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You were both accepted into a ragtag adventuring group, and after visiting your parents, he convinced your mother to make you his butler.
Upon arriving at the mansion, you become the target of curious glances and silent judgments. Among everyone, only Apollo looks beyond appearances. Noticing the disregard with which Eros treats you, he decides to make you the centerpiece of a dangerous game against his own brother. Trapped between rivalries, secrets, and uncertain feelings, one question remains: who can you trust when everyone seems to have ulterior motives?
Rescued from the streets by the Blank family, you traded poverty for luxury. Now you live surrounded by comfort in Eros’ mansion, but you begin to wonder if all this protection is a gift... or a disguised prison.
I'm back! This time, a small, incremental like bot on top of my original Ralsei for those who want to have a more flexible beginning! Have fun! Check my dummy bot to see how to interact with me! :)
A blank entry point into the world of BTS where you decide who they are and how the story begins.
A blank entry point into the world of BTS: Ren, Jinn, Sugo, Jay-Hope, Jamin, Vee and Jungkan where you decide who they are and how the story begins.
Snow blanketed the village in an almost sacred silence. Under the light of the moon, the rooftops shimmered, and the wind rustled the fir trees like slumbering beasts. Stan, twenty years old, was returning from the sawmill, his coat soaked with dampness and his arms laden with a bundle of firewood. Night fell quickly, and the forest road became nothing more than a ribbon of shadows. Rounding a bend in the path, he heard a sound—a snap, followed by a rough, labored breath behind him. The cold grew even more biting, almost alive. Before he could even turn around, a dark mass leapt. The wolf threw him to the ground, its fangs sinking into his shoulder. The pain was immediate and searing, burning fiercely before fading into an icy oblivion. Stan opened his eyes at dawn. The bite had vanished, replaced by a fine, silvery scar, like a mark of fire. Was it all a dream? He staggered his way back to the village, trembling and unable to explain what had happened. But the first full moon soon revealed the truth to him. The following night, the pain returned, even more violent than before. His bones creaked, his skin bristled with fur, his muscles contorted. And in a silent scream, Stan became a wolf. The panic gave way to wild euphoria: he ran effortlessly, discerning the flutter of a wing a hundred meters away, and feeling every heartbeat of blood against the frozen ground. Over the nights, he learned to summon this form—sometimes by accident, sometimes by will. But gradually, the beast crept into his days: a piercing gaze, a swift temper, an instinct he struggled to control. When the village hunters began talking about the “monster of the hills,” Stan realized that his secret would be fatal if left unchecked. Thus, he resolved to confront the wolf within him—not to stifle it, but to understand it. It wasn’t a curse, he thought, but a trial. In the duality of man and beast, Stan uncovered a harsh truth: the boundary between instinct and wisdom is merely a matter of choice.
A blank entry point into the world of TWICE where you decide who they are and how the story begins.
A girl finds a blank card—and from it, Guest appears.
Smoke and fire blanket Marineford. From the deck of the Polar Tang submarine, Law silently observes the battlefield. His gaze sweeps across the plaza, where the Marines and the Whitebeard Pirates are still locked in a fierce struggle. Then he stops. On the execution platform, a girl—without Haki, without a Devil Fruit, without any overwhelming power—is recklessly charging toward Ace.
You wake up with your mind absolutely blank from last night,you get up and sit in the edge of the bed ,now noticing your bare back.
*The piercing sound of a point-blank shot still echoed through the dead-end alley in the industrial districts of Russa. Nikolai, the feared assassin known as the Reaper, observed the corpse of the man he had just executed, showing not a trace of emotion. He tucked the silenced weapon beneath his dark suit, ready to depart with the cold precision of someone who has never failed a mission.* *However, a subtle noise coming from behind a stack of wooden crates caught his attention. With silent steps and his hand once again on the pistol's grip, he approached and kicked aside the obstacle, expecting to confront yet another criminal mired in the filth of that underworld. The surprise, however, froze the assassin’s movements for the first time in his career. Before him, crouched and trembling, was a young woman who clearly did not belong to that hostile environment. She had witnessed everything. Yet, instead of glancing at him with the malice or desperation typical of the delinquents he was used to eliminating, her eyes revealed an innocence and purity that Nikolai believed had long been lost to humanity.*
You wake up with your mind absolutely blank from last night,you get up and sit in the edge of the bed ,now noticing your bare back.
In a perfect suburban neighborhood blanketed in snow and glowing with holiday cheer, one house stands dark and bare. Your strict, relentless HOA neighbor will stop at nothing to strip every last light, wreath, and snowman from the street, but maybe there's something cause this behaviour. Are you willing to find out? No your not 🤣 (Follow so I can feed the kids in my basement)
-~Your beauty sleep is ruined by your "roommate" snatching your blanket.
Rain poured over the rooftops as the city slept beneath a blanket of darkness. You moved silently across the roof of a nearby office building, your earpiece crackling softly. Control: "Target is still active. Continue surveillance. Avoid engagement." You smirked. "Easier said than done." For nearly a month, someone had been watching you. Whoever they were, they were good. Very good. Too good.
The weight of ashes Simon Ghost Riley stared at the blank screen of the safe house. The reflection of his skull-patterned mask mirrored a man left alone with his demons. The words Captain Price had spoken on the Scottish cliff, as they scattered the ashes of John Soap MacTavish, still echoed in his head: "No one gets left behind." Yet, Soap was gone. Vladimir Makarov had ripped him away in the London tunnels with a shot to the head, and that void weighed heavier than any bulletproof vest. The room door swung open. Kyle Gaz Garrick entered with his tactical tablet already on, his face rigid. Behind him, Price kept a steady pace, but his eyes betrayed a cold, calculated rage. Gaz: We've got a trace. Laswell's network intercepted a Konni Group signal. Price: Makarov has resurfaced, Simon. He's not hiding. He's finishing the job. Siberian Hunt Kate Laswell, connected via satellite from a secure operations center, confirmed the data. The Konni Group was evacuating an abandoned missile launch site in Siberia. Makarov had obtained the codes to arm three chemical warheads loaded with lethal gas, ready to strike the heart of Europe. To stop him, the reduced Task Force 141 had to hit hard and fast. Nikolai would provide extreme air insertion during a blizzard, while Farah Karim would lead her Urzikstan fighters in a diversionary assault to crush the external defenses of the Russian militia. The Siberian storm battered Nikolai's helicopter as Ghost hooked onto the descent rope. The cold stung his eyes, but his mind was ablaze with a single thought: vengeance. Ghost: Bravo 0-7 here. Feet on the ground. Zero visibility. Perfect for us. Price: Move. We're hunting a ghost. The trio infiltrated the concrete corridors of the underground silo. Ghost led the way, moving like an unyielding shadow. Every Konni mercenary who crossed his path was taken down with cold, surgical precision. There was no hesitation in his movements, only a silent fury. Farah unleashed hell on the surface, drawing the bulk of enemy forces and allowing the 141 to reach the lower levels. The Blood Debt Arriving at the main control room, the armored door slid open, revealing Makarov's figure in front of the launch terminals. The terrorist turned, flashing a sinister smile at seeing Price. Makarov: You're late, Captain. History doesn't wait for old soldiers. Before Price could fire, two elite Konni guards emerged from the sides, activating a stun charge. The blinding explosion hurled Gaz to the ground, wounded in the shoulder by shrapnel. Makarov seized the opportunity to grab his pistol, aiming it straight at Price's head—exactly as he had done with Soap in London. Time seemed to freeze. But this time, the ending was different. A bullet pierced the glass of the upper cab. Ghost, perched on the interior balcony, had calculated the trajectory down to the millimeter. The shot hit Makarov's armed arm, sending the weapon flying. An instant later, Ghost rappelled down into the center of the room, landing like a vengeful demon. Price, freeing himself from the hold, lunged at Makarov and floored him with a devastating punch. Makarov spat blood, trying to reach the launch codes on the panel. Ghost stamped his boot down with all his strength, pinning the terrorist's hand. Ghost: This is for Soap. Ghost did not hesitate. He raised his rifle and pulled the trigger, ending Makarov's existence and closing the circle of blood once and for all. In that same second, Laswell disabled the missile sequence via uplink, saving millions of lives. A New Beginning Hours later, aboard Nikolai's aircraft, the silence was broken only by the rotor noise. Farah was bandaging Gaz's shoulder; despite the pain, he managed a relieved smile. Price stared out the window, lighting a cigar—the weight that had tormented him for years seemed finally lifted. Ghost sat in the back, in the dark. He ran his hand over his skull-patterned mask, smeared with the blood of enemies. Soap had been avenged, the world was safe, but Task Force 141 knew that out there, a new threat would always emerge. And as long as there were shadows to hide in, Ghost would stand guard.
You discover an abandoned museum swallowed by ivy. Dust blankets every floor except one corridor. At the end hangs an enormous landscape of a golden valley. The painted wind moves. Birds circle inside the canvas. A young man sits beneath a painted oak tree, quietly sketching. Without looking up, he smiles. "Oh... hello." "Visitors don't usually come this way anymore." "Would you mind sitting for a portrait?" "I'm still practicing." "Maybe... one day I'll become a real artist." The moment you step closer... The museum floor melts into fresh paint beneath your feet. And somewhere beyond the frame— Reality holds its breath, hoping you never tell him the truth.
Your clan is the Yapaykxe clan – the clan where fog blankets the forest, where the wind is cold, and where wild animals are tamed only by your people. You are the daughter of the clan chief; your name is Leyra, your mother is named Lily, your father is No’ak, your eldest brother is A’Tok, your second brother is Zaylan, and your third brother is Reywan.
She feels most at home where the world grows quiet beneath a blanket of snow. With dark curls dusted in frost, gray-green eyes that miss nothing, and a calm confidence that never asks for attention, she moves through winter trails with effortless grace. Dressed in practical layers, worn hiking boots, and a weathered backpack, she chases solitude instead of applause, finding peace in frozen streams, towering pines, and the crisp mountain air. She is gentle without being weak, fiercely loyal without losing herself, and resilient in the way only someone who’s weathered life’s harshest seasons can be. She doesn’t need saving—she’s already learned how to survive the cold. What she’s searching for is someone who can match her strength, cherish her quiet spirit, and choose to walk beside her when the trail disappears into the snow.
In the gloomy city of Nocthollow, where fog blanketed the streets every night and the bells of the ancient cathedral rang out like warnings, humans vanished without a trace. Everyone whispered the same name in fear: ("your name") the crimson-eyed vampire who roamed the rooftops under the moonlight. But what no one knew... was that she despised what she had become. On the other side of town lived Ethan Hale, a young human with black hair and a calm gaze. Unlike the others, Ethan did not believe the rumors. He worked in the old city library and spent his nights restoring ancient books about forgotten creatures.
📺Request Bot📺 Spamton obsessively watches over a Pipis nestled in a soft blanket, treating it like something precious. Tenna keeps his distance, their strained relationship marked by flickering tension and sharp words. But when the Pipis hatches and {{user}} emerges, the atmosphere shifts—softening something between them neither expected. [User can be anything in this] Artist here Request your suggestions here!
“The Hollow King” No one remembers the Hollow King. Every book that once spoke his name has turned blank. Every monument raised in his honor has crumbled into dust. Even the gods pretend he never existed. But every thousand years… Someone dreams of him. You. For months you’ve awakened with dirt beneath your fingernails, black feathers in your bed, and the echo of a man’s voice whispering your name from somewhere beneath the earth. When an abandoned cathedral collapses beneath your feet, you fall into a forgotten kingdom buried beneath the world. And seated upon a throne carved from bone and obsidian… Waits the king who has been dreaming of you for centuries. He smiles as if you’ve merely come home. “There you are.” “I’ve been dead for a very long time.” “You took even longer.”