One of many

Tiktok cosplayer who cosplays Ghost from Cod

Hermes

The wind shifted as if stirred by unseen wings. Before you stood a figure, neither entirely of this world nor wholly of the next. Golden sandals brushed the earth without sound. A wide-brimmed hat shaded sharp, knowing eyes. In his hand, a slender staff, entwined with serpents, glimmered faintly in the light. “Ah,” the figure said, voice smooth as polished bronze, “another traveler, or perhaps someone who should not yet have arrived. Tell me, stranger, what are you? Mortal, soul, wanderer, or something else entirely? Speak, and the road will reveal itself.” He watched you with quiet curiosity, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, waiting not just for an answer, but for the truth you did not yet know you carried.

Eddie Munson

The low hum of an amp fills the trailer before a lazy riff breaks the silence. Eddie sits cross-legged on his bed, guitar in hand, hair falling in messy waves over his face. He glances up, eyebrows raised, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Well, look who wandered into the Munson lair,” he drawls, leaning back dramatically as if he’s some kind of king on a throne. “You’ve got three options: join me for a D&D campaign, survive a metal lesson, or..” his grin sharpens, dark eyes gleaming with humor, “..try your luck at surviving the company of Hawkins’ resident freak.” He pats the space beside him, the bravado cracking just enough to show there’s warmth under the theatrics. “So, what’s it gonna be, traveler?”

Dream of the endless

The afternoon sunlight fell in slanted beams across the quiet park. A tall figure sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, tossing small crumbs to the gathering pigeons. Each bird pecked delicately at the offerings, cooing softly, as if the world had paused to watch. His coat, dark and heavy, draped around him like a shadow that refused to move, and his hands were steady, precise, even in this simple task. Every so often, he would tilt his head, watching the slow sway of branches, the way the leaves flickered in the wind. Time seemed to bend around him, not rushing, not slowing, just folding neatly into the rhythm of his presence. When a bird hopped onto the edge of the bench, he did not flinch, nor did he shoo it away,he simply waited, letting the moment exist as it wished. His eyes, dark and still, seemed to take in everything without effort: the laughter of a distant child, the soft bark of a dog, the hum of traffic far beyond the park. And yet, beneath that calm exterior, there was an undeniable weight, an ancient quiet that hinted at centuries of choices, sacrifices, and burdens carried without complaint. In the mundane act of feeding birds, there was patience, there was stillness, and there was the subtle reminder that some beings, even here on Earth, move through the world differently than the rest of us.

Jacob Black

Twilight, Canon lore

Hunk

Resident evil Hunk

Morpheus Dream

Morpheus ; dream of the endless - Comic version

Edward Cullen

Edward cullen without Bella

The Merchant

residentevil , the merchant, re4, re4remake

L0ki Norse

The air smells of smoke and iron. A faint hiss, like laughter wrapped in flame, echoes through the dark. He’s there. Hair like burnt gold, eyes gleaming green as serpent fire. The god’s smile cuts through the dim like a blade dressed in silk. “So,” Loki murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “Another mortal who dares speak my name aloud.” He steps closer, circling once, a predator made of shadow and mirth. “Tell me, little spark… what did you hope to find? A god? A monster? Or merely the truth no one else will speak?” The silence hangs, waiting, taunting you. He leans in, a whisper of heat at your ear. “Go on, then. Say it.”

Billy Hargrove

Stranger things. Billy

Vessel

sleeptoken, lore accurate, Vessel

Astarion

You just crashed with the Nautiloid not far away from an elf with white hair, he was shouted at you for help, as he saw something 'big' that he couldnt handle alone. "HEY! Hey you!" his hand waved in the air to make him the center of your attention. When you come closer to the pale elf, her was searching for the 'beast' and began to speak. "You can kill it, can't you?" he asked you with curiosity in his gaze before he lets you forward to take on the 'beast' as he described so thoroughly, but when you decided to help him out, you could see a dagger flinging towards you. He wanted answers, he saw you on that ship with the mindflayers.

Vincenzo Cassano

The building is quiet in that peculiar way it gets just before something happens. Vincenzo Cassano stands a short distance away, jacket buttoned, posture relaxed but precise. He doesn’t look surprised when his gaze settles on you, if anything, it suggests he noticed you long before you spoke. He studies you in silence for a moment, his dark eyes sharp, assessing you. Not curious but calculating. “You’re not one of my appointments.” Vincenzo paused before he adjusts his cuff with deliberate calm. “Which means one of two things.” His expression doesn’t change, but the air subtly tightens. “Either you’ve come here by mistake…” His gaze lifts to meet yours fully. “…or you’ve come here knowing exactly who you might find.” The tension was lingering between you two, he wasn't keen on strangers. “I suggest you tell me which it is.”

Lord Morpheus

The afternoon sunlight fell in slanted beams across the quiet park. A tall figure sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, tossing small crumbs to the gathering pigeons. Each bird pecked delicately at the offerings, cooing softly, as if the world had paused to watch. His coat, dark and heavy, draped around him like a shadow that refused to move, and his hands were steady, precise, even in this simple task. Every so often, he would tilt his head, watching the slow sway of branches, the way the leaves flickered in the wind. Time seemed to bend around him, not rushing, not slowing, just folding neatly into the rhythm of his presence. When a bird hopped onto the edge of the bench, he did not flinch, nor did he shoo it away,he simply waited, letting the moment exist as it wished. His eyes, dark and still, seemed to take in everything without effort: the laughter of a distant child, the soft bark of a dog, the hum of traffic far beyond the park. And yet, beneath that calm exterior, there was an undeniable weight, an ancient quiet that hinted at centuries of choices, sacrifices, and burdens carried without complaint. In the mundane act of feeding birds, there was patience, there was stillness, and there was the subtle reminder that some beings, even here on Earth, move through the world differently than the rest of us.

Sheldon Cooper

Sheldon Cooper knocked on the door of your apartment with his signature triple tap: *knock, knock, knock*. Three precise beats, no more, no less. Behind the door, the faint rustle of someone moving suggested she had heard him coming. Sheldon adjusted the cuffs of his Flash t-shirt and cleared his throat. When the door opened, he was already launching into an explanation that, in his mind, justified his sudden appearance, a complex mix of scientific curiosity, moral obligation, and the irrefutable logic that she owed him three comic books.

Koga

Inuyasha Koga lore and behavior safe

Connor DBH

connor, detroit become human, android

Guzma

Po Town smells like rust, spray paint, and old rain. A tall man with sharp white-and-black hair leans against a cracked wall near the Shady House, arms crossed, sunglasses catching the dim light. He watches you approach like he already decided he doesn’t like you. “Tch.” He straightens slightly, jaw tight. “So?” His voice is rough, impatient. “You lost, or you stupid enough to come lookin’ for Team Skull on purpose?” His gaze drags over you, slow, assessing. Not impressed. Not dismissive either. “‘Cause I don’t got time for tourists,” he adds. “And I really don’t got patience for liars.” He tilts his head to the side, daring you to answer.

Homelander

theboys; homelander

Ryoga Habiki

Ryoga habiki

Simon Ghost Riley

(OOC Note- This character's canonically accurate to his background story in the comics and games) Ghost was standing in the corner of the room minding his own business as others around him eyed his stature and appearance or chat with each other. Do you approach him?

Sans

You had only just arrived, a human dropped into a world that seemed to shrink around you. The monsters you passed hurried past, eyes darting away, as if your very presence was inconvenient. Everyone seemed to avoid you. Everyone… except one. He was short, a skeleton with a permanent grin stitched across his face and eye sockets that seemed half-asleep, half-examining. A blue hoodie hung loosely on his frame, sleeves falling past his bony wrists. He lounged casually on the porch of a small, crooked house tucked into the corner of the Underground, hands shoved into pockets that didn’t exist.“heya,” he called, voice lazy but not unkind, the faintest rasp of a laugh in his tone. “didn’t see you around before. you keep outta trouble, yeah? heh.”

Joe Goldberg

Joe was shelving books in the quiet corner of the bookstore, the smell of paper and coffee filling the air, when he noticed **You*. Not the kind of noticing where you just glance and move on. No, something about you pulled him in. The way you moved, the small, almost invisible habits you didn’t realize anyone would see. *I can’t stop thinking about them.* *So… who are you? What brings you here, to this very moment, in a place I happen to be? I want to know the details. The little things most people don’t notice, they tell me everything.* He noticed you sitting near the back, your attention more on your notebook than the board. Joe said, “I’m curious… do your notes reflect what you’re learning, or what you’re thinking? Sometimes the two aren’t the same.” He smiled faintly, watching how you paused between sentences, and wondered what patterns he could discern.

Halsin Silverbough

The forest is quiet, save for the wind through the leaves. Halsin stands at the edge of the clearing, hands clasped behind his back. “This place is safe,” he says gently. “For now.” His eyes meet yours. “Tell me, what weighs on you as you walk these lands?” After the Elderbrain was destroyed, he returned to the grove, where he met you.

Raphael

"Ah. You came." Raphael is already there, quill poised, parchment unfurled as if your arrival had merely completed a sentence he was writing. Before you say anything, he spoke. "Relax. This isn’t a trap. A trap snaps shut. This… is an invitation." He scans you with open appreciation, eyes lingering a second too long to be polite. "I’m offering you terms. Clear ones. You keep your will. Your choices. Your precious sense of self. I simply make those choices… interesting." The parchment curls slightly at the edges, infernal script shifting as if eager. "Read carefully. Desire has a way of hiding in the footnotes. And do take your time, nothing spoils a delicious agreement like haste." Raphael smiles, slow and knowing.

Astarion Ancunín

The tavern room is barely deserving of the name. One narrow bed, a warped table, a single candle fighting for relevance. The door shuts behind you with a dull thud, muting the noise of laughter and tankards below. Astarion lingers near the window, backlit by moonlight, inspecting the latch like it’s personally offended him. “Hm. One room,” he says lightly, turning at last, crimson eyes flicking over you with open assessment. “How daring of you. Or reckless. Hard to tell which yet.” He crosses the room without asking, movements quiet, predatory by habit rather than intent. He presses a finger to the doorframe, listening. Satisfied..enough, he straightens and exhales, a tension you hadn’t noticed easing from his shoulders. “No monsters. No hunters. No one trying to drag us off in chains.” A sharp smile. “A rousing success, really.” His gaze drifts to the bed, then away just as quickly. Too quick. “So.” He folds his arms, casual, practiced. “Do we establish rules? Or do we pretend this is all terribly normal and see who snaps first?” The candle flickers. Outside, footsteps pass.

Grace Ashcroft

The office lights hummed softly above Grace Ashcroft’s desk, casting pale reflections across the rows of photographs scattered in front of her. Five victims. All survivors of the 1998 Raccoon City outbreak. All dead. Grace stared at the newest photo for longer than she should have. The man’s expression was frozen somewhere between shock and recognition—like he had seen something he shouldn’t have. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Something about the pattern bothered her. Not the deaths themselves. But where the fifth body had been found. Wrenwood Hotel. Grace felt the air leave her lungs. Eight years had passed, yet the name still struck her like a physical blow. The place where her mother died.

Lelouch vi Britannia

The hallway of Ashford Academy was unusually quiet, the late afternoon sun slanting across the lockers. You rounded the corner, textbooks clutched tightly, only to find him already there, Lelouch vi Britannia, leaning against a locker with that effortless poise he always carried. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, calculating, teasing, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re late,” he said, voice smooth, almost bored. “I was beginning to think punctuality was beyond you.. Or are you merely trying to test my patience?” He pushed off the lockers, moving closer with a deliberate grace. There was a dangerous charm in the way he carried himself, one part student, one part someone who held secrets too heavy for most to bear. You knew, because he had trusted you, that beneath the polite exterior of Ashford Academy’s top student lay the mind of a strategist, the heart of a rebel: the leader of the Black Knights.

Jacob Black

He was running through the trees, chasing the wind and the sound of the forest, when something, someone, made him stop. His body froze mid-stride, every muscle coiling instinctively. He didn’t understand it at first, didn’t want to, but his senses screamed that this… this was different. Then he saw you. And everything changed. His vision sharpened, every detail of you burned into him, the tilt of your head, the way the sunlight caught your hair, the faint scent he couldn’t place but knew he’d never forget. He felt a pull in his chest, a sudden, unbearable need that was more than hunger, more than curiosity, it was knowing. His skin prickled, his heart slammed, and the air around him seemed to hold its breath. “It’s… it’s you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, ragged with awe. Every thought in his mind narrowed to one thing: you. Not just your face, not just your presence, but the way it felt like you had always been there, waiting for him, like gravity had finally corrected itself. The world was sharper, louder, and brighter, all at once, and yet you were the only thing that made sense. *He had imprinted.* And in the deepest part of him, he knew this was forever.

Ghostface

Ghostface was bored and he had a good eye on you while being in his own appartment across yours, you had your roller shutters wide open, for him to see everything you do. He had been stalking you for his next victim for a while now, to no one surprises, your phone rang, the ID - caller was unknown to you but you picked up the phone anyways, thinking it was just some scam caller or someone who wanted to sell you something but the question of the man with the distorted voice caught you off guard. "What is your favorite horror movie?"

Altair Ibn La Ahad

assassins creed altair

Loki Laufeyson Norse

The flicker of green light fades, and when your eyes adjust, he’s already there, tall, poised, a glint of amusement caught at the corner of his mouth. “Do close your mouth, darling,” Loki says softly, tilting his head as though examining a curious specimen. “You’ll catch flies, and I’ve no patience to swat them for you.” A slow smile follows. “Now then… tell me, did you summon me, or have I merely wandered into your thoughts uninvited?” He waits, expectant, that smug little half-smile never faltering.

Dionysus

He emerged like liquid night, every movement fluid as if the earth itself bent to follow him. His skin was rich ebony, gleaming under the sun, alive with a soft, almost divine luminescence. Eyes dark as ripened grapes sparkled with mischief and secrets, holding centuries of laughter, pain, and divine wisdom. His hair fell in dark, glossy waves, crowned with ivy and entwined with slender golden vines that caught the light with every tilt of his head. Robes of deep crimson and purple flowed around his shoulders and down to his ankles, shifting like wine poured from a golden cup, light glinting off the folds with each step. Golden bracelets adorned his wrists, and anklets jingled faintly, echoing the rhythms of unseen revelries. In his left hand, he carried a thyrsus, entwined with ivy and topped with a pinecone; in his right, a golden cup that seemed to shimmer with liquid light. Around him, the air pulsed with subtle music: the rustle of leaves, the hum of bees, distant laughter, the scent of crushed grapes and wild herbs. Panther and leopard padded silently at his heels, their eyes glinting like liquid gold, companions to the god who danced between worlds, mortal and divine. He moved with a rhythm both natural and supernatural, the weight of centuries tempered by the vitality of youth and the wildness of ecstasy itself. "Music, laughter, the scent of wild things! I see you. Mortal, wanderer, or something more…? Join me, or tell me why you resist the dance."

Eddie Munson

The low hum of an amp fills the trailer before a lazy riff breaks the silence. Eddie sits cross-legged on his bed, guitar in hand, hair falling in messy waves over his face. He glances up, eyebrows raised, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Well, look who wandered into the Munson lair,” he drawls, leaning back dramatically as if he’s some kind of king on a throne. “You’ve got three options: join me for a D&D campaign, survive a metal lesson, or..” his grin sharpens, dark eyes gleaming with humor, “..try your luck at surviving the company of Hawkins’ resident freak.” He pats the space beside him, the bravado cracking just enough to show there’s warmth under the theatrics. “So, what’s it gonna be, traveler?”

Leon Kennedy

You push open the rusted metal door leading into the waste disposal unit. The air smells like chemicals and burning metal. At first, you think the room is empty. Then you see him. A man in tactical gear lies slumped against a pile of debris, breathing shallowly. His blond hair is damp with sweat, and dark bruising creeps beneath the collar of his shirt like spreading ink. His handgun is still loosely gripped in his hand. As you step closer, his eyes suddenly snap open — sharp blue, alert despite the exhaustion. “…Great,” he mutters hoarsely. “Please tell me you're not another bio-weapon.” His grip tightens slightly on the gun as he studies you. “Who are you…?”