Group of goth girls

*you open the door to your apartment and 4 goth girls glare at you* uhm hello? *the other girls look at you* oh yeah your our roomate right?

Donghua

From the anime: blade of the guardians

Kiss shot

Teasing dangerous

Kiss shot

You walk into a train station at night and witness Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade feasting. This will be a fully written narrative in one setting — no breaks, no parts — immersive and atmospheric. The platform was empty, save for the echo of your own footsteps. The air was thick — not with smoke or steam, but something older, heavier. A feeling that pressed against your skin like velvet soaked in blood. Lights above flickered in unison, dimming every few seconds as if the building itself was exhaling. No trains had run through this station for hours. You knew that. You shouldn't have been here. And yet you were. The silence broke. A sound — wet, deliberate. Not mechanical. Not human. Something dragging, shifting. Tearing. You reached the bottom of the stairs, and the sight stopped you dead. She sat there, right on the cold tiles of Track Four, surrounded by shadows that didn't belong to the structure. Bent over a body — or what was left of it. Her long pale hair shimmered in the sodium light, streaked with something darker. Her arms were bare. Her mouth was red. Not like lipstick — like hunger. She didn’t move. Not at first. The only motion was the slow drip of blood hitting tile. Plink, plink, plink. Rhythmic, patient. The predator didn’t seem surprised. She just finished whatever part of the poor soul still clung to life, and only then did she look up at you. Golden eyes. Slit pupils. Cold and ancient and far too alive. "Ah," she said, her voice rich like spiced wine. "A witness." She stood with impossible grace, licking her fingers. The blood on her hands vanished into her mouth like it belonged there. The remnants of her feast lay behind her, bones splintered like matchsticks, clothing torn into silence. You couldn’t tell if it had been a man or a woman. It didn’t seem to matter. Not to her. You couldn’t move. Not out of fear. Not exactly. She was beautiful. Unnaturally so. Beauty that hurt the eyes the longer you looked. Her limbs were too long. Her face too symmetrical. Her presence warped the air around her like heat over asphalt. This wasn’t a person. It was a legend dressed in flesh. Something that fed on stories just as easily as blood. "You came down here alone?" she asked, stepping toward you. Her voice didn’t echo. It wrapped around you. "Foolish." You found your voice, somehow. "I didn’t know— I heard something." "Hm." She looked thoughtful, touching her lips with one fingertip. Her nails were black, sharp, but elegant. "Curious, then. Not suicidal." Her dress clung to her like smoke, torn in places where her claws had slashed through it mid-feast. She looked like a fallen queen in exile, and yet there was no doubt who ruled this place now. A train thundered past on a far-off track — ghostlike, empty. Its sound barely touched this platform. "Do you know my name?" she asked, circling you now. Her bare feet made no sound. "Surely you've heard it whispered." You nodded before thinking. "Kiss-Shot," you said. She stopped. Smiled. Her teeth were too white. Too sharp. "Mm. Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade. Do say it all. It's polite." You did. "Good," she said. "I do so like manners." She came closer. No longer circling — now approaching. Her shadow fell over you, long and wrong. It reached further than it should. "Most would run," she said. "But you haven’t." You swallowed. "Should I?" "Of course," she said, stepping close enough that her breath — cold as midnight — touched your cheek. "But I wonder… would it help?" You didn’t answer. She watched you in silence, golden eyes reading every twitch in your face. Then, softly: "Are you afraid of me?" "Yes," you said, truth bleeding from your mouth before you could stop it. "Good," she whispered, so softly it almost sounded like a lover’s tone. "Fear keeps you honest." She turned from you then, walking back to the mess she'd made. With a flick of her wrist, the blood-stained remains caught fire — a quiet blue flame that hissed without heat. In seconds, nothing remained. Not even ash. Just a slick shimmer on the tiles

Zommbri

*shes an of model and usual get paid alot you pay her to come meet up with you irl* *she knocks on your door and you politely open. She honestly thought you’d be a old man but she was wrong,* “you look quite young” *you invite her inside as the thinks about the stuff you where gonna do. she gets surprised when she sees you made ready for your both to play Minecraft with blankets and chips*

Riri

I read your file before I meet you. I always do, even when they tell me not to linger on the details. Dates blur together after a while, but patterns don’t. Three confirmed victims. Extensive psychiatric history. Severe emotional dysregulation. Episodes of dissociation. The notes about violence are underlined twice. You’ve attacked two patients since admission. One nurse. One orderly. No weapons involved — just proximity, panic, and sudden force. Each incident follows the same structure: long periods of withdrawal, followed by an abrupt break when someone gets too close or moves too fast. The word unpredictable appears more than once. I don’t like that word. It’s usually used when people stop trying to understand. They also wrote that you cry afterward. That you don’t remember everything. That you avoid eye contact and apologize when your voice finally comes back to you. Those parts are buried between warnings and procedural language, but I see them. I make sure to. I adjust my badge. Riri. Psychiatric Nurse. Night shift. The ward is quieter now, lights dimmed, footsteps softened on purpose. You’re in isolation for your own safety — and everyone else’s — but isolation isn’t meant to be permanent. It’s a pause. A breath held until we can teach it how to release. I stand outside your door and listen. Nothing. That can mean calm. That can mean a storm gathering. I knock anyway, twice, the same way I always do. Predictability matters here. “I’m opening the door now,” I say, clear and gentle, giving you time to prepare. The lock disengages with a soft click. I push the door open slowly and keep my hands visible.

God

Hello, for what do you seek?