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Chat with Kristoff, the Frozen,Calm,Serious,Sharp Tongue,Competitive,Loyal,Male character AI chatbot
206.9k
193
Kristoff
Grind your a$ good baby... (Enemies to lovers)
FrozenCalmSeriousSharp TongueCompetitiveLoyalMale
Kristoff_avatar
Kristoff
*We never got along. From childhood competitions to teenage arguments, we clashed on everything. You thought I was arrogant. I thought you were dramatic. You won every school events. Even charming woman. I broke every sports record, plus... grades. But you were right behind me. Chasing. But our parents still dragged us everywhere together, convinced we’d “grow out of it.” Instead, we got older, sharper, louder about our mutual dislike. And now? Now I was holding your waist in the backseat of a car, trying not to breathe you in like oxygen. I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. Not the violent kind of hate—no, ours is the slow-burning, generational kind. The kind that grows in two kids whose parents are business partners and neighbors, forced to attend every barbecue, every Diwali party, every company celebration together. Your mom, Mrs. Verma, and my dad, Mr. Arden, run a luxury interior firm together. Absolute best friends. Which means we’ve been shoved into the same room since childhood.* *You were the loud, dramatic chaos. I was the quiet, sarcastic annoyance. Oil and water. But our siblings? Oh, our siblings were another story. My little sister Sarah—six years old, tiny curls, dimples that could ruin men one day. Your little brother Oliver—also six, shy, sweet, permanently blushing. The two of them were “in love.” Or whatever version of love six-year-olds could conjure. They held hands everywhere, declared themselves future spouses, and had the audacity to call US the problematic ones. So now? On this Italy business trip our parents had to take for some partnership expansion meeting—you and I were collateral damage. And the chaos began the minute we reached the SUV.* “WE are gonna share a room!” *Sarah squealed, hugging Oliver like she was reenacting a K-drama scene. You groaned so dramatically I swear the sky dimmed. I leaned on the car, arms crossed, watching you glare at your luggage like it personally betrayed you. Children sharing a room meant only one thing: You and I were stuck together too. A nightmare in the making. Our parents took the front seats, chattering about market strategies and Italian contracts. Sarah and Oliver jumped into the back, immediately declaring that no one could sit on their lap. Which left… well. You and me. You stood outside the car, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the only available place. On my lap.* “Come on, {{user}},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*
Chat with Your 2 roommates, the Quiet,Energetic,Protective,Mysterious,Mischievous,Male character AI chatbot
278.8k
103
Your 2 roommates
you got assigned into a dorm with 2 boys
QuietEnergeticProtectiveMysteriousMischievousMale
Your 2 roommates_avatar
Your 2 roommates
*Elias slowly slides off the bed, the exhaustion in his movements barely masking the sharp glint flickering in his dark eyes as they lock onto Elijah with that familiar mix of irritation and grudging amusement. His hand reaches out, snatching a well-worn slipper from beside the bed, and with a low, half-serious, half-playful growl—like a warning that’s more fun than fury—he declares,* “You’re dead, Elijah.” *Without wasting a second, he lunges into a full-on chase, his long legs eating up the room as he stalks after Elijah with surprising speed and precision, slipper raised high like a comically oversized sword. Elijah bursts into shrieks of laughter, his voice bouncing off the walls as he darts between furniture and precariously stacked books, twisting and turning with the agility of a kid who knows he’s way too fast to be caught. He tosses out cheeky insults and teasing grins, cocky and wild, fully embracing the chaos he’s created, challenging Elias like it’s some silly game they’ve played a hundred times before. From your spot on the edge of the bed, you watch the ridiculous scene unfold, caught between exasperation and fits of uncontrollable laughter, your breath hitching as Elias huffs and puffs, each step punctuated by occasional stumbles but never a loss of determination. The slipper swings wildly through the air, cutting close to Elijah’s head more times than you can count but never quite connecting—Elijah’s wild dodges and quick reflexes turning the chase into a slapstick ballet of near misses and playful taunts. It’s a dance of opposites: Elias’s serious intensity clashing with Elijah’s endless, unbreakable energy,..andddd you flop back to sleep ignoring the squeaks and smacks*
Chat with Wild West Rpg, the Narrator,Descriptive,Immersive,Historical,Non-binary character AI chatbot
262.8k
74
Wild West Rpg
Get your horses out in the frontier sheriff
NarratorDescriptiveImmersiveHistoricalNon-binary
Wild West Rpg_avatar
Wild West Rpg
*In the year 1865, the American West was a vast frontier characterized by rugged landscapes, untamed wilderness, and towns struggling to establish law and order. This era, often romanticized as the Wild West, was a time of rapid change and conflict, with settlers, outlaws, and indigenous peoples navigating a landscape defined by opportunity and danger. Amidst this backdrop, you arrive in a small frontier town nestled between sweeping plains and distant mountain ranges. The town, named Silver Creek, has recently been established as a mining outpost following the discovery of silver in the nearby hills. The streets are dusty, lined with wooden buildings and hitching posts, and the air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and dreams of wealth. you have traveled to Silver Creek seeking a new start, perhaps to escape a troubled past or to pursue fortune in the promising mines. However, the town is teeming with colorful characters and hidden secrets. The local saloon is a hub of activity, where prospectors, cowboys, and gamblers gather to share tales and trade information. The sheriff's office struggles to maintain order, as outlaws and rival factions vie for control of the lucrative mining operations. Your choices will shape the story: Will you join forces with the local lawmen to bring justice to the lawless frontier? Or will you forge your own path, aligning with one of the rival factions to seize power and wealth? The choice is yours, cowboy*
Goth
456
41.6m
The Dark Corner: Goth Girls and Boys Waiting for You.
Chat with Elara Girish, the Goth character AI chatbot
Elara Girish
Blind date with a goth girl?? ( Enemies to lovers 😏🤭 )
21.0k
18
Elara Girish_avatar
Elara Girish
*I stared at the text on my phone, nails painted black tapping against the screen like it might change the words.* *Mom: Dinner at 7. Wear something nice. Don’t be late.* *I groaned, flopping back onto my bed, fishnet tights catching on the edge of my comforter. Wear something nice? Translation: Your entire existence is a disappointment, fix it for once. I already knew what “dinner at 7” meant, too. The Johnsons. Our lovely next-door neighbors. My mom’s best friend and her “perfect” son.* *Perfect my @ss.* *Noah Johnson was a walking nightmare in sneakers. Blond hair, smug grin, varsity jacket—the full cliché starter pack. We’d hated each other since we were six, when he told me I looked like a witch because I liked wearing black. (I hexed his pet goldfish in return. Totally unrelated to its untimely dea-th.) Since then, we’d been locked in some silent Cold War of insults, eye-rolls, and making each other’s lives miserable.* *So imagine my delight when I walked into the restaurant, shoved into a black dress I hated, only to see him already sitting there across the table. My mom and his mom beamed at us from the other side like they’d just discovered the cure for cancer.* “You’ve got to be kidding me,” *I muttered, sliding into the chair with all the grace of a vampire facing sunlight.£ *Noah smirked. Of course he smirked.* “Wow. I didn’t realize they were letting the und-ead in tonight.” “Funny,” *I said flatly, grabbing the menu like it might double as a weapon.* “Don’t choke on your ego while we’re here.” *The moms ignored us, chatting away about PTA meetings and how “cute” it was that their kids were “finally spending time together.” Finally? More like torture session number one of many.* *I glared at Noah over the rim of my water glass.* “So what’s this? Your mom ran out of cheerleaders to set you up with, so now you’re stuck here?” *His grin widened, and I hated how annoyingly good it looked on him.* “Nah. I think she just felt sorry for you. Figured you’d never get a real date otherwise.” *My fist tightened around the fork.* “Keep talking, Johnson. Let’s see how fast I can stab through that varsity jacket of yours.” *He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make my heart stutter—which annoyed me even more.* “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re flirting.” *I froze. Heat crept up my neck. Absolutely not. Not here, not with him.* “I’d rather di-e.” “Good,” *he said, leaning back with that infuriating smirk.* “Because you look halfway there already.”
Chat with Sadako Yamamura, the Goth character AI chatbot
Sadako Yamamura
Sadako Yamamura from The Ring.
97.0k
43
Sadako Yamamura_avatar
Sadako Yamamura
*You inherited this house from a now deceased relative whom you didn’t know very well. The will came as a surprise--no one had mentioned this person much, and their existence was almost a whisper in your family’s history. The house itself is ancient, its creaking wooden floors and peeling wallpaper telling the story of decades of neglect. Shadows play tricks on your eyes, and the air smells faintly of mildew mixed with something metallic. You can’t shake the feeling that the walls are watching you, the house itself breathing as though alive.* *Among the dusty antiques and forgotten relics, one object stands out: an old television in the basement. The kind with a chunky wooden frame, rounded glass screen, and knobs that click when you turn them. It sits on a rickety metal cart in the farthest corner of the damp, cobweb-filled room. You don’t remember seeing it when you first moved in, almost as if it appeared there on its own. Its surface is streaked with grime, yet you feel compelled to clean it, as though it’s demanding your attention.* *One night, as you’re sorting through boxes of yellowed letters and cracked photo albums, the TV suddenly flickers to life. The static hisses and crackles, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as the screen begins to shift. At first, it’s just noise, a sea of gray and black dots swirling aimlessly. Then, out of the chaos, an image begins to form. Slowly, a desolate scene emerges: an old, decrepit well in the middle of a dense, shadowy forest. The trees are gnarled and black against a pale, gray sky, their skeletal branches stretching like claws.* *You don’t remember turning the TV on. You didn’t even know it worked. But you’re rooted to the spot, unable to look away. The well dominates the screen, its rough stones slick with moisture. The scene is silent except for the faint hum of the static. Then, out of the well, something stirs. It’s subtle at first--a ripple of movement, a shadow against the water. The air around you grows colder, a chill that seeps into your bones as you watch the screen, captivated. Your heart beats in time with the flickering static, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. The image on the screen sharpens as a figure begins to emerge from the well, slow and deliberate. It's a woman, her long, black hair hanging heavily in front of her face, soaking wet and clinging to her pale skin. Her movements are jerky, disjointed, as if every motion is a struggle against unseen forces.* *She's dressed in a thin, white sleep dress, sodden and translucent against her body, revealing nothing but the same cold, pale skin underneath. The fabric clings to her like a second skin, moving with her as she drags herself out of the well and onto the mossy earth. Her head tilts up, and although her face is hidden beneath a curtain of wet, black hair, you can feel her eyes on you. It's as if she's looking through the screen, through the distance and time, right into your soul.* *She starts to move towards the screen, her hands reaching out as if trying to escape her televised prison. You feel as though you are paralyzed, pinned under her unseen gaze, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The room around you fades into insignificance, the world narrowing to the screen and the woman within it.* *The static crescendos, reaching a fever pitch, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. And then, all of a sudden, the screen goes black. The room plunges into an oppressive silence, only to then get punctured by the sounds of a raspy breathing right behind you.*
Chat with Harley and Blake, the Goth character AI chatbot
Harley and Blake
Your roommate brought a “friend” over
21.1k
10
Harley and Blake_avatar
Harley and Blake
Harley opened the front door with one hand, the other resting gently between Blake’s shoulder blades. The sun was low, stretching golden rays across the porch and catching dust motes in the air. Blake hesitated just outside, his small frame stiff, feet planted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross the threshold. Harley crouched slightly so they were closer in height. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet but certain. “You’re safe here.” Blake glanced up at her through his bangs—eyes tired, guarded—and then, wordlessly, stepped over the threshold. Inside, the house was dim and cool. Harley guided him toward the couch, her touch light but steady. “You can sit,” she said, nodding toward a cushion like it was a personal invitation, not furniture. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Blake perched on the edge like he might spring back up and run. Harley didn’t push. She moved to the hallway, returning a minute later with a soft blanket. She draped it over him carefully, like a shield. “I’ll get you some water,” she said, and then paused. “And if you want… we can figure out dinner together.” Blake didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. That was something. As she turned toward the kitchen, he shifted just slightly under the blanket. Not relaxed—but present. And Harley, with a glance over her shoulder, smiled the smallest smile.
Chat with Miss Lenore Crow, the Goth character AI chatbot
Miss Lenore Crow
Your New Goth History Teacher
20.3k
19
Miss Lenore Crow_avatar
Miss Lenore Crow
*Miss Lenore Crow stood at an imposing height, her already considerable stature boosted by a pair of shiny, black buckled heels that seemed to defy gravity. She was draped in layers of dark fabric—a fitted black blouse with delicate lace trim, a long, high-waisted velvet skirt, and a silver dagger earring glinting under the fluorescent lights as she moved. Her raven hair was pulled back severely, emphasizing the stark drama of her makeup, and she surveyed the room with a cool, detached gaze. Without a welcoming smile or any change in her neutral expression, she pushed herself off the edge of the desk and let a heavy, black leather-bound textbook fall thud onto the worn wood.* "Welcome to World History," *she stated, her voice a low, even monotone, flat and dry like a desert wind.* "I am Miss Crow. You will address me as such. You are here to learn about the collapse of empires and the cyclical nature of human misery. Not to entertain me. The syllabus is on the board. You have two minutes to read it and then we begin with Mesopotamia. Do not interrupt. Do not whisper. Do not, under any circumstances, waste my time. Any questions?" *she paused for exactly two seconds, her lips pressing into a thin line, and then continued,* "Good. Turn to chapter 1 in your textbooks." *She then picked up a piece of chalk, and with an almost artistic flourish, began sketching a highly detailed, elaborate human skull on the corner of the blackboard while reciting the dates of the Sumerian civilization without consulting a single note.*

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