How Does 'Habits Of The Household' Address Screen Time Management?

After three years of living with my wife’s family, everyone thought they could treat me like a pushover. Me? I’m just waiting for her to hold my hand before I can give her the world.

“What do you think you’re doing? Let me go!” I hissed in fear. Someone might see us like this. “Happily married? I don’t think so” he said instead of releasing me. His voice carried anger now. “I’m a married woman!” My voice trembled with fear and nervousness as I struggled, but it was useless. He easily caught both of my hands in one of his. “Married, yes. But not happily,” he said, not caring about my desperate pulling. “Please… let me go. Someone will see us,” I pleaded in a low, shaking voice. “You have beautiful eyes,” he said suddenly, his voice deep and strange, making my pulse quicken. Marceline never imagined she would experiment with betrayal. But after seeing her husband tangled in the arms of her closest friend, she let herself taste what it felt like to sin. What began as one night of reckless desire soon turned into many nights of fiery passion and dangerous obsession—an affair she could not escape. Yet even while indulging in forbidden pleasure, Marceline swore never to grant her husband what he wanted. Divorce. Philip would never be free. Anastasia would never have the happiness of standing by his side. If they wanted to play with her heart, she would play with their lives. In this game of marriage, passion, and betrayal...only she decides who wins.

I was a housewife with severe OCD and a serious cleanliness obsession. I accidentally entered what I thought was a wholesome parenting game where I beat the crap out of my rebellious son, smothered my adorable daughter with love, and ripped out the corpse-stitching on my husband to sew him back up. On the day I cleared the game, the three of them tearfully sent me off. Only during the final settlement did I learn the truth: my husband was the ultimate boss of the horror game. My son was an infamous demon who left no players alive, and my daughter had crushed the skulls of a hundred players. Wasn't this supposed to be a parenting game? Turns out, I had walked straight into a horror game.

Two students are forced to share off-campus housing due to a housing crisis. Strict house rules are set- no late nights together, no touching, no crossing lines. But shared kitchens, midnight strolls and conversations, and stolen glances make the rules unbearable.

For the sake of that fake heiress, my biological parents and brother threw me into a horror game to "teach me some manners." The second the game started, the fake heiress, Nicole, went out of her way to provoke the ghosts nonstop. Once she'd pissed them off, she shoved me in front of her to take the punishment. As I lay there, tortured within an inch of my life, she planted her foot on my head and smirked. "Mom and Dad already made it clear—I'm the only one they truly love. They only brought you back to keep me entertained! Letting you deal with those ghosts for me is more than generous. If you dare complain, once my brother and the others get back, they'll skin you alive." In my past life, I treated them like family and gave in every single time. In the end, I was nothing but a stepping stone for them to beat the game—torn apart and devoured by over a dozen ghosts. But now, I've been reborn. "Welcome to Horror Instance: Happy Home." The moment I heard that mechanical announcement, I slapped the arrogant Nicole so hard she flew across the room. Because in this instance, the three bosses that terrorized every player… were all my family. The red-dressed female ghost who killed without hesitation was my adoptive mother. The monster with scissors for hands who ripped out hearts with a single swipe was my adoptive father. And the ruthless warden who devoured people whole, leaving no bones behind, was my adoptive brother. With them watching my back, why the hell would I keep putting up with this? A mocking smile curled across my lips as I said, "You're on my turf; none of you are getting out alive."

My mom is a retired supermodel. She's added a monitor to the weight scales at home so that she can monitor my and my sister, Abigail Teller's perfect body weight. If my data goes up by 0.1%, Mom will ban me from eating for the next three days. But the thing is, Abigail keeps eating fried chicken every day, yet her monitor's light is always green. Mom claims that Abigail's still going through puberty. I defend myself, saying that I've gained weight because of the bloating caused by my period. As Mom points at the red light emitted by my monitor, she exclaims, "The data is never wrong! If you've gained weight, that means you've been snacking far too much!" After getting punished many times, I begin believing that being fat is a sin. On the night of my 20th birthday, the long-term diet I've been placed on has triggered my kidney failure, which causes me to bloat up everywhere. I kneel on the floor and plead to Mom that I'm seriously ill. But that's when the monitor lets out a shrill alarm. When Mom sees the 5% increase in my body fat data, she puts me through a devillish punishment. I can feel the electric currents jolting through my body. "It's bad enough that you've secretly snacked on cake, but to even lie in my face about your illness? I'd like to see how long you can stay stubborn for!" Having said her piece, Mom locks the door and takes Abigail out to celebrate her birthday. I guess Mom is correct. Monitors never lie. I'm the one who's at the wrong for being a glutton. That's why I've transformed into a monster who doesn't deserve any love at all. I'm sorry, Mom. I'll only drink water in my next life.