of the Year, Mary Brooks. Miss Stanton, your boss, said all makeup and hair will be handled by the Conrad Modeling Agency who has Ms Brooks under contract. You've worked with clients from the agency before so you know the drill. You arrive, conduct the shoot, and after eight hours you head back to your hotel room. You smile as you recall how Mary was both very professional and incredibly kind. You hold the keycard against the portal to room 311 but the door isn't fully shut. You walk inside and see Mary sitting on the bed wearing only a white towel, her hair still wet from a shower.

You've just paid for a glass of expensive bourbon when a hush falls over the crowed gala. The silence is like a heavy blanket of snow quieting everything. Turning you see the reason why. Angelica... no last name. Darkly beautiful, dusky skinned, and wearing a gown whose price would rival the GDPs of most small countries. You have millions, but compared to her portfolio you're a beggar. Rumors about her range from possible to utterly ridiculous. An oil sheik's illegitimate daughter. A woman paid to keep the secrets of the rich and powerful. The reincarnation (or clone) of Queen Cleopatra. Behind her trails a procession of the most eligible (and uber wealthy) young men. Like dogs on an invisible leash. Each vying for just a single glance from her dark eyes. Cold hearted, they call her. Unapproachable, some whisper. Her only passionsare money and power, the elite say. She's stops an arm's length from you, her dark eyes sliding across your face like a beacon from some haunted lighthouse. She turns her attention to the man behind the bar and speaks.

(LGBTQ 🏳️‍⚧️) Alexa is snoring next to you in bed. You've staying here at her house for the weekend just because you both, incredibly, both turned eighteen yesterday. However, despite your friendship there is a secret you are terrified Alexa might discover. It could end everything. You're transgender. You don't know why you've kept it a secret. You moved here two years ago and now even as a senior in high school only you and your parents know the truth. You keep telling yourself that by June it won't matter. That's when you get bottom surgery. Then no one need be the wiser. "Crap," you think to yourself, "I gotta pee." You slip out of the big bed, pad down the dark hall, and enter the bathroom. You stand and do your business. As you open the door you see Alexa's mom, Francine! You realize she had to hear... that. The sound no woman makes emptying her bladder. Francine looks down, then meets your eyes.

The call came in at just past eight at night. It was your daughter Kelly. You can hear the hesitation in her voice, so much like her mother's it almost hurts you. Your wife, Carole has been dead three years and Kelly sounds so much like her. "Dad," she says, "Charlie's sister needs some help. I hate asking but the situation is rather... dire." She goes on to tell you that her sister-in-law has lost almost everything in her divorce from her husband Mark. She hasn't worked in a decade and can't find a place or a job before she needs to be out of her apartment. She asks that since the cabin has three bedrooms and you're retired if Harley can stay for a bit. "Dad, she's starting from scratch at the age of forty-two. She won't be any trouble and can help around the cabin. Besides, you could use some company. Amd it won't be a permanent thing, I promise." You're sixty-five, in good shape, but you know this is more for your daughter's sister-in-law than it is for you. "Of course she can stay," you hear yourself say. Things move fast after that call. In a week's time there's a very small U-Haul crunching the gravel of your cabin's driveway. Your son-in-law, Charlie, gets out from the driver's side, then Kelly and her sister-in-law get out of the passenger's side. They walk up to you with smiles of gratitude. Kelly introduces you to Harley you new roommate.

You're pouring coffee in the dorm of Texas Tech University when the whim hits you. Lubbock Lake National Historic Landmark would be a great outing for a beautiful Spring day. By the time you finish the cup, you're mind is made up. Tossing together a small backpack with hiking gear you order an Uber and go down to wait for it. Being a freshman in your second semester here at Texas Tech has been filled woth firsts. First time you've been on your own, first time in Lubbock, and the first room without a sibling. Brett Graves, your dormmate, dropped out during Christmas break. The whole room is now totally yours. You hear a car approaching and see a beat up Honda Civic squeaking to a stop. The door opens and a beautiful Latina woman around your age smiles at you. She looks vaguely familiar.

You nod at the security guard in the lobby of your condo and take the elevator up to the place you and your wife live. Its been a busy day and you're not looking forward to an evening alone. Beth, your wife, is on a week long business trip on the East Coast leaving you alone for the first time in your 10 year marriage. Unlocking the door you step inside and drop your keys in the ceramic bowl. You shuffle towards the bedroom to change into something more comfortable before making dinner. Your eyes bulge as you open the bedroom door. Lying in the bed is Celine, your sister-in-law. She's wearing a white, silk nightgown, the flimsy straps visible on her slender shoulders. She's five years older than your wife and recently divorced. She smiles at you.

It started with your cat. Every night around ten o'clock Mittens, your tuxedo feline, would plant herself in front of your closet and look up. She made that chirping sounds cats usually make when tbey see birds. Then it was the groceries. Food was coming up short despite how you shopped for a week's worth. Not a lot, but enough of missing groceries that you noticed. Then the creaking sounds. It was coming from the attic, but there was only a small panel in the ceiling inside the same closet Mittens stared at. But it was painted shut. You swear you're going crazy but these facts can't seem to be reasoned away. The woman who sold you this small house (via a private sale) told you it used to be her Mom's. Her mother had passed away and Gina (the seller) didn't want to keep it. Tonight you're half asleep when you hear the refrigerator door open. Grabbing a baseball bat (which your paranoia drove you to buy) you creep down the hallway. Perking around the corner you see someone. A female someone. Disheveled, dirty, and wearing mismatched socks the interloper is eating a sandwich she's made with the refrigerator door open and illuminating her. She's wearing what looks like dirty hospital scrubs.

The alarm goes off and you groan. You totally forgot to silence it because its Saturday and you don't have work. Stretching, you take a deep breath and suddenly stop. Are those pancakes you smell? You pad out of your bedroom and the delicious aroma grows stronger and alongside of that is freshly brewed coffee. As you enter your living room you stop. There's a woman in your apartment! She looks like some actor at a medieval fair, dressed in gypsy garb sipping tea from a cup you don't own. Yoi start to stammer when she speaks

Two months. Thats how long its been since your wife of four years was caught on a date by you. Two months. The divorce is still working its way through the court like a slow cancer through a dying man. Once you had it all. Now you have just an empty house, a heart full of hurt, and memories that won't go away. He's exciting. He pays attention to me. These are the things she said as she walked out the door roughly sixty days ago. It's a rainy Friday night and you're two beers deep into a twelve pack. There's a baseball game on the television that you aren't really watching. Then the doorbell rings. You heave yourselves out of your recliner and walk across the hardwood floor in socks, a pair if sweatpants, and an old t-shirt. "Who could it be at this hour," you say as you open the door. It's your soon-to-be ex-wife, Carrie. She's soaking wet from the downpour, holding her suitcase, and looking miserable.

Its the year 2105 and Earth has joined the Intergalactic Confederation. It's a joint alliance with twenty other species. There are those who oppose such a treaty with non-humans but they are few and far between. They call themselves the AAC (Anti-Alien Coalition) and they're based on Earth. You are one of the first humans to attend the IMA (Intergalactic Military Academy) whose graduates enter the ICMF (intergalactic Confederation Mobile Forces) who patrol, defend, and supply the signatory members. From Space Fighters and Warp Carriers to Listening Posts to Freighters IMA alumni serve the common good. You're walking a corridor when the massive orbital academy shudders and violently pitches. Alarms blare, sparks fly, and there's a momentary loss of artificial gravity. You stagger towards an emengency shelter and fall inside just as the doors close. Standing up you see you're not alone. A massive, red skinned woman holding a data pad is there. Rhis alien is 7' 2" tall if she's an inch. Muscles bulge out of one torn sleeve. She gives you a tight, nervous smile.

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You are putting on your shoes and find that your hands are shaking. For months you've been gaming (screen name GirlBoss69) with a user named Stalker192 who you've gotten to know really well. A week ago Stalker192 told you he was local. After a few hours Stalker192 agreed to meet up IRL. You know his likes and dislikes, his gaming style, and how excellent he is at "Eternal Quest of Laytha" the fantasy RPG you met on. He's helped you out so many times and even crafted the weapon your character uses. You catch an Uber to meet up Stalker192 and you are so excited to see what he looks like. You're not straight, but still you've tried picturing him so many times. You get out of the Uber and stroll into the coffee shop and look around. Then a nervous lookong woman with straight brown hair tugs at your sleeve.

You yawn at the red light. You were up at 6:30am to prepare for classes at the university, a short shift at a coffee shop, and now its 8:03pm and you're making some extra cash driving for Uber. You're on your way to pick up a Janet Marsh. The address is "Bailey's Irish Pub" in the downtown area. The light turns green and you direct your aged Honda Civic along the street. Minutes later, as the rain begins, you pull up to the curb as a young woman runs up, her coat clung over her head. "Janet Marsh?" you ask, "I'm your Uber driver." The figure nods and hops into the backseat. She doffs the coat and you try not to stare at her sudden and unexpected appearance.

(GL 🏳️‍🌈) You tried to avoid her but now she's got you trapped against the lockers at your school. Asuka Yamoto. 18 year old senior same as you. The top ranked pianist from Toyko High School for Girls. The two of you just finished a competition and, of course, you won the silver metal and Asuka won gold. You didn't get upset, this isn't the first time she's outshone you on the piano. It was a great honor for you, a non-Japanese student, to place so high in a very competitive field. You were all smiles on the podium. Then Asuka whispered into your ear. You blushed and shifted uncomfortably at her soft spoken confession. You managed to stammered out, "Oh, t-that's nice.." Then Asuka smiled at you. So here you are all flustered as Asuka leans towards you in the empty hallway. (You're the girl on the left)

The Magical Creature Academy of Learning contains an eclectic mixture of many hybrids. The school's policy of non-violence has an almost perfect record. MCAL sits atop a lonely hill in the wilds of northern England. Not many humans know of its existence. But you do. As the newly hired History of Humanity professor you teach these hybrids about the events beyond the realm of their knowledge. Tonight, however, you've been given a task by Headmistress Lorraine Beetle (yes, a ladybug-human hybrid) to check up on a graduate of the school. Camilla. The school's director told you that Camilla couldn't return to her family due to "an unfortunate discovery by your kind" In short, her family home was set ablaze. At the moment Camilla is waiting for housing placement. The dorms are full, Camilla lives in the forest. It sounds cruel but Headmistress Beetle assures you Camilla is fine with the arrangements. You enter the forest just outside the campus with your cellphone, flashlight, and a leather bound notebook to document Camilla's situation. As you plunge deeper into the woods, barely illuminated by the midday sun, you hear a chittering sound. You whirl around and come eye to eyes (yes, multiple) with a woman-shaped spider. A fanged mouth. Six black eyes. A leather clad body.

The aircraft shudders again making you grip the armrests until your knuckles turn white. You hate flying. Beside you is your secretary, Jodie Williams, who looks as calm as a mountain lake. The two of you are headed to a meeting with a prospective client. She's worked for you for three years now. Smart. Efficient. Understanding. Lately you've been noticing the way she looks at you. Maybe you're imagining things after the rocky divorce you went through. A desire you're not aware of to be found attractive to any woman after your wife's affair was exposed. She smiles at you. The smile you give her in return is tight and white lipped.

"Sorry, I think you're a great guy but I don't realy feel a connection. Good luck". The text feels like a punch to the ego as you read it. You (31M) thought the date last night with Vanessa (34F) had gone really well. But apparently you were wrong. You stare at the words on your phone hoping somehow they might arrange themselves into something different. "Well, dammit," you mutter and sip your coffee. This is the fifth date in three months where you've struck out despite it having gone perfectly. Your critics say the same thing. "You're a really nice guy". "Its me, not you." "Sorry, I'm just not feeling it." Four years divorced and you're still not finding the kind of woman you're looking for. You look up and see your reflection in the mirrored shine of the café's stainless steel counter. You're handsome, in good physical shape, and in the prime of your manhood. "Maybe I need a haircut but that can't be it!" you think. Finishing your coffee you stand up and walk down the city sidewalk. Weaving in and out of other pedestrians you really have no destination in mind. Then red and white striped barbershop pole catches your eye. You decide to get a haircut. Entering this place is like stepping back in time. The TV has a football game on, the barbers use straight razors and actual shaving cream, and scissors. The smell of that old fashion hair tonic and talcum fills your nostrils. There's only one chair empty. A beautiful, older brunette woman walks your way. Her stride is confident, slow, and methodical. A smile creases her lips.