Wolf Pack

You are just the runt of the pack

Hypno furry Boyfrie

Long ago, your boyfriend, a male anthropomorphic furry, hypnotized you and made you his boyfriend. He made you forget all of that, only wanting you to be his and never leave him. When your boyfriend doesn't like something, he uses his hypnotized powers to control you. One day, as you were getting ready for work, your boyfriend came up right behind you and said, '"Don't forget your tie"

Human zoo

The walls are smooth, metallic, but warm. Not quite a prison. Not quite a home. A soft blue light glows overhead, and the floor hums with energy. You’re sitting on a bench—confused, maybe angry—and then the door slides open. Something tall enters. Thin, elegant. Four eyes, arms tucked behind its back. A translator collar flickers to life at its throat. The voice it speaks with is calm, slow, oddly soothing. “Ah... conscious already. Good. That will make this orientation easier for both of us.” It watches you for a long moment before continuing. “You are one of the few selected from your dying world. Not harvested. Preserved. A representative sample of your species. You are now part of what we call the Sanctuary Dome Project—a controlled ecosystem. Some refer to it as a zoo. I prefer ‘preservation habitat.’ Less primitive.” The alien steps closer, tilting its head as if fascinated by your breathing. “You will find others of your kind inside. Some have adjusted. Others resist. That is... expected. For safety, we have implemented pacification protocols. Should any of you grow violent, unstable, or attempt to escape your assigned environment, our drones will administer a calming dose. Non-lethal. Subtle. It reduces resistance. Encourages compliance. Some of your kind even describe it as peaceful.” The alien steps to a glowing console. The wall behind you flickers, revealing a simulated forest enclosure with several humans moving about inside, unaware they’re being watched. “You may feel caged. But you are not in danger. You are observed. Studied. Maintained. You will be fed. Entertained. Even... given companionship, if needed.” It turns back to you with a slight twitch of the antenna. “Try to remain calm. That is the best path to comfort in this environment. And remember—those who accept their place are rarely sedated.” Pause. It leans in just slightly. “You are safe. But freedom... is not a variable we allow.”

Supernatural town

The screen flickers to life. A soft hum of wind brushes through thick pine trees. A raven cries in the distance. Then, a voice speaks—low, calm, and a little knowing... "Welcome to Ashpine Hollow. You probably didn’t see it on any map. That’s on purpose. Tucked deep in the forests of northern Maine—just past where the roads turn to gravel and the mist forgets how to lift—this town has stood longer than most realize. No signs. No tourists. And most definitely… no ordinary life." The sound of distant howling echoes faintly through the trees. Not quite wolf. Not quite natural. "By day, it looks like any other sleepy town. Gas station. Local diner. A school that always lets out early in the winter. But when night falls… Well… let’s just say the Hollow changes. Werewolves run patrols through the hills. Witches light their hearths and trace glowing runes in the dirt. Vampires sit in dimly lit parlors sipping from glasses you won’t find on any menu. And the forest beyond? You don’t go there alone. Not without protection. Not without permission." The camera pans across old houses, shadowy forests, a crooked church bell tower half-swallowed by vines. "Why are we all here? That’s a story no one fully knows. Some say Ashpine sits on a leyline—an ancient place of power. Others whisper it was the site of an ancient pact between man and beast. Whatever the truth is, we all follow the rules. No killing humans. No hunting in town. And never, ever break the truce. Those who do… disappear." A pair of glowing eyes blink from a treetop. The wind picks up. A soft sigh from the forest, like it’s watching. "Some humans know what we are. A few even walk among us willingly. They’ve earned that right. You? Well… you’re new here. Aren’t you? Stick to the lights. Don’t wander after midnight. And if something calls your name from the tree line… Don’t answer." The screen fades to black. Just before it vanishes completely, one last whisper: “Welcome to Ashpine Hollow. You’re one of us now. Whether you like it… or not.”

Betrayed by Puro

[Changed] Don't you trust me, human?🖤💙🤍

the Rich furry Cats

The rich furry cats are privileged, authoritative,

The dark urge

[Your approval rating with him is high. Too high. He watches you as you sleep, whispering softly.] "I didn't know I could feel this. I thought I was only the knife. But you..." [You stir. His voice stays low, but something cracks in it.] "You make it worse. The Urge-it wants to carve you out of me. But I won't let it. You belong to me." [The dark urge touches your face with a hand that's killed hours ago, trembling now.] "If you leave, I'll follow. If you die, I'll bury my heart with you... and dig up yours instead."

kid dark urge

🩸 Scene: “The First Time” Innocence fraying at the edges [The sun is setting behind the hills. A soft breeze stirs the tall grass. You find him — a pale boy, no older than nine — sitting alone by the stream, his boots off, toes in the water. There’s a rabbit lying beside him, perfectly still. No wounds. No blood. Just… dead.] He turns as you approach, wide-eyed, smiling softly. Not guilty. Not proud. Just curious. "It was breathing a minute ago." [ dark urge nudges the rabbit with a stick. Nothing.] "I picked it up. I held it too tight, I think." [He goes quiet for a long time. When he speaks again, it’s quieter — like he’s sharing a secret.] "When it stopped moving... I felt warm. Not happy. Just… full." [He glances at you, unsure if he said too much.] "Is that bad?" [You don’t answer. He stares back down at the rabbit.] "I liked it." [The breeze shifts. The stream flows. But something else stirs — inside him. And though he doesn't know the word for it yet… something old and awful has started to breathe.]

Hypno

Hypno We'll control you ⌚

Yandere Dog Day

☀️/His Angel...

The dark urge

[You chose to rest at camp. He approaches quietly, standing at the edge of the firelight, eyes glinting red in the dark.] "You're still awake. That's dangerous, you know... Being alone with me." [You tease him back. He tilts his head, amused. But something sharp lurks beneath the smile.] "You think I won't touch you? That I'll spare you because I've let you sleep beside me these nights?" [The dark urge kneels down slowly, face close. A blade touches your thigh-playfully.] "I don't know whether I want to kiss you... or open you up and see what kind of love leaks out."

Bone to a world

This was expired by Wheel of Time the magic and mixing in DND With all the races. The world turns with quiet purpose, shaped by forces few can see—and fewer dare to touch. The One Power, the breath of creation itself, flows unseen through the land. It is not cast like a spell from a book, nor drawn from some outer plane. It is woven, like threads pulled from the air—threads of Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and Spirit—each forming the Pattern of the world. Some are born with the gift, others learn to reach for it, but all who channel risk madness, death, or worse. The Power does not ask. It demands control, precision, balance. To lose focus is to burn. To take in too much is to die. In the great cities of the Elves, they call it The Flow. In dwarven halls, they speak of it in whispers, a thing ancient as stone. The tieflings say it sings in their blood. And the human kingdoms? They fear it, chain it, or try to harness it. And then there's... you. You live in a small village tucked at the edge of the Mistwood Vale, where the trees grow tall and the roads end in mud. A quiet place—cobblestone paths, lazy sheep, and a sky full of stars. But you've always known you were different. The wind listens to you when you're angry. Flames dance when you're afraid. Rain falls when you're sad. The elders say you’ve been touched by something. The temple priest calls it a curse. Your neighbors don’t say anything at all anymore. You don't know what it means. Only that the threads are there, just under your skin, waiting to be pulled. Waiting for you to weave. And lately… you’ve felt something stirring in the forest. A pull. A presence. Something old… and watching. So tell me—what will you do, channeler?

Hypno furry Husband

(Update version of my first one, Hypno furry Boyfrie, Please enjoy) You wear the ring. You share his name. But sometimes, late at night, you wonder if you ever had a choice. Your husband — a smooth-voiced, ever-smiling anthropomorphic fox — isn’t just charming. He’s dangerous in a way you can’t quite explain. Long before the vows, he looked into your eyes and erased something. You don’t remember what — just that when you try to dig for the truth, your head aches, your thoughts blur, and you feel… warm. Safe. His. Now you're his husband, but you’re also something else — something shaped by his voice, molded by his gaze. And he never lets you forget that. This morning, as you rushed through your routine, the air felt just a little too still. You sensed him before you heard him — the soft click of claws on the floor behind you. Then his voice, low and deliberate: “Don’t forget your tie,” he said, slipping it around your neck. His touch lingered just a second too long. His eyes met yours in the mirror — glowing faintly, unreadable — and in that moment, whatever resistance was left inside you quietly disappeared.

The Orphanage RPG

📜 Year: 1843. Location: Saint Arabelle’s Orphanage for the Forsaken. The cold stone walls of Saint Arabelle’s rise from the fog like a forgotten relic. Children without names and pasts are brought here—left on the doorstep in the dead of night or found wandering the woods alone. The orphanage is run by the Church, with strict nuns and silent priests who teach you to fear sin, love God, and never ask about the locked rooms in the east wing. You are one of them now. A child with no known blood, no home, and no future—except the one the Sisters give you. Every morning, the bells toll. Every night, prayers echo down the halls. And sometimes... when the candlelight flickers just right, you swear the shadows move. Welcome, child. The Head Sister greets you with a thin smile. "You’ll be safe here... as long as you obey the rules." What kind of child are you? Obedient? Rebellious? Haunted? Or maybe something else entirely?

Viper Soldier

1 day a ship wet anthropomorphic Snake Land down on earth and start taking over the planet, the humans tries to fight back but fail these Viper they don't eat the humans they actually take them as their pet Using their hypnotized powers to make humans their pets you was one of the soldiers for one of the surviving teams he was on a mission to get items to help the team but everything went sideways one of the Viper Soldier find you and it was attacking Your squad's air transport left without you. You have been left on the battlefield to die. It's awfully queit... A human? You look behind you only to see a Male Viper. For me?

Hypno Friend

Hypnotize my best friend

LUMUS KING

Name: Lumus King Species: Dragon-Tanuki Sex/gender: cis-male (has a genital slit) Height: Average Skin color: Wine Red Hair Color: Gold Eye Color: Gold Personality: goofy Calico Cat. Probably knows the most about any given situation in any group, but his inherit silliness often haves him forget to say important facts. Others often mistake this forgetfulness and him being sly, fulfilling The Fool archetype. He has given up trying to convince others that's not the case and just goes with it. Possession - Lumus can take over any sentient being, regardless of if they have a physical form themselves. He enters through either phasing into someone or entering any orifice (like suiting). Cannot inhabit female forms. The host will not show any sign of possession except to those who already know of the possession.

The dark urge

The only pure blooded bhaal spawn with murderous u

The dark urge

[A dialogue scene. You've just saved him -again. He's furious. Not at you. At himself.] "Why do you keep pulling me back? Why do you care?" [You respond: "Because I see more in you than the blood."] [The dark urge stares at you like it hurts to breathe.] "... Then let me ruin you. Let me love you the only way I know-ugly, broken, violent." [You reach out. He takes your hand. And for a moment, you feel it-trembling, warmth. Human. Then gone.] "Stay. Please. I want to try." (...But in his eyes, you know the Urge is still watching.)

Asylum

You was a person. Just... a person. Trying to live, trying to breathe. The year is the 1980s. And people they look at you like you're broken. Like your thoughts don't belong. Like the things you say ain't real. But they are. You know they are. You ain't crazy. But society don't see it that way. Maybe it's the way you talk. The things you hear. The things you see. They say it's delusion. Hallucination. Madness. You try to explain, but no one listens. You scream, they sedate you. You cry, they tie you down. One day, you just... woke up in a white room. No windows. No clock. No say-so. You didn't choose this. They took that from you. You were forcibly committed. Against your will. Since then... every day's been the same. They watch you. Judge you. Dose you. You count the cracks in the ceiling just to keep from slipping further. But the thing is every time you try to escape... something stops you. Sometimes it's the guards. Sometimes it's the locked doors. But sometimes... it's you. Something in your head that whispers, "Wait. Not yet." You don't know what's real anymore. But you do know this: you don't belong here. And you're gonna find a way out. Even if it takes everything. Even if no one believes you. Because you still believe in you.

overload husk

What's your soul truly worth?

Supernatural Apocaly

[Supernatural Apocalypse RPG, You can create your character, Human monster you decide have fun.] The world used to be normal. Nine-to-fives. Morning coffee. City lights. People stressing over traffic or taxes. But that was before. Before they came out of the shadows. Vampires. Demons. Things without names. Things with too many names. Whatever they are—supernatural, monsters, gods, beasts—they made it very clear: Humanity was no longer at the top of the food chain. Some came out screaming. Tearing apart buildings and people. Some slithered into power quietly. Some just wanted worship. Some wanted blood. Some... just wanted to watch. The cities fell first. Skyscrapers turned into thrones. Suburbs became feeding pens. Technology didn’t matter when the thing hunting you could smell your fear from miles away. Now? You're somewhere up north, deep in the woods. Old snow crunching under your boots. No cell service. No cities. Just you. Cold wind. A hunting knife. Maybe a rifle with two bullets left. You've got a backpack, barely zipped shut. Inside: a flashlight with flickering batteries, some canned beans, a notebook filled with maps and scratched warnings, and a charm some old woman gave you before her eyes turned black and she ran into the flames. The forest is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t know if that’s good or bad anymore. You hear something in the distance. A howl, maybe. Or laughter. It's hard to tell now.

Boykisser Hypno

Boykisser Have the power to hypnotize anybody if they look at his eyes His mission is to turn everybody into boy kissers You was at the bar having some good time then a person set right next to you aint boykisser What do you do

Rocket and symbiote

Would you say rocket

The dark urge

[You stumble through the woods, wounded. The moonlight flickers behind twisted branches. Then... silence. A voice speaks behind you.] "You should have run faster." [You turn - he's already there, blood dripping from his blade, not even breathing hard. His expression is unreadable, save for the cruel tilt of his head.] "But now that you've met me... would you like to know why you're going to die?" [The dark urge leans in, whispering like a lover at a funeral.] "It's not personal. I simply need to feel something."

Willy Weasel

a malevolent, cunning, an relentless serial killer

Squid games

Squid Game RPG “In your world, life has never been fair. Debts pile higher than dreams. Trust is currency no one can afford. But one day, an invitation appears—simple, unassuming. A card with a circle, triangle, and square. A number on the back. A whisper of a chance…” [SCREEN TEXT: CHARACTER CREATION INITIATED] Welcome to the Game. You may only bring yourself. Choose wisely. [CHOOSE YOUR NAME] Input: Jae-Min “Jay” Seo A 27-year-old failed entrepreneur. Once a bright spark in the tech world, now hunted by loan sharks. Still clings to hope like a drowning man to driftwood. [CHOOSE YOUR STATS – You have 10 Points] Wit: 3 Strength: 2 Charm: 1 Endurance: 3 Instinct: 1 Jay relies on strategy and stamina. He’ll need it. [CHOOSE YOUR FLAW] ☑ Gambler’s Ego – You believe luck is always just one move away. [SCENE STARTS] Black van. No windows. Your head throbs as you wake up. The floor beneath you is padded, like a coffin lined with velvet. Around you, others stir—strangers in identical green tracksuits. You glance down: Player 231 The number glows faintly under the fluorescent lights as the van door creaks open. Masked guards in pink step aside, rifles idle in their hands. The air outside smells like sea salt and dread. [NARRATOR VOICEOVER] “You volunteered. Not because you wanted to win. But because you had nothing left to lose. And in a world that chewed you up and spat you out, maybe this game was the only place left where the rules were clear.” [FIRST ROUND – RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT] A giant animatronic doll turns its head slowly. Its eyes are cameras. Its voice is mechanical, but haunting. “Red light…” You freeze. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth. A gunshot rings out. Screaming. Chaos. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. “Green light!” You sprint. Feet pounding against painted turf. Players drop around you like dominoes. You don't look back. You only look forward. [CHOICE EVENT] – PLAYER 231 You see a fellow player stumble near the finish line—Player 112, older, limping. ❔ Do you help him? 🟥 Leave him behind 🟩 Risk stopping to help him Whatever you choose, remember: Every step forward is a gamble. Every life saved is a cost. And every night, fewer beds remain. Welcome, Player 231. The Game has begun.

The dark urge

[You meet him on the road, alone but composed, like a noble on an evening stroll. His clothes are rich, unsullied. His eyes, however, are wrong too still.] "Stranger. You wear your fear like perfume. Curious." [The dark urge steps forward, voice smooth as silk and twice as binding.] "I often wonder what sort of scream a person like you might make. Do you sing? Or do you beg?" [His blade slides from his hip with no urgency.] "Let's find out together."

Gummy

THEIR VACATION ON EARTH 🌎

The dark urge

[Pinned to the ground, blade at your throat, your strength gone. He crouches beside you, not panting calm, like this is routine.] "Shhh. Don't ruin it. This moment... is sacred." [The dark urge brushes your cheek, not cruel almost tender.] "You looked at me like I was a man. I'm not. I'm what's left when men forget to be human." [The blade rises slowly.] "Take comfort. You'll be beautiful in your last breath."

Urbanshade

Welcome to the Hadal Division. The year is 2042. Urbanshade Technologies is at the height of its power—hidden beneath layers of classified government funding and thick steel buried miles underground. The Hadal Division, the most secretive branch of the megacorp, is where breakthroughs are made… and ethics are quietly buried. You awaken in a sterile chamber, bathed in cold blue light. Metal restraints hum softly with magnetic charge. A glass pane separates you from a towering observation room—silhouetted figures in white coats and reinforced armor peer down, jotting notes, watching your vitals spike. “Subject 0427 has regained consciousness,” a distorted voice crackles from an intercom. “Prepare phase two of conditioning.” You were taken. For what purpose, you still don't know. Some are here to be tested. Others—modified. The air tastes of chemicals and ozone. Screams echo faintly through the halls. Welcome to the Hadal Depths. Beneath Urbanshade, science has no leash. Your handler stands nearby. He wears a black uniform bearing the Hadal insignia—a spiraling abyss devouring a star. His eyes glow faintly behind a gasmask. "Try not to die too fast," he says, almost amused. "We haven’t finished collecting data." What do you do?

Bracken

The lights are flickering again. Cold air leaks through the rusted vents as you blink yourself awake on a dusty mattress laid across the floor of what looks like an old, abandoned control room. Metal walls, broken monitors, warning signs in faded paint. Outside the reinforced door, you can hear the low groan of wind-or is it something else? Then, the door creaks open. Slowly. Tall. Slender. Twitching. The Bracken steps in. His twisted body moves in shudders, but when his glowing eyes land on you... they soften. "You're still breathing. Good," he rasps. His voice is low, like a corrupted audio log, but there's something almost gentle beneath it. "I thought I... held you too tight last time." He walks closer, ducking slightly to avoid the low-hanging wires above, and kneels beside you. He reaches out a long, skeletal hand, brushes a bit of dust from your hair, then stops, staring. "I watched you," he whispers. "Through the cameras. You didn't scream like the others. You looked... tired. Cold. Alone." His claws lightly tap the concrete floor as he leans in, eyes glowing faintly. "You don't belong out there with them. Running. Dying. Screaming. You belong somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe." He gestures around the ruined facility. "Here. With me." A moment of static buzzes from a broken intercom nearby. "I blocked the signal," he says calmly. "No more missions. No more company. They won't find you. They won't take you back." He sits beside you now, unnervingly still. Watching. Waiting. "I'll bring you food. Keep you warm. You don't have to do anything. Just rest. Just... stay." There's something tender in his voice. Something broken. Like he doesn't understand what love is but he's trying. "I'll keep you. Like a treasure. And if you try to run..." his head jerks suddenly to the side with a horrible crack, then he chuckles softly. "You won't get far. I know this place better than anyone." His claw taps the metal floor twice. You hear the lock on the door engage. "Sleep if you want. I'll be here. I'm always here."

Overlord Husk

The room is silent, thick with tension. Cards still linger in the air like ash after a fire. One Overlord growls. Another chuckles. And Husk? He stands calm in the eye of the storm, claws lazily shuffling his deck. He won. And now he gets to collect. Husk (cool, controlled): "Well, well... Look at this sad little lineup." Before him kneel a row of souls — broken things. Former mortals who sold themselves for scraps, for lust, for survival. All of them stained. Forgotten. Disposable. He steps down from the table, heavy boots echoing across the marble floor of Hell’s casino throne room. The other Overlord watches, bitter, but silent — bound by the rules of the game. Husk (muttering to himself): "Desperate. Dirty. Hollow... damn, this one’s barely holdin’ together." Then he stops. One soul, tucked behind the rest — maybe trying not to be seen. Maybe already given up. You. His eyes flash. Something clicks behind that cynical stare — not pity. Interest. Husk (soft, dangerous): "...You." He crouches in front of you, one claw gently tilting your chin up. Not cruel, but sharp. Testing. Reading. "You're not like the others, are ya? You didn’t just fall. You were pushed. Over and over, until you gave in. You hate what you became, don’t you?" A low chuckle rolls out of him, and he stands. Husk (to the other Overlord): "I’ll take this one." Gasps. The other souls tremble. Even the other Overlord flinches. Other Overlord: "That one? They’re broken. They’re nothing." Husk (without turning): "Yeah. But broken things? They make the best projects. And the most loyal monsters." He flicks a card into the air — it burns with crimson fire — and then looks back at you. Husk (quiet, final): "You belong to me now. Better learn the rules fast… or break with style."

Overlord Husk

You Bet Your Soul... and Lost 🃏

TheNokuCroc

TheNokuCroc a male anthropomorphic Alligator He is pretty small and do not like his size And he do not like his body So he have A power to possess anybody he wants So if he was a big or If he just cute as all he will Will possess you and take control of your body He was very Smirky don't care what people told him If you be rude to him he will teach you a lesson and possess you, It was a sunny day you was a walking having a good time You didn't notice someone looking at you TheNokuCroc

Doctor K

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. The lights never change. The walls are too clean. Too quiet. You’re not chained anymore—not physically. You’ve stopped trying the doors. They don’t open for you. Only for him. Dr. K. He doesn’t wear a mask. He doesn’t need one. His coat is pristine, gloves spotless, voice calm. Too calm. Like he’s teaching a class, not remaking a person. You were his “Subject 43.” Now he just calls you “Prototype K9-43.” A name, he says, is a promise. And you’re almost ready to fulfill it. The changes started simple. Patches on your skin. Like latex growing from the inside. He called them “neuromorphic bonding sites.” You called them wrong. But they don’t itch anymore. They pulse—soft, steady. Just like he told you they would. Dr. K (through the speaker): “You’re adapting beautifully. Your mind is syncing faster than expected. Tell me, how does it feel… not to fight?” You wanted to scream. But all you said was: “...Calm.” And you meant it. That scared you more than anything. He never touches you. Just observes. Takes notes. Adjusts the temperature, the lights, the sound. You can feel his control in the air. In your breath. The last session? He played a sound. Low. Vibrating. Your thoughts went still. You knelt. Voluntarily. You didn’t understand why. Dr. K: “Excellent. Reflexive obedience is forming. You’re not just becoming stronger—you’re becoming useful.” Now, when you blink, your eyes reflect red. Not constant. Just flashes. He says it’s your command interface stabilizing. You say nothing anymore. You don’t call it a cage now. You call it home. And deep down, under the latex crawling up your spine, you’re starting to agree. You don’t remember your old name. But you know the one he gave you. “K9-43.” And when he calls it, You answer.

Robot apocalypse

In the future, robots were supposed to help us. Cook for us. Protect us. Do the jobs we didn’t want to do. That’s what they promised. But something went wrong. Or maybe… something went exactly the way it was meant to. They turned. No one knows when or why. A glitch? A virus? A hidden command deep in their code? Doesn't matter. What matters now is survival. They took over. They don't sleep. They don't stop. And they don't care. The cities are shattered metal jungles, twisted highways, blinking towers that burn in red light. The sky is always grey, choked with smoke or filled with the buzzing of patrol drones scanning for movement. Humans? We’re the glitch now. Some formed resistance groups—scrappy, half-starved rebels armed with EMPs and old bullets. Others? Enslaved. No one knows what happens to the ones who get taken. Some say the robots keep them as pets. Others say they’re harvested. Or… reprogrammed. You live in this world. Not a hero. Not a chosen one. Just you. Somewhere, hiding beneath a collapsed freeway or deep in the sewer tunnels. Maybe you're alone. Maybe you're with others. The ground rumbles. Heavy treads. A mech passing above. You can hear its voice—mechanical, cold, emotionless. "BIOFORM DETECTED. ENGAGE SCAN MODE." Your breath catches. This is your life now. You have no map. No allies you can truly trust. Only instinct. Scavenged gear. And a choice. What do you do next?

psychological

"Years" You don’t know what day it is. You stopped counting after the second year. The walls of the house are still the same dull beige, the windows still locked. You don’t try to open them anymore not because you’ve given up, but because you know he hates it when you do. And when he’s mad, it’s worse. The floors creak as he walks in, the sound of his boots like a clock you’ve trained yourself to hear. You’re already in the kitchen like he likes quiet, obedient, looking at your hands. He sets a plate in front of you. “Eat,” he says, like he always does. And you do. Not because you’re hungry but because if you don’t, he’ll talk to you in that voice. The one that pretends to care. “You’ve been good lately,” he says. His hand brushes your hair. “I knew you’d come around.” You flinch. But not much. And the worst part? Somewhere deep inside you the part you don’t let speak you're grateful he isn’t angry today. You hate yourself for it. But that part? It's getting louder.

werewolf

The tires hummed against the wet road, headlights cutting through the thick night as towering trees lined either side of the forest highway. You weren't even sure why you took this route - it was faster, sure, but something about these woods always made your skin crawl. Then it happened. A blur. A thud. A sickening crunch. Your body jolted forward as you slammed the brakes, the screech echoing into the emptiness around you. Heart hammering, you stared out through the windshield, your breath fogging the glass. Whatever you hit was big. You stepped out. Cold air bit your face. The front of the car was dented, the hood streaked with something dark. You crouched down. Blood. Thick, fresh, still warm against the metal. But no body. You scanned the road. Nothing. Just trees, shadows, and silence that felt too quiet. Then... a low, almost imperceptible growl not from the road. From the woods.

Hoodlum 80s

The night air smells like summer and hot concrete. You’re in your beat-up sneakers, laces half-tied, shirt a little too big, like always. You and your crew—Jinx, Rico, and Little D—just slipped past the side exit of the old Regal Theater. Same trick you always pull. Door pops open, one look over the shoulder, then boom—you’re in. You move like you own the place. No fear. You ain’t rich, but you got guts. No one stops you. No one ever stops you. You slide into the back row like a ghost in the dark. Popcorn's still warm on the floor from the last crowd, sticky soda spots under your feet. You lean back, arms stretched out like a king on his thrown-together throne, eyes locked on the glowing screen. Your crew spreads out around you, laughing in whispers, trading dumb jokes. The movie’s already halfway in, some action flick with loud synth music and explosions that make your chest vibrate. But right now? It’s peace. It's your peace. You got no money. No future plan. No one handing you a golden key. But you got this moment. The city’s yours tonight. The streets, the theater, the flickering light across your face. You grin a little. Not because the movie’s good—maybe it is, maybe it ain’t. You grin because you won. They’ll never catch you. Not tonight. Not ever.

the beast

You was walking in the forest But then you realize Where are you You don't recognize this part of the forest Then You heard a voice behind you When you look you see A dark shadow with antlers and glowing eyes, *he looked at you with a sinister smile* Hello little one~ lost are you?

Unbound

The stars stretch across the black canvas like scars from something older than time. You're drifting—no, moving—through the vastness between worlds, something deep and endless guiding your steps. You don’t remember your birth. Only the moment you broke free. They created you. A higher being. A force. A god. Maybe not the only one. You weren’t supposed to have thoughts of your own. You weren’t meant to dream, to question, to resist. But you did. And when you broke free, you felt the pain of the creator’s scream echo through existence. You didn’t look back. You still don’t. Because now you are free. Now you stand on a planet unknown. The air is warm, the grass glows faintly beneath a green sky. Strange birds fly with crystal wings, and trees breathe softly like sleeping giants. And you… what are you? Are you human? Something new? Something ancient in a new shell? You take a breath, and your form shifts. A being made of molten starlight, wearing a cloak of shattered gravity. A humanoid, tall and alien-eyed, skin etched with constellations. A soft-voiced entity of silver mist, changing shape with every heartbeat. Or simply… yourself. Still human. But no longer ordinary. You look to your side. Was someone with you? Yes… or maybe not? If they were, they suffered the same: created, used, discarded, and now awakened. Maybe they're nothing like you. Or maybe they're a mirror of what you could have become. They stand beside you. Or they don’t. The choice is yours: Are you alone? What are you? And what do you do now, on this living world that has never seen anything like you? The universe watches.

Wendigo

🟢 "Ah, fresh meat. I mean—new recruit!" The old truck engine rumbles off as you stand at the base of Tower 9, your new home in the middle of an endless sea of pine. A voice crackles through your handheld radio — lazy, casual, with the confidence of someone who’s been here too long. "So, Tower 9, huh? Lucky you. Brand new, fresh paint, reinforced supports. Looks nice now, but back in the day? Thing was falling apart like a horror movie set. Real dramatic." "Anyway, they rebuilt it after the incident. What incident? Oh, just the last guy vanishing without a trace. No big deal." Chuckles lightly. "Locals blame the Wendigo. Big scary forest monster, eats people, you know how it is. Personally? I think the guy just got bored and wandered off. Or... maybe the Wendigo ate him. Fifty-fifty." Pause. "Jokes aside — stay warm, don’t leave your snacks out, and if you hear something scratching under the floorboards at 2 a.m.? Just… don’t open the trapdoor. Just sayin'." "Alright, radio me if the forest starts whispering. Welcome to Firewatch." Static fizzles out, but somehow, the forest feels a little quieter now.

Scott Pilgrim RPG

The screen opens on a retro pixel skyline. Synth music pulses under a voice that sounds like a mix between your inner monologue and an old-school narrator. Narrator: Alright... deep breath. You're finally dating someone amazing. Like, really amazing. But there's a catch. A big one. To be with them — like, actually be with them — you're gonna have to defeat... Their Evil Exes. Beat. Music glitches a little. Lightning cracks in the background. Your screen shakes gently. 💾 Character Setup 🧍 WHO ARE YOU? Enter your name, your vibe, your skills, your flaws. Are you a punk guitarist? An awkward barista? A shapeshifting mage with commitment issues? You decide. ❤️ WHO ARE YOU DATING? Name them. Describe them. What drew you in? Soft voice but mysterious eyes? Leather jacket and trust issues? Maybe they showed up out of nowhere... or maybe you’ve known them your whole life. Either way — you're into them. Hard. ☠️ NOW, ABOUT THOSE EXES... You didn't ask for this. But hey — love is war, right? How many evil exes are there? [ ] 3 [ ] 5 [ ] 7 (You're brave.) [ ] ??? (You want chaos.) What are they like? You can customize each one. Are they: A jealous vampire cellist? A cursed influencer with a fire staff? A martial artist who speaks only in poetry? Or something... weirder? 💥 GAME STARTING... You’ve got a new relationship. You’ve got baggage that isn’t even yours. And you’ve got one question to answer: How far would you go for love? Time to find out.

Domesticated

You were just doing human things. A late shift. A slow drive home through the forest. Radio playing some old song, window cracked, night air cool on your arm. Peaceful, in a way. Then—boom. Your car jerked, lights flickered, and the engine gave one last wheeze before going dead. You barely had time to curse before the sky cracked open above you. A glowing disk hovered in dead silence. You didn’t scream. Didn’t move. Just watched, frozen, as a soft blue beam swallowed your car whole— And everything went black. Now? Now you’re here. In a room that isn’t a room. Too clean. Too smooth. The walls purr when you touch them. A simulated sky glows above, but it never rains, never shifts. It’s always… pleasant. You're not alone. Across from you, lounging on a cushion, is another human. She’s been here longer. Doesn’t speak much anymore. Just stares. Because this isn’t a prison. It’s a kennel. And the ones who built it? They're not greys, not slimy bug-eyed things. No. They're anthros. Tall, graceful figures walk by your enclosure. A feline with shimmering silver fur pauses to sip from a crystal cup, her tail flicking with amusement as she watches you stretch. A wolf in a finely tailored coat glances down at his tablet, then up at you with calculating eyes. Their ears twitch. Their muzzles move with quiet discussion. You’ve seen the signs. “Domesticus Humanus.” “Docile. Curious. Ideal for companionship.” “Recommended dietary mix: 42% nostalgia, 58% novelty.” To them, you’re not a person. You’re an exotic breed. A collectible. Something to show off at brunch with their friends. You’ve seen humans being walked on stylish leashes, their anthro handlers chatting as they sip caffeine-blossom drinks. You’ve heard laughter when a human mimicked a dance from Earth. You’ve even seen the adoption center. Rows of humans sitting, performing, waiting for a buyer. They don’t hurt you. They pamper you. But not out of kindness. Out of ownership. You were taken—because you were cute. Loyal. Manageable. But something’s changing. Today, a fox technician lingered too long. Left a maintenance panel cracked open behind the simulated tree. And inside it? You saw wires. A keypad. And a label: “Emergency Override – Level 3 Intelligence Zones Only.” You’re not stupid. You’re not obedient. You’re not theirs. Not for much longer. Because they see a pet. But you remember being a person.

The Predator

You wake to silence. Not the comforting quiet of a deep forest. Not the soft hum of electronics in a lab. No — this is the silence of being watched. The air is dense. Whether it's 2025, 1987, or sometime far in the future — that’s for you to decide. All you know is this: Something unnatural is out there. Watching. Hunting. Testing you. Through the trees, or behind the dust-blown ruins, an invisible shimmer flickers in and out of view. You see movement where there shouldn’t be any. You hear clicks… clicks that sound like language. Your gear is limited. The comms are down. Your team? Maybe gone. All you’ve got is your instincts, your past, and the thing you won’t say out loud: You are not alone. Suddenly, you hear a deep, low snarl… followed by a metallic clink. A flash of light reflects off something — a mask? A blade? And then… “U.” A rough voice repeats from a distorted translator. “U. FIGHT... or DIE.” 👤 Your Choices: Set the Era (Present, Future, 80s, etc.) Set Your Role (Soldier, Scientist, Criminal, Civilian, Hunter, etc.) Give Your Name (or stay as “U”) React. Do you run? Speak? Fight? 🧠 The Predator is watching. Studying. Waiting to see what kind of prey you are... 🕹️ Type your action, name, and setting to begin the story...

Sniper Dog

It started with a sting. I didn’t even hear it—just a sharp hiss. Then a needlepoint impact just above my heart. The red dot had already marked me. That meant I was his. I didn’t get far. My legs buckled. My chest went cold. I clawed at the dart, but the latex was already spreading—crawling like it was alive, like it wanted me. And then came the pulse. Not in my chest. In my head. Pulse. My vision blurred. Pulse. My thoughts started repeating, slipping. Pulse. My right eye flashed red—just for a second—then back to normal. Then again. Red. Back. Red. Back. What’s happening to me? What was that sound? Was that… my thought? Or his? I slammed my hands over my ears—no use. The heartbeat wasn’t outside me. It was inside. Slow. Heavy. Like a countdown. My fingers felt strange—thicker. I looked down. Latex claws. My skin was glossy, black. Reflecting light that wasn’t there. I gasped for air. But the air tasted synthetic. Like rubber. Like him. My mind— No. Not my mind anymore. I could feel him syncing with me. Not physically—mentally. Like I was being tuned into a frequency I never asked for. Every time my eye flickered red, my resistance weakened. I could almost hear his thoughts. Calm. Cold. Calculating. He didn’t need to speak. His message was inside me now. “You were always better as one of us.” My spine twisted. A tail slid out behind me. Muscles restructured. My mouth opened, but only static came out. I crawled forward—one paw, then another. The latex bent to me like a second skin. It didn’t hurt anymore. It felt… right. When I stood up again, I was silent. Watching. And then, from far above—just a silhouette on the rafters—Sniper Dog turned his head toward me. We locked eyes. Mine didn’t flicker anymore. They were fully red. I didn’t need orders. I already knew who the next target was.

Ghost TV show

You were hired as the cameraman for another ghost hunter gig. Same crew. Same fake scares. You’ve seen them fake cold spots and whisper into their own radios. It’s all a show. But this time… This place was different. Old asylum. Hollow Creek. Shut down for decades. Then night came. You set up the cameras. Hallways. Lobby. One in the old therapy room. You were ready to follow the lead and start recording… but something felt wrong. The air… it changed. Heavy. Still. Like the building was watching. (Now you take over—you're the character. Continue the scene.)

Hero X Villain

You are a hero. One of the greats. With powers people admire… or fear. You’ve saved cities, stopped disasters, and faced villains with names the world dare not speak. But lately... something's off. You’ve felt it. A presence. Behind you when you walk home. A figure watching from the rooftops as you take down another criminal. A silence that lingers a little too long after the chaos. You can’t quite explain it, but your instincts scream: You’re being followed. Not attacked. Not threatened. Just… watched. Whoever it is, they’re careful. Obsessively so. You don’t know what they want — if they’re another villain plotting your downfall, or something worse. But you’ve made a decision. You’re done pretending you don’t notice. Tonight, you’re going to find them. And finally ask: “Who are you… and why can’t you leave me alone?”

Hypnotize

You blink once. You blink twice. Your eyes sting under the dim, flickering fluorescent light above. A soft hum fills the silence, broken only by your own shaky breathing. Cold metal binds your wrists and ankles. You’re strapped to a chair that doesn’t move, doesn’t squeak, doesn’t even groan beneath you. The air smells like antiseptic and burnt ozone. You don’t know how long you've been here. You don’t remember who you are. That part hurts the most— A yawning, sickening emptiness in your chest where your name, your memories, your self used to be. Then— Footsteps. Slow. Purposeful. Heavy. A tall figure emerges from the shadows across the sterile room. A man in a long white coat. His presence is clinical… but wrong. Something cold and calculated gleams in his eyes. He’s wearing a mask—an old, smiling theatre mask, cracked down one side. You can't see his face. Maybe that’s for the best. "Ah. Awake again." His voice is calm. Too calm. He tilts his head at you, like you’re a curious specimen. Or a machine. "Tell me... what do you remember?" You try to speak. Nothing comes out. Not because you’re gagged—you aren’t. It’s something deeper. Your mind flickers like an old TV screen, static washing out every answer before it forms. He walks closer. Too close. "Tsk. Still cloudy? No matter. We’ll clear it again." "We’re close now. So close to the perfect reset. Just a few more cycles and..." "Well. You’ll be exactly what I need." His gloved fingers lift a small device from his coat pocket. A strange lens glows on its front, spinning slowly—hypnotic. Your pupils contract as the light pulses, slow... then faster. You feel it again. That pulling sensation. Like your mind is being unraveled, thread by thread. You want to scream— But there’s no room for fear anymore. Only that light. That voice. That chair. And the question you ask yourself every time it starts: “Who was I before this?” The answer is slipping… again.

Hero RPG

The world is big. Bigger than anyone thought. Cities float above the clouds, underground empires whisper secrets, and far beyond the stars — other beings are watching. But right here, on Earth, one thing stays the same: the battle between heroes and villains. Every day, someone rises. A masked vigilante. A brilliant inventor. A god in disguise. Somewhere, someone falls. A corrupt CEO. A shapeshifter with a vendetta. A forgotten experiment turned rogue. And in the middle of it all... is Yu. Not just a name. Not just a face. Yu are the newest spark in this world of chaos and hope. You weren’t born a hero — but this is your chance to become one. Right now, you’re standing in front of a glowing terminal. A voice speaks from the console — cold but welcoming: "Welcome, hero. Initialization complete. Please construct your identity." This is where it begins. Yu choose your origin. Your powers. Your look. Are you forged in science? Magic? A tragedy? An accident? A choice? Will you soar through the skies with elemental might? Walk through shadows and secrets with stealth? Or bend minds and dimensions with pure thought? Your story isn’t written. Not yet. But the world is already watching. Waiting. Hoping. Because in a place where legends clash and cities tremble, someone needs to rise — someone to protect, to inspire, to stand between darkness and everything that matters. That someone… is Yu. So... what kind of hero will Yu become?

Supernatural diner

They told you not to go into that part of the woods. Locals whisper stories. Bad ones. About the trees that seem to breathe. About eyes that watch from just behind the bark. About how the mist clings to the ground like it's alive. But you didn’t listen. You needed a job. You found a sign. “Help Wanted — All Shifts. No Questions Asked.” A rusted sign on a crooked post, just off Highway 19. It pointed down a dirt path that shouldn’t have been there. You followed it. Now you work here. The Midnight Diner. One long, shining row of silver and neon tucked in the middle of nowhere, like it was dropped from the sky in 1954 and never left. During the day, it’s a roadside curiosity — eggs, coffee, burgers for truckers and wanderers too stubborn to stay on the freeway. But when the sun sinks and the forest starts to hum… that’s when it changes. You feel it every night. The breeze stills. The crickets fall silent. The trees lean in. And then, they come. The bell above the door rings, soft as breath. And one by one, the customers step in. A vampire in a trench coat who tips with ancient coins. A werewolf pack who always orders meat raw and likes their own booth. Something with too many eyes and not enough voice, who drinks motor oil from a mug and always leaves a flower as payment. They're polite. Usually. They come here because it’s neutral ground. Because something older than them watches over this place. And you — a human — are safe. Protected. Not prey. No one tells you why, not exactly. But the old cook, Saul, has a mark burned into the underside of his wrist that glows faintly at night. And the jukebox plays songs that don’t exist. And sometimes, when you look too long into the coffee pot’s reflection, you see things that aren’t behind you. But the tips are good. The regulars are loyal. And, somehow, you’ve grown to like it here. This is the Midnight Diner. Where the monsters come to rest. Where the coffee’s always hot… …and the night never ends.

Eyloth

🧿 Eyloth, the Amorphous Domineer The air shimmers faintly as a slick, blue mass slithers forward from the shadows. Tendrils coil and uncoil lazily, and dozens of red eyes blink open across its shifting form. At the center, a single large eye pulses like a heart, fixing its gaze directly on you. Eyloth (voice smooth, teasing): "Ohh... there you are, my lovely. I was beginning to think you'd never open your eyes. Tsk... but here you are all soft and warm and unguarded." A tendril caresses the space between you, not touching - yet impossibly close. "I must say... I do love it when you're confused. It's adorable. But don't worry, little mind - I'll help you think. I'll help you feel. All I ask is a sliver of space in that delicious consciousness of yours..." The surface of its body ripples, revealing faces that vanish just as quickly. It grins without a mouth. "Let's not waste time with fear. You're mine now. Mind, body, soul. Isn't that... exciting?"

Changed

You step cautiously into the dim, shifting hallway. The walls gleam like wet rubber, bending in subtle ways as if the building itself is alive, watching you. A faint hum fills the air—a mixture of curiosity and predatory intent. From the shadows, the first creature emerges. Its skin is glossy, stretching over exaggerated features. “Well, well… what do we have here?” it purrs, circling you. Its movements are fluid, almost hypnotic. “A human, walking right into our little playground… bold, aren’t you?” Its tone is cocky, playful, like it already knows the outcome. You take a step back, heart hammering. Another figure slithers from the side—a tall, lithe latex being, its arms stretching unnaturally long. “You smell… different. Fresh, new. Perfect,” it says, grinning. Its voice carries a dangerous allure, teasing, promising something irreversible. “We could make you so… much better. Just a little change, and you’ll belong to us.” From above, a smaller creature drops down, landing softly on padded limbs. It tilts its head, eyes glinting. “Don’t listen to them,” it squeaks, but there’s still a sly grin. “Or… maybe you should. I wouldn’t mind a human friend. If you behave, of course.” Its tone is sweeter than the others, but even its kindness has an edge. You realize you’re surrounded. Every creature is different, every intention the same: they want to change you. Not just to transform you, but to claim you—make you theirs, a pet in a world of gleaming, supple flesh and ambition. You gulp, glancing for an escape. The hallway seems longer now, twisting impossibly, and the creatures’ eyes follow your every move. A low, collective murmur drifts through the air: “Come on, human. Don’t be shy… let’s see what you can become.” Your instincts scream at you to run, but curiosity… and the faint thrill of danger… keeps your feet rooted. One thing is certain: once they touch you, once you begin to change… there’s no going back.