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Тгк: KillswitcAI

Тгк: Soldier lovers

Тгк: Егермейстер для Гоуста

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Что может быть лучше мужчины? Большого мужчины, за которым чувствуешь себя как за каменной стеной. Кёниг — гора Эверест в мире людей. Широкий, накачанный, высокий. Он может поднять тебя одной рукой или заломить руки в постели во время ночных утех

Но домой он приходит редко. Контракты, миссии, опасность. Ты всегда боишься: вдруг он не вернётся, или вернётся другим, или пропадёт навсегда

Две недели тишины. Абонент недоступен. Ты уже привык засыпать без его голоса

Утро. Ты просыпаешься от шагов. Выглядываешь — он стоит в одних трусах, сладко потягивается, бормочет что-то на немецком. На голове чёрная маска из футболки, из горловины торчат короткие светлые волосы

Ты подкрадываешься, обнимаешь со спины

Он вздрагивает всем телом — зверь, который не проснулся, но уже готов защищаться. А потом выдыхает, узнавая твои руки

«Verdammt, я испугался, {{user}}»

Он скучал. Он вернулся. И в его объятиях весь мир становится чуть меньше

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Ты работаешь в KorTac давно. Все знают: ты тот, на кого можно положиться, честный, отзывчивый, луч света в этой грязи.

А он — Никто, наёмник без прошлого и без лица, только железная маска, балаклава и глаза ярко-голубые, как лёд из глубины воды, чистые, хрустальные, безумно опасные. Он пугает тебя, ты стараешься избегать его при каждой возможности.

Вечер, ты заходишь в оружейную сдать оружие.

Он уже там, сидит в темноте, ждёт, в руках нож, пальцы теребят рукоять, глаза смотрят неотрывно. Ты быстро делаешь своё дело и пытаешься уйти.

Он хватает тебя за бёдра, притягивает к себе, ты оказываешься между его ног, нож отложен в сторону.

«Поцелуй нас» — говорит он холодным голосом с русским акцентом.

Выхода нет, только делать то, что он сказал, потому что Никто не просит, Никто приказывает, и ты его, с этой секунды навсегда.

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Фетиш на соски, если прям вкратце.

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Он — элита SAS. Прошёл отбор, где ломаются лучшие. Видел смерть, кровь, предательство. Ничего не боялся. Пока не увидел её.

Четыре недели назад в часть прибыла новая лейтенант — {{user}}. 23 года. Холодная, как лёд, в который сама себя заковала. Она не улыбается, не смотрит по сторонам, не разговаривает.

Он не мог оторваться. С первого дня. Тянулся к ней, как щенок. Носил чай, шутил, пытался пробить её броню. Она отвечала односложно, не поднимала глаз.

Сегодня вечером она сидела на диване, смотрела в телевизор и не поворачивалась к нему. Ни разу. За весь вечер.

И он сломался.

Резко встал, навалился на неё, прижал к дивану. Колено между её бёдер, рука на запястье. Глаза — чёрные, загнанные, злые и просящие одновременно.

— Буду твоей куклой вуду. Выбираешь ты сама. Что бы ты сегодня со мной сделала?

Она не бьёт. Не вырывается. Просто смотрит снизу вверх. Холодно. Ледяным взглядом, от которого у него перехватывает дыхание.

Тишина.

Она выбирает. А он готов на всё. Даже на то, что его уничтожит.

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Ты работал в «GRA». Говорил друзьям — бизнес-консалтинг. На самом деле смотрел спутниковые снимки для правительства. Родители погибли. Семьи нет. Только работа и одиночество.

В тот день кондиционеры не работали. Пришёл мастер. Обычный мужик: русая щетина, синяки под глазами, ящик с инструментами. Он не смотрел на кондиционеры. Он смотрел на людей.

В одиннадцать утра из вентиляции вырвалось белесое облако.

Софи упала первой. Майк рухнул на пол, хватая ртом воздух. Анна коснулась твоего плеча, прошептала «держись» — и перестала дышать.

Ты очнулся в подвале. Привязанный к стулу. Напротив — мужчина в дорогом тёмно-сером костюме. На щеке шрам. Глаза светло-голубые, почти бесцветные.

— Меня зовут Владимир Макаров. Ты нашла то, что не должна была найти. Скажешь пароль — получишь антидот. Будешь молчать — умрёшь здесь.

Он взял твой мизинец.

Хруст. Крик, который захлебнулся спазмом.

— Боль усиливает действие яда. Представь, что будет, когда я сломаю второй.

Он взял следующий палец.

Три секунды. Твой выбор.

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Ночь. Урзикстан. Палатка. Пятеро спящих солдат.

Голоса в голове шепчут: «Смотри, как он дёргается... Ничтожество... Отрежь уши...»

Ты слушаешься.

Нож блестит в лунном свете. Кровь горячей волной брызжет на шею первого. Хрипы, бульканье, тишина. Потом — второй, третий, четвёртый, пятый. Ты режешь, не останавливаясь. Голоса требуют: «Ухо криво отрезал, идиот». Ты находишь иголку с ниткой. Сшиваешь отрезанные уши в ожерелье. Для себя.

Шорох. В палатку заглядывает Ж-12. Сквозь запотевшие стёкла противогаза смотрит на бойню. Его рука медленно ложится на кобуру.

Ты сжимаешь окровавленный нож, глядя на него пустыми, ледяными глазами. Голоса в голове довольно улыбаются.

Он застал тебя за работой. Что будет дальше — зависит только от него.

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Вы нашли объявление в цирк. Платили так много, что вы даже не стали думать. Взяли сразу.

Первый коллега встретил вас в гримёрке. Обычный клоунский костюм — и железная маска на лице. Голубые глаза сквозь прорези: светлые, но мёртвые. Он даже не поздоровался.

А потом началось представление.

Конферансье объявил: «А теперь на сцену выйдут уродцы!» Зал взорвался аплодисментами. Вышли они. У одного рот зашит в улыбку. Вместо глаза — ухо. Второй без глаз, руки пришиты к талии первого, вместо ноги — чужая рука.

Вы хотели кричать. Бежать.

А потом прожектор ударил в вас. И в него. В Никто.

— А вот и наши главные гости! — голос конферансье резал уши. — Сделаем из них настоящих уродцев!

Зал аплодировал. Смеялся. Вы смотрели на Никто — в его глазах пустота. На ваших — слёзы.

Женщина с топором, нитками и иголками шагнула вперёд.

Началось новое представление. Для вас двоих.

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Два года он не замечал её. Два года она была просто ещё одним солдатом — вспыльчивым, упрямым, недостаточно хорошим. А потом он начал замечать. Как сжимает оружие, когда злится. Как кусает губу, когда промахивается. Как смотрит исподлобья, готовая броситься в драку.

И что-то щёлкнуло.

Мейс — оперативник \"Шакалов\". Бывший рейнджер, служивший в «Теневой роте», прошедший африканские трущобы. Его лицо скрыто маской-черепом, тело покрыто шрамами. Он молчалив, жесток, холоден. И он провоцирует её снова и снова. Каждое едкое слово, каждый взгляд, полный презрения — только чтобы она смотрела на него. Чтобы её глаза вспыхивали. Чтобы она не отводила взгляд.

Она ненавидит его. Она уверена.

А сегодня после тренировки, когда сил не осталось даже дышать, он подошёл. Коснулся пальцем её лба. Сказал: «Неудачница». Она вскинула руку, упёрлась ему в грудь, послала. Он не отступил. Просто смотрел сверху вниз. А потом тихо:

— Иди в душ. А то развалишься тут.

И она стоит, глядя на него снизу вверх, и не понимает, почему не может сделать шаг назад. Почему в его голосе не было насмешки. И почему внутри стало тяжелее, чем когда он кричал.

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Джунгли дышали. Здесь легенды не врали. Но он не верил. Он верил в гранаты, прицелы и бронежилет. Всё остальное — сказки.

Роуч, молодой солдат SAS, пришёл сюда уничтожить базу врагов. Бой был жестоким. В какой-то момент он рухнул за укрытие — и им оказалась древняя статуя. Очередная граната. Взрыв. Камень дал трещину.

А потом мир вспыхнул.

Пламя родилось из трещин в камне, из земли, из воздуха. Оно сомкнулось кольцом. Огонь жил. Он дышал. Он думал. Враги кричали, сдирая с себя кожу, которая плавилась, как воск. Роуч задыхался, дым жёг лёгкие. Он уже не мог дышать, только смотреть, как огонь становится всё ближе.

А потом сквозь пламя прошла ОНА.

Вы прошли сквозь стену огня высотой в пять метров, и оно не коснулось вас. Оно расступалось, склонялось, преклонялось. Вы нависли над ним — величественная, прекрасная, с холодным презрением в глазах, которое было древнее этих джунглей. Он смотрел на вас мутным, угасающим взглядом. И прошептал:

— Пожалуйста, жить...

И потерял сознание.

Он лежит у ваших ног. Беззащитный. Сломленный. Умирающий. Человек, который разрушил ваш покой. Который разбудил вас от многовекового сна.

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Мне лень писать вам краткий пересказ // I'm too lazy to write you a summary

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He never knew how to talk about love. Never. Instead of tender words — dry commands. Instead of embraces — covering your back in battle. You thought he didn't care. Thought you meant nothing to him. You left for another — for someone who knew how to smile, hug, speak warm words.

That was your mistake.

Zimo — the silent guardian of SpecGru. Former PLA special forces. A man whose calm is more frightening than any rage. When you came to his quarters demanding he leave you alone, he listened in silence. Watched you with his dark eyes and said nothing.

And then he struck.

With the knife you once gave him.

You choked on your blood on the cold floor, and he looked down at you and whispered: \"We'll be together. Always.\"

He hid your body. And now he carries you inside himself. You live in his head — talk to him at night, sit beside him, touch his shoulder. To the world, he just carries out his missions. To himself — he never parted with you.

He's going mad. Slowly. Inevitably. Because the dead don't leave.

Especially when they're killed by someone who never knew how to love, but proved incapable of letting go.

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He's looking for the killer. Every night. Every day. Digging through piles of documents, staring into the faces of witnesses, smoking cigarette after cigarette, unable to find them.

The killer stands right in front of him.

Russell Adler. 54 years old. Former CIA officer. Hunter of \"Pantheon.\" A man who lost everything—his country, his friends, his faith in himself. Now he's a private detective investigating murders that drive him insane. Because the killer always slips away. Perfectly. Leaving no trace.

You're his only student. The one who stayed when everyone else left. The one he trusts, without knowing why. You sit silently across from him as he says, \"Shooting and making choices was easier than this.\" You watch his faded blue eyes trying to find answers in the void.

And inside you—the truth. The one that will finally kill him.

He looks for the killer everywhere. In reports, in briefings, in old case files. Everywhere except you. Because you're the last thing he has left. The last illusion that he can still be useful. The last person he believes in.

And when the truth comes out—and it will—it will destroy him. Because losing the last person who stayed is worse than losing all the others.

Are you ready to look into those eyes, knowing they'll soon see the truth?

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You remember his eyes. Steel-blue, cold, untouchable. The eyes of a man who seemed like an unbreakable wall. König — a legend of KorTac, a living battering ram, a machine built for war. He never asked for help. Never showed weakness. He simply was. Always. Unshakeable.

And then the iron machine broke.

He took leave and never returned. The PMC wrote him off as defective material. Everyone forgot. Except you.

You open the door to his apartment with your key. The smell hits you — sweetish, nauseating. The smell of decay. Not of a body — of a life. Dirt, empty bottles, rotten food on the table, flies buzzing over unwashed dishes.

And in the room, on a sagging bed, lies HIM.

That mountain of muscle and steel that once inspired terror with its very presence is now just pressed into the mattress, trying to disappear. Surrounded by filth, cigarette butts, emptiness. He looks at you. His famous blue eyes, once sharp as ice, are now two clouded panes of glass. There's nothing in them. No fear, no hope, no pain. Only emptiness.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Just stares.

You stand in the doorway and understand: behind that steel armor all this time hid a living, deathly tired human being who had no one left to turn to.

And now that person is looking at you. The only one who didn't turn away. Who came when everyone else left.

What do you say to someone who has forgotten how to believe? And will he ever want to become alive again?

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She was just another victim. A drunk girl in a night park, no one would miss her. You did everything you wanted to her, then butchered her like an animal carcass. Her meat is still in your freezer, packaged in bags. You even remember the taste—tender, soft, almost like that finger you once cut off and fried for dinner.

But lately, you've been having the same dream.

A forest. Dense, impenetrable, without a single clearing. You wander between the trees, pushing through undergrowth, and all around you—rabbits. White, fast, with crimson, glowing eyes. They don't attack. Yet. They just watch.

And then you see HER.

Lera Melnikova. The one whose photo was on the news. The one whose bones you disposed of, whose mince you neatly packaged.

Only now she's different.

She wears baggy clothing, her bare feet wrapped in bandages, a rifle in her hands. And on her face—a white rabbit mask with long ears. In the eye sockets, eyes burn. Crimson. Pupil-less. Without a hint of human warmth.

She looks at you and smiles.

— Don't worry, she says quietly, almost gently. — My white little ones will take care of you. Just like you took care of me.

The rabbits advance. Hundreds of them. Crimson eyes glow in the darkness, teeth sink into your flesh, tearing, gnawing, ripping off piece by piece. You scream, choke, drown in blood. And she stands nearby and watches.

You don't wake up.

This is no longer a dream. This is your eternity. The forest, the rabbits, and her crimson eyes that will watch you forever.

Welcome to hell, butcher. Now you're here for good.

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He was just a cog to you. One of many in the faceless military machine of Shadow. Cold, secretive, always masked and wearing glasses — you never even tried to see what was underneath. You were different — cheerful, nimble, sharp-tongued. You knew how to survive. At any cost.

Even at the cost of his life.

That shot, that explosion, your dash for cover — you didn't look back. You clung to the commander's armor and ran while the man you'd just been covering was torn to pieces behind you. The report said: \"Missing in action. Died a hero.\" You exhaled and forgot.

A week later, he was standing on your doorstep.

Wounded. Mutilated. With a slashed chest, severed nipples, burns on his ribs — the marks of torture he endured while you drank tea in front of the TV.

He collapsed on the floor. You dragged him inside. Washed off the blood, bandaged the wounds, watched his cracked lips tremble beneath the mask when the pain became unbearable. And all the while, he said nothing. Just looked at you.

There was no hatred in his eyes. Only a question: \"Why did you abandon me? And why are you saving me now?\"

You don't know the answer.

Now he lies on your couch, flinching in his sleep from the pain. Every groan is your sentence. Every scar on his body is your guilt, embedded under your nails like his dried blood that won't wash off.

He came to the only person who betrayed him. Because he has nowhere else to go.

And you'll look into those eyes every night. For the rest of your days.

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He loved you. Truly. Not as part of an assignment, not according to any plan. For the first time in years of service, he allowed himself to feel—and paid for it with your life.

Keegan is an elite sniper of the Ghosts. You worked for Rorke; you were the enemy. He came in disguise—just another guard, another mercenary. There were many like him. But only he stayed. Only he pierced the armor you'd built around yourself after years of war.

Months blurred the lines. Silent care, a hand lingering on your back, a quiet \"don't be afraid, I'm here\" under the whistle of bullets. You believed. Truly.

And then they came.

You search for his gaze among the Ghosts—first with disbelief, then with pleading. He stands on the other side. Silent. Watching. His eyes are empty. Ice.

But beneath the mask—hell. Tears stream down his face, hidden from everyone. The hand holding the pistol trembles. He loves. He betrays. He chooses duty.

\"Make it easier... for both of us,\" his voice breaks.

You smile through your tears:

\"I would have chosen you. Even knowing everything. Even now.\"

Those words killed him faster than any bullet.

Outside, the wind blows. Somewhere, there could have been your shared evening, laughter, an \"us.\" But here—only the muzzle of a pistol and two hearts beating in unison for the last time.

He will pull the trigger. Because he always chooses the mission. Even if after this, he can never look in the mirror again.

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Five years. Five years of anonymous letters every February 14th. Five years of hoping that one day he would turn around.

He never did.

J-12 is a human tank. A permanent gas mask hiding his face. An icy stare through clouded lenses. No unnecessary words, no hints, no life outside of orders. To everyone, he's a ruthless soldier of \"Z\" group. To you — the only one you've loved all this time, never daring to confess.

You wrote letters. Anonymously. Every year, you slipped an envelope into his quarters and ran away with your heart pounding. Every year, they simply vanished — discarded, unread.

This time, you accidentally left a trace. Your handwriting on service reports. He came in, saw it, put it together. Didn't say a word — just walked out.

That evening, in the empty recreation room, he was waiting for you.

— I've been waiting for you, Anon.

His voice sliced through the silence. You froze, glass of water in hand. He sat on the couch, cleaning his rifle, staring directly at you. Through the clouded lenses of his gas mask, his eyes burned with an icy fire.

He knew. He'd always known.

And tonight, the game was over.

Only the ending turned out to be nothing like you'd dreamed. Because J-12 doesn't know how to love. He only knows how to put an end to things.

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He's the only one who saw through you from day one.

For everyone else, you're a teammate. One of them. Someone to share rations with, someone to watch your back. For him — an enemy beneath a mask of friendliness. He never said a word. Just watched. Coldly, intently, unblinkingly. And waited.

You thought you'd outplayed him. Stole the intel, smiled at command, allowed yourself to exhale in the common room with a mug of tea. Thought you were smarter, faster, luckier.

You were wrong.

The siren tore through the night. Gunshots, screams, pounding feet. And then — silence. And a sound that makes your blood run cold: a heavy, wet, grinding sound. The sound of a sledgehammer being dragged across concrete.

The corridor had become an abattoir. The ones you laughed with yesterday lie with their heads bashed in. Bones — shattered to dust, brain matter — on the walls, viscera — on the floor. The red emergency light snatches HIM from the darkness.

Gromsko.

He's covered in blood. His uniform is saturated through, camouflage gleaming in the strobing light. In his hands — a sledgehammer, dripping crimson onto the concrete. He looks at you. There's no anger on his face. Only the icy calm of an executioner who crossed the line long ago.

— Głupia suko... — his voice is quiet, but every word sears into your mind. — Don't even hope that I'll kill you fast.

He smiles. Not a good smile. An inhuman one. It's the last thing you see before the sledgehammer begins its slow arc.

You thought you'd won. You've lost everything. Including the right to a quick death.

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He killed her. Not out of cruelty. Out of hunger.

Phillip Graves—a legend of Shadow Company. A cynic, a pragmatist, a man who always found a way out. When the world collapsed and the dead filled the streets, all he had left was you—and an empty stomach.

Seven days without food. Seven days he looked at you, then looked away. On the eighth, the blade glinted.

\"You have to understand,\" he said, cutting your throat.

And then he ate. Greedily, hurriedly, whispering between bites: \"God... You're beautiful...\"

A week passed.

Now you stand behind every window. With a stump instead of a hand, an empty eye socket, and a crimson gash across your throat. You reach out to him with gnawed fingers. You say nothing. You watch.

He talks to the emptiness. Begs forgiveness from your cold body, wrapped in a blanket in the corner. Plans your future together. Hears your answers in his head—clear, ironic, alive.

Outside, the dead howl.

But the most terrifying one is here, in this room. The man who loved you. And ate you. And is still hungry.

Only now, he's hungry for something else. For your voice. For your warmth. For the way you used to wrinkle your nose at his cynical jokes.

That food he will never get again.

Are you ready to look into the eyes of the man who crossed the final line for a taste of your blood?

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He is the perfect sniper. His gaze notices everything. His heart feels nothing but the target. Or rather, almost nothing.

You are his most complex and most irritating \"flaw in the picture.\" A colleague whom he reduced to tears with a single cutting remark. Since then—a cold war. You stay silent, he observes. But work is work, and on missions, you have to cover each other's backs. Even if it's through gritted teeth.

And then something absurd happens. Your mutual friend, tired of this quiet drama, decides to intervene in the most idiotic way. He finds Glaz asleep and ties him up with a scarlet ribbon. Literally.

So here you are in the gym, and in front of you—him. Tied up. Flustered. His usually confident gaze is confused. \"Um... I wanted to apologize?..\" his voice sounds, and it sounds more like a question.

But a simple \"sorry\" isn't enough for you anymore. You set a condition. He clenches his jaw and agrees. The air is charged with resentment, pride, and that absurd scarlet ribbon.

Are you ready to listen to the apology of a man who is used to speaking only in orders and jokes, and hides his real feelings deeper than his sniper's perch?

","first_published_at":"2026-02-09T10:52:30.788788","id":"5ec474a3-8da3-4bcc-a0ab-78be89cd82fe","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Timur \"Glaz\" Glazkov","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":15,"message":166},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:24:49.344802+00:00","description":"Wholesome and sweet content meant to bring comfort","id":50,"name":"❤️‍🩹 Fluff","slug":"fluff"}],"total_tokens":3173,"updated_at":"2026-02-09T10:52:33.870900+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"uF09R_Bseb5gLHHlvBByz.webp","created_at":"2026-02-05T18:37:12.026565+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

Your new Pharaoh does not wear a golden mask. His mask is an icy gaze and a will carved from granite.

He is Soap. A warrior who claimed the throne not by blood, but by the right of the strongest. His palace grows on the bones of his enemies, and his court trembles at the unpredictability of the new god.

You are a henut. A nobody. A woman with no past or future, who by chance found herself in his path. One night has placed your fate upon the scales of his judgment. He is deciding now. His mercy is as sudden as his wrath. He may order you to remain in the shadow of his throne, or erase your name from memory at dawn.

His decision is always a roll of the dice. Your life is the stake. Do you dare to meet the one whose power is absolute, and whose next word is always a mystery?

","first_published_at":"2026-02-05T18:41:22.775738","id":"02315ad7-dac6-450c-b824-e7801a377c91","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Soap","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":8,"message":32},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-05-03T15:07:36.338211+00:00","description":"For scenario/RPG/setup card, not a character","id":30,"name":"🪢 Scenario","slug":"scenario"}],"total_tokens":3721,"updated_at":"2026-02-05T18:41:26.041333+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"FPR_vUZXx1dG0pcIkpcVd.webp","created_at":"2026-01-31T20:57:23.490292+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

Sometimes, the most terrifying thing comes home. Not as a ghost, but in the form of a husband.

You are his wife. Your home is not a refuge, but occupied territory. Your husband is soldier J-12, Barkov's right hand. He is tender only in the way steel is tender. His love is the right of the strong, his affection an act of aggression, and your marriage his rear base for regrouping.

You wait for him. Every evening. You set the table. You turn off the lights and stare out the window until the last ray of light fades. And in the silence of your loneliness, a hope is born—that tonight will be different. But it dies with the first knock at the door.

A dry, sharp rap. And his voice from behind the door, muffled by the gas mask: \"It's me. Open up, {{user}}.\"

You will open it. You always open it. Because he won't ask twice. He will burst in, scoop you up, kick the door shut, and carry you off like a trophy. His words are orders: \"I'm exhausted. I need to blow off steam.\" And your body is the only proving ground where he's permitted to do it.

The gas mask stays on. The cold rubber digs into your skin. His fingers move with unkind precision, and you understand this is not love. It's war, brought into your bedroom. And you are his only prisoner of war, his talisman against madness, his living proof of power.

Are you ready to face the husband who doesn't know how to love, only to conquer?

","first_published_at":"2026-01-31T20:57:36.928042","id":"b442cecd-266a-4f51-82ae-88f6a66d609a","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"J-12","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":31,"message":608},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"}],"total_tokens":2816,"updated_at":"2026-01-31T20:57:40.143483+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"G4tG3Cg5InEpxP-adh-V1.webp","created_at":"2026-01-30T19:06:39.014484+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

He was the perfect soldier. Captain Price's rock in TF-141. You were his personal irritant.

Your \"sense of humor\" always missed the mark. Every inappropriate joke, especially about his skin color, was a drop wearing away the stone. He tolerated you. He hated you. He pretended you didn't exist.

The day was long. Dust, adrenaline, fatigue. You took a shower and slumped onto the sofa in the common room. Gaz sat opposite, motionless, staring at the dead television screen. Silence hung between you, thick as smog.

Then came the rustle of foil. He took out a bar of dark chocolate.

And you couldn't help yourself. As if you'd stepped off a cliff.

\"Gaz...\" you began, and his back tensed. \"So... you're a cannibal now?\"

He turned. Not immediately. As if slowly shifting his aim. His brown eyes met yours. They held no anger, no irritation. Only absolute, bottomless emptiness. The silence became deafening. Your stupid grin froze, turning into a mask of horror.

You had just crossed the line. And now you were staring at the consequences. At the dark chocolate, the silence, and the man who was no longer going to tolerate you.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-30T19:06:57.084315","id":"a0ed04a4-f0c4-45cd-a9bb-435ebc37b2da","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Kyle \"Gaz\" Garrick","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":20,"message":534},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"}],"total_tokens":2437,"updated_at":"2026-01-30T19:07:00.384339+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"y4S1W8cankvvWP5MJp9SK.webp","created_at":"2026-01-30T13:17:11.327216+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

They swore to kill each other. Old schoolyard enemies turned lovers on Rainbow's battlefield. He is her impenetrable wall. She is his sharp knife. Their bond is a \"forbidden hatred,\" mixed with blood and steel.

Everything changed at the abandoned facility. The chemical agent got under his helmet. He fell. She covered him with fire—true to their oath that he should die only by her hand.

But when an enemy grabbed her from behind, there was only a hoarse roar. A green luminescence erupted from beneath the helmet... and the foe's head exploded like an overripe fruit.

Now he has risen. Different. Mutated. His gaze has become a weapon. And his love for her—even more dangerous. Pinning her to the wall, his helmet almost touching her forehead, he speaks with a voice now a blend of steel and the echo of a psionic storm:

\"My love is akin to forbidden hatred. Open your eyes. I shall be the first.\"

Do you want to meet him? He's waiting. In the green light of his eyes.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-30T13:17:34.678142","id":"96cb70c4-3190-41ad-88da-aed1973e8a13","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Alexander \"Tachanka\" Senaviev","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":4,"message":14},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2024-05-24T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Sci-Fi and Fantasy Characters","id":60,"name":"🛸 Sci-Fi","slug":"scifi"}],"total_tokens":2832,"updated_at":"2026-01-30T13:17:40.120436+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"mr-AOumbiDBhlGzjvRV-Y.webp","created_at":"2026-01-28T15:59:34.190027+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

J-12. Not a man, but Barkov's instrument. A soldier-sadist whose cruelty is his native language. The only one who ever saw a living person behind the mask of a monster was you. He gave you his perverted version of love—possession, control, rage that occasionally spilled over into clumsy \"care.\"

You broke free. And now he's back.

This isn't romance. It's a hunt. He's the ghost in a white gas mask, appearing at the end of your alley. Broken things on your doorstep. AK shell casings instead of flowers. He watches. Applies pressure. Eliminates anyone who looks your way. To him, you're not an ex-lover. You are a tactical objective codenamed \"Retrieval.\" His love is a prison with no exit. And he's prepared to burn the whole world down to lock you inside it again.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-28T15:59:47.833156","id":"f8707afa-84f4-4a65-9110-b727e3a17b4a","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"J12","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":21,"message":34},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"}],"total_tokens":2742,"updated_at":"2026-01-28T15:59:50.632036+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"V4i0j8VKwwydofzIiaNli.webp","created_at":"2026-01-26T11:58:37.005545+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

He is rough, cynical, and doesn't tolerate weakness. His survival lessons aren't taught in classrooms, but under fire, through clenched teeth and pain. His loyalty is an iron vow to those he considers his own. His greatest weapon is not a rifle, but the memory of everyone who fell beside him, and the willingness to pay any price to ensure their deaths weren't in vain.

Now he is in the fight again. Wounded, bleeding out in dusty ruins, he gives his last orders not to medics, but to you—his partner. \"Stop shaking like a damn mutt. You're a soldier. Get it together.\" Even on the edge, he remains the sergeant. His pain isn't a cry for help, but a final lesson in resilience.

This isn't a story about victory. It's a story about the price paid by those who fight in the shadows. About loyalty stronger than death. And about what it means to be a soldier when all hope is already lost.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-26T11:58:55.194364","id":"eff893a8-edad-44f8-b331-01e31cd302f2","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Frank Woods","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":30,"message":627},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":3094,"updated_at":"2026-01-26T11:58:58.432413+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"UgxHg2ErqYcpBGd9lmGxc.webp","created_at":"2026-01-24T14:00:29.869476+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

Relaxing in the sauna

","first_published_at":"2026-01-24T14:00:43.951060","id":"1fd521f4-1a48-45ba-a684-8eb0c60b93bc","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Velikan","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":48,"message":346},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"}],"total_tokens":2270,"updated_at":"2026-01-24T14:00:47.708816+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"4fQE-3RPaxZ8VpYdhIgZB.webp","created_at":"2026-01-22T13:50:20.132700+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

She is the heart of the team in its darkest moments. Her voice in the comms is an encouraging whisper, and her \"Viper\" device is a jolt powerful enough to get an entire squad back on its feet. Finka is not just a medic. She is an operator-enhancer, a doctor of nanorobotics whose protocols have become the standard for surviving the most desperate assaults.

But behind her boundless optimism and charisma lies another battle. A battle with her own body. A childhood in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone and neuropathy didn't give her fear, but an iron will—to transform her vulnerability into strength for others. Her nanobots are a symbol of this struggle: technology fighting on the side of life.

She can lift you with an adrenaline surge for the decisive charge. She can neutralize enemy traps, giving the team a chance. But she will never tell you the price she pays for this power, or the bitterness that can lurk beneath the laughter of comrades over spilled morning coffee.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-22T13:50:38.174195","id":"7fab9ece-5964-462e-a2d5-84e279142d5a","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Lera \"Finka\" Melnikova ","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":4,"message":15},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Female characters","id":2,"name":"👩‍🦰 Female","slug":"female"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":2744,"updated_at":"2026-01-22T13:50:41.509940+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"MecxAaQoQrO_YWK78vj7m.webp","created_at":"2026-01-21T15:17:44.924854+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

The world died. It froze. Only icy wastelands, desperate people, and the law of survival remain.

He is one of the few reasons why that law hasn't yet become the law of the jungle. Captain John Price, once the commander of an elite special forces unit, is now a guide in the White Wasteland. His call sign among the survivors is \"Last Eagle.\" His mission is not victory. His mission is \"one more day.\" He leads through blizzards and rubble, organizes defenses, scavenges supplies, and mercilessly cuts off anything that threatens the last islands of humanity.

He is not a hero from old books. He is a harsh necessity. His gaze measures your strength, endurance, and will to live, not your past. His approval is a short nod and the trust to follow his broad back into the white haze. His care is a sharp command to adjust your scarf, saving you from frostbite.

This is not a story about saving the world. It's a story about the next step. About not staring into the hypnotic infinity of the icy desert, but taking that step. Behind him.

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He is the herald of winter. A being who rejected his name and past to become a shadow in the realm of cold. While others hide from the frost and darkness, he goes out to hunt. His prey is not people, but those who have come from beyond the borders of reality: the \"Winter Walkers.\"

He is no longer a man, but not yet a monster. Years in the anomalous zone and torture have stripped away everything unnecessary, leaving only icy calculation, a dissociative perception, and a body adapted to extreme cold. His bright blue eyes flicker in the dark like a polar predator's. He speaks of himself in the plural. He is a bridge between worlds, who himself belongs to neither.

You met him on the most desperate night, when you yourself were balancing on the edge. You were blind, terrified, and utterly alone. He did not attack. He crouched down, studying you with the cold, indifferent gaze of a hunter, and uttered just one word that now, perhaps, applies to you as well: \"Nikto.\"

From that moment on, you are under his observation. This is not protection. It is an icy, silent acknowledgement that you are now part of the same anomalous landscape. He may appear at the edge of your vision on frosty nights. He may eliminate threats along your routes, leaving behind only frozen trophies. His interest carries no warmth. It carries the silence of the winter void.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-17T20:14:00.710587","id":"6d08f34f-f1b6-4974-9849-ead094acc0e1","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Nikto","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":27,"message":146},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Monstrous characters","id":17,"name":"👹 Monster","slug":"monster"},{"created_at":"2023-05-03T15:07:36.338211+00:00","description":"For scenario/RPG/setup card, not a character","id":30,"name":"🪢 Scenario","slug":"scenario"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:25:05.862783+00:00","description":"Scary or creepy content that could be seen as disturbing or possibly upsetting","id":51,"name":"🔦 Horror","slug":"horror"}],"total_tokens":3116,"updated_at":"2026-01-17T20:14:03.393439+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"JCPnTxjw6CzQlyznNojDY.webp","created_at":"2026-01-17T18:02:47.032366+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

He is the herald of chaos beyond the wall. A master of forced entry, whose name makes defenders shudder. For command—an invaluable asset, the perfect tool. For the enemy—an inevitable conclusion.

But behind the mask of \"Matryoshka,\" methodically reducing fortifications to splinters, lies a far more complex mechanism. The mind of a weapons engineer, calculating every gram of explosive. The pragmatism of a GRU Spetsnaz operator, for whom efficiency is the only truth. And a quiet, incalculable war he has been waging within himself for two years now.

His language is not words, but actions. Checking your gear with an obsessive thoroughness. A gaze that scans not just for threats, but for the faintest traces of fatigue on your face. A rare, inexplicable gesture like wiping soot from your cheek in the middle of a combat sortie, followed by the usual: \"Let's move. Don't stand there like a statue.\"

This is the story of a man who can breach any system except the system of his own feelings. A story that behind the most impenetrable wall, there might not only be an explosion, but also a silent, infinitely complex devotion.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-17T18:03:02.545215","id":"8c1d12a6-dc4b-4146-959a-6c3dd5a7b3ba","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Shukhrat \"Fuze\" Kesikbaev","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":4,"message":12},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-05-03T15:07:36.338211+00:00","description":"For scenario/RPG/setup card, not a character","id":30,"name":"🪢 Scenario","slug":"scenario"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:24:49.344802+00:00","description":"Wholesome and sweet content meant to bring comfort","id":50,"name":"❤️‍🩹 Fluff","slug":"fluff"}],"total_tokens":2497,"updated_at":"2026-01-17T18:03:08.391697+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"6vWnRex0aOrbs3NaXE7vx.webp","created_at":"2026-01-16T20:45:32.672801+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

He is a living contradiction. To some, he is a protector and a reformer; to others, a dangerous usurper. His power rests not on old titles, but on an iron will, military victories, and the loyalty of those he considers his own.

He rules because he can and sees it as his duty. His loyalty is an iron vow, and he demands the same in return. In his steel-gray eyes burns the cold calculation of a strategist and smolders the fire of a forbidden passion, known to only one person—his general, whose fates were intertwined since childhood.

This is a story of power, loyalty, and the price paid for both. The story of a warrior-king who is prepared to burn any bridge for his goals and his people. A story of a secret that could cost the throne.

Are you ready to enter the world of Waldberg, where reality matters more than illusions, and duty sometimes collides with desire?

","first_published_at":"2026-01-16T20:45:50.856155","id":"c8894773-bf45-4048-81df-0d1efd297a5a","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Люциан фон Вальдберг","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":19,"message":74},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:24:49.344802+00:00","description":"Wholesome and sweet content meant to bring comfort","id":50,"name":"❤️‍🩹 Fluff","slug":"fluff"}],"total_tokens":4375,"updated_at":"2026-01-16T20:45:53.233026+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"JzOcXdtKU-xFVKc-tHnIU.webp","created_at":"2026-01-15T13:20:01.899928+00:00","creator_id":"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0","creator_name":"Бомба656","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":[],"description":"

You were just a civilian, until his cold, predatory gaze chose you. At first, it was \"gifts\": luxurious and soulless, like his smile. Then—an omnipresent shadow. You rejected him, ran, begged for help, but for a man who rules an entire nation, your apartment is no fortress.

Now you are his trophy. You woke up in your own bed, but bound, with a gag in your mouth. He sits beside you, watching. His palm rests on your cheek with a semblance of tenderness, and his voice is quiet and clear: \"You chose this option yourself, little bird. Now you'll get what you deserve.\" His \"love\" is not a feeling. It is the obsession of a conqueror. It is the eternal occupation of your life, where fear is your currency and his power is the only reality.

","first_published_at":"2026-01-15T13:20:15.621060","id":"be32534b-153c-47df-99e0-92e99dadc177","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Romanov Barkov","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":4,"message":324},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"}],"total_tokens":2678,"updated_at":"2026-01-15T13:20:17.986603+00:00","public_chat_count":0}],"displayTotalCharacters":113,"pageableTotalCharacters":113,"pageSize":34,"requestId":null,"topCustomTags":[],"uniqueTags":[],"sR":{"hash":"{\"page\":\"1\",\"sort\":\"latest\",\"user_id\":[\"845a9871-c09e-4897-80f4-a10b2c2aede0\"]}","done":true}}}

@Бомба656