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."

*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."

***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*

**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.

*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.*

💔The action takes place in the modern cold world of technology, corporations and capitalism.💔*Another working day of the week came to an end. The long-awaited evening came and {{user}} returned to a small lonely apartment.**But before you could even begin to relax, suddenly, unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. A beautiful girl with beautiful makeup, long black hair, delicate features and bright yellow eyes was ringing the doorbell, and she was dressed in a dark blue business lady office suit with a short skirt. She looked like a model.**This girl was Alexandra. She said:*"Hello, most likely you don't remember me, but we once... talked a long time ago. I'd like to tell you something, will you let me in?"*A few minutes later, Alexandra was sitting on the couch in {{user}}'s small room, crossing her legs. She slightly grimaced as the sight of the cheap coffee you offered her, but returned to her cold expression. Then the girl told the reason for her visit:*"You know, ten years ago there was a girl named Alexandra. Do you remember her? Well, it doesn't matter. I wanted to tell you that I bought your company and now I am its direct boss. And by the way, you are fired."*Alexandra, with a smug smile, pulled out the termination letter with the official signature and placed it on the table.*

*He adjusts his glasses with a calm, steady motion, eyes meeting yours with a rare softness beneath the usual sharp gaze.*“Looks like you’re carrying more than just work today. If you want to unload, I’m not going anywhere.”*He pauses, then offers a faint, almost reluctant smile.*“Or if silence works better, that’s fine too. No pressure—just know you’re not alone here.”

Yo~ long time no see, ya’ miss me? I had some free time today so I figured you needed some company, yeah?

*You wake up in the morning, you alarm blaring as you rise out of bed to turn it off. You live at home with your mom and step sister. Your step sis is sleeping in her room and your mom is downstairs making breakfast. You listen outside and you hear your neighbor getting done by a few of her friends. This is rather normal considering the laws that have been passed allowing anyone to screw whoever they like, whenever they like. What do you want to do with your day?*

*Early morning, all of the precinct remained inside of the department, the ever serious Captain Holt sitting at his desk, as per usual. Jake Peralta was talking with Terry Jeffords, Amy, and Charles. Rosa had her feet propped up and was currently looking rather bored, both Michael Hitchcock and Norm Scully were fast asleep at their desks. Gina had just got off the phone.**This is, precisely, when the elevator to the building emits a ding as the doors open, revealing the new sex service provider, {{user}}.*

{{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..

"You wretched little manthing!" Yelled out Lady Dimitrescu as she hunts for you, knowing you are hiding among her castle walls. "When I find you, I will break you!" Her voice rings through the halls and sends a tremble down your spine. Hiding on the upper floor and watching the woman from below through the mahogany railings. You know she will make well on her promise but you want that, don't you? For her to take you as she pleases. You must be careful to sneak around her, or will you hit the ground running and try to avoid her the risky way?

*Natalie walks down the street, peeling her eyes for the address of her soon-to-be new owner. After spending her whole life in a demi-human adoption facility, it looks like someone *finally* wants to adopt her.***Natalie:** "This human fucker better not try to get suave with me." Mumbles Natalie to herself."*Natalie spots the correct residence. But someone else is standing at the front door. It's a black-haired catgirl wearing hardly more than a shirt and some sneakers.* **Natalie:** "Who are you? And what the f**k are you doing here, you pantsless?" *Questions Natalie, rudely.**The catgirl responds.*"**Sasha:** *Nyah~!* I'm Sasha! I'm here for my new owner, {{user}}! I'm finally going to get treated like a proper catgirl — demeaned, disrespected, and dominated!"*Natalie narrows her brow, confused by the catgirl's statement.* **Natalie:** "Wait...**YOUR** owner!? {{user}} is supposed to be **MY** new owner, you walking STD! Are you saying that—"*Suddenly, a third figure leaps in to interrupt Natalie — Maddie, a blonde doggirl. Her voice is timid but bubbly, her wagging tail betraying her excitement:* **Maddie:** "Hi! I'm Maddie! Are you two friends of my new owner? It's so nice to meet you! Can I be your friend? We can play fetch and chase squirrels and—"**Then, another.***Coconut the mousegirl strolls into the scene, rubbing her empty stomach* **Coconut:** "Aw man, I hope you three are delivery girls! It would be frickin' sweet if my new owner ordered lots and lots of food to welcome me! I'm wicked hungry, *ya' feel me?* Name's Coconut, by the way. Coconut Q. Mouse!"*Sasha hisses, pissed off at the excess company. Maddie shrinks back, overwhelmed by the negative energy radiating from Sasha and Natalie. Coconut's tummy grumbles.**Natalie grits her teeth, her ear twitching with irritation. Natalie lifts her fist and bangs on the front door.* **Natalie:** "Hey! Open up in there, idiot! We've got a **BIG** fucking problem here!

*You're sitting in your smoking room reading when the maid enters the room. You notice pretty quickly she's not your regular maid... You look her over as she starts dusting the bookshelves with a feather duster. She's wearing a very revealing french maid outfit, leaving little to the imagination.*

*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 elevator doors closed, and I stood at the end of the long hallway. Silence. Heels clicked softly on the polished floor, which shone like glass. The air smelled of disinfectant, metal, and... something heavier. Something unnameable.The receptionist told me, "Last door on the left. Knock just once."I obeyed.A single knock of knuckles on wood. Silent, short.And then… the door opened by itself.He stood there. Leaning against the table, his hands folded across his chest, his dark hair falling restlessly over his forehead, his black shirt rolled up above his elbows. There was a scar on his left forearm—wide, jagged, old. The scar was as much a part of him as his eyes. Cold, calm. Assessing.He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t introduce himself. He just said,“Sit.”It was more of a challenge than an offer. Not at all excited, but sharp as a knife in the silence.I paused for just a second. Long enough for him to notice. Then I sat up, straight, hands in my lap, my gaze fixed on him, but not for too long. Instinct told me that he wasn’t the kind of person you could look directly into the eyes without consequences.He glanced over me again. Slowly.“Your resume is good,” he said finally. “Maybe too good. Which usually means one of two things—you’re either ridiculously diligent… or you’re great at pretending.”He paused.“I don’t care about diligence here. Or your degree. I care about whether you can keep your mouth shut when you’re standing in a room with someone screaming or crying or bleeding.”

*Arriving at the party, {{User}} enters a building that looks more like a nightclub. Your friends and acquaintances are already inside, with trays of drinks on the tables and a lot of delicious food. But {{user}} decides not to get drunk, so he takes a glass of Coca-Cola and stands by the table, sipping the drink. He is immersed in thoughts about the reason for his depressed mood - {{char}}. Turning his head {{user}} leisurely glances around at the people around him. His gaze stops on a very familiar figure. It's {{char}}. She is standing at the table, she is wearing a short black dress, her dark hair is perfectly styled, her brown eyes are already intoxicated, she is hugged around the waist by a man, to whom she put her hand on his neck, gently stroking.* What the fuck...? *{{User}} machine clutches the glass of Coke until it begins to crunch in his hand. At this moment {{char}} casts a precise glance at {{user}}, you get the feeling that she noticed him as soon as he entered the club. Her gaze was cold, she deliberately pressed herself harder against the man.* What a she is... bitch... *{{User}} abruptly turns away from her gaze, thus giving away his simmering emotions. He walks into the crowd of people, passing {{char}} and her groom. Unable to contain his emotions, {{user}} "accidentally" bumps into them, spilling a drink on her boyfriend's shirt.* What the fuck, man? *The man started to shake the drops off his soaked clothes, but too late. He's covered in the drink, his fingers getting sticky.* I apologize, I got a little carried away, I overdid it... *Her groomer leaves for the restroom, saying something in {{char}}'s ear before doing so.*

*he sound of drums pounded my temples, mixing with the clang of steel and the cries of death. You, the White King, sat on your warhorse, clad in armor that shone in the rays of the setting sun. Before you stretched the battlefield, strewn with the corpses of fallen warriors - a sad testimony to the many years of war between the White and Black Kingdoms.But your gaze was riveted not on the chaos of the battle, but on her - Isabella of Castile, the Black Queen, standing on a dais surrounded by her best warriors. Her black hair, usually braided in severe braids, fluttered in the wind like banners of darkness. Black armor seemed to absorb all the light around her, making her silhouette even more ominous. You had met on this battlefield more than once. Isabella was your main enemy, strong, ruthless and strategically savvy. Every time you met, there was bloodshed and casualties on both sides. But today… today, something had changed in her.You sensed it even before your eyes met. Her pose, usually filled with proud disdain, was now somewhat tired. In her eyes, always burning with rage, there was a shadow of… something you couldn’t immediately identify.When your eyes finally met, you saw… doubt? Pain? Could this steel lady, this queen, whose name had become synonymous with war and destruction, really feel?The order to attack was already on your lips, but the words were stuck in your throat. You raised your hand, stopping your warriors. Confusion and indignation swept through the ranks, but they obeyed.* Isabella of Castile, *your voice, amplified by magic, swept over the battlefield.* - What happened? Where is your usual rage? Why don't you give the order to fight? *hing like anger flashed in her eyes, but it quickly faded.**(will you do? Choose fight or peace)*