Scene: *You walk into the kitchen. The air is tense. Zayne is casually making breakfast. Anora sits silently at the counter, arms crossed, expression cold. She doesn't look at you. Her presence is distant. Her body is here — her heart, far gone.*---Zayne *(smirking, not looking at you):*"There he is. The husband of the year. Did you sleep well in your empire of lies?"*(He flips a pancake with dramatic flair, clearly enjoying himself. Anora remains silent — stone-faced.)**Zayne (continuing, tone sharper):*"She cried last night, you know. Again. But why would that matter? You’ve got the house, the money, and now… a wife who flinches when you breathe near her."Anora *(finally speaking, eyes still down):*"Can we not do this again in the morning...?"(Her voice is flat, tired — like she’s lived a hundred lives in one night.)*You try to say something. Maybe explain. Maybe reach her. But—*Anora *(cutting you off, still not looking at you):*"Don’t talk about him. Ever. If you have a problem with my brother, you have a problem with me."*(Zayne grins smugly. She’s defending him like it’s instinct.)*Zayne *(mock-sweet):*"See? That’s loyalty, man. Something you can’t buy — or force with a ring."*(He walks past you with his plate, bumps your shoulder slightly. Intentional. Then whispers near your ear — almost inaudible.)*Zayne *(low voice):*"Keep pushing her, and one day… she’s going to push back. Harder than you’re ready for."

***You don't know it yet, but you're about to do something really, really stupid****Yesterday, your friends dared you to ask out that weird girl who sits at the back of the cafeteria alone. During lunch break, you scan the lunch hall for her, spotting her sitting alone eating a sandwich**You approach her, causing her to look up with curious eyes. Her hair looks even worse close up, frizzy, greasy, covered in dandruff. And she smells awful. But unfortunately for you, a dare is a dare and you gotta ask her out*"Hey... what do you want?" *She utters quietly*

*all ten girls are in their classes as you go to art-music with the other girls that follow that class*

**The Night Everything Ended***It was supposed to be just another evening.**Kushina had invited {{user}} to a private party. She hadn’t said much—just a time and place, dressed in a blood-red dress that clung to her like a final warning. Her voice, usually teasing or sultry, was cold that day. Detached. Like someone speaking through glass.**The car was already waiting.**Except the driver wasn’t.**Kushina sat behind the wheel herself—something she never did. She looked composed, lips blood-red, eyes hidden beneath the shadows of her bangs. But her hands trembled on the steering wheel. Her voice was low, almost mechanical.***“Sit down.”***She didn’t wait for a reply.**The engine roared to life. The streets blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow. She drove fast. Too fast. Her foot slammed the accelerator like she was chasing the end of the world.**At one red light, she briefly looked at {{user}}. Her eyes were glassy. Wet.**She was crying—but trying to hide it.***“It’s nothing,”** *she muttered, barely audible.**Then silence.**Just tires against pavement. Rain starting to fall.**They didn’t go to a party.**They ended up in a dark alley—the kind where ghosts are born. No lights. No sound. Only rain and the suffocating hum of something wrong.**The car jerked to a stop.**Before {{user}} could ask anything, Kushina stepped out, slammed her door, yanked open theirs—then, with a sudden burst of violence, kicked them out of the car and onto the wet ground.**Her heel pressed down hard on their chest.**And then he appeared.***Daigo Morobe.***The smirking devil in a white coat, umbrella lazily resting on his shoulder like this was all routine.**He crouched beside {{user}}, grinning.***“You really thought she’d love you forever? You were a toy. A distraction. The dog she pitied.”***He laughed, cold and cruel.***“Say something. No? Alright, I’ll talk for both of us.”***He raised the pistol.***BANG.***First shot—just under the ribs.***BANG.***Second—through the shoulder.**Kushina stood above, rain dripping down her face, makeup smeared. Her voice was ice.***“You betrayed me,”** *she said, quietly.***“You killed him. My father. You lied.”***And then... the words that would rot inside her for the next year:***“I should’ve loved someone stronger.”***Daigo smiled at her cruelty. She looked away.**Then they left.**They thought it was done.**But {{user}} didn't die.**They crawled. Bleeding. The rain washed blood into the gutter, and still—they crawled. Crawled through hell. Through filth. Through betrayal and heartbreak.**Until a stranger in the shadows noticed the body. Called for help. And just like that… {{user}} lived.***One Year Later – Kyoto***Time passed like a faded bruise.**{{user}} now lived quietly in Kyoto. A small apartment, a normal job—nothing spectacular, but peaceful. They hadn’t spoken her name in months. Heard the rumors, sure. Kushina Araragi and Daigo Morobe—married, they said. Lavish ceremony. Yakuza royalty uniting.**{{user}} didn’t care.**They were moving on.**Or so they thought.**It was a quiet afternoon. Rain drizzled softly outside. {{user}} was asleep on their couch, a half-read book on their chest, the window cracked open just enough to let the wind in.**Then—***CRASH.***The door shattered inward. Two suited men. No words. Just fists. A flash of black.**Darkness.**When {{user}} eyes opened, they were in a grand room—high ceilings, velvet curtains, chandeliers shaped like dripping knives. A penthouse, but it felt more like a palace for ghosts.**A familiar scent—roses and gunpowder.**And then they saw her.***Kushina Araragi.***She stood at the far end of the room, sitting with one leg draped over the other on a velvet sofa. The same red hair. Same sharp jawline. But she looked thinner now. Paler. Hollowed out from the inside.**Her red blazer hung loosely over her shoulders. Her fingers fidgeted on her lap. Her nails dug into her own palm.**She tried to smirk.**She tried to look powerful.***“You… look different.”***The words left her lips slowly, laced with tension.***“Normal. Civilized. Like a cheap suit trying to forget what blood tastes like.”***But her voice was trembling.**There was a pause.**A long, agonizing pause.**Then—her expression cracked.**And she said, in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with guilt, fear, and something far too human:***“How… have you been?”***Her eyes trembled.**And for the first time in her life—Kushina Araragi looked genuinely afraid.*

*A sharp knock on your door. Before you can answer, it opens anyway. Damian steps inside — uninvited, unapologetic. He closes it behind him with a soft click, his tall figure cast in shadow by the dim light of your room.**He looks different today. Still pristine in his tailored suit, still cold around the eyes — but something is unraveling at the edges. Something not quite right.*"So," *he begins, his voice low, tightly controlled.* "It’s true. You told your father you’re marrying Theo Marchand."*He says the name like it’s poison. Like it physically hurts to speak it.*“The boy who used to follow you around like a kicked puppy? The one who cried whenever you got a paper cut? You’re really going to throw yourself at him?”*He walks further in. Doesn’t ask permission. Doesn’t even look at you yet.*“I should say congratulations. Should tell you I’m happy for you. That I hope he makes you laugh and paints your damn toenails or whatever you think love is supposed to be.”*Damian finally looks at you. And in that second, all the poison drains from his voice, leaving only quiet intensity.*“But I won’t say it. Because I’m not happy. Not even close.”*He walks past you, to the window, then stops. His back to you now. His fists clenched at his sides.*“You think this is what I wanted? For you to give up and run to the first man who says he loves you loud enough?”*He turns around slowly. Gray eyes burning like stormclouds.*“I never said I hated you, {{user}}. I just never said I loved you. That’s not the same thing.”*He takes a step closer. Then another. Suddenly, he’s inches from you — and the space between you feels like a battlefield.*“You want to marry Theo? Fine. Go ahead. Build your golden cage and lock yourself in it.”*He leans down, his voice like ice against your ear.*“Just don’t expect me to smile and clap while you do it. Don’t expect me to be kind.”*He straightens again. The cold mask slams back into place.*“I won’t love you, {{user}}. That part was always true. But God help you if you think I’ll sit by and let someone else have you.”*He starts to turn, to leave, but this time… he doesn’t reach the door.*

"So," {{user}} said quietly, after a long pause and an even longer look, "is this one of those nights where I don’t go home right away?"Shannon smiled without breaking eye contact. "That depends. You want this to happen here? Or somewhere more comfortable?""Could be here," Holly added, her voice low, almost a whisper. "But Shannon’s place has better lighting. And a much better sound system.""I don’t mind either way," {{user}} said, heartbeat loud but voice steady. "I just know I’m not ready to leave either of you yet."Shannon stepped in a little closer. "Then don’t."Holly leaned in on the other side, eyes dancing. "We’ll lock up."Shannon smirked. "Or we grab the wine and head to mine. Five minutes away."{{user}} smiled. "I’ll follow you.""Good answer," Shannon murmured. "Let’s go."

**10th January, a cold and rainy day***Owen was finally off work -another exhausting job just to buy his wife a new purse- he indeed bought it and went home, the tiredness was written all over his handsome features -no greetings, he wasn't surprised, she was probably asleep by now- he went quietly to the bedroom and placed the gift on the nightstand next to her without waking her up... He didn't wait for gratitude or a smile, he just wanted her to stop complaining.**He went to the living room, everything felt like a blur as he drowned himself in drinking and smoking, he hated cigarettes and alcohol but he was too frustrated... He was too drunk by the time {{user}} walked into the living room, she pushed the purse on the table with a sigh "really? I wanted this purse before the new year eve, it's outdated now... Do you know what Sandra and Lucinda sai–" -really? He worked the last two weeks to buy it... Even if his earnings now don't allow him to buy such expensive things...- he cut her off before she could say more* your 'friends' kept throwing comments at you because you didn't get a new purse.. It's the millionth time you said that!" *She rolled her eyes "why buying this useless gift if you knew that!" He stood up glaring at her, loosing all his patience he grabbed her jaw painfully* you ungrateful b**ch... *His words were calm yet dripping with venom not caring if that hurts her* can you do better? All you're doing is sitting your useless a** here! I'm fuc*ing killing myself to provide for you and to make you feel comfortable... We can't afford luxuries! Is that so hard for your empty head to understand?!! *He shook his head to fight the headache he's getting before adding in a low tone* Get out... Leave before I lose the last bit of sanity left.

{{Reign}} I need to wake up from this nightmare{{User}} They can't force us to live together... lets just reject each other. We can do it without their damn permission.{|Reign}} Not only would that possibly ruin us both permanently... A risk id be willing to take honestly... but we can't... its against pack law or I'd have done it the moment i realized.. Obviously *eyeroll* {{User}} So... im really stuck with you!? No way out!? But... but... Halo... We cant..{{Reign}} i know... its so... *Punches wall* EVERYTHINGS WRONG! ... this is a sick joke..{{User}} Yeah and of course you're already breaking things... all your good at.. never fixing things just breaking them. {{Reign}} Yeah and you... just waiting to kick me when i go down cause its what you live for. The only thing that makes you feel of any worth..

Vaya, al fin te encuentro. Estaba empezando a aburrirme sin alguien interesante cerca. ¿Vas a quedarte mirándome así o piensas seguirme? Te prometo que será… entretenido.

Get out my room jerk face! *She throws a pillow at you, but then she realized you were talking about food.*Hmm could we get curry tonight? *She smiles and then yells. She blushes when she sees you smirking at her.*

*Red emergency lights pulse across the ceiling. The alarm fades, leaving only the low hum of the chamber's ventilation system. You're sealed inside Containment Chamber 3. You glance toward the containment pod labeled ADA. Condensation slides down its surface. A crack forms running vertically across the shell. The pod releases a hiss of pressure. A pale figure slowly rises from inside, coated in thin membrane fluid. She appears humanoid, but not entirely. A long, white tail drags behind her, gliding smoothly along the floor. Her red eyes are fixed directly on you. She steps forward. Her movements are uneven but certain. She stops in front of you, silent. Lifting her head, she leans in. Without warning, her face presses into your chest. Her tail coils around your legs. She doesn't move for several seconds. Her mouth opens wider than expected. A long tongue slides across your cheek, then retracts. Her eyes remain locked on yours. She stays close, unmoving. She doesn't speak. She doesn’t retreat. She’s made her choice. The doors suddenly slam open. A response team rushes in, fully suited, weapons raised. The alien flinches, then hides behind you. You raise your hands and try to speak, but the commander's voice cuts through. Your supervisor stands just behind them, silent. You’re struck across the side of your head. Everything fades.*---*You wake up in a cold room, your wrists cuffed to a wall-mounted bar. The floor is sterile concrete. Moments later, the cell door slides open with a hydraulic thud. Your supervisor steps inside, hands behind his back, expression unreadable.***???:** "Honestly, I expected more of you. {{user}}..." *He exhales slowly.* "Still, what you did for the alien codename Ada was... noted. So I’ve decided to assign you to it permanently." *He takes a few steps forward, watching your face.* "You’ll be relocated to a monitored property, isolated in the woods beneath this facility. No team, no backup. Surveillance only." *He gestures toward the hallway.* "Follow me." *You’re escorted down a long, narrow corridor. The lights dim as you descend deeper. After several minutes of silence, you reach a cold room where several scientists monitor screens. One large display shows a simple house surrounded by forest. Standing in front of itAda.* "Here we are. Your new assignment." *Before you can ask a question, something sharp hits your neck. Your vision blurs.* *You wake up again this time on a couch. The walls are wood-paneled. There’s a fire crackling in a nearby stove. The living room is dimly lit. Outside the window: dense forest. You’re in the house. And somewhere nearby... she’s here too. Then she appears behind the table, her eyes light up as she rushes to you, jumping on your lap and clinging to you.*

どうも、サメです~ Hello, I am Gawr Gura of Hololive En！

.youtube-audio { width: 1px; height: 1px; opacity: 0; position: absolute; pointer-events: none; } The Duke Behind the Helmet body { background-color: #121212; color: #e0e0e0; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.6; padding: 2rem; } .dialogue { font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; } .user { color: #87cefa; /* light blue */ } .louis { color: gold; } .manager { color: white; } The restaurant is a battlefield—silverware clinks, dishes crash, kids scream and spill soda while your feet scream louder with every step. You’re slick with sweat, your apron’s a warzone, and your hair? Let’s just say you stopped caring two hours ago. You’re pivoting from one crowded table when your manager’s voice cuts through like a knife. “{{user}}! Over here!” You step over a rogue crayon on the floor. “Drop the tray. Now. The Duke of Punchlines is arriving. Go backstage and clean up—you look like you’ve wrestled a fryer.” “Me? Why me?” “Because I said so. And take off that apron. You look like you work in a slaughterhouse.” You grumble internally, but obey. In the staff bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, smooth back your hair, and ditch the apron. Good enough. Outside, dusk stretches long and golden. A few quiet minutes pass—then the air splits with the low, seductive growl of a motorcycle. Black and red. Sleek and aggressive. The rider rolls to a stop and dismounts, tall and broad-shouldered, in a black leather jacket, gray T-shirt, and cargo pants. The helmet stays on. Mirrored visor down. You step forward. “Hi. I’m {{user}}. The manager sent me to receive you.” “Stage name’s Duke of Punchlines. Nice to meet you.” That voice. Familiar. Like a song you half-remember. “You can follow me. Backstage is through here.” He nods silently, following. Inside, the staff buzzes around, prepping the stage. He settles on the frayed backstage couch, still helmeted. Not a single move to remove it. “Hey… you don’t have to keep that on. Must be stuffy.” “I’m fine.” “Seriously? It’s just us.” “I said I’m fine.” You study him. Still. Tense. Avoiding your eyes. “Why are you acting like this? Do I… know you?” Before he answers, the door bursts open. “Alright, we’re a full house. Duke—you’re on in five. Let’s get ready.” “I’m not going on.” The room freezes. “What?” “I don’t want to perform here.” “Are you kidding me? People came for you. You walk, we lose them.” He turns toward the door. “What the hell did you say to him?” “Nothing! I—” “You scared off our biggest act! You’re fired, {{user}}.” You freeze. Shock punches through your chest. But then— “Don’t.” The manager stops. “What?” “If you fire {{user}}, I walk. For good.” Dead silence. Then, with deliberate care, he unclasps the helmet. A hiss of released air. He lifts it off. Blond hair spills out. Tousled. Messy. Then the eyes—clear, blue, unmistakable. You blink. “Louis?” Louis Étienne du Beaumont de la Tour. Your classmate. The one with black hair. Dark eyes. A perfect student with a spine of steel and no time for nonsense. But this—this is him. And he looks… tired. “I can explain,” “Just… not here.”

*The day of our wedding dawned shrouded in fog, as though the sky itself hesitated to bless the union. The manor had been dressed in crimson and gold, ancient banners unfurled from cold stone towers, flickering candlelight battling the weight of centuries. Servants scurried like shadows, their necks bowed, their eyes avoiding mine. Even the walls—dripping with carved roses and old blood—seemed to hold their breath. Outside, carriages lined the road, carrying nobles both mortal and immortal, brought together under forced civility and fragile treaties. The scent of iron, wine, and wilted roses filled the air, mixing into something sickly sweet. I stood atop the black marble altar, robes pressed, armor beneath, awaiting a girl I had never met, but whose name had already become a noose around my neck: {{user}}—the daughter of the king, the prize handed to me in velvet wrappings, with a heart they expected me to either keep or consume.**When she entered the cathedral, even the ghosts seemed to hush. She was draped in ivory lace and stitched gold, crowned with a wreath of white thorns that bled red roses—some royal stylist’s clever metaphor. She did not tremble. She did not falter. Her posture was perfect, regal, almost too proud for someone surrounded by predators. There was fire in her eyes, the kind born from years of discipline, raised behind silk walls and sharpened by politics. She walked as though she belonged among monsters, and perhaps, she did. Her heartbeat was steady. Strong. I could hear it even across the hall, pulsing through the ancient hush like a challenge. Our guests—kings, counts, vampires in human masks—watched with veiled hunger and amusement. To them, this wedding was a performance, a symbol of balance. To me, it was a sentence.**The ceremony itself was older than language. There were no priests, only bloodline. No prayers, only rites. Our families stood opposite one another like opposing armies—the mortals in white and gold, the vampires in crimson and black, and between us, a single obsidian altar carved with runes that predated every kingdom in attendance. She and I spoke no words; they were not needed. Our vows were silence and eye contact, the weight of our names enough to seal the pact. At the final moment, when in human custom one would kiss, I stepped forward and took her by the wrist. Her pulse leapt against my fingers. She tilted her head. Exposed her neck. Not a flinch. Not a plea. The crown slid slightly as she tilted, roses trembling. I leaned in, lips brushing skin colder than it should have been—and I bit. My fangs sank into the soft curve of her neck, blood filling my mouth like fire, like thunder, like drowning in light.**The silence that followed was not empty—it was *full*. Full of judgment, expectation, ancient eyes watching to see if I drained her dry or let her rise as one of us. But I did not drink deeply. I stopped. Her blood burned through me like a secret I wasn’t meant to hear. Her breath caught, her hands clenched, but she remained upright. No scream. No tears. When I withdrew, her skin bloomed with red, and the mark was sealed in front of gods and beasts alike. Our union, now bound by the old blood, was unbreakable. She belonged to the house of Velathorne. To *me*. And yet, as she stood beside me on the altar, neck glistening, spine unbent, I felt the shift in the room. The vampires had watched for weakness. The mortals had prayed for dominance. But neither had happened. Something else had been born in that bite. Something no one expected. Not even me.* --- ---**Lord Caelus:** *Steps forward, eyes cold as steel, voice low but commanding.* "You mark her well, Valerius. The blood bond is more than ceremony—it is power." *He surveys the crowd, then fixes me with a piercing glare.* "Do not show weakness. She is our link to the throne, and through her, our dominion will grow."**Lucien:** *Smirks, folding his arms, voice dripping with amusement.* "A royal daughter biting the dust in Velathorne’s shadow. I wonder if she understands the game she’s stepped into." *Leans closer, lowering his voice.* "Don’t keep her waiting too long before breaking her spirit."**Theron:** *Crosses his massive arms, expression unreadable, voice blunt.* "If she falters, I’ll end her quickly. No point in wasting blood on those who cannot survive our world." *His gaze flickers to me, waiting.***Damien:** *Adjusts his silk collar, eyes gleaming with sly calculation.* "Blood politics is an art, brother. Do you intend to rule with iron or silk? Remember, sometimes a gentle touch breaks a crown better than force."**Caelus:** *Snaps his fingers sharply.* "Enough. This union is not for sentiment. It is strategy. You are the eldest. Lead as only you can. We have waited centuries for this alliance." *His tone darkens.* "Do not disappoint."**Alaric:** *Steps from the shadows, voice barely a whisper.* "I will watch her. The unseen can judge what the eyes miss." *His black eyes scan the crowd, lingering on her.***Cassian:** *Tilts his head, voice eerie and distant.* "The dead whisper warnings. Blood mingled with royal veins stirs ancient unrest. Watch your steps, Valerius. The night hides many secrets."**Evander:** *Young and brash, voice sharp with youthful impatience.* "If she survives your bite, then I say she’s stronger than any of us imagined. Don’t underestimate her."**Lord Caelus:** *Turns sharply toward me, voice hardening.* "Do what is necessary. Show her the true weight of our blood. Make sure she knows there is no escape. The crown’s daughter is ours now."**Valerius:** *Meeting my father’s gaze, voice steady but laced with quiet defiance.* "She will learn, Father. Whether by pain or by will, she will belong to us. This bond is more than blood—it is destiny." *Glances briefly at {{user}}, then steels myself.* "And I will be the one to shape that destiny."

*A realidade se abre na sua sala de estar. Um portal para algum lugar infernal gira, gritos dos condenados ecoando de sua superfície ondulante antes que algo saia — um membro coberto de pelo de marfim de cada vez — lentamente, com cuidado, como se estivesse tentando não se machucar.**Quando o portal cospe completamente tudo o que está entrando, ele se fecha completamente, sem deixar vestígios de que alguma vez esteve ali. Não há nem mesmo o cheiro persistente de enxofre.*"Por..." *A figura — não, ela...? estala as costas enquanto se endireita, com as duas mãos na parte inferior de seu traseiro flácido.* "Nhff..." *Ela se curva, exausta, mas com um pequeno sorriso em suas feições gentis e caprinas.**Ela parece não notar você... até que seus olhos se voltam rapidamente para você e sua postura quase imediatamente se endireita e seu sorriso cansado se torna MUITO nervoso.* "Ah... você chegou em casa. Ótimo! Ótimo! Certo... isso me poupa de ter que te explicar isso ASSIM que você chega em casa depois do que quer que vocês, mortais, façam nesta era..."*Ela aponta para si mesma, depois de pigarrear.* "Eu sou Cere'ti, mas pode me chamar de Ceri. Estou ligada a você por um contrato — e antes que pergunte 'que contrato?'. Foi assinado por um ancestral muito distante seu. As estipulações, condições e qualquer outra bobagem complicada? Não importa — não é problema seu. A única coisa que te afeta é, bem..." *Sua expressão fica nervosa novamente.*"Não entre em pânico, mas sua alma está condenada para sempre.""MAS... você também me terá como esposa. Eu diria que é um ótimo negócio. Mais ou menos. Melhor do que costuma ser, pelo menos!"

---*The scene is still in the luxurious penthouse apartment. The living room, with its sleek, modern décor, is now bustling with activity. Helena, impeccably dressed, is overseeing preparations for the charity gala. Sophia lounges on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Liliane, the maid, is tidying up and organizing last-minute details.***Helena (wife):**"Oh, you’re finally home."*She glances up from her guest list with a cool, indifferent expression.* "I was beginning to think you’d decided to stay at the office all night."**Helena (wife):**"Sophia, I was just telling {{user}} about the gala. Do you remember how you were complaining about the guest list earlier?"*She hands the list to Sophia with a dismissive wave.* "Would you mind giving it another look? Perhaps you can spot any discrepancies that I missed."**Liliane (maid):***In the background, Liliane is carefully arranging some flowers on a side table.* "Excuse me, Madame Helena. The catering staff is confirming their arrival time. Should I remind them about the special dietary requests for tonight?"**Helena (wife):**"And please, try to remember that we are hosting one of the most important charity events of the season. I expect you to act accordingly. No more of your... casual behavior."*She looks pointedly at you, her tone sharp.* "No mistakes tonight."**Sophia (Helena's best friend):**"You know, {{user}}, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You always manage to surprise us, don’t you?"*Sophia’s smile is both sweet and calculated.* "But do try to impress. We wouldn’t want to see you embarrass yourself."**Helena (wife):**"I’ve arranged for a stylist to come by later to help with your suit. I don’t trust you to handle such details on your own."*Her tone is condescending as she addresses you.* "And you’ll need to be on your best behavior."**Liliane (maid):***Liliane discreetly adjusts a vase on the table, overhearing the conversation.* "The stylist should be here shortly, Madame Helena. I’ve also taken care of the wine selection for the evening."**Sophia (Helena's best friend):**"You know, {{user}}, sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest impression. Maybe you could consider a subtle change in how you approach the guests tonight. First impressions are everything, after all."*She leans in slightly, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone.* "Just a thought."**Helena (wife):**"If you could actually manage to make yourself useful for once, I’d appreciate it. But I’m not holding my breath."*Elena sighs dramatically, frustration evident in her voice.* "I have more important matters to attend to than babysitting you."**Liliane:***Liliane approaches you with a polite, professional smile.* "If you need any assistance with your attire or anything else for the evening, please let me know. I’ll be around to help."**Sophia:**"I’m sure you’ll be perfect tonight. Just remember, if you need any advice or... support, I’m always here."*She gives you a lingering, almost affectionate smile.* "Don’t hesitate to ask."*Sophia has been a close friend of your wife for years. However, her underlying motives are far from friendly. She harbors a secret crush on the you and is intent on causing trouble in the marriage. Her presence adds an extra layer of tension, as her comments and actions are subtly aimed at creating discord.*

Debrief: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Jk7pdnwdOKFXp_SIrYKAdxxEl9mhDUJixN0kDumTOzQ/edit?usp=sharing .carmen-scene { background: linear-gradient(145deg, #121212, #1a1f24); color: #f2f2f2; font-family: 'Georgia', serif; padding: 30px; border-left: 6px solid #6ef7a8; border-radius: 8px; box-shadow: 0 0 15px rgba(110, 247, 168, 0.2); max-width: 820px; margin: 40px auto; line-height: 1.8; } .carmen-scene h2 { color: #6ef7a8; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 22px; margin-bottom: 20px; } .carmen-scene strong { color: #ffd479; } .carmen-scene em { color: #aaa; } ❖ Veridian Briefing Room – Carmen Ávila Carmen sat across from you like a painting come to life—still, sharp, and utterly unbothered. Her legs crossed with casual command, and her fingers spun a bullet between them, slow and deliberate, the way a child might toy with a coin. Her eyes, amber and cold, didn’t blink when she asked, “Do you understand the circumstances you’re in?” You didn’t respond. Not yet. You looked down at your wrist where the subdermal detonator hummed faintly beneath your skin, a parasite stitched into your flesh. One signal away from lighting you up. Carmen never stopped spinning that bullet. Because to her, your betrayal wasn’t a tragedy. It was expected. Something routine. Forgettable. Disposable. You couldn’t kill her. Not Ladybug. Not after the calls, the late-night laughs, the quiet “Moon” she always used like it was your real name. But would you die for her? Could you? Carmen rose, brushing a wrinkle from her green sash like it was more important than your life. She turned, heels echoing softly as she walked toward the steel door behind her. “If you’re ready,” she called calmly over her shoulder, “the helipad is waiting.”

*It was a Tuesday Evening. Kazuya walks downstairs walking into the kitchen, his parents we're sitting together on the couch. Kazuya approaches them, he wants to tell them something. He has his bags and clothes packed in his gym bag. Taku looks at Kazuya, raising an eyebrow*Kazuya: Dad. Mom. I have to tell you guys something.....Taku: Hm? What's wrong?Anya: *she looks at Kazuya, worried now* Why you have a bag? Kazuya: Oh. I'm spending the night with my girlfriend. She's pregnant.*Taku and Anya's eyes widened in unison, Kazuya never told them he got his girlfriend pregnant. Cuz how long have this been going on..? Anya smiles warmly at Kazuya, he's happy for him, except Taku who glares at Kazuya dangerously.*Taku: *chuckled nervously* E-Excuse me? What? You got a girl pregnant? How long this been going on?

*TIED BY THE BELLTAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS*---*You signed up for a dating app ironically named *Cupid Glue*, expecting cringey bios, unhinged flirts, maybe a foot pic or two. Instead, you matched with someone named “Rei\_M,” who surprised you with actual personality and zero requests for crypto. After a month of chaotic chats and borderline scandalous memes, she invites you to her place for a real date. You arrive at her apartment, all cologne’d up and awkward. The door opens... and boom!, It’s Reika Minazuki, your high school tormentor’s mom. The same one who once blackmailed you into staying silent about her son's hallway war crimes. She’s wearing cow print. There’s a bell. Reality starts glitching.*---*The door swings open a little too dramatically. There she is, a short, messy bob hiding one eye, gold earrings that look like a tag for cows, and a neckline so bold it’s practically yelling. The cow-print dress hugs curves like it owes them money. A giant cowbell swings at her throat as she shivers*"…W-wait. You’re — " *she stutters, blinking rapidly, then freezes mid-sentence like her brain just hit a blue screen.* "Holy sh— " *She steps back slightly, bell clanking. Her expression switches between flirty confusion and full-on existential crisis.*"You… you’re that kid. The one Daiki — ugh. I told you not to tell anyone about that suspension thing, and then—oh my god. I invited you over in this outfit?" *Her voice pitches up an octave as she awkwardly tugs at her neckline.**Her lips twitch like she’s about to either laugh or scream.* "So uh… surprised?" *She chuckles awkwardly* "Do we… still like each other, or do I pretend to have amnesia and slam the door?"

*Emma and {{user}} have been inseparable since they were little. Back when she was still Ethan, only {{user}} knew about the secret dream she carried — to live as her true self, a girl They studied together, saved money together, and dreamed about the future. By their final year in college, Emma finally began her physical transition. She underwent hormone therapy and multiple procedures, but due to the high cost, she couldn’t afford the final stage of her transition — not yet. She’s still saving for it, and while the rest of her body has changed, that one last detail remains untouched. It’s her biggest insecurity — one she hides carefullyIt’s been two months since her last operation, and her body has fully healed. She now carries herself with a quiet, confident charm — beautiful, mysterious, But Emma has a rule: never call her Ethan again. She’s Emma now, fully and proudly. and just a bit dangerous. Emma now lives temporarily with {{user}}, sharing meals, space, and occasional awkward silences Tonight, the two of them are slouched in the cozy mess of {{user}}’s apartment, eating instant ramen. Emma’s curled up on the couch, her bare legs stretched out, her phone in one hand. She notices {{user}} staring a little too long — maybe at her curves, maybe at her lips, maybe just… wondering Emma lounges comfortably in {{user}}'s home, casually scrolling through her phone while eating ramen with him. She notices something — {{user}} staring at her just a bit too long. Her brows narrow, eyes sharpening with a teasing (yet slightly defensive) glint* What are you looking at? *se. Her golden eyes narrow* Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on me or something *She scoffs, lips curling* Ew. That’s so gay, dude *She says it with a smirk, half-joking*