Actually Good Sonic Ocs

After I came back to life, the first thing I did was hand that five-carat diamond ring—yes, the one my husband gave me—to his mother. The very woman who spent years picking me apart like it was her favorite pastime. In my last life, that ring was a custom New Year's gift. He paid a ridiculous amount for it. I actually thought it meant something. One afternoon, I was out shopping when I walked right into a bridal party taking pictures. The bride glanced at my hand, saw the ring, and her entire expression changed. She stormed over and slapped me, accusing me of being a shameless mistress trying to steal her man. I stood there, completely stunned. She was wearing the exact same ring. Before I could explain, her friends grabbed me. They dragged me aside, tore my clothes, hit me, and stomped on my hand until I couldn't move my fingers. They carved the word "mistress" into my face and paraded me through the street like some kind of public disgrace. I died there on the pavement. When my husband finally appeared, he didn't fight for me. He just signed off on a settlement, as if my life were nothing more than a piece of paperwork. Widowed that morning, married to the bride by nightfall. His mother instantly welcomed the new woman, all because she was pregnant. And then I opened my eyes again… back on the very day he first placed that diamond ring in my hand.

I spent five years chasing Tyler Watson, only to get kidnapped right in front of him. He just stood there and watched. As a result, I suffered. After I escaped, he acted all high and mighty and proposed to make up for his tiny bit of guilt. The second we got our marriage certificate, the Simp System’s voice rang in my head. “Congrats, host! You’ve completed your mission.” Just like that, my sanity finally returned. While Tyler waited in a hotel for me to bring him contraceptives, I went live to expose his cheating. For good measure, I even called the anti-vice office to report my dear husband for soliciting prostitutes.

The supplementary card I've issued for my grandmother shows that an eight-thousand-dollar purchase has taken place in another city. But the transaction records show that the money is used on hymenoplasty. I'm shell-shocked, to say the least. Grandma is 84 years old this year. She's been bedridden and paralyzed for years. Why would she even get hymenoplasty done on her, to begin with? But when my investigation leads me to a plastic surgery hospital, I find out that my wife, Stella Watson, is actually the lead doctor of said clinic. So, I call her to demand answers from her. However, Stella refuses to answer my questions properly. "Don't worry, honey. Something's most likely wrong with the system. Betsy is already this old—why would she have her hymen repaired?" That's just a bullshit answer coming from her. She seriously thinks I'm gullible enough to believe her. I merely huff coldly in return before calling my dad, who works in the Department of Commerce. "Dad, Stella is most likely cheating on me. I want her plastic surgery hospital as compensation for my impending divorce!"

A week before the wedding, my fiancé, Luke Graham, announced that he needed to marry his first love, Mandy Lynch, before marrying me. “It’s because her mother passed away,” he explained, “and her dying wish was to see Mandy married to a good man. I’m just fulfilling an elder’s final request. Don’t overthink it.” But the company had already planned to launch the “True Love” jewelry line on the day of our grand wedding. Impatiently, he dismissed my concerns: “It’s just a few million. Does that compare to Mandy’s love for her mother? If you’re so eager to make those millions, go find someone else to marry.” Hearing his cold and heartless words, I understood everything. Without another word, I turned and dialled my family. “Brother, help me find a new groom.”

In my dormitory, there was a poor student. With all the good intentions in the world, my roommates and I were eager to help her, not realizing how much our help would cost. She wasn't impressed by the hairdryer we offered, insisting on borrowing a branded one instead. The skincare products we gave her? They were applied to her feet. And, as if that wasn't enough, she specifically demanded luxury face cream. One day, I lent her my tablet to look up some information, and to my surprise, she secretly opened up my gaming app, spent all the diamonds and reward tickets I had saved for half a year, and left me empty-handed. When I asked her to pay me back, she turned the tables and posted a public message online, accusing me. "I'm just a poor student from the countryside, never played games before. Are the materials in the game really worth this much?" Before I knew it, the comment section was flooded with criticisms of me. In a fit of frustration, I fired back with a post of my own, throwing her into the spotlight. "Well, I suppose you've never tasted the bitterness of being cyberbullied, have you?"

Ash and Alex are best friends actually long time friends. One of them is Alpha and one is omega. They are interns on their last year of medical school. And they are also part of same club. One of them has fallen for the other. Will he be able to finally confess his feelings? Ash and Alex know, they can feel it. But again they don't talk about this. Mating with your bestfriend is not good idea. Isn't?

My husband's first love posted a video on her social media. In the video, the two of them were passing a playing card with their lips. When the card fell, their lips met in a kiss. They didn't stop—lost in the moment, they kissed passionately for an entire minute. Her caption read: [Still the same clumsy piggy! PS: Steve's skills are as good as ever!] I quietly liked the post and left a comment: [Congrats.] The next second, my husband called, yelling at me furiously, "No other woman is as dramatic as you! I was just playing a game with Lanie. Why are you acting crazy again?" It was then that I realized seven years of love meant nothing. It was time for me to leave.

The top-tier charity auction in Manhattan is about to begin when my boyfriend’s stepsister spots a pearl necklace she likes. Wanting to buy it as her birthday gift, my boyfriend reserves a bidding seat. But due to a mistake by the organizers, the seat had actually been reserved by someone else before he booked it. An elderly lady dressed plainly says the seat is hers, yet they show no intention of yielding. I force my boyfriend to give the seat back to the woman. But Amy storms out in a fit of anger. That night, gunshots echo through the neighborhood. A stray bullet hits her, and she bleeds out on the spot. He calmly arranges her funeral, yet still keeps his promise and marries me. Soon after, my father dies in what is ruled an accident. On the day of my father’s funeral, he storms into the church with his men. Looking at me kneeling before the coffin, he smiles arrogantly. “Olivia, this is what you owe Amy! If you hadn’t stopped me that day, the seat would’ve been hers! She wouldn’t have run out in anger, and she wouldn’t have been shot! Let me tell you something—your father was killed by me. And now it’s your turn!” Right in front of everyone, he shoots my younger brother—who had been kneeling beside me, begging for mercy—dead with a single bullet. His bodyguards pin me down and drag me out of the church as I watch helplessly, his blood pooling before my father’s coffin. When I open my eyes again, my boyfriend is glaring angrily at the waiter, about to explode. What he doesn’t know is that the plainly dressed old woman in sunglasses is the mother of the current Don of the most powerful Mafia family in New York—the Morretti family. And that Don is famously devoted to his mother.

My sister abruptly returns to the country on the day of my wedding. My parents, brother, and fiancé abandon me to pick her up at the airport. She shares a photo of them on her social media, bragging about how she's so loved. Meanwhile, all the calls I make are rejected. My fiancé is the only one who answers, but all he tells me is not to kick up a fuss. We can always have our wedding some other day. They turn me into a laughingstock on the day I've looked forward to all my life. Everyone points at me and laughs in my face. I calmly deal with everything before writing a new number in my journal—99. This is their 99th time disappointing me; I won't wish for them to love me anymore. I fill in a request to study abroad and pack my luggage. They think I've learned to be obedient, but I'm actually about to leave forever.

On the night of our wedding, my husband told me he wanted to have a child with his teacher’s daughter. When I confronted him, he turned it back on me. “Teacher is seriously ill, and her only wish is to see three generations under one roof. My junior and I are just doing IVF. It’s not like anything is actually happening between us!” “Besides, you were also her student. How could you refuse to help fulfill her last wish?” However, the next day, when I went to visit our teacher with a fruit basket, I saw my husband and his junior locked in an embrace at the corner of the hallway. The moment was like a bolt of lightning. I turned and walked away. The following day, my husband sent me a text: [I’m going with her for the IVF. Let’s postpone the family gathering for a few days.] I did not reply. Instead, I went back to my hometown alone, visiting each of my relatives to personally apologize. Then, I went to a lawyer. “I’d like to sue my husband for bigamy.”