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.

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.