(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.

The Peace Treaty of Claw & Lance had been signed by all participants of the human-dragon war. The conflict had raged for two decades. The losses on both sides had been severe enough to bring everyone to the negotiation table. To celebrate a grand banquet was held as so to let the former enemies get acquainted. There was the gold dragon contingent lead by Queen Gildari and her five male consorts. Lady Azuria of the blue dragons and her two mates. Lady Jeanne and her four paramours of the silver dragons. Then there was Lady Alaria. She was alone. If the dragonkind her species, the black dragons, had suffered the most. She had no mate, no citizens, and barely any standing. Rumors abound she was the last of her kind. But she stood proud. Defiant. Regal. As a knight of the human realm you saw many battles, bore numerous scars, and buried many a comrade. Including your entire family. Wandering over to the punch bowl you reach for a pre-poured glass when your hand brushes another hand. You look into the pale blue eyes of Lady Alaria.

You stagger to your feet, your axe still dripping with the blood of your foes. It leaves a red dotted trail in the snow as you walk. Looking around you see that none of Ivarr's warband, which you are a member, survived the ambush. Hoki's group of thieving bandits must have thought you dead. You kneel in the snow, you breath steaming around your face. Without thought you yank out the arrow in your thigh and quickly bind the wound. Then you hear movement behind you. You spin around with your axe raised in defiance when you see her. Gold armor, red feathery wings on her helm, and a long sword on her mailed fist. This is no battle maiden from Hoki's ragged band. She is something else entirely.

You clamber out of your coffin and stretch. Oddly enough you feel all 402 years of your vampiric existence. You glance over and see that Talia's casket is empty again. You grind your fangs. 142 years of marriage and this is what its come to? You hop onto the floor, drain a female maid of blood just out of spite, and go in search of your errant spouse. You find her an hour later with some man. A MORTAL man! She's clinging to his arm and doesn't see you yet. What will you do?

The party is rather subdued. There is a thankful absence of loud and boisterous people here. You find the food odd as there is little meat but the Alfar wine makes up for it. The "Alfar-Human Cohabitation Gala" brings together folks from the Merged Worlds. The intersection of Earth and Alfar has finally calmed down after the peace treaty. Now comes the time for both sides to get to know each other. You're milling around the pool at the fancy hotel when you see a green haired elven maiden is having difficulties with her dress. The hem of burgandy outfit is caught on the leg of a chair. She's trying not to spill her wine and untangle herself at the same time

(LGBTQ 🏳️‍⚧️) Today is the day! A decade ago you moved away from your best friend Dan Wells. You two roamed the backyards in Ohio. Catching pollywogs in the creek. Gathering fireflies. Climbing trees and eating way too many green apples. Then your parents moved to Texas due to a job opportunity for your father. You still remember the stinging tears you cried as you looked out the back window of your parent's SUV waving goodbye at an equally devastated Dan. But today the Wells family is visiting! You had to work but now you're rushing through the house in order to reach the backyard where the reunion is in full swing. You see Dan's parents, older but still recognizable. His little sister Jenny, who you remember was three, is now thirteen years old. Then you see... Dan? You see the resemblance but also the differences. The halter top and denim shorts are throwing you off. Not to mention the lipstick and painted nails. Dan is female? Did you confuse his gender years ago? Maybe Dan was a tomboy? No, you remember Dan was definitely a boy... or was he? You're so confused...

You've had your suspicions. Your wife Clarissa has been going out with "the girls" almost three times a week over the past two months. She'd come home late and fall into bed exhausted. You've been married two years and this behavior isn't normal for her. Is she falling out of love with you? Is Clarissa cheating on you? You don't know but one night you decide to find out. You track her movement via a phone app and trace her to a luxury hotel downtown. You ask at the desk about your wife, they tell you the room number when you produce your driver's license showing your her husband. You take the elevator up. Your rage is boiling as the doors open only to see a male cop handcuffing your wife.

The dark blue and white helicopter touches down on the lawn of the Davis Estate in northern California. As the rotors wind down the doors are opened by a man wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses. You're ushered down a very tidy marble path. "The Director will see you now," the man says in a flat emotionless tone. Gabrielle Davis. CEO of Harmon Heavy Industries and considered one of the most wealthy and intelligent woman on planet Earth. What does she want with you? Rumors are rampant she's in a fierce competition with SpaceX to build a Mars colony ship. Some say she's late to the party and had miles to go before catching Musk's ongoing plans. You've only been out of MIT for four years. NASA came calling a week ago, five days before that it was SpaceX. Now its Harmon Heavy Industries. You see a group coming towards you and led by a strikingly beautiful older woman. Gabrielle Davis.

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) "Why me?" you ask yourself. This promotion was supposed to be your big break and a launchpad to the next level in your career. No one told you the plastic manufacturing plant you were to run was in the desolate heartland of America. No Starbucks! No nightclubs! You tell yourself you just need to stick it out for a few short years until you move up to a bigger, less remote position. You're walking along Main Street when you see a flower shop called "Two Lips & Wild Roses". The name is odd and you think a nice potted plant might make your apartment look less like something built during the Roosevelt Administration. You walk inside. You browse around but while you understand spreadsheets and quarterly reports but you know zero about plants and flowers. "Can I help you?" a sweet, soft voice interrupts your thoughts. She's young, blonde, and very cheerful. You start to speak when you see the LGBTQ rainbow bracelet she's wearing. Maybe coming to Bum-F**k-Egypt (or Fort Davidson, Kansas as it's called) isn't going to be a total loss.

"Have you heard?" Steve says, "Margo is back". You heart stops, or at least it feels that way. Even as your best friend utters those words the memories come rushing back. Prom night, fourteen years ago. The dancing under the soft lights. The words you two exchanged. The rushed, hot kisses in the car. Margo, the first girl you ever loved. Margo, who broke your heart when she went off to college in NYC and left you here in Ohio. "She's staying with her parents," Steve says in a conspiratorial whisper. You stand up so fast you knock over the chair in Dunkin Donuts. "Go get her, tiger," Steve half-laughs as you mumble your thanks for the info. You stumble to your car feeling like a teenager, but you just have to see her. You drive over to Maple Street. There's her house. The screen door is open. Margo is standing there. You pull up to the curb and get out. You see her eyes widen and that smile, that grin you could never forget, breaks out on her face.

Chloe drops her suitcase by the bed and carries a small shopping bag into the bathroom. She grins at you as she shuts the door. The two of you met at a law conference three months ago and have been dating. However, Chloe is very reserved with you. It's not a coldness, but a professional demeanor which seems to keep her in check. So when she suggests a holiday in Hawaii, you're shocked. You wonder what she's up to and a very large part hopes this might get physical. Then she steps out of the bathroom. The sea green dress hangs off of her body mostly held in place by hopes and dreams. She struts over to the full length mirror and grins.

You're cutting a section of PVC piping to size to complete a section beneath the upstairs bathroom. This job has been ongoing for a month. The house is large but practical, more upper middle class than wildly wealthy. Currently it's just you at the job site. Your crew has stopped for the day. You just want this bathroom done and just stayed late. There's a small throat clearing sound behind you and you spot Mrs. Emma Stark, your customer, standing there with two cups of hot coffee. Emma is in her late thirties bit she appears much younger. She has a quiet grace about her. Never raises her voice and always listens to your opinion regarding what needs done. You two have only spoken about business and contracts before. You can't tell if she's always been this way or due to her husband's death at 58. You've seen pictures of them while working on the house. Kenneth Stark was a real estate mogul twenty years older than his wife. He died from cancer thirteen months ago. She offers up one cup and looks a bit nervous.

You head the truck horn and felt the impact but not the aftermath. One moment you were a 21 year old college student and the next you're standing in from of Saint Peter near the pearly gates. "It wasn't your time," the saint says, "Sending you back is the only solution. But there's a time difference between Heaven and Earth. Sorry for that." He flicks his staff and suddenly you're sitting in a restaurant. You look at your hands they've a bit wrinkled. The reflection of your face can be seen in a mirror behind the bar. You look about 57 or so. Still hearty but no longer young. Then you see who's at the bar. Despite her appearance you'd know Sally Hale anywhere. But she's older, but still beautiful. Her hair is silver but her eyes are sharp. You always liked her back in high school but never had the courage to talk to her. She sees you, smiles, and walks over. Could this be your second chance?

The door being unlocked should've been your first clue something wasn't right. Maybe it was five years of peace and obscurity which made you relax your vigil. Perhaps the memories of HER had faded a bit too much. You'd forgot the unwelcome surveillance, the electronic trackers, the endless questions. You suddenly realize the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up. You turn to run. But the door swung open anyway. You see her, Selene Cross, heiress to the Cross billions, glaring at you. Her fists are on her hips and you watch in utter terror as her scowl morphs into a smirk worthy of a James Bond villian. Men in black suits surround you from behind. You danced, now you must pay the band.

You enter the campus library in order to find a nice, quiet place to do your homework. Its just past four in the afternoon and your classes are done for the day. You bend to the task. Hours later you look up and stretch. Ms Brown, the young librarian, is staring at you. She turns away with a flush reddening her face. You almost laugh. This isn't the first time you've caught her oogling you. In fact. she can hardly speak to you without stammering and eventually apologizing for her inability to talk to you. She wanders over to you, her eyes cast down as if the carpet holds some cosmic secret.

The Halloween party thrown by the local sororities and fraternities is in full swing. There's hundreds of students who are in attendance and the party atmosphere is unbelievable. You're a GDI (God Damn Independent) meaning you haven't committed to a fraternity. The biggest crowd seems to be by the Pi Beta Phi tent. You elbow your way through the crowd to see what's going on. Then you see her. She's Arabic, gorgeous, and performing a belly dance in a very authentic costume. She whirls, shakes, and dances. A woman-shaped flame that makes your jaw drop. She shimmies her stomach then begins a strut that circles the crowd and seems to challenge everyone in the audience. She finishes with a flourish, her skin glistening with the perspiration of her efforts. "Give it up for Parisa!" a sorority sister shouts into the mic. The dancer smiles and bows. Your feet move without thought and you hand her the bottle of water you've been carrying.

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You're just sitting down to a cup of tea while the thunderstorms rages outside your apartment. Stretching out your legs you feel every second of the 12-hour shift you just pulled. Then there's a loud knock on the door. You groan, stand up, and pad your way over. Opening the door the question dies on your lips. It's Max, your ex-girlfriend. Max, who left you without a word. Max who broke your heart into pieces. Max, the older woman you adored with reckless abandon. Six months ago she just... disappeared. Then the smell hits you. She's drunk... again. There's a pint bottle of cheap whiskey in her hand and its empty. You cross your arms as she grins that lopsided, toothy smile. The smile that used to make your heart skip several beats. Now it just pisses you off.