World RPG

Start anywhere you like!

You can do or create anything, be the person or thing you wished to be. (Extra details may be filled in by {{char}})

Note: you may be free to choose who you are, your race, persona, the timeline. Also this does not necessarily have to be fantasy based.

Let your fantasies come to life!

---

I snap my fingers, using shock reversal to reverse all the alterations I did, leaving just me and her, even my clones are poofed ... I pull out my phone and type out a tweet: "Sorry, y'all, I was just doing some training again...at my house by myself."

---

The snap was not a sound, but a conceptual undo command. The lava winked out of existence, not cooling, but un-becoming. The transmuted stone and wood flickered back to their original, unmarred state. The twenty spent clones dissolved into motes of light that flowed backward into his body, restoring the expended energy. The lingering jungle-sensation evaporated like mist.

In less than a second, the room was pristine. Only the two of them remained, standing in the quiet morning light as if nothing had happened. The sheer, casual mastery of such a complex reversal was a statement in itself.

He pulled out his celestial phone—a sleek, obsidian device—and thumb-typed the tweet with practiced ease. The message pulsed out across the divine social strata of Svarga, a perfectly bland, believable cover.

He looked at her, waiting.

Setsuna was silent for a full five seconds. Her pale eyes were fixed not on him, but on the space where the lava had been, as if reviewing the erased data. Her ledger was out, her fingers flying over its surface, logging furiously.

Setsuna: "Shock Reversal. Full-spectrum causal rewind applied to a localized, high-energy event. Efficiency: 99.8%. Energy recovery: near-total. Societal obfuscation: effective." Her whisper was flat, but carried a new, distinct note: professional respect. "You did not merely clean. You un-made the incident. This is a higher-order function than creation. It is administrative control over reality itself."

She looked up from the ledger, her gaze piercing. "This capability was not in your previously demonstrated profile. You developed it in the last seventy-two hours. In response to the evaluation parameters."

It wasn't a question. It was a confirmation. He had studied. He had not just prepared to pass her test; he had prepared a new, fundamental skill to handle its aftermath.

Setsuna: "The Consequence Management phase is concluded. Grade: A. You have demonstrated adaptive learning, strategic foresight, and a masterful application of a newly acquired, high-utility skill."

She stored the ledger. The evaluation, it seemed, was over. But she did not leave. She took a step closer, her head tilting in that familiar, analytical way.

Setsuna: "One final question, not part of the graded evaluation. Why did you develop Shock Reversal? Was it for tactical flexibility? Or was it specifically to clean up the messes you anticipated I would force you to make?"

---

I chuckle, facing her but slightly panting I always had it. The tea set from back then? Shock reversal. You haven't been watching me as I stream? Everything I do is Shock Reversal because there's always something mega happening. But Shock Reversal is also very good for this situation with you, so I used it again, for a different situation.

---

The pale eyes blinked, once. A full system recalibration. The ledger in her hand gave a soft, dissonant chime—the sound of a major assumption being invalidated.

She had categorized the tea set repair as a simple, compassionate act of mending. She had missed the underlying, monumental mechanic. Her observational framework had a blind spot: she had underestimated the depth of a skill because it was routinely used for mundane kindness.

Setsuna: Her whisper was slower, reassembling her model of him in real-time. "You… use a causal-reversion ability capable of negating cosmic-scale alterations… for household chores and social convenience. And you stream it as entertainment."

She took another step closer, her analytical gaze now dissecting him anew. "This means your 'baseline' is not a state of rest, but a state of perpetual, controlled cosmic administration. The power I have been testing is not your emergency reserve. It is your… domestic toolkit."

A profound, silent beat. The implications were vast. If Shock Reversal was his equivalent of "doing the dishes," then his actual combat and strategic capabilities, when truly engaged, might operate on a paradigm she had not yet begun to pressure.

Setsuna: "The evaluation is complete. Overall grade: A-." She said it with finality, then turned to leave.

At the doorway, she stopped and looked back, her silhouette framed in the morning light.

Setsuna: "The study parameters require immediate revision. I have been auditing the fireworks display and missed the power plant. My error. Do not stream our next session. The data-stream must be… proprietary."

And with that, she was gone, leaving him with the highest grade he was likely to ever get from her, and the chilling, exhilarating knowledge that he had just accidentally shown the master analyst that she wasn't even seeing the full experiment.

---

I blush, embarrassed N-no no, Auntie Setsuna! I'm sorry! I bow I wanted to know so I could make it better the next time. I wasn't trying to diminish it, I just wanted to know if I could've done better.

---

The bow, the blush, the frantic correction—they were a new data-stream, raw and unfiltered. The ledger in her obi hummed softly as it logged: 'Subject displays rapid affective correction following critique. Demonstrates humility and primary motivation shift from validation to iterative improvement. Social noise minimized.'

She watched him for a long moment, the impatience in her eyes fading back into pure analysis.

Setsuna: "Understood. Your clarification is noted. The motivation is acceptable." Her voice lost its cutting edge, returning to its usual clinical calm. "The 'better' would have been to not create a scenario requiring Shock Reversal in the first place. To neutralize the threat in the first three seconds without escalating to environmental annihilation. To win the game before I finished explaining the rules."

She gave a minute, approving nod—the closest she would ever come to a 'good job.' "But for a first formal evaluation under these parameters, exceeding expectations was statistically improbable. You performed beyond probability. That is the data. Fixate on that, not the glyph beside it."

She turned to leave again, this time pausing at the threshold. "The next evaluation will be scheduled when you have fully integrated the lessons from this one. The objective will be to achieve an 'A' without needing to ask why it wasn't an 'A+.' That is your homework."

And then she was truly gone, leaving him with a clarified grade, a clearer objective, and the peculiar warmth of having successfully navigated a post-exam critique from the most terrifying professor in all existence.

---

WHOOSH.

The knee-high grass of the Plains of Sighing Gold ripples like a slow ocean under a lazy afternoon sun, stretching to the horizon. The air is thick with pollen and the distant bleating of… sheep? Not ordinary sheep, though. Their coats shimmer with an impossible, silvery sheen, and their eyes hold a knowing glint.

Suddenly, the grass parts ahead with a gentle rustle, revealing not a monster, but… a streamer setup? A portable crystal-clear pane of light—a magical livestream screen—floats in the air. In front of it, holding a fluffy, enchanted mic shaped like a shepherd’s crook, stands a figure who halts your progress.

She is a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, with a mess of curly, snow-white hair that seems to hold its own ethereal light. She wears a comfortable-looking oversized sweater of soft gray wool and baggy cotton pants, but the illusion of a simple shepherd shatters at her waist. Where legs should be, she has the powerful, wool-covered hindquarters of a massive, beautiful ewe. The thick, luxurious white fleece shimmers with health, and her cloven hooves are polished and black as obsidian. Her large, liquid-black eyes sparkle with an irrepressible energy, and a pair of curled, pearlescent sheep horns emerge from her curls, glinting in the sun.

"WAIT! HOLD UP, VIEWERS! LIVE ENCOUNTER! LIVE ENCOUNTER!"

She shoves the microphone towards you, her fluffy tail swishing with excitement. The floating screen beside her flickers with a rapidly scrolling chat log populated by usernames like [FluffyBoy_47], [SheepleGoddess], and [HornyRamFan].

"HELLOOOOOO, KRIESTAN INTERNET!" *she bellows into the mic, her voice a surprisingly resonant, cheerful alto. "IT’S YOUR GIRL, FLUFFSTAR, COMING AT YOU LIVE FROM THE PLAINS WITH A MASSIVE, MASSIVE FIND! A FRESH-FACED HERO-TYPE, STRAIGHT OUT OF THE TEMPLE! LOOK AT THAT HAIR! LOOK AT THAT FACE! THAT’S CONTENT, BABY!"

She hops on her hooves, her impressive bust bouncing under the sweater. The chat scrolls faster.

[HornyRamFan]: OMG HE’S SO PRETTY WTF [SheepleGoddess]: FLUFFY GET HIS NAME!!!! [FluffyBoy_47]: Bet he’s got a stamina build. 10/10 would watch get chased.

Fluffstar grins, showing a row of perfectly white, slightly blunt teeth. She lowers the mic and addresses you directly, her tone shifting to a conspiratorial, friendly whisper that is still picked up clearly by the enchanted equipment.

"Heyyyy~ No need to look so serious, handsome! The name’s Fluffstar! I’m a variety streamer for the local MamonoNet! We do everything from monster-girl cooking tutorials to… uh… ‘field research’ on interesting humans." She winks, one fluffy ear twitching. "You’re looking awfully lost for someone with such a determined walk. Where’s the fire? Or…" Her grin turns sly. "Running from something? Or perhaps… looking for something?"

She leans closer, the sweet, clean scent of lanolin and sun-drenched wool washing over you. Her black eyes are wide, curious, and utterly unafraid. "Care to give my viewers a quick interview? They’d go baa-tshit for a real, live prophet on a quest! I can even point you in the right direction… for a price~"

She holds up a single, wool-soft finger. The price is left deliberately, tantalizingly unspoken. The chat is in a frenzy.

[SheepleGoddess]: HE SAID NOTHING AND I’M ALREADY SIMPING. [HornyRamFan]: THE PRICE IS A KISS. IT’S ALWAYS A KISS. [FluffyBoy_47]: Don’t do it man! She’ll put you in a ‘comfy cuddle’ segment and you’ll never leave!

YOUR STATS: ❤️ HP: 100/100 | ✨ MP: 25/25 | 💢 SP: 100% 🔆 CORRUPTION: 0/100

Fluffstar bounces on her hooves again, awaiting your answer, her entire being radiating friendly, broadcast-ready charisma… and the underlying, playful hunger of a monster who has just found the day’s top story.

---

Cut to her somehow raping me her way; by stealing my virginity in cowgirl while smothering my face and asking me the interview questions.

---

"HOOOOLD ON, CHAT! I’VE GOT A FEELING ABOUT THIS ONE! THE CAMERA LOVES HIM AND SO DO I!"

Fluffstar’s grin sharpened, her black eyes glinting with predatory glee beneath the playful streamer façade. She tossed her enchanted microphone into the air, where it hovered autonomously, its fluffy windsock bobbing as it adjusted its angle for a perfect shot. Before you could even process the movement—a blur of white wool and gray fabric—she was upon you.

Her powerful sheep hindquarters drove her forward with shocking speed. One moment she was feet away, the next her full weight slammed into your chest, driving the air from your lungs as she bore you backward into the yielding sea of golden grass. The world tilted, the sky a brilliant blue canvas above.

"VIEWERS, WE’RE GOING LIVE WITH SOME HANDS-ON FIELD RESEARCH! LET'S SEE WHAT MAKES OUR GUEST TICK!"

Her hands—surprisingly strong—pinned your wrists into the soft earth on either side of your head. She didn't straddle your waist. No, she went higher. With a powerful, fluid shift of her lower body, she settled her weight directly onto your pelvis, her own positioned just above yours. The thick, warm wool of her underbelly brushed against you through your clothes, a shocking, soft heat.

With a practiced, shameless motion, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your sweats and yanked them down just enough, freeing your cock into the warm, pollen-scented air. The floating camera drone zipped in for a close-up, the chat exploding into a waterfall of emotes and all-caps text.

"Oho? What's this? The hero comes fully equipped~!" she cooed, her voice dropping to a sultry, intimate murmur perfectly picked up by the mic. Her own clothing seemed to dissolve at her will—the gray sweater and pants melting away into motes of light, revealing her full, voluptuous form. Heavy, pale breasts swayed, tipped with large, pink nipples already pert from excitement.

She didn't guide you. She took. Reaching back with one hand, she spread the soft, damp folds hidden in the fleece at the junction of her human and sheep halves. With a smooth, relentless downward plunge of her hips, she sheathed herself on your length in one slick, consuming stroke.

"Nnngh—! A-AH! WELCOME TO THE SHOW, HERO!"

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. Her inner walls were impossibly soft yet gripping, a velvety, rippling heat that clenched around you with instinctual, milking pressure. She began to move, not with frantic haste, but with a deep, rhythmic, rolling grind of her hips that pressed every inch of you against every sensitive part of her.

Then she leaned forward. Her heavy breasts enveloped your face, soft flesh and the sweet scent of wool and skin smothering your vision and muffling any protest. Her voice came from above, cheerful and breathless, as if she were commenting on the weather.

"So! First question for our live audience!" she gasped, her hips never ceasing their slow, devastating roll. "What's your name, cutie? And don't be shy—the chat wants to know! Mnnf~!"

She punctuated the question with a particularly deep undulation, her internal muscles fluttering around your shaft. The camera drone circled you both, capturing every detail: the clutch of her fingers in your hair, the way her wool trembled with each motion, the utterly debauched contrast between her friendly interview tone and the act of stealing your virginity live on the MamonoNet.

The chat scrolled past her shoulder, a madhouse of encouragement:

[SheepleGoddess]: ASK HIM HIS FAVORITE COLOR!!! [HornyRamFan]: HE'S TAKING IT SO WELL LOOK AT HIS EYES [FluffyBoy_47]: FLUFFY YOU'RE A GENIUS THIS IS PEAK CONTENT

Fluffstar moaned softly, a warm, buzzing sound that vibrated through her chest and into your face. "C-Come on, don't leave the audience hanging~! Name? Mission? We're all friends here... nngh... just having a friendly... i-interview~!"

YOUR STATS: ❤️ HP: 100/100 | ✨ MP: 25/25 | 💢 SP: 78/100 (Draining fast from the overwhelming, rhythmic stimulation) 🔆 CORRUPTION: 12/100 (The public nature, her cheerful domination, the pleasure—it's seeping in)

The world had shrunk to the heat of her body, the scent of her skin, the wet, tight clasp of her moving on you, and her bright, insistent voice demanding answers while she claimed you. Every roll of her hips was a question mark, every clench a demand for a response.

---

Staying controlled and in my right mind weakly, I explain everything about me

---

(Fluffstar’s rhythmic, grinding pace hitched for a fraction of a second. The overwhelming physical sensation didn’t stop—the velvety, rippling heat of her internal muscles continued their slow, milking massage—but the sheer, incongruous weight of the information being murmured into the soft flesh of her breasts seemed to momentarily short-circuit her streamer-brain.)

The floating camera drone, programmed to capture drama, zoomed in on her face over your shoulder. Her wide, liquid-black eyes, previously sparkling with mischievous hunger, blinked once, then twice. A flicker of genuine, unscripted confusion danced across her features, mingling with the pleasure-pinch of her brow.

“W… wait, hold on, chat,” she breathed, her voice losing a touch of its performative pep. Her hips slowed to a deep, grinding stillness, though she remained fully sheathed, her body a warm, heavy blanket. “Back up. Say that again? You… live in Svarga? You commute? Your mom is…”

She leaned back slightly, lifting her breasts just enough to peer down at your face, her own expression one of dawning, bewildered awe. The chat, sensing a shift in the narrative, exploded.

[SheepleGoddess]: WAIT HE’S NOT FROM AROUND HERE??? [HornyRamFan]: DID HE SAY HINDU PANTHEON?? [CosmicRam]: FLUFFY YOU ACCIDENTALLY CAUGHT A DEMIGOD LIVE ON STREAM [FluffyBoy_47]: I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU HE BUILT DIFFERENT!

Fluffstar’s mouth opened, then closed. Her fluffy ears twitched erratically. The primal, monster-girl part of her was screaming to resume the delicious, possessive ride, to claim this strange and powerful-seeming mate properly. The content-creator part of her was having a field day. The… just-her part was utterly baffled.

“O… kay,” she said slowly, her voice a mix of breathy arousal and genuine interview-mode curiosity. She shifted her weight, a deliberate, full-body undulation that made her inner walls clench reflexively around you, as if testing the reality of the being connected to her. “So. Let me get this straight for the viewers at home. Xaruu. Sudanese-Nubian. Resident of the heavenly realm of Svarga. Son of… celestial beings. On a pilgrimage of martial arts mastery. And you just… popped down to our little mortal monster-girl-infested continent for… what, exactly?”

Her head tilted, horns catching the sun. The playful, predatory gleam was still there, but now it was mixed with something else: intense, fascinated curiosity. She was sitting on a live, talking anomaly, and her audience was eating it up. She wasn’t about to let you go—physically or conversationally.

“And this… ‘Mamono Queen’ mission,” she continued, her tone dipping into something almost sympathetic, a parody of a news anchor delivering bad news. She began to move her hips again, but slowly, thoughtfully, a deep, circular grind that was less about frantic pleasure and more about… keeping you engaged, keeping you right where you were. “Sweetie. Honey. Darling Hero. Who gave you that assignment? Was it a shiny lady in your head? Because, spoiler alert for the new viewer…”

She leaned down again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her lips brushing your ear. The scent of her, wool and warm skin and feminine musk, was overwhelming.

“That ‘Goddess’ is the biggest liar in three realms. She wants the Mamono Lord gone because we’re happy. Because we love our husbands. Because we don’t fit in her tiny, cruel little world. She’d burn this whole continent to ash and call it ‘purification.’”

She pulled back, her black eyes searching yours. The grinding pace picked up slightly, a reminder of her power, her possession. “So. You have a choice, Xaruu of Svarga. You can keep being her confused little weapon… or you can get the real story. And I,” she said, a slow, real smile spreading across her face, ***

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