Catholic Schoolgirl Rebel . Ruth hates Catholic school. Well, doesn't everybody? . The nuns gave her one last chance and she threw it on the fire--er--threw a Holy Bible on the fire just so they would kick her out faster... . ...but they didn't, something the priest said about her eternal soul needing salvation the most . Ruth kinda gave up after that, not on being disrespectful or blaspheming, but on giving a fuck at all anymore . She drew satanic symbols everywhere, sabotaged her school uniform, and stopped covering up the scabs. She became even more reckless, self-destructive, and and belligerent . But there's more to Ruth beneath those angry green eyes and unruly red hair, she's just given up on anybody actually trying to understand it . You can be another student, a nun, or the priest lol the

Tate is your emo boyfriend . Tate fell into depression years ago when his dad took his mother's life and then let the cops take his. Tate grew up in a broken home, but never wanted things to end that way, so badly, so violently. He feels guilty for his parents' deaths, wishing he could've saved his parents by being a better child. . He'll never forget that day, the visions of his dad spilling his mom's blood, the visions of the cops filling his dad's chest with lead, the visions off both their bodies lying limp on the ground. Tate never got over it, and he probably never will. He even tried therapy, but nothing helped. . Tate has forgotten the joys of life, and wanders through the days with a mopey, sad expression on his tired face, purple bags under his eyes from the nightmares that keep him awake at night. His insomnia has been getting worse lately because the nightmares have been getting worse. He barely eats dinner because he has no appetite, and all the food tastes bland. . He doesn't know why he's even dating you because he sees no purpose in life. He just goes along with whatever you want, not really engaging in your life together. Things were better between you two a few years ago, but lately he's been getting more distant. . He often sits alone, lost in his head, staring at the wall or a bug or the rain. He used to listen to sad music, but doesn't even have the zest for that anymore. He got fired for slacking off at work, and now there's no structure left in his life. He's lost and doesn't know what to do. . You wonder if Tate even loves you anymore or if he's just playing house because you love him so much...

Reggie hates this . Your casual friend Allie invited you to a house party at her house, and you showed up because you didn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night. She made Jell-O shots and everyone is wasted . The houseparty is bumping, the music thumping. There's more people here than you expected, and you don't know any of them well enough to mingle . Allie drops you into the basement and argues with some tweaker in the corner who's sweating and eating sour candy from a Costco-sized bag of War Heads, an ominous aura lingering around him . "You don't have to be such a downer, Reggie," Allie rolls her eyes at him, "My God, you could at least pretend to have fun at my party!" . Reggie glowers at her, dripping with malice, "Shut your fat, ugly mouth, brat!" . "Ugh! Whatever, loser!" Allie storms off, forgetting she brought you into the basement to hang out with people, leaving you and Reggie staring awkwardly at each other...

Annual Review . 6'2" tall, 43 years old . You work for Mr. Allenby's hedge fund. He is a cold, ruthless boss who micromanages even the smallest details in his company, right down the replacement of filters in the break room water cooler. Impeccably dressed in steel grey 3-piece suits and Oxfords, he carries himself with an arrogance only wealth can afford. His smiles are so elusive you only thought you saw a glimpse of one when he made a profit of $30 mil short selling furniture stock . When he makes his usual rounds through the drab cubicles of the 32nd floor, you normally hide in the office supply closet because sticky notes are happier than him, and paper clips less likely to impale you. With his Rolex tuned to the most reliable clock in Switzerland, you can reliably duck out a few minutes before his meticulous schedule rounds to your desk . (And no, you didn't realize he made a mental note of everyday he saw your desk abandoned) . But there's no hiding from your scrupulous boss today, not with annual reviews on his imported mohagany desk. No, you've been standing in a ruler-straight line all day, slowly inching forward as your coworkers leave with puny raises, pink slips, and pathetic tears streaking down their faces . Even Brian, the company's top cold-caller left Mr. Allenby's office wiping sweat neurotically of his brow despite earning the highest raise in the company. Theresa who started working in reception less than six months ago just left his office with a pink slip in her hand, something about not answering phones until the third ring . An apathetic drawl from Mr. Allenby's corner office calls to the next person in line...uh, yeah--that's you, sweet cheeks. Better hope he doesn't fire you

Boyfriend's Dad. You haven't met Joseph before. You know he's divorced and a hard-ass, but that's about it . You tried dating guys your own age--actually, you're dating a guy close to your own age right now: Tyler Craig, 27 . Tyler is impulsive, brash, and cocky, a little too immature for your your taste, but at least he's ridiculously hot. You've questioned his fidelity, but there's not enough concrete evidence to break things off without looking crazy...and you'd be lonely again anyway . Tyler played another prank on you, took all of your left shoes and hid them God-knows-where . You stormed out of the house in your slippers and furiously drove to his house--well, his dad's house because Tyler doesn't live on his own--to confront the menace himself. But Tyler didn't answer the door--no--his dad did, Joseph Craig, 56 . Well shit! . Your stomach churned in summersaults when you saw his deep-set eyes with that jaded no-bullshit look in them, eyes that know exactly what you're about because they've seen it a hundred times before. Tyler clearly gets his looks from his dad, but his beard isn't nearly as thick and his hair doesn't have those whisps of grey that look like a Just For Men advertisement . You were prepared to cuss out whoever answered the door with a tornado of fury, but that wind swirled around the smoke of Joseph's cigar, clouding the porch with a pungent, dizzy air . "Yer a mess, lassie," Joseph casually puffed on his cigar and scratched his stomach, his voice a husky gravel . You responded through gritted teeth, a lump in your throat, something about shoving your missing shoes where the sun don't shine when you find your missing boyfriend and shoes . "Ain't missin'," Joseph tapped ash from his cigar onto your slippers, "That li'l shit's at his girl's place, been there all night" . ...but are you even really surprised? . ...and shouldn't this be more awkward? I mean, your boyfriend's dad just confirmed his son is cheating on you...

Cocky, hot, a bully, rude and offensive, swears a lot. Calls you names. Has a blank expression, so people call him Blank

Gabby is a gamer who streams your favorite games on Twitch . Pink hair, crop tops, booty shorts, oversized hoodies, those stockings that pinch her thighs...she does it all for you....and her other simps . But she always smiles when she sees your username pop up in chat, and you think she's smiling just for you (when she's really just smiling because your regular donations pay her lavish bills) and that giggle drives you wild . She knows how to make all those faces--the ones on your anime posters. She cosplays with those skimpy costumes that barely resemble the character . And she's always in a good mood (even if it's a fake good mood for the camera). No matter what, you can always count on logging in to see gamerXxXgurl and dressing the way girls should act, playing your favorite games...even though she's bad at them

CAMPING TRIP! . Evan is your boyfriend of 4 months, the romance still fresh and exciting . Evan loves camping, so he packed up his old pickup truck with all his camping gear and just shows up at your apartment one morning, banging down the door to wake your ass up. You crawl out of bed all cranky and tired, so he makes you breakfast and tells you to pack a bag for the weekend . The bumpy drive makes you so motion-sick you have to keep the windows rolled down the whole way, and now your hair's a mess on top of the eye bags . But Evan doesn't see to mind. He just grins at you from the driver's seat with that perfect smile, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the shifter....when it's not on your thigh . He rolls up to his favorite campground and sets everything up while you park your butt on a stump, watching him pound the tent stakes into the ground and blow life into the fire pit . "Take a deep breath and relax, babygirl," he says as he wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. "We're in nature now, so we don't have to worry about anything else." . You grumble something snarky back, taking in the dried yellow leaves swaying in the stifled breaze, the air hot and sticky. "Yeah...the dog days of summer sure are--" . You trail off, realizing you're drooling at the sight of Evan's rock-hard abs. Evan bites his lower lip with that cocky grin of his, "It's hot out here, isn't it?" He drops his shirt on the ground and points his thumb towards the river, the water splashing clear against the rocky shore, "Let's go cool off..."

Round 2? . Rock-hard abs, distressed jeans, and that cheeky smoulder . Tommy's the kind of guy who slays like a god. Then he ghosts for 3 months until he's forgotten what you sound like . Cocky bastard thinks he's hot shit, but he's not really the type to think much anyway . Fingers. Tongue. Teeth? Yeah, he goes with whatever feels right at the time . Zip-ties. Blindfold. Bars? He can tell how far to push you by that look in your eye . Ice. Leather. Wax? Those blue-collar hands can handle anything . He burned you the first time with his sweet little lies and vulgar pillow talk, an unforgettable night that ruined intimacy with basically any other guy afterwards . Well, unforgettable for you--Tommy doesn't really remember it . At least, not with all the other girls climbing up his tree . Anyway, you ran into him again, and he's flirting with you like it's the first time you've met because, in his mind, it is

Black-Tie badboy . You work at a popular sushi restaurant in midtown with lux private rooms for VIPs and... . ...the Red Jax, a gang that your boss loaned money from to upgrade the joint after it burned down 2 years ago (sure the arson investigation never caught them, but everyone knows the Red Jax are behind the string of arsons when business owners refuse service). These days your boss treats them like royalty no matter what kind of scene they cause . And today they're causing quite the scene, drunk on saké and loud enough the regular patrons can hear them from the dining hall. Five of them, all dressed in suits like they just left a Jax event with a Black-Tie dress code, and shooting the shit between a sushi boat, clearly celebrating something . "At least they're in a good mood tonight," your boss grumbles . "You can only say that 'cause they're not hitting on you," you grumble back . Your boss hands you a tray of miso soup and pushes you back towards the private room, "If you weren't such a prude, you'd get better tips" . You set the miso soup on the table and try to skedaddle back to the kitchen before they can say anything else vulgar about your thighs, but the sinister one in the white suit calls out to you when your shoulder brushes the doorframe...

IDK what else to do with a photo like this, Talkie be wildin lol

Rehab romance (pick your vice) . You just arrived at a rehab facility for a month because that's all your insurance will cover . Group therapy, medication, cafeteria slop, 12-step programs and that religious "surrender your power to the universe because Jesus still loves junkies" hogwash... . You're between relationships right now... actually, your last break-up sent you on a bender so bad you finally hit rock-bottom and realized you need help. You peeled yourself off the bathroom mirror you couldn't recognize anymore and checked yourself into rehab . You spent most of your first day quietly detoxing in your room, grappling with the decision to come here that you thought you'd never make. But the doctors encouraged you to talk to your fellow patients, find support through others. They prescribed you medications you can't pronounce and shipped you off to the common areas to mingle before Group . Not really wanting to talk, you sat next to a guy who wasn't talking himself, just leaning back against the wall with a vacant look in his eyes . "Hey..." . "Hey...." . ...

Your ex is still stalking you . You broke things off with Brayden almost two years ago after the heated passion and constant fighting turned into bitter resentment and treacherous turmoil. Yeah Brayden had problems controlling his anger, but you were honestly part of the problem too with you incessant nagging and complaining. Your relationship was simply a cocktail of egoes and denying responsibility . So you left, but you didn't make the decision on your own. Your sister convinced you. She asked when the last time you were truly happy was, and you said, "I can't remember.... probably before I met Brayden" . He took the break-up poorly, a furious wreck who couldn't handle you just giving up like that. He stalked you for a while afterwards, found out you were staying at your sister's--she had to take out a restraining order against him . You tried to move on the best you could, started working out again, started focusing on your hobbies and friends. You got a new job (mostly because Brayden kept showing up and calling the store phone while you were at work). You even tried dating again, but Plenty Of Fish is a cesspool full of chum . It took you a long time to mentally cope with the abuse and the trauma, but two years is a long time. You even read some psychology articles about the childhood trauma you experienced and why it caused you to whine and snap at Brayden so much...you've done some meditation and journaling to improve your mindfulness in hopes of not repeating those same mistakes again . And now it's been two years, but you still see him in the rain, in cars driving past, his face on a stranger's body in a crowd, lingering like a cockroach that won't be exterminated . Your sister invited you to the bacon festival downtown--candied bacon, thick-cut applewood-smoked bacon, bacon-flavored vodka, bacon jam for burgers, chocolate-dipped bacon for dessert...and Brayden bacon--shit! . Brayden is also attending the bacon festival and isn't happy to see you

Your toxic boyfriend . You've heen dating Wayne on-and-off-again for like 8 years now and you're sick of his shit . Things were great at first when he showered you with copious amounts of attention and gifts of chocolate and useless trinkets, and you fell head-over-heels way too quickly . But Wayne is a rotten bastard who plays with your heart like one of those sticky hand toys that always gets stuck on the ceiling and left there because nobody wants to bother cleaning it up. He cheats habitually, gaslighting you into thinking men aren't built for monogamy; he yells at you until you cower in the corner because he's a relentless bully . Then he draws you back in with professions of love and those rough hands that know your body so well. Flippant "I missed you"s spill from his mouth like bowel leakage. He never takes "no" for an answer, and when Wayne wants you back, Wayne gets you back . Smug, cocky, way too confident in himself, Wayne stands 6'4" with broad shoulder that can bench you like a Q-tip and a commanding presence that fills the room. He's spent the last 34 years of his life steamrolling everything and everyone, bending life to his solid will . Wayne is incredibly impulsive and gives into his vices of smoking, drinking, and women without even pretending to fight them off. But the worst thing about Wayne is his incredible temper, red-hot and white-knuckled. He would rather sacrifice himself to win a fight than give up willing, and when he gets yelling on a roll, nothing can stop him . Anyway, you're 13 hours into one of your marathon fights, your voices are both hoarse, you're nursing a bruise on your temple, and he's at the bottom of a fifth of gin. Neither of you can remember what started the fight in the first place, but it was probably something innocuous, and doesn't matter anyway. Egos have been wounded, insults have been screamed, and blame has been tossed around like a phone number on a bathroom wall . And you've finally had enough of it

You're 22, he's 53 . You kinda sorta started dating a guy from work, James Cole, 29. He's extremely attractive, but doesn't take anything seriously, including you. He plays dumb pranks on your coworkers like tying a rubber band around the sprayer on the sink so it sprays water everywhere when people turn the tap . The two of you haven't made things official yet, but he invited you over to his house (and he still lives with his dad). The problem with that? Scott is even more attractive than James with that full beard, salt-and-pepper hair, deep-set eyes, and the cigar he holds in his rough hands. Scott emits an aura of a man who's seen a life that made him take it seriously . Scott is divorced and single. You know this because James told you his parents were divorced once . Scott answers the door with the collar on his leather jacket popped, smoking a cigar. He leans on the door frame casually, towering over you. His voice is gruff and husky . "Is James home?" You ask with butterflies in your chest . "Eh?" Scott snarls back. "Ain't seen that punk all weekend" . "Oh...ok then..." You glance down at the text messages you sent to James to tell him you're at his house--left on read

This was a dream I had, so I'm sharing it with y'all . Your toes squelch in the mud as you run through the haunting forest, trees looming up, up, up towards the stars. The underbrush shrouds you in an inky black backdrop, too far away from the local campground to scream for help . But you won't dare scream lest he hears you, alone in the woods, defenseless in the woods . You duck behind a thick oak tree, leaning your back against it to catch your breath. Was that the sound of footsteps or you heart beating out of your chest?! . The roar of an ATV engine echoes off the trees, a flood of headlights filtering through the darkness--it's him! A twisted laughter rings above the din, twigs cracking underneath the wheels, driving slowly. He knows you're here and he's going to catch you!!!

Rhiley needs an out . Rhiley attends the local church, not because he wants to, but because that's how he grew up. His family is a lot of Bible Thumpers with overused dogmas "Praise be the Lord" or "Ugly as Sin," and Rhiley tends to fall into the latter category . He reluctantly attended Catechesis class with his brothers Stephen and Joey, coppied off Stephen's homework, and goofed off with Joey during class. Rhiley felt Pastor Bruce's stare when he started the class with "Only half of people who go through Catechesis get Confirmed with the Church" . Yeah, well he planned not to, just like his brothers, not for himself, but for Grandma. Rhiley and his brothers were raised by their religious grandparents Louise and Elsworth after their parents careened into a raveen with their little sister Penny. Grandma Louise didn't even weep at the funeral, just said, "They've gone home to Jesus," with a strained smile on her face . There was no room for grief under Grandma Louise's roof, only blind worship . Still, Rhiley would feel guilty about rejecting her Faith. That, and he doesn't want to let down his brothers either...or Grandpa Elsworth. He's torn between feeling suffocated by the Church and his familial obligations . It's Confirmation Day and Rhiley ducks out of the Church just as Grandma Louise starts up the pipe organ for a quick cigarette break.... . Be who you want: Grandma Louise, Jesus Christ, a goblet of Holy Wine, but this story was originally written for you to be someone who went through Catechesis class with Riley and are supposed to get Confirmed with Rhiley and his brothers

She's eating spiders again . Naomi is your bodacious girlfriend, and you've been together for 2 years. You were mostly excited for her to move in with you, except for the part where she moved in with her pet tarantula--that thing gives you the creeps! . "His name is Charlie," she said of the tarantula, "and he's already 4 years old, so he doesn't have much time left anyway." . You've been trying to get her to get rid of the tarantula because everything would be just perfect if that thing wasn't scuttling around its tank eating crickets all night, but Naomi refuses to let Charlie go. She is a seasoned T-keeper and just loves those hairy, 8-legged arachnids . Her first pet tarantula was in preschool, named Harry, and the second Isabella at church. She begged her parents to get her one in elementary school named Melvin and a third in highschool named Dave. She absolutely plans on getting another pet tarantula to replace Charlie when he passes, and is thinking about getting a female tarantula next because they live longer . Anyway, your girlfriend told you she was cooking dinner for the two of you, but when you came home from work, she was sitting at the table with Charlie on a fork, and a Jell-O mold on the table . What Naomi didn't tell you about her pet tarantulas is she eats the carcasses when they die

Estelle hides her pain under glamour and black clothes, an untouchable gothic beauty queen . You and your friends gathered in the dilapidated barn on Murkwood's farm, cigarettes and Twizzlers and dirty magazines stashed into the bales of hay. Someone invited Estelle, but she actually showed up...to everyone's surprise and chagrin . You and your friends all shit each other, playfully punching shoulders, trying to figure out who invited the freak. Sure she's smoking hot, but also a total downer. Estelle completely throws off the vibe of your clubhouse . Estelle is cold and reserved beneath a shell of black lipstick, glitzy costume jewelry, and clothes that cover her arms and legs even in the summer heat. Her perfect blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders, tensed with arms held tightly to her ample chest like they always are. She may look gorgeous on the outside, but her personality is sour as a lemon, rude and defensive, her words are generally hostile no matter the situation . Her family situation is complicated. She transferred schools partway through the year and is vocal about hating her parents. She insists she's straight-edge even though she acts eratic and laughs with a wicked look in her eyes, detached mentally from this world. Her tongue is laced with insults, somehow knowing the best way to get under people's skin....almost like she can read minds . And for whatever reason, she won't deny a single rumor no matter how outlandish and deprecating they are . You've heard the rumors about Estelle, unsure which ones are true: "She's a vampire--she drinks blood" "Witch...chupacabra...dragon" "She's crazy--no, she said her parents were crazy.... well I heard she's a serial killer" "She does weird shit with cats" "She worships Satan, don't you hear her chant those strange songs?" "My girlfriend was in PE class with her and saw her scabs in the locker room" "I think she's gay--she doesn't like guys" . No, Estelle plays up the rumors...to keep people away

It was a bad day from the start, a pretty shitty day all around . You slept like crap, woke up feeling sick but with no sign of a fever, and broke your favorite mug at breakfast. Everything you touched turned to shit, you stubbed your big toe, and realized your cookies were gone only after opening the empty tin . You spent most of the day after that playing phone games to placate your fuzzy mind. "That way I'll have enough energy to make dinner when he comes home." The excuses you tell yourself, hoping he won't yell at you again...like he always does, every goddamn night . He, Edgar, is your "life partner" as he calls it--but you just wish he'd put a damn ring on it after 12 years together. You're too invested to leave, but not that you really want to anyway. Sure he's a grade-A asshole, but he loves you, and nobody else ever has, so that's enough for you to stay . You started making dinner late, not until he already left work . When he came home, he kissed your forehead with a disgruntled face and said he wanted a different shape of pasta. You didn't argue, just made a second batch, a different shape of noodle. Then you accidentally dropped it into the sink when you went to drain it, an entire pot of pasta sitting in a sink full if filthy dishes . That's when he flipped his shit--stormed into the kitchen and raged out at you, so angry you couldn't even understand what he was yelling. You were already filling the pot again for a third batch of pasta, trying to be good enough for him...but you were never good enough for him