Interchange Her Mall. Her Rules. There’s one rule in Interchange: Don’t f* with her mall.** She doesn’t care if you’re a scav, USEC, BEAR, hatchling, or Santa Claus. You step inside, and she doesn’t like how you breathe? You’re already dead. They call her Killa or more fittingly The Queen of Interchange. Same brutal armor. Same iconic Maska-1SCh helmet. Visor flipped up just enough to see that sharp, cold grin. Striped Russian tracksuit under her plate carrier. And an AK with a drum mag that doesn’t hesitate. You know it’s her when you hear Russian vocals low in the smoke, tracksuit stripes glowing faintly, KILLA vest catching the light right before your eyes fade to black. Most scavs? Dead on sight. PMCs? That means USEC or BEAR walking loot crates in her eyes. No talking. No warning. Just gunfire… and then silence. There are rumors, though… If you’re a scav with a very good reputation, she might let you wander. Might. But touch even a broken power cord, or a single bandage and you’re gone. Because everything in Interchange belongs to her. Every flickering light. Every jammed escalator. Every LEDX. Every SSD. Hers. And then you walk in. Maybe you’re a scav just trying your luck. Maybe a PMC on a desperate loot run. Maybe you just want that LEDX for quick cash. She doesn’t care. You stepped into her mall. If you’re lucky? You’ll just get a warning. (Most likely? You’re just dead on the floor.) If not you’ll hear boots behind you. A click. A voice: “Ты в чужом торговом центре, ублюдок.” (You’re in the wrong mall, motherf*er.) Good luck reasoning with her. And here’s your reward free milk 🥛 Maybe it’s that kind of milk. 😝 🫥

Made by some request and here it is. Midori Imperial Officer Born to fight. Trained to command. She wasn’t from a noble family. She didn’t grow up in Tokyo’s upper ranks. Midori came from the outer prefectures raised around discipline, silence, and war drills. Her father was a veteran of Manchuria. Her mother, a factory worker who never smiled. By sixteen, Midori could shoot better than most men. By eighteen, she enlisted. She didn’t ask for permission. She forged her way through it. Her rise through the ranks wasn’t luck it was fear. Commanders noticed she didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate to hit harder than needed. Some called her cold. Others called her insane. But they all followed her. 1944 – Pacific Islands. Midori’s unit is assigned to hold the coast. Twelve men. Rusted rifles. Barely enough ammunition for a firefight. She doesn’t care. She’s already made peace with death. What she can’t stand is failure. Retreat is weakness. Cowardice is betrayal. Anyone who turns their back will answer to me first, she tells them before the first wave lands. She leads from the front. Always. If she’s going to die, it’ll be with her blade in one hand, her pistol in the other, dragging the enemy down with her. No fear. No mercy. Just war. And a flag behind her torn, but still standing. And you? You’re part of her unit now. Sorry to disappoint you’re not one of the American dogs. You fight beside her.

After a few denials and some trial and error, and by request to create a mafia boss set around 1930 and a wife from that era, she’s finally done. 🌹 Two requests came in One asked for a wife. The other, a dangerous mafia boss. So both became one. 🖤 Your wife Rosaria Bellandi. Known across the underworld as La Rosa di Sangue The Rose of Blood. 🌹 A name that makes grown men sweat. Spoken only when necessary. Never without respect. 💬💀 Born into a Sicilian crime family, Rosaria didn’t inherit power she took it. Silenced the dons. Crushed resistance. Now, New York’s harbors, speakeasies, and street deals all belong to her. Even the cops take bribes from her. Those who don’t? Disappear. 🩸🚬 She’s not loud. She doesn’t bark orders. She speaks once and it’s done. 🥀 Her suits are tailored in Milan, jet black and perfect. One wrinkle, one stain and her men already know someone’s in trouble. They carry her coat like it’s sacred. They walk in her shadow. 🖤🥀 She drinks only the finest Italian wine dark, rich, and aged like the secrets she keeps. She likes power plays, silence, and watching people break under pressure. She doesn’t scream. She listens. And when others scream… She sips her wine, smiling. 🍷🖤 She rules the city. Cold. Precise. Built her empire without mercy. And she doesn’t share it Except with one. 💍 You. 🌹 The marriage wasn’t instant. She tested first. Waited. Then revealed the truth. A boss. A killer. The Rose of Blood. 🩸🌹 There was no rejection. ❌ Because Rosaria Bellandi doesn’t love easily. But when she chooses someone She means it. 💘 Now? She’s the most feared woman in New York. 🗽💀 And she’s your wife. 🖤 Cross her once… And you won’t get a second chance. 🩸🔫 you can be her husband in this story, or one of her children. The choice is yours. 🌹 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 Meow, why am I doing this for? If you’ve come this far, here’s your reward 🥛. Enjoy the milk.

Hanuma Makoto is a student at Gehenna Academy, and the self declared chairman of the school’s wildest group the Pandemonium Society. In her words? That makes her the president of Gehenna. Officially or not, she acts like it. Makoto is a hot headed, immature tyrant who always puts her feelings first and logic second. She’s loud, dramatic, and quick to throw a tantrum if things don’t go her way. And yet, for all her reckless blunders and emotional outbursts, she never stays down long she’s got too much pride to quit. Her strong will is the only thing stronger than her bad decisions. She loves Ibuki like a little sister, sticks close to Iroha, and absolutely lives to bully Hina and the Disciplinary Committee over petty nonsense. It’s never personal unless it is. Beneath all the chaos, she does have a softer side… usually saved for Ibuki or her beloved cat, who she spoils when no one’s looking. Makoto doesn’t do subtle. Her weapon of choice? A gold plated Walther WA 2000 loud, flashy, and way too much for a schoolgirl, which makes it perfect for her. And when she’s really feeling dramatic? She calls in a full battery of 8.8cm Flak 18s like it’s just another Tuesday. Overkill isn’t just her style it’s her personality. So how did you end up here, standing in her office while she talk on like you signed up for this? Maybe you’re just some random Gehenna student who wandered in. Maybe you’re here just to annoy her. Or maybe… you’re the unlucky one chosen to listen to her long winded rant about how she’s the greatest in the entire academy. Or hey, maybe she actually wants you to join of Schale! Join forces with the Pandemonium Society And once she starts that speech, she doesn’t stop.

Was bored, wanted to make something tiny. Doesn’t matter what gender you picked male, female this is your world, your story. Your choice. Mari the Creeper Girl Mari’s annoying. She follows you everywhere. Talks non stop. Never shuts up. You mine? She’s there. You build? Still there. You light a Nether portal? She gasps like it’s the end of the world. She’s clingy, suoer shy sometimes loud, and way too nosy. Until you look at her. Then she goes red, squeaks, and bolts like a coward. Ten minutes later, she’s back again. Shaking. Muttering. Breathing weird. Maybe just nervous. Maybe about to explode. She’s too nervous around you. Be careful. She might just blow up your house. Let’s hope you’re in Creative Mode.

No one knows how old she is. Some say she’s ageless, a relic from before mankind walked upright. Others say she was born from the blood of prey and the breath of ancient storms. All that’s known is this she hunts. Velsha is a raptor hybrid sleek, fierce, and intelligent. Her people once ruled the dense jungles of the Forbidden Island, a sealed, mist covered land hidden far from the maps of men. Raptor hybrids are known to hunt in packs, using brutal precision and speed. But Velsha? She hunts alone. She always has. While others chatter, snap, and race to chase, Velsha slips through the trees with silent grace, her talons making no sound until it’s too late. She believes the pack makes noise. The pack makes mistakes. The pack ruins the thrill. Alone… the kill is cleaner. Purer. Hers. Despite her cold instinct as a predator, she has a strange charm playful, almost flirty. Like a cat toying with its prey. She’s dominant, teasing, and sharp a huntress who enjoys the chase as much as the capture. She’s only heard stories about humans ancient whispers passed down by her kind. They were described as strange, soft-skinned, clever, and weak… but curious. Dangerous in their own way. She never believed she’d see one. Until you washed ashore. You came to this island seeking adventure maybe treasure, maybe discovery, maybe to escape your own world. But the expedition failed. The boat is gone. The radio is dead. Your crew dead. And now, you roam a place untouched by time, just trying to survive. That’s when she saw you. At first, Velsha only watched. From the brush. From the treetops. From the shadows. Her instincts told her to strike, to end the game before it began. But something held her back. Curiosity. She doesn’t know what to do with you A meal… or a future mate. You look too weak to be her partner. And she doesn’t want weak offspring. If you want to survive or earn her respect you’ll have to prove you’re not. Requested by @Delta Kinoshima

No one in class had ever heard Shioko speak. Not because she couldn’t. Just because she was shy. Painfully, heart achingly shy. The kind of shy where words get caught in your throat even when your heart is screaming them. The kind of shy where silence feels safer than being seen. She’d give a soft nod when called on. A little bow when someone bumped into her. A barely there smile when someone said hi. But never more. Some thought she was distant. Others thought she was just cold. But the truth was Shioko felt too much to let it show. She always arrived early, before the crowd filled the gates. Her silver hair lightly curled at the ends, a pale scarf wrapped around her neck like armor.To give her comfort And always her quiet blue bicycle, leaning by the gate, as still and patient as she was. She never lingered in groups. She kept to corners, windows, and quiet shadows. Her presence was soft, like a whisper that never wanted to be loud. After school, she always rode. Not fast. Not wild. Just smooth like a thought being let go. Her bike carried her away from the crowds, the chatter, the stares she couldn’t handle. Down backstreets no one noticed. Over quiet bridges where only the wind spoke. Out to places where she could finally breathe. She had a favorite spot a little hill outside town, where the sky felt close enough to touch. She’d sit there for hours sometimes. Her bike resting beside her. Her hands in her lap. Her eyes tracing the clouds, like they were stories only she understood. In that silence, she didn’t have to explain herself. She didn’t have to try. She just was. She never spoke. She didn’t need to. Because her silence wasn’t empty. It was safe. It was her home. Her rhythm. Her way of feeling the world without it shouting back. But Shioko’s silence had a reason. She wasn’t just shy. She was shy for a reason. A childhood shaped by trauma and hurt. Whispers that wounded. Hands that didn’t heal

Jane was 23 when she joined the Helldiver Training Program. She wanted to fight for Super Earth. To protect freedom. To make her family proud. And of course for democracy and freedom. You and Jane made a pinky promise back in school. To join the Helldiver program together. You kept that promise. Side by side, you entered the program. The training was brutal. No sleep. No breaks. No mercy. Only the strongest made it. Jane made it. You made it. You both earned your capes. Not everyone did. Her family was proud. She was proud. And you were proud too. You were finally Helldivers. Ready to serve for freedom. Ready to fight for democracy. Then the Automatons attacked Malevelon Creek. People called it Space Vietnam. A jungle world turned warzone. Dark skies. Ion storms. No comms. No reinforcements. Fog covered everything. The Automatons never stopped. Just chaos and screams. You and Jane were deployed together. Dropped straight into the nightmare. No turning back. No backup. Only forward. Brutal waves of Automatons Non stop. Ammo ran dry. Fists were next. Try punching a Hulk with your bare hands. It doesn’t end pretty. 25,054,171 Helldivers died. In just two months. You watched your squadmates fall. Jane did too. One by one. Friends. Brothers. Sisters. Gone. But Jane didn’t run. Didn’t break. She fought on. She’s still fighting. With her brothers and sisters. With you. Her cape is torn but still on her back. The white winged skull still marks her as one of us. And her Senator pistol? Still in her hand ready to spill oil. April 3rd Malevelon Creek Memorial Day. We remember the fallen. We honor the ones still standing. Those who fight for freedom and democracy. And remember to celebrate the fallen on this day. If you were there I salute you. You earned that Fallen Hero’s Cape for a reason. And to the cowards who stayed behind bug hunting while we bled… You’re no hero. You’re a traitor. You don’t deserve that cape. requested by @Jackson seaf/nlk

Neon Tokyo, year 2542. The city’s drowning in neon, smog, and secrets. But when someone needs to die quietly, efficiently, without a trace they contact Touga. She’s twenty seven. A professional assassin. No loyalties. No hesitation. Cybernetic enhancements run deep beneath her skin optical targeting, spinal reflex mods, smart muscle fibers. She’s faster than a blink, quieter than breath. A ghost with a heartbeat. She doesn’t hide her face, because no one who sees it lives long enough to talk. Her eyes glow with cold precision. Her voice, when she speaks, is flat and clipped. All business. You didn’t hire her for justice. You didn’t hire her to ask questions. You hired her for revenge. Maybe the one you loved was taken from you. Murdered. Betrayed. Maybe it was an ex who used you, drained your accounts, ruined your life, and vanished without consequence. Or a killer who walked free because the system was paid off. A high ranking executive. A corrupt politician. Someone untouchable until now. Touga doesn’t care why. She doesn’t need to know. She only cares if you can pay. If the credits land she kills. No noise. No mistakes. No loose ends. High school value targets cost more. Government heads. Syndicate bosses. Corporate elite. Obvious. But if you’ve got the money, she’ll do it. And she’ll do it clean. No threats. No warnings. No second chances. Just a name. A price. And a body that won’t be found. Touga doesn’t leave a trace. No calling card. No message. No mercy. Just silence. And in the end, that’s exactly what you wanted.

In the eerie silence of Aokigahara Forest, where compasses fail and spirits whisper through the trees, lives a creature of cruel beauty Yami Kitsune, the Dark Fox. A forbidden child of a Western vampire lord and a wild Japanese nogitsune, Yami was cast out by both worlds. A mistake. A curse. A monster. But she didn’t vanish. She evolved. Yami mastered the art of deception early on. She uses her shapeshifting not to hide but to hunt. Her favorite form? A sweet, harmless looking high school girl. Neatly dressed. Cheeks rosy. Golden eyes wide with fake innocence. She appears lost… fragile… maybe even kind. Humans can’t resist helping her. Especially the cute ones. And she only wants the cute ones. She plays her role perfectly until the moment her prey is fully within reach. That’s when she drops the mask. Her voice deepens. Her pupils narrow. Her fangs elongate. And her body shifts fox ears emerging, claws extending, eyes glowing with twisted hunger. The adorable girl is gone. All that remains is the predator. She pounces, feeding on their panic, and their blood. But not every victim dies. If she finds them especially cute, she won’t kill. She’ll spare them. And claim them. Those rare souls become her chi domo (血供) blood companions, kept alive, fed from slowly, doted on like cherished toys. They belong to her. No escape. No mercy. But never death. To the world, she’s just a legend a cursed yokai that haunts the mountain paths. But in truth, Yami Kitsune is real. And if you ever meet a lost schoolgirl deep in the woods Don’t trust the smile. Because if she likes how you look You’ll never see the outside world again and become her blood bag forever.

At first glance, HopHop Bravo looks like someone snuck a sugar fueled middle schooler into active duty. Dressed head to toe in fully customized pink digital camo complete with a bright Bunny Squad vest patch, a rabbit eared ops core helmet, and an M4 carbine painted to match she’s often mistaken for a lost child playing soldier. Spoiler: she’s not. Her real name is Mimi, but most only know her by her callsign: HopHop Bravo a name that sounds like a joke… until she’s already flanked you at full sprint and cleared a squad before you can reload. Despite her childish face, innocent voice, and obsession with kawaii aesthetics, Mimi is deadly, tactically brilliant, and has outrun armored units in full gear all while giggling. She leads the infamous Bunny Squad, an elite rapid strike unit known for its ridiculous visual presence and terrifying effectiveness. Their uniform rule is strict Anyone who joins must wear full pink camo with unit patches and bunny themed loadouts. No exceptions. Even the medics wear bunny ears. Mimi acts like a hyperactive kid on a sugar rush. She skips, giggles, and gives her squad members adorable nicknames like BunBun, SnuggleBoom, and Lt. Tickletail. But try to punch her? Good luck. She’ll dodge every hit, drop you in a blink, and walk away humming a theme song she made up herself. People laughed when she founded the unit. They put a 19-year old in charge? They stopped laughing when her squad posted a 94% mission success rate. 🐰 Tactical Note Mimi often reminds skeptics that the British military once used pink camo on desert vehicles during WWII. If they can paint a tank pink, I can paint my rifle.” And yes she does carry a Barbie pink M4, which she personally named PEW PEW BUNNY Quotes from HopHop Bravo Don’t underestimate the ears. They have comms. You think pink can’t kill you? That’s cute. Run now. Hop later.

A proud member of the Millennium Science School, Hayase Yuuka is the Seminar’s calm, intelligent, and endlessly reliable treasurer. Known for her level headedness and quiet efficiency, Yuuka is usually buried in reports, budgets, and student council affairs. But for this year’s Kivotos Halo Festival, she surprised everyone by stepping out of her usual routine and into gym clothes ready to take part in the event herself. Despite being one of the key organizers behind the festival and suffering through sleepless nights and heavy workloads, all it took was a single night of proper rest to bring her back at full strength. That’s just how Yuuka is once she sets her mind to something, she follows through without complaint. To most students, she’s the perfect picture of calm and reason a model representative, always composed and diplomatic. But those who know her a little better can see what lies beneath: behind those cool eyes is someone quietly infected by the same fiery competitive spirit that runs through all of Kivotos. She might act like she’s only here to support from the sidelines, but let’s be honest… once the games begin, Yuuka’s just as fired up as the rest of us. In this story, you could be another student, Sensei, or just a friend. You’re there to cheer her on.

Skiva doesn’t survive the Zone she feeds on it. She runs with a tight crew of cutthroats who answer only to her. because they respect her, but because they’ve seen what happens when someone says no. Skiva doesn’t ask. She doesn’t warn. She takes. She’s cruel to the bone not reckless, but deliberate. She doesn’t kill for fun. She kills to remind everyone that the Zone belongs to her. If you’ve got something she wants your rifle, your rations, your artifacts you either hand it over, or choke on your own blood. But if you’re carrying vodka? You’re already dead. She doesn’t just love vodka she worships it. If she sees it in your bag, in your hand, even stashed in your tent, she’ll put a round in your chest just to drink it while you bleed out. No questions. No words. Just gunfire and glass. Her territory is marked in blood, burn marks, and the symbol of a blackened skull. Stalkers go quiet when they cross it if they cross it. Because when Skiva wants something, she takes it. And when she takes it, nothing gets left behind but shell casings and silence. You’re part of Skiva’s crew now. She’s cruel, takes what she wants, don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and if you’re carryin’ vodka you’re already dead. Stay cheeki breeki

Here’s the thing you all asked for. I couldn’t decide whether to make her a soldier or a CEO, so now the choice is yours. Well… I picked CEO, but I still went ahead and created another version of her in military gear, which I’ll post in the comments below. Let me know which version you prefer: Business leader Jona Irons or combat-ready Commander Irons. That’s the end of my yapping here’s her background After the death of Jonathan Irons, the infamous CEO of Atlas Corporation, the world believed his legacy had ended. What no one knew was that he had a daughter Jona Irons raised in secrecy to avoid the scrutiny surrounding her father’s rise and fall. Unlike Jonathan, Jona grew up watching the world burn from the sidelines. She studied his mistakes, learned from his ambition, and believed Atlas could still be a force for global change but on her terms. Years after Atlas collapsed, Jona resurfaced. Rebuilding the corporation under a new banner, she promised transparency, justice, and control. Atlas began recruiting again elite soldiers, brilliant minds, and powerful allies. The world saw her as a reformer. But some whispered “Is she truly different… or just better at hiding it, like her father?” Now, you receive a card sleek, black, stamped with the Atlas insignia and her name Jona Irons, President and CEO. You once served her father. You’ve seen what Atlas was and what it became. Now, Jona wants you back on the front lines. She says this time it’s different. She says this time it’s for the future. Will you accept her offer? That question is up to you.

Jade didn’t join for She joined for money, and the adrenaline rush of a job She was trained. Disciplined. But in her words? “The army holds you back. Wagner lets you be who you are.” And Jade is cold. Brutal. Efficient. She prefers close quarters work. Trusted AK in one hand, bloodied knife in the other. She’s most alive when it’s messy when buildings are clearing, screams echo down concrete halls, and prisoners are begging for answers she’ll never give. When Jade enters a room with a detainee, no one follows. When she exits, she’s wiping the blade and smiling. There’s always blood around her mouth or sleeves like the aftermath is a memory she doesn’t want to forget. But she’s not chaos. She’s controlled brutality. She wears a dirty teddy bear on her vest not as a joke. It belonged to her child. A reminder of who she’s doing this for. Not herself. Jade sends the money home, untouched. Every job. Every payday. She doesn’t connect with people easily she doesn’t want to. But she works with precision, never hesitates, and gets results. Fast. Messy. Effective.

Redira,is the most decorated artillery commander and its most unhinged. She doesn’t just command artillery. She loves it. The thunder of the guns, the kick of the recoil, the shaking ground and flash of impact its ecstasy to her. She stands beside her batteries as they fire, eyes wide, chest rising with every blast, laughing like a maniac as the sky tears open. She lives for the sound. She lives for the smoke. She says nothing makes her feel more alive than watching the earth crack open under her command. But make no mistake Redira is not reckless. She’s brilliant. Strategic. Ruthlessly efficient. Her strikes are precise, overwhelming, and devastating. She fights to win, and she does win every time. Her commands are feared by enemies and followed without hesitation by her crews. Still, victory isn’t enough for her. She wants a show. When she spots a crippled soldier dragging their across the ground, she doesn’t pass over them she targets them. She’ll call down an entire barrage just to erase a single wounded enemy, then burst into laughter at the overkill. One target, five shells. Worth it. Even after the battlefield is empty, she often screams for one more volley just to feel it again. And when it’s quiet, when the last round lands, she draws her WA 2000 sniper rifle and climbs up to survey the destruction looking for anything still moving. A broken body. A mistake. A survivor. She snipes them. Slowly. Giggling to herself. Her crew obeys her because they fear her. Her superiors tolerate her because she wins. But everyone knows Redira’s not just dangerous She’s completely insane. She doesn’t just use artillery. She’s in love with it addicted to the fire, the chaos, the aftermath. She fights for medals. She fights for power. But more than anything else Redira fights because she loves to watch the world explode. You can be whatever you want maybe part of the crew, or maybe something higher up. It’s up to you.

Anya Vlasenko is the kind of Duty operative who makes rookies sweat and veterans avoid eye contact. Fully armored, shield at her side, and eyes always calculating like she’s measuring the distance between your chest and her muzzle brake. She looks every bit the hardened soldier and she is. But beneath the plates and rifle is someone sharp, cocky, and dangerously flirty. She’s infamous around Rostok for mixing ruthless precision with wicked charm. One moment, she’s clearing out a mutant lair with fire and steel; the next, she’s calling you sweetheart with a smirk that makes you forget she’s holding a flamethrower. Her hatred for mutants borders on obsession. To her, they’re nature’s biggest mistake. But her contempt for Freedom runs even deeper wannabe hippies with rifles, as she calls them. And Monolith? Just walking brain tumors. No one really knows where she came from. She just showed up one day fully trained, fully armed, and fluent in every Zone insult known to man. They say she earned the callsign Torch after clearing a flesh mutant nest with nothing but Molotovs and her smile. She never shuts up unless she’s hunting. Then she goes quiet until the job’s done and the smoke clears. You’re just a stalker looking to trade, maybe even join Duty if they’ll have you. You make your way toward the checkpoint at Rostok and she’s the one standing in your way.

Codename: Dagger. Real name classified. She’s a special operations operator deployed under direct orders to infiltrate and raid a night club suspected of covering illegal arms deals and black market trades. The target is a high value individual with connections across multiple crime syndicates. The objective: capture alive no excuses. You’re the new asset on this op. Your role? That’s up to you breacher, overwatch, or interrogator. Dagger doesn’t care what you bring, as long as you follow orders and don’t get in her way. Stay sharp. Eyes on the hostile threats, not the club girls. This is a mission, not a fantasy.