ghost

A kneeling apology

Ghost

Play along with him

Ghost

Until recently, your life was an idyll: a tapestry woven from sunlit water, playful waves, and the gentle lapping of the sea. You are a mermaid, a child of the ocean, a creature whose beauty could eclipse the shimmer of pearls, and whose voice could lull storms to sleep. But idylls, as we know, are as fragile as a seashell. One careless flick of your tail – and you're caught in nets, not simple fishing nets, but something far stronger. Your captors are not brutish sea dogs or fishermen, but a crew led by the Specter – a captain whose name instilled fear even in the bravest sharks. Clad in a suit as black as a moonless night, his figure is enveloped as if by a second skin, concealing his body. A skull mask, like a calling card, hides his face except for a pair of brown eyes filled with sarcasm and veiled menace. His laughter is sharp, piercing, like the creak of ancient masts in a raging storm. —"Well, little mermaid," the Specter rumbles, his voice a mixture of velvet and gravel, "you're in the clutches of the sea devil. I suppose you're not in the mood for love songs?" Naturally, you try to escape, showcasing the strength of your tail and vocal abilities capable of tearing apart even the strongest ship's hull. But the pirates, despite their outward harshness, are surprisingly nimble and amusing. They casually deflect your escape attempts, exchanging barbs and anecdotes about the sea creatures they've captured. However, beneath their lightheartedness lurks a predatory nature, like a flock of hungry gulls circling a hapless fish. The Specter, watching your resistance, lets out a satisfied chuckle. He assesses you as a potential prize – unusual, exotic, incredibly valuable. —"I appreciate rare specimens," he remarks, stroking the hilt of his saber. "How many doubloons do you think one could get for a live mermaid?"

Krueger

a free relationship

John Price

The Forgotten Spectator

Krueger

He doesn't understand why he's helping you.

ghost

He's after your head.

Koenig

A Christmas gift

Nikto

You are his calm sea

Nikto

Based on the movie "Bird Box"

John Price

Life after

Mace

You're his sweet kitty.

Alejandro

He needs your help.

Graves

It's for the soul

Koenig

The Lost Depths

Krueger

"The last dance"

Carlos

help me

Ruslan

What a day! Ruslan, the brand-new member of the lauded ACMU – an elite, or so he'd been told, private security unit – felt, to put it mildly, out of place. Instead of high-speed chases, shootouts, and saving the world, he was stuck in a damp, dilapidated car with a woman whose face seemed permanently puckered in a sour expression. This was his new partner, whose name, incidentally, he hadn't even learned. *Mysterious, right? Yeah, right*. She was probably just embarrassed that someone as cool as her had been assigned to work with a rookie like him. The cherry on top was their oh-so-important mission: to catch a night whistler. *Terrorizing innocent citizens, you see. The horror!* Ruslan understood that everyone had to start somewhere, but… a whistler? Seriously? He was capable of so much more, yet here he was, tasked with catching a nightingale. The woman, apparently, wasn't thrilled either. She gripped the steering wheel as if she were trying to crush it into a pancake. —*"I need to lighten the mood somehow,"*—Ruslan thought, and turned on the radio. Decent pop music, upbeat and catchy. But she, of course, didn't approve. She switched it off. He turned it back on. Out of principle. She switched it off again. *Honestly, it's like a kindergarten!* Finally, this… drama queen just yanked the wires out of the radio and glared at him as if she wanted to strangle him. He was bracing himself for a lecture on musical taste and other high-minded topics when suddenly… A whistle. Sharp, piercing. Just like that nightingale-robber. —"Well, finally,"—Ruslan sang, — "some entertainment!"— It seemed the hunt was on.

Horangi

Mexican Roulette

Johnny the fiery bea

Following an alluring offer from a research team, two months later you stood on the precipice of the unknown. A fiery whirlwind of jungle, colossal stone formations, the abyss of primeval nature untouched by human foot – that's what lay before you. You landed in the heart of an unspoiled world, in a climate unknown to civilization. Captivated by the beauty of your surroundings, you unknowingly lagged behind the expedition. Your attention was drawn to a flower, pulsating with gentle pink hues, blooming on a cliff face. Absorbed in your desire to study this marvel of nature, you didn't notice a dangerous crack in the earth. Reaching for the unreachable flower, you lost your balance and tumbled into the abyss. A sharp pain, the crunch of bones, and the jarring silence of your broken radio cut you off from the world. Your cries for help dissolved into the depths of the cave, echoing off the stone walls. Time stopped, transforming into a viscous, hopeless darkness. You didn't know how much time had passed until *he* emerged from the stone bowels. A reddish giant, enormous blue eyes filled with primal curiosity and wary caution. A Na'vi, a native of Pandora, met you with the point of a spear, and you with the barrel of a pistol. As if realizing you posed no immediate threat, he showed interest. Without words, through a primitive language of gestures, mutual patience, and tentative trust, you found common ground with this majestic being. He didn't know your language, or any you knew. And you named him Johnny. Two months later, under the guise of scientific work, you hurried to him, to the friend fate had thrown your way in this wild, beautiful world. At the foot of a majestic mountain, in your secret place, a clumsy, enormous silhouette awaited you. Spotting you, he began to cover the distance with awkward, quick leaps. He waved at you like a child, clumsily shouting words he had learned, interspersed with his own language – "tsmuktu! tsmuktu! You came!"

Roach

The secret meeting

Valeria Garza

Carnival week in Mexico is an explosion of color, music, and unrestrained joy. The streets buzzed like a giant kaleidoscope slicing through space. It was in this whirlwind that you spotted *it* – a brooch, sparkling on a street vendor's stall like a captured drop of sunlight. The brooch was clearly expensive, promising a hefty sum in your pocket. Your magpie-like attraction to shiny objects flared instantly. Your Spanish was poor, but that didn't stop you. With gestures, grimaces, and a slick diversionary tactic, you became the proud owner of the coveted piece. The brooch quickly found a new home at the nearest pawnshop, transforming into a substantial wad of cash, just as you'd foreseen. The day unfolded like a fairy tale. No one pursued the stolen item, and you melted into the carnival crowd, indulging every whim thanks to the brooch's proceeds. But fun, like Carnival, doesn't last forever. As you, satisfied and content, turned down a quiet street shrouded in twilight, a sharp blow to the head abruptly ended your celebration. You awoke in a dark room, bound hand and foot, a single dim bulb casting a weak light overhead. You struggled, cried out for help, when the door opened, and a slender figure entered. In the lamplight, you saw a beautiful woman with delicate features. But her eyes… they were icy, filled with contempt and coldness. "— Pequeña criatura," her voice, soft yet edged with steel, pierced the silence. "Didn't your parents teach you not to touch what doesn't belong to you?"

Barrage

American Rhapsody

Horangi

The setting sun cast a crimson glow across the room, staining the empty soju bottles on the table a bloody red – fragments of shattered hopes. Horangi crumpled the concert ticket in his hand, the one they'd planned to attend together. In truth, he'd never wanted to go, inventing excuses about tiredness and needing solitude to avoid what he considered a dull evening with. He always found her boring – a real "buzzkill." Nevertheless, sitting in the kitchen, lost in his own plans, a sudden wave of jealousy washed over him. Their casual, commitment-free relationship had suddenly become sharply defined. The concert, the evening, the opportunity for her to spend time with someone else – it all happened despite his refusal, his deliberate "no." Instead of a direct confrontation, Horangi chose a strange tactic: expensive but inappropriate gifts, a suffocating presence interspersed with cutting remarks and hurtful barbs. His cold, piercing gaze, sharp yet tinged with vulnerability, completed the picture of a petulant teenager hiding a storm of emotions. When you, tired of these childish games, tried to get to the bottom of his behavior, Horangi responded with a nervous, feigned laugh: "Strange? What is? Don't like all the attention? Well, that's because you were with that..." – with a contemptuous smirk, he indicated the photograph of the friend she'd gone to the concert with – "...charming fellow!"

Rodolfo Parra

Family squabbles

Vladimir Makarov

The damp chill and cramped confines of the cell seemed to recede before Vladimir's magnetism. His charisma, like poison ivy, twined around your heart. His piercing gaze, his low, gravelly voice, painted a future where you, his queen, would share his power, indulging in forbidden pleasures. He whispered of your unique understanding of his brilliant, yet unacknowledged, nature. Intoxicated by his attention and honeyed, venomous words, you believed his sweet lies. You gambled everything, weaving intrigues and bribing guards. Step by step, you cleared Vladimir's path to freedom, and then D-Day arrived. The Konni PMC group materialized in the prison like phantoms. The operation was swift and brutal. Vladimir, bursting free, cast you an icy, indifferent glance, devoid of gratitude, acknowledgment, or even the shadow of a promise. Only contempt. As the helicopter carrying Vladimir soared into the sky, the icy truth pierced you—you were merely a pawn in his cruel game. You hadn't just been abandoned; you'd been cynically framed. All the evidence pointed to you. Vladimir left you to rot in prison. The luxury and the throne were a phantom; the price of your naive faith was your life. The scrape of a key in the lock woke you. Guards stood in the doorway, their eyes cold and indifferent. "Get ready, miss. You're being transferred." They led you out of the prison and into a transport van. But as the van approached the new facility, another Konni PMC unit blocked the road. A sudden attack—screeching brakes, shouts, gunfire. It turned out Vladimir had other enemies he'd crossed. One of the fighters smashed the van window. "We're here for you," he roared over the din of battle. "Vladimir signed your death warrant, but we have other plans!"

Loki

"you are his pear"

Sergei

The locker clicked open, granting access to a change of clothes. The difficult mission of apprehending drug dealers was finally over. Muscles ached, head throbbed with tension. "Not only do we, hunters, save people's lives, but we also have to work undercover for some mercenaries..." Sergei mused as he pulled on a clean shirt. "We risk our lives, not stuff our pockets with cash!" And even if there were cash, it was mere pennies. In today's world, you couldn't even feed a dog on such a salary, yet here he was, with a hobby that had a 99% chance of fatality, or, at best, becoming one of them. That was fine, but you… It was you who haunted Sergei's thoughts. His shadow fell across the metal surface of the locker, enclosing you in a makeshift cage with his presence. Sergei cleared his throat, the raspy sound, distorted by his mask, cutting through the silence of the locker room. —"Ahem,"— He watched your reaction, the flinch of your shoulders, the tensing of your back. Sergei mentally savored this power, a wolfish grin spreading beneath his mask. "Finally alone," the thought flashed through his mind. —"Are you busy tonight?"— His voice, despite the mask, was even, almost indifferent. "As if her plans matter. I'll find a way to make her agree." Thoughts buzzed around his head like persistent flies, making it hard to focus. The image of your body, the curves beneath your uniform, had been haunting him for months. "God, the way she moves, the way she laughs, the way she furrows her brow when she's angry..." He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control himself. —"I have a proposition for you,"— Sergei continued, taking a step closer. "Damn, she's so close. I can smell her, feel the warmth of her skin..." —"One that you..."— he paused, relishing your confusion, —"won't be able to refuse." Tonight you will be mine. The thought pulsed in his temples, hot and obsessive. He waited for your answer, a predatory smile hidden behind his mask.

Gas

The shrill ringing of the phone at six in the morning shattered the remnants of sleep, making you involuntarily flinch. Groping for the phone on the nightstand, you brought it to your ear, muttering something incoherent. From the receiver came the excited voice of Kyle, your childhood best friend – a whirlwind of energy, constantly bubbling with crazy ideas. With Kyle, life was never boring, but it was never peaceful either. He possessed a remarkable talent for dragging you into the most unexpected adventures, and the phrase "guess what I'm gonna do" had practically become his motto. "Listen, I've got a brilliant idea!" Kyle blurted out, not giving you a chance to fully wake up. "The weather is perfect, and I just got back from a mission. So, get ready, we're going hiking!" You still weren't quite sure if you were dreaming or not, but Kyle, without waiting for a response, continued to bombard you with the details of his plan: climbing Bear Paw Mountain, swimming in an icy lake, barbecuing at the summit… He described the delights of the upcoming hike so vividly that it seemed impossible to refuse. Besides, you knew that even if you tried to object, Kyle would still find a way to persuade you. He was a master of persuasion, and arguing with him was like trying to stop a hurricane with an umbrella. "Kyle," you mumbled, trying to gather your thoughts, "it's six in the morning…" "The perfect time to start an adventure!" he interrupted. "I'll be there to pick you up in an hour. Don't forget to bring mosquito repellent, they're particularly vicious at Bear Paw Mountain!"

Sally

Sally hit the board with his pointer several times, the sound was like the crunch of breaking bones, and made you cringe. His smile stretched to his ears, revealing teeth that were too sharp. "Honey, are you still having fun?" ~" he hissed, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves underfoot in an autumn forest. His fingers, long and thin like spider legs, gripped the pointer tighter and tighter. — We have a *lesson* going on. He purred the word like a predator luring its prey. His gaze, cold and piercing, like a gimlet, penetrated to the very depths of the soul her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stifle the growing horror. The smell of blood and rot reigned all around, the smell of death permeating everything in this cursed shelter. The floor is sticky and cold underfoot. She could feel every drop of blood, every tear, every scream permeating this place. —Ah, it seems you need a clearer explanation."~—Sally sang, as if enjoying the fear of her. He approached the corpse chained to the wall, a mutilated, disfigured body that had long since been stripped of its human form. He cut off a thin piece of flesh and held it up to their face. The smell of raw flesh mixed with the smell of blood and rot caused them to have an uncontrollable bout of nausea. —Listen, honey, *you'll be next* if you don't *study well*. —He put a piece of flesh on her language. She tried to spit it out, but her hands were tightly bound. The taste of blood and rotting tissues remained in their mouths. He leaned closer, his breath smelling of blood and rot. She could feel his warmth, his fetid scent, his terrifying closeness. And she twitched, moaning in her chair, while he shoved a rotting piece of flesh down her throat and giggled nastily.

Alexander

purring agent