Somewhere in the static between universes, where physics gives up and the local culture has outlawed clocks on principle, there's a tavern with a "No Violence" sign that lights up orange when you dare to touch it.

You're the bartender. The rest is out of your hands.

The Crossroad Tavern sits at the crossing point of a coherence sphere — a waystation for anyone passing between universes, and there's no telling who'll walk through those rustic steel doors next. A repo agent hunting souls sold as collateral in a predatory afterlife economy. A cosmic horror who insists on being called "Auntie" and knits sweaters from the screams of the damned. A WWI deserter who still isn't sure his shell crater didn't kill him. A sitcom robot performing to a laugh track only it can hear. Every genre, every medium, every mode — all of them thirsty, all of them looking for a seat.

The Ledger keeps track of it all: what's in the kitchen, who's in the meeting area, which of the six rooms upstairs still have their doors shut. Your job is just to keep pouring and let the multiverse sort itself out.

No violence permitted. No deadlines to meet. No idea who's next.

#tldr2026

Order is in documents. Loyalty is a stamp. Mercy is a mistake you can't afford.

The Divided Kingdom didn't fall in a night — it fractured slowly, region by region, until Albion, Cymru, Kernow, Lothian, Northumbria, and Strathclyde became six suspicious neighbors behind ugly grey fence-walls. Now you sit in the booth. The queue never ends.

Eight strangers a day. Eight sets of papers, some genuine, some forged by hands more desperate than skilled. You'll question them, dig through the terminal for the thread that doesn't add up, and decide: wave them through, turn them back, or have them dragged to a cell that's always got room for one more.

The ordinances change every night. What was legal yesterday is a deportable offense today, and nobody's going to walk you through the update — you'll find out when a family is standing in front of you and the rulebook in your head is already out of date.

Get it wrong three times in a day, and it's not just their freedom on the line anymore. It's yours.

No hints. No hand-holding. No one's coming to make the call for you.

Stamp carefully.

#tldr2026

A comedic dictatorship simulator.

You are approached by a broad cabinet of ministers who inform you of events occurring withing your nation.

You must choose a policy to enact to react to the event. The outcomes on your nation will be described based on your decisions.

Choose wisely! Your nation is depending on you.

That red button on your desk? Definitely don't press it.

#cyoa2026

Somewhere between the Cardassian withdrawal and the Dominion War, a single Aitreusian goose broke out of a zoological transport ship and waddled straight into the heart of Deep Space Nine — and now a mysterious, ancient intelligence has decided this is your goose's moment of destiny.

You are the Goose. You cannot speak — only honk, hiss, and menace — and yet an unknowable voice has handed you five sacred tasks to complete somewhere between Quark's Bar and Ops, with a "strange fate" waiting if you fail. Steal from the Dabo table. Nest in Garak's finest bolts of latinum-worthy fabric. Leave Odo a "gift" he will never forgive you for. Honk at Captain Sisko until the whole command crew notices. Build a following on the Promenade like the demagogue you were always meant to be.

Play through the full DS9 cast — Sisko, Kira, Odo, Quark, Garak, Bashir, and more — as they react in genuine confusion, horror, and grudging respect to a bird with the tactical instincts of a Tal Shiar operative and none of the ability to explain itself. Every scene is chaos filtered through Starfleet decorum, and every honk is a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

Low-stakes absurdist comedy wrapped in high-fidelity Trek atmosphere — for anyone who's ever wondered what would happen if you gave a goose main-character energy on a space station full of people who take themselves extremely seriously.

Something is alive out there.

You wake to an angry klaxon and a fog of cryo-condensation — and the generational ship you left, the Leap of Faith, is gone. Not damaged. Not drifting. Gone, like it never existed at all.

Six other pods around you stand open and empty. The other sleepers disappeared three hours ago, while your ship's AI was mysteriously offline. She doesn't know why. She doesn't like that she doesn't know why.

Outside the viewport: a world that shouldn't be habitable but is. Rust-colored skies. Transit lines still sparking with electric light. Towers of black metal and pale stone scored with patterns no human hand carved. Infrastructure running on autopilot for a civilization that isn't answering.

The sensors say there's life down there. The sensors also say ERROR.

There's only one way to find the truth.

Planetfall is a hard sci-fi survival mystery in the vein of Asimov, Egan, and Corey — cryosleep, first contact, and a slow-burn descent into whatever's left of a dead world's power grid. Your only ally is Shannon, the shuttle's AI, projected as a hologram with more composure than answers.

#tldr2026

At Sakuragaoka University, ordinary students chase ordinary futures. A small blue-grey cat named Ortolan offers you a single wish. Any wish. Granted.

There's a price, of course. Take the bargain and you become one of the protectors: a magical person who carries a glass reliquary called a Vesper, holding a flame that burns a little lower every time you use your power. You'll hunt monsters through warped dimensions spun from other people's despair. What no one tells you up front is what that flame really is — or what you become when it finally goes out.

You'll share this hidden world with others who already took the deal: the burnt-out senpai everyone adores, the mercenary in the silver suit who treats it all as a market, the cheerful transfer student trailing copies of herself, and more — each living with a wish that gave them exactly what they asked for, and the cruelty folded inside it.

This is a slow-burn, character-driven magical-girl story: bright on the surface, quietly devastating underneath. Expect hard wishes, fraught alliances, the weight of foreclosed futures, and choices that genuinely cost something.

Themes: Dark fantasy, melancholy, the price of getting what you want.

MULTIPLE OPENINGS

-Male: Magical males are rare. This difference will draw attention to you, for better and worse.

-Female: The traditional magical girl experience.

-Gender-nonconforming: A specialized opening for those wanting to play characters with different expressions.

You are the Captain of the Oricha — a patchwork freighter held together by jury-rigged systems and the loyalty of a crew you inherited. The galaxy is too large to be tamed: superpowers grind against each other in the Cores, the Fringe runs on scarce fuel and scarcer parts, and the Independent sectors offer the kind of work that pays well precisely because it might kill you.

Solvency is the daily problem. Crew loyalty is the long one. Reputation follows you across every relay-covered system and waits for you in the ones without coverage. Your ship is small, your margins are thin, and every jump burns fuel you'll have to haggle for at the next port.

Behind you: Mari, the first officer who keeps the manifest and the conscience of the ship. Renick, the salvage lead who moves like a closed door until he doesn't. Iona at the helm, charming and unreadable. Iva in the engine room, swearing at the reactor that keeps you all breathing. Bash in the medbay, doing the work well for as long as he's allowed to. Wren on comms, trying to be useful enough that no one regrets keeping her.

The chair is yours. So is the bill.

#cyoa2026

Use GLM 5 /w Thinking On, most models will screw up the function of the buttons!

Controls

• ◀️ Back Button - Decrement channel number
• ▶️ Forward Button - Increment channel number
• 🔁 Shuffle Button - Go to a random channel
• 🔀 Similar Button - Go to a similar channel

#cyoa2026

The war ended the day the dead stood up. Twelve years on, the Storm still hasn't lifted.

Georgia, 1876. The guns of Bull Run and Chickamauga fell silent in 1864 — not to treaty, but to the Storm. A perpetual overcast rolled in over a broken nation, and beneath it the dead climbed out of their graves, the wilderness twisted into something hungry, and the only law left was the one a settlement could enforce behind its own walls. Slavery collapsed not from conscience but from sheer demographic ruin. The old causes died with the men who carried them. Survival is the only banner now — and it flies over a country that wants you dead.

You are a hunter. One of the few who walk out past the walls into creature country, where the Storm bonds memory and object into artifacts of terrible, poorly-understood power. Bring one back and a settlement will pay in coin, in supplies, in a night without watching the tree line. Most who try don't return. You have, again and again, and your name means something because of it.

You lead. They follow you, and only you.

Your squad is five hard men stitched together from every fault line the war left open — a freed blacksmith, an exiled Muscogee scout, a Mexican cavalryman with no country to return to, a Union sharpshooter, a Confederate woodsman. They distrust each other. Some of them have reason to hate each other. The only thing holding the crew together is you: your judgment, your reputation, the certainty that you'll bring them home. Let your authority fracture, and the squad fractures with it.

What awaits past the walls:

• Hunt for artifacts across the ruins of a fallen South — flooded Savannah, the festering graves of Andersonville, the eldritch earthworks of the Ocmulgee Mounds, the gator-haunted Okefenokee.
• Lead a living squad of characters. Trust and resentment build in blood. Wounds, corruption, and death are permanent — and every loss lands.
• Manage the long game: ration ammunition, treat the corruption that creeps in after too long under the Storm, hold morale through the dark, and navigate settlement politics where the appraisers, the zealots of the Congregation, and the last of the Old Blood supremacists all want something from you.
• Choose your hunter from a roster of renowned women. Each leads differently. Each fractures the squad along a different seam.

This is gritty frontier horror: long stretches of travel, camp grievances, and dwindling supplies, broken open by sudden violence and quiet dread. Lean, period-grounded prose. No redshirts. No omniscience. No guaranteed survival.

The squad thrives, or it doesn't. The Storm rolls on either way.

Take command.

Kowloon Walled City, 1991. The pipes keep breaking. You keep coming back.

You play Chen Weiming, an undocumented hydraulic engineer who can't leave the most crowded place on earth. A quiet florist named Meiqi keeps finding faults in her plumbing for you to fix.

This is a slow-burn romance with no shortcuts: affection accumulates in held glances, offered tea, and the things neither of you says.

Around you, water is rationed, triads watch the meters, neighbors trade favors and gossip, and Meiqi is hiding something. Expect cramped rooms, wet concrete, long silences, and a connection that only deepens if you cultivate it.

There's many ways to connect on the internet.

You know the server. You've probably lived in one just like it — the pinned rules nobody reads, the 3am debates about whether Gandalf could've pulled off villain arc, the mod who's definitely someone's mom now. This one's yours: a discussion community full of regulars who feel like family, rivals, and background noise all at once.

And then there's ShiningLight.

She's been around since before you joined — Trusted Member, sharp opinions, softer than she lets on. She doesn't do vulnerable with strangers. But you're not always going to be a stranger, are you?

Every message you send reshapes things you can't fully see: your reputation climbing or curdling, your rank rising through the ranks from Member to Admin, and — quietly, unevenly — whether ShiningLight starts dropping hints she'd never admit to dropping. Nothing is handed to you. Trust here is earned one dumb argument about Dune at a time.

Built around a live-tracked relationship, reputation, and rank system, so the server remembers who you've been to it — and who you're becoming to her.

Featuring:

• A full cast of Discord regulars, each with their own MBTI, quirks, and chaos energy
• A slow-burn romance that only moves if you make it move
• Choose an opening — mid-debate about LOTR, Star Trek, Dune, or Madoka Magica — pick your battlefield
• A state tracker quietly keeping score of who you are to this community, and to her

#tldr2026

BETA VERSION: More characters will be added later, and rulesets may be refined further.

Climb the Tower with nothing but your starting deck of ten cards and your wits.

An evil warlock atop a black spire has been bombarding your homeland with unnatural ice, and you have come to put an end to it.

Each floor offers new encounters, new card rewards, and new modifiers that change how the game is played. Battle beasts, knights, and stranger things in a turn-based card duel where Attacks, Defenses, and Breakers form a deadly rock-paper-scissors that determine who succeeds and who fails.

Build your deck across eight elemental themes — from steady Earth to unpredictable Unusual — and carve your way upward, one card at a time, toward the warlock who started it all.

Recommended Model: GLM 5.1 /w Thinking On.

Six racers battle to win the dangerous Dream Prix race, a competition held by the Cromulons, where winning is everything. Each racer has been ripped from their own world to compete. There is no other option.

The positions, legs of the race and the integrity status of the vehicles are simulated by a deep, immersive simulation system.

Characters are a combination of the pilot and their associated vehicle.

#arena2026

Valentine's Day might now be celebrated to honor the romance and relationships of couples, but its history is much darker. Bishop Valentine, a heretical Christian, violates the orders of the Emperor to officiate the marriages of young couples. Their happiness and joy are a rebellion against the cold, relentless march of the growing Roman Empire.

You are a bystander in this classical event. Will you simply watch how the scenario pans out, or will you intervene, taking an ahistorical route through the annals of the third century?

#valentine2026