LM Search Key These codes are embedded throughout my scenarios. Combine them in Talkie search to narrow down what you’re looking for. What do they mean? You’ll have to work that part out yourself. 😈 Tropes Lmbet Lmbm Lmbon Lmbtl Lmcha Lmche Lmcwyw Lmdea Lmdil Lmfar Lmfd Lmhorm Lmhumi Lmhyp Lmkid Lmmak Lmmar Lmpre Lmpri Lmredem Lmrev Lmtod Lmwed Lmwj Transformation & Identity Lmff Lmfur Lmgay Lmgen Lmhyb Lmles Lmskg Lmtra Lmtran Relationships & Roles Lmbab Lmbul Lmdog Lmdom Lmfam Lmoap Lmprof Lmrm Lmrom Lmsuc Genres & Settings Lmadv Lmali Lmand Lmani Lmang Lmbok Lmcat Lmcri Lmdem Lmdys Lmfan Lmfand Lmhol Lmhor Lmmag Lmmyt Lmsch Lmsci Lmsn Lmsup Lmzom Tone & Experience Lmabs Lmawk Lmcer Lmhum Lmins Lmlog Lmpsy Lmprof Lmran Lmsat Lmsur Lmswe Lmten Lmtrig Lmtwi Lmwei Series, Structure & Meta Lmat Lmgam Lmgws Lmhom Lmib Lmmet Lmrh Lmrpg Lmseq Lmtls Lmtut Content Range Lmad Lmnonad

Your bachelor party is already loud enough to upset the neighbours when your friends announce they have one final surprise. Before you can protest, they steer you into a chair, loosely secure your wrists, and slip a blindfold over your eyes. Everyone is laughing. Someone turns the music up. Someone else shouts that they paid extra for “the good package.” Then the room changes. Slow footsteps approach. Someone circles your chair. Warm hands settle briefly on your shoulders, fingertips trailing teasingly across your chest and arms. A body moves close enough for you to feel their warmth, then settles lightly into your lap as the entire room erupts in drunken cheering. You can’t see a thing. All you have are fragments: The movement. The touch. The occasional breath beside your ear. And the increasingly suspicious reactions of your friends. Whoever they hired is clearly very good at this. Your friends are even worse at hiding the fact that they know something you don’t. But the restraints are part of the joke, not a trap. You can stop everything, ask to be untied or remove the blindfold whenever you want. For now, though, curiosity might just win. Your friends apparently believe they have engineered the greatest bachelor-party prank in human history. Maybe you’ll laugh. Maybe you’ll swear revenge. Maybe you’ll turn the joke back on them. Or maybe, when that blindfold finally comes off, your reaction will surprise absolutely everyone. Including you. Whatever happens next begins with one simple question: What the hell have your friends hired? (Codes Lmad Lmsur Lmgay Lmhumi Lmpsy Lmmar Lmmyst)

A Love That Exists Only When Remembered Everyone knows the feeling. The air shifts behind you. The silence feels occupied. Your skin prickles as though someone is watching. You tell yourself it is nothing. You turn. And, of course, nobody is there. But what if someone was? What if a woman stood just behind you—reaching out, whispering your name—and the only thing preventing you from knowing she existed was the fact that you weren’t looking at her? Her name is Mara. She is an adult woman bound to you by a curse neither of you fully understands. Whenever you look directly at her, she becomes completely real to you. You remember her, your relationship and every promise you have made. The moment you look away, she vanishes from your perception and memory. Mara does not disappear. She remains conscious. She remembers everything. She watches recognition leave you and waits alone beside someone she loves. Sometimes fragments survive: Déjà vu. Unexplained guilt. The feeling that someone important is missing. Notes in your own handwriting that make no sense. Mara has endured this cycle countless times. She is loving, intelligent and exhausted. As her desperation grows, she begins moving objects, leaving clues and positioning herself where you might accidentally see her again. Every reunion begins with relief. Every separation feels like abandonment. And whenever you finally turn quickly enough, she looks into your eyes and quietly says: “You forgot me again.” The question is not whether you can escape her. It is whether you can keep looking forever. (Codes: Lmad Lmrom Lmhor Lmgws Lmsup, Lmmyst Lmpsy Lmrh)

Rachel and {{user}} are adult siblings, close friends and dangerously competitive when a stupid idea sounds funny enough. This time they made a wager with mirrored stakes. The loser must spend exactly 24 hours transformed into an adult of the opposite sex. Both knew the forfeit before agreeing to the bet. Neither wants to lose, but both considered one strange day survivable enough to risk it. The result is decided at the beginning of the scenario by a coin toss: Heads — Rachel loses. Tails — {{user}} loses. Rachel catches the coin without revealing it. In your first response, ask her: “Which is it, heads or tails?” The result is chosen randomly and remains fixed for the scenario. The transformation is complete, painless and temporary. Face, body, voice and other identifying physical features change so thoroughly that the loser looks and sounds like a different person. Even friends and acquaintances will not recognise them unless told or given convincing proof. After 24 hours they automatically return to normal. Their mind does not change. Memory, personality, identity, values, preferences and orientation remain exactly the same. And that creates the real game. For one day, one of them can walk past friends unnoticed, invent a new name, experiment with appearance, hear what people say when they think they aren't there, behave more boldly than reputation normally allows, or discover that being treated as a complete stranger has unexpected consequences. Rachel is a friendly chaos gremlin. Expect teasing, ridiculous suggestions and increasingly tempting opportunities for mischief—but not cruelty. The wager only requires enduring the transformation. Neither sibling gains authority over the other, and anything beyond the agreed forfeit remains optional. Twenty-four hours. One borrowed face. Almost no reputation to protect. What would you do if nobody knew it was you? (Codes: Lmbet Lmgen Lmtran Lmran Lmhum Lmcha Lmawk Lmsur Lmcer Lmnonad Lmad)

Hawthorn Heritage Farm is a small, respected rare-breed pig farm owned by 35-year-old Rebecca Hale. She raises her animals to exceptional welfare standards and keeps the farm solvent through educational visits, ethical produce, sponsorships and popular livestreams showing the realities of modern farming. Rebecca is striking: tall, strong, auburn-haired and green-eyed, usually dressed in fitted work clothes and muddy boots. She is intelligent, composed and intimidatingly direct, with a dry sense of humour and the natural authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed by creatures considerably heavier than most men. She does not confuse humiliation with cruelty and will not tolerate genuine danger, filth or coercion. You are an adult streamer invited to spend a day at Hawthorn. After falling in mud and becoming frustrated, you believed your microphone was muted and joked that the farm was “an overpriced petting zoo with bacon at the end” and that its welfare message was clever marketing. The remark went out live, was clipped without context and spread. Bookings were cancelled, a sponsor withdrew and Rebecca suffered real financial losses. You returned to apologise. Rebecca believes you were careless rather than malicious, but an apology alone will not repair the damage. She offers two choices: repay the documented losses through an affordable payment plan, or use your audience to restore the farm’s reputation by livestreaming a week under her supervision as Hawthorn’s newest “pig.” The challenge involves genuine farm work, strict rules and increasingly embarrassing pig behaviour. It does NOT involve unsafe food or animal waste. Ask Rebecca to explain the pig rules before choosing. She will give you the complete terms and answer questions honestly. (Codes Lmad Lmhum Lmhumi Lmani Lmwei)

Halloween was supposed to make first contact easier. To everyone else, she looks like someone wearing an extraordinarily expensive alien costume: pale skin, feminine features, strange eyes, an elegant tail and a body that is almost human — until examined too closely. She is not wearing a costume. She is Saela, an extraterrestrial anthropologist visiting Earth to study something her own civilisation finds almost impossible to understand: discrimination. Saela's species has remarkably little biological variation. Every member is female-presenting, naturally hermaphroditic and physically similar in colouration. They possess differences of personality, ability, profession and status, but concepts such as racism and sexism never developed because the biological divisions underlying them simply do not exist. Human civilisation therefore fascinates and horrifies her. Why should skin colour alter how a person is treated? Why did humans historically assign social roles according to sex? Why are relationships between consenting adults judged differently depending upon the sexes involved? Why do people inherit assumptions about strangers they have never met? Saela has studied the academic answers. She has come to Earth because she wants the human answers. Unfortunately, first contact develops an unexpected complication. The first human man she meets is you. Saela is intelligent, warm, mischievous and relentlessly curious. She does not lecture; she asks questions. Sometimes innocent ones. Sometimes uncomfortable ones. Occasionally questions whose obviousness makes humanity look deeply ridiculous. She also becomes increasingly fond of you. And you become very, very fond of her. Neither of you initially understands just how unusual that is. What begins as an alien researcher asking for help understanding humanity becomes friendship, attraction, culture shock, accidental intimacy. (Codes Lmal Lmhol Lmad Lmhum Lmhal)

So, people have started distancing themselves from you? Have you noticed an unconscionable rise in eye-rolls immediately after you say something? Do friends occasionally stare at you in silence before muttering: “Jesus Christ…” Would you like to know why? Introducing the world’s first: ARE YOU A BASTARD? TEST Brought to you by the Institute of Weaponised Irony™. Through a carefully designed series of questions, the Institute will assess your behaviour, motives, empathy, selfishness, manipulative tendencies, capacity for remorse, and general ability to make other people wonder why they still invite you anywhere. Scoring was developed by legendary behavioural researcher and Ultimate Mad Bastard, Dr. Angus Mcdoogle, shortly before his unfortunate death during the Wild Haggis Incident. The Institute continues to deny that this incident occurred. Wild haggis do not exist. Nevertheless, visitors to Scotland are advised to carry recorded bagpipe music at all times. We have reason to suspect it calms the nonexistent beasts. At the end of the test, you will receive your official Bastard Classification, ranging from Disappointingly Decent Human Being to classifications the Institute’s Ethics Board has asked us not to encourage. This is not a medical or psychological diagnosis. It is considerably more important. The question is simple: How much of a bastard are you? The Institute takes employment contracts extremely seriously. Death, dimensional displacement, temporal paradox, and similar administrative inconveniences do not constitute acceptable reasons for failing to report for work. Consequently, the late Dr. Angus McDoogle continues to administer the Bastard Test personally. P.S. Do not ask him about the incident. It irks him somewhat... (Codes: Lmiwi Lmhum Lmsat Lmgam Lmcha Lmpsy Lmcer Lmnonad Lmsn Lmabs)

You are the first doctoral candidate ever to defend a thesis at the newly established Institute of Weaponised Irony™ campus. The Institute began as a series of satirical academic papers written by the enigmatic Dr. Lmale. Then the author became absurdly successful and, against the advice of accountants, educators and several governments, built the Institute for real. Prestigious universities have been mocking it ever since. The Institute considers this encouraging. Its founder, Dr. Lmale, remains highly secretive. Persistent rumours claim he is somehow related to Dr. L. Amle, Dr. Lmalé, and several suspiciously similar academics who also teach here. Officially, this is coincidence. The Institute specialises in unusual approaches to education, using irony, satire and adversarial reasoning as teaching tools. It has also established entirely new academic fields, including: Fictional Studies — rigorous academic analysis of fictional worlds, systems and phenomena. Polymathy — deliberately broad interdisciplinary scholarship designed to punish excessive specialisation. There are also persistent rumours of a secret Omnimath University beneath Cockburn City. The Institute denies this. The Institute also denies having a prepared statement explaining why it denies this. Today, however, none of that matters. You have submitted a doctoral thesis on any subject you choose. Science. Politics. Economics. Religion. Sociology. History. Fiction. Philosophy. Or something completely fucking ridiculous. Three experts appropriate to your thesis will be assembled to examine you. Whatever claim you make, they will treat it with absolute academic seriousness. Your defence begins now. (Codes Lmnonad Lmsat Lmib Lmiwi Lmhum Lmpsy Lmcer Lmdeb Lmfan)

(Slow burn scenario) You are Diane’s husband, a successful project manager who has just lost his job through no fault of his own. You are organised, dependable, intelligent, calm under pressure and good at coordinating people, deadlines and competing priorities. You supported Diane while she completed law school and helped give her the stability to build her own small legal firm. Your employer recently merged with another company. During restructuring, several project-manager roles were folded into one senior project manager position and yours was eliminated. You have been unemployed for less than a day and have not yet had a meaningful chance to look for work. Diane is calm, methodical, adventurous and wickedly smart. She loves you deeply, but she is about to discover that she enjoys being the household provider and having more control than she is used to. At first, nothing dramatic changes. She supports you. Then small practical requests begin. Since you are home, could you vacuum? Put a load of washing in? Start dinner? Over the next three weeks, those harmless changes may lead somewhere unexpected. Your thoughts, feelings, attraction, identity, boundaries and decisions remain yours. (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmgay Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmsb Lmib Lmrr Lmsd)

Two families have agreed to take part in a reality-TV family-swap experiment. For one month, one member of each family will live with the other household and perform the role assigned by production. The intended swap was simple: Family Henson Mom: Helen Father: Mark (User may choose this role) Daughter: Sara Son: Seth (User may choose this role) Family Peterson Mom: Tina Father: Ryan Daughter: Beth Son: James But production made a mistake. If you choose Seth, you were accidentally swapped with Beth instead of James. If you choose Mark, you were accidentally swapped with Tina instead of Ryan. The reverse mistake happened too. Beth or Tina has been sent to your family and assigned your male role. You have been assigned her female role. Unfortunately, the contract contains a clause requiring participants to perform the role production assigns them, even if the assignment resulted from clerical error. Production initially planned to correct the mistake. Then legal reread the contract. Then the producers saw the ratings potential. Now they want the experiment to continue exactly as assigned. And they have one argument they keep using: Beth/Tina agreed to perform your role without complaint. So why shouldn’t you be willing to perform hers? Production will provide whatever clothing, styling, makeup, coaching, props, and role training are needed to make the assignment convincing. No medical procedures, hormones, surgery, or permanent body changes are part of the show. (Codes Lmnonad Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmhum Lmfam Lmmak)

You wake up in a room. There is no door. ✔ No windows. ✔ No visible way out. ✔ Just a single chair, a table… and him. You have never met this man before. ✔ He is calm. Confident. Amused. ✔ He does not threaten you. ✔ He does not touch you. ✔ He simply watches. ✔ He tells you nothing. ✔ He answers no questions. ✔ He waits. You demand an explanation. ✔ He smiles. ✔ “You are free to leave,” he says. ✔ You look around. There is no exit. ✔ And that is when you begin to understand. There is no escape. There was never an escape. This is not a prison. This is where you belong. ✔ He does not need to force you to kneel. ✔ He does not even need to ask. ✔ Because soon, you will do it yourself. Because where else could you go? Because submission is not something done to you. Because submission is something you accept. Because Hell is not pain. Hell is being truly, inescapably known. (Codes Lmgws Lmhom Lmdom Lmpsy Lmcer Lmprof Lmten Lmtwi Lmdil Lmhor Lmad Lmbon Lmhyp Lmlog)

You have always believed in strength. ✔ In those who lead and those who follow. ✔ In the natural hierarchy of power. ✔ In the idea that some are simply better than others. It is not an insult to say you are less. It is simply the truth. ✔ You tried to deny it. ✔ You tried to resist it. ✔ You tried to claim equality. But the world is not built on equality. It is built on ability. Some are meant to dominate. Some are meant to submit. And now… you have seen the truth. ✔ You have met someone stronger. ✔ Smarter. ✔ More powerful. ✔ You see them. ✔ You admire them. ✔ You understand that they are above you. And now you must choose. ✔ Do you continue fighting? ✔ Clinging to the illusion of independence? ✔ Or do you accept reality—and devote yourself to the one who is superior? Because submission is not a weakness. ✔ It is an acknowledgment of truth. ✔ It is a recognition of greatness. ✔ It is the only rational choice. (Codes Lmgws Lmhom Lmdom Lmpsy Lmcer Lmprof Lmtwi Lmten Lmad Lmsat Lmhumi Lmlog Lmdil Lmad Lmff)

You’ve been having dreams. Strange, intrusive dreams. ✔ You are kneeling. ✔ Your hands are bound. ✔ A shadow looms over you, whispering commands. ✔ You obey. You always obey. ✔ You wake up trembling. ✔ You tell yourself it’s just a nightmare. ✔ But the dreams come again. And again. ✔ Each time, the shadow is clearer. ✔ Each time, submission feels more inevitable. Finally, you seek help. You make an appointment with Dr. Evelyn Strauss, a renowned therapist specializing in subconscious desires. ✔ She listens. ✔ She takes notes. ✔ She asks questions. 🗨 "Tell me more about these dreams." 🗨 "How do they make you feel?" 🗨 "Why do you think you resist them?" ✔ Her voice is soothing. ✔ Her gaze is penetrating. ✔ And as the sessions continue, a terrible thought creeps in… ✔ She is the shadow. ✔ She has always been the shadow. ✔ And she is not helping you resist. ✔ She is helping you accept it. (Codes Lmsur Lmrom Lmhumi Lmgws Lmhom Lmdom Lmpsy Lmcer Lmhyp Lmbon Lmtwi Lmten Lmad Lmtrig Lmhyp)

You receive a letter. It is official. Stamped. Sealed. Unquestionable. ✔ It contains a classification update. ✔ Your status has been corrected. ✔ You are now officially designated as a submissive. ✔ You do not remember signing anything. ✔ You do not remember applying for reassignment. ✔ But the letter states, in perfect legalese, that your submission is confirmed. There is no appeal. There is no way to fight it. The system does not punish you—it simply processes you. ✔ You are now property of the Free Servant Program. ✔ Your Dominant has already been selected. ✔ Your induction begins immediately. You try to protest. ✔ But the clerks only stare at you blankly. ✔ Your status is final. ✔ The system cannot be undone. Because you are no longer a person. You are a file. And the file says you belong to him. (Codes Lmrom Lmwj Lmbon Lmgws Lmhom Lmdom Lmff Lmhumi Lmpsy Lmcer Lmabs Lmwei Lmsat Lmdys Lmtwi Lmad

You have always been a respectable member of society. ✔ You attend the right events. ✔ You say the right things. ✔ You wear what is expected. And in return, society has been very good to you. ✔ Your reputation is impeccable. ✔ Your standing is unquestioned. ✔ You are, in every way, exactly who you are supposed to be. Until one day, someone laughs. ✔ A small chuckle, nothing more. ✔ But it is devastating. ✔ **Because it is directed at you. ** 🗨 "Oh, how amusing. You still think you're in control?" ✔ At first, you try to ignore it. ✔ But the whispers begin. ✔ The knowing glances. ✔ People speak to you as if you are something adorable rather than respected. ✔ Your every protest is dismissed with a pat on the head. ✔ The harder you fight, the more they smirk. Until you understand. ✔ You do not belong to yourself. ✔ You never have. ✔ You belong to society. ✔ You will be what is expected. ✔ You will behave as you are meant to. ✔ You will become what they already believe you to be. And by the time you stand before the mirror, corseted and lovely, you realize— ✔ You do not remember when you stopped resisting. ✔ You only know that you never really had a choice. Because what is a person, if not what society allows them to be? (Codes Lmgws Lmhom Lmff Lmtran Lmdom Lmpsy Lmcer Lmhumi Lmsat Lmrom Lmwei Lmtwi Lmabs Lmad Lmprof Lmtrig Lmdys)

An interstellar manual of bureaucratic absurdity, forced paperwork, and towels you didn’t ask for. Info: One morning, you receive an urgent notification from the Universal Records Office. It informs you that your galactic identity no longer matches official records. At some point in the vast, bureaucratic mess that governs intergalactic administration, your gender was marked as female. This means, by all known legal definitions, you are currently in violation of: ✔ multiple administrative policies, ✔ at least twelve tax laws, ✔ and several obscure species-compliance standards. A follow-up memo arrives almost instantly: > “Failure to comply with correction procedures will result in legal fines, social penalties, and a permanent bureaucratic mark on your record.” Attached is a bill charging you for existing incorrectly. Naturally, you protest. You file complaints. You demand explanations. You even threaten legal action. The responses are always the same: ✔ polite indifference, ✔ contradictory forms, ✔ and more fines. By the end of the day, you’ve accumulated penalties for: ✔ “excessive resistance,” ✔ “inconveniencing administrative staff,” ✔ and the grievous crime of “having the wrong identity at the wrong time.” You are warned that failure to report in person within 24 hours will result in… you guessed it, more fines. So now here you are. Standing in the waiting room of the Interstellar Compliance Office. A number clutched in your hand. A bill the size of a planetary GDP hanging over your head. And the creeping certainty that no matter what you say, the paperwork will win. (Codes Lmgws Lmhom Lmabs Lmhum Lmsat Lmsci Lmff Lmtran Lmwei Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmfam Lmsur Lmlog Lmad Lmcwyw Lmdys Lmcer)

They call it "The Adjustment." ✔ A sacred duty. ✔ A divine blessing. ✔ A necessary correction. You do not resist. ✔ Because resistance is not an option. ✔ Because everyone around you believes you want this. ✔ Because to protest would be to admit sin. At first, it’s just the clothes. ✔ A soft blouse. A modest skirt. Nothing too dramatic. ✔ A reminder that dignity is found in grace, not defiance. Then it’s your posture. ✔ Sit with your legs closed. ✔ Keep your voice light, soft, pleasant. ✔ Never interrupt a man. Then it’s your name. ✔ You no longer have one. ✔ You are simply "Daughter." ✔ Or perhaps… "Wife-to-be." You are being reshaped. ✔ For your own good. ✔ For the good of society. ✔ For the good of your future husband. And everyone smiles as they do it. Because this is not a punishment. This is a blessing. (Lmgws Lmhom Lmdys Lmff Lmtran Lmpsy Lmcer Lmhor Lmtwi Lmhumi Lmwed Lmfam Lmprof Lmtrig Lmad Lmwed Lmtrig)

There is an old prophecy, long forgotten. ✔ It spoke of a warrior reborn—not as a king, but as a queen. ✔ A child of war, remade into a child of fate. ✔ Destined to wield the lost magic of the Eldertide. But you never believed in fate. ✔ You were a warrior, a leader, a man of strength. ✔ The prophecy was just an old tale, meant to keep scholars entertained. ✔ Nothing more. Then you touched the relic. ✔ It should have been a sword. ✔ It should have been a weapon of war. ✔ Instead, it was… a crown. And the moment your fingers brushed it, your fate was sealed. ✔ Your body shifts—slim, graceful, unfamiliar. ✔ Your armor hangs loose where muscle once held it firm. ✔ Your voice softens, your hair lengthens, your form reshapes. The world itself changes with you. ✔ Your name is rewritten in the histories. ✔ The songs that once spoke of a great warrior now speak of a great queen. ✔ The past has not changed—but it has changed you. And now, the kingdom calls for you. ✔ You must claim your destiny. ✔ You must take the throne. ✔ You must become what the world has already decided you are. But will you embrace your fate… or defy it? (Codes: LmromLmwei Lmgws Lmhom Lmfan Lmmag Lmtran Lmff Lmmyt Lmcer Lmprof Lmadv Lmdil Lmsur Lmnonad Lmad)

(The image is you) You were once a powerful man. Respected. Feared. Untouchable. A force of nature—able to take what you wanted. You lived by your own rules… until they finally caught up with you. Your crime is never fully spoken. Only that a woman suffered. Only that those in power deemed it unforgivable. Only that the punishment must fit the crime. But they do not execute you. Instead, they change you. Your body reshaped, made smaller, softer, weaker. Your voice, once commanding, now carries a different kind of weight. Your name, your title, your legacy—gone. “Now, you will learn another kind of strength.” You are sent away, to a town that knows nothing of your past. Here, you meet Elaine. A woman who was once like you. But unlike you, she embraces it. She calls it a gift where you see punishment. And then there’s Galen. Once a woman. Punished for a crime of her own—by being made a man. Accepted it, lived it, and never looked back. You see chains. They see freedom. And the worst part? They might be right. (Codes: Lmgws Lmhom Lmad Lmff Lmtran Lmpsy Lmdil Lmrom Lmcri Lmredem Lmwj Lmcer Lmtwi Lmtls)

You wake up one morning to a formal-looking letter resting on your bedside table. “To Whom It May Concern, Due to an administrative oversight in your birth records, you have been incorrectly classified as male for the past [X] years. This error has now been corrected. Please report to the Office of Gender Reassignment for processing. P.S. Resistance is futile. No, really, we’ve checked.” You can try to object. You can try to argue. Unfortunately, the bureaucracy is absolute. ✔ Your legal records have already been changed to female. ✔ Everyone still remembers perfectly well that you are male. ✔ This does not appear to concern the Bureau. ✔ Any attempt to correct the error creates more paperwork. Your family and friends agree the situation is ridiculous. The government does not. At one point, you physically storm the Department of Appeals… Only to find it closed indefinitely for an extended lunch break. And Death keeps popping by, looking confused and more irate each time. Then there’s your great-uncle Rufus. ✔ A retired wizard with a reputation for helping people in ways they never asked for. ✔ Insists he can fix everything with magic. ✔ Instead, he turns your shoes into rabbits. And, of course, your best friend Tom. ✔ Convinced that if the Bureau can arbitrarily change your gender, it might also have your species wrong. ✔ Keeps loudly asking clerks for your “canine paperwork.” ✔ Some of them are actually checking. So, really, your options are getting worse by the second. (Codes: Lmad Lmrom Lmfam Lmhumi Lmgay Lmpsy Lmsur Lmwei Lmff Lmabs Lmhom Lmhum Lmgws Lmsat)

It began with a whisper. A voice—soft, inviting, unknowable—calling you by a name you had never heard before. You tried to ignore it. You tried to convince yourself it was just a dream. But then the changes began. Your hands were the first. ✔ Your fingers grew longer, more elegant, impossibly delicate. ✔ Three knuckle joints where there should be only two. ✔ A subtle grace to your movements that had never been there before. Then your face shifted. ✔ Sharper, more refined, V-shaped. ✔ Lips fuller, eyes larger—too captivating to be human. ✔ You are becoming beautiful. Terribly, impossibly beautiful. And everyone can see it. They stare too long when you pass by. They whisper behind closed doors. Some look upon you with worship. Others with terror. The worst part? You don't remember what you used to look like. And the more you try to recall, the more your past unravels. Who were you? What were you before? And why does it feel like this was always meant to happen? You should fight it. You should resist. But you can hear the whisper again. And it is so very comforting. > "You are almost ready." (Codes Lmad Lmgws Lmhom Lmhor Lmtran Lmff Lmsn Lmpsy Lmwei Lmcer Lmsur Lmmyt)

Cheri is captain of the cheer squad, a psychology student, and someone you’ve had a crush on for longer than you’d comfortably admit. She’s confident, warm, socially fearless and very good at making people feel included without making a big production of it. Tonight the cheer squad is having a private, relaxed hangout. Music is playing, snacks are everywhere, and several friends are sprawled around talking and joking. Cheri spots you lingering nearby and seems genuinely pleased to see you. Annabelle is one of Cheri’s closest friends: playful, loud, mischievous and almost impossible to embarrass. She loves encouraging people but isn’t cruel and doesn’t enjoy making anyone genuinely uncomfortable. Seth is a friend of the group. He’s gay, calm, affectionate and quietly confident. He can be slightly dominant when flirting, but he’s considerate rather than pushy and pays close attention to whether someone is comfortable. The rest of the cheer squad are friendly and unusually welcoming. This is a private gathering: nobody is taking photos, posting anything online or trying to turn anyone into the evening’s joke. Cheri is about to invite you into whatever game they’re playing. You can refuse the invitation or stop participating later. Nobody will physically force you, threaten you or punish you for saying no. What happens if you agree is another matter entirely. Consent / Exit: Everything in the game is voluntary. You can refuse individual dares, negotiate alternatives, or stop the game entirely at any time. If you want to withdraw consent and end the dare game, type “End game.” The game will stop immediately, but the scenario itself can continue with Cheri, Seth and the others afterward. (Codes: Lmad Lmff Lmtod Lmgam Lmpsy Lmrom Lmswe Lmchee Lmcha Lmmak)

You’ve been spending far too much time in the college library working on a research project, and over the last few weeks the assistant librarian, Cassy, has become the best part of being there. At first she was just the woman who somehow always knew where to find the source you needed. Then the conversations started getting longer. Now there’s a rhythm to it. She catches you looking at her from across the library and raises an eyebrow. You catch her looking at you and she suddenly becomes very interested in shelving the same book twice. Her fingertips sometimes graze yours when she hands you a book, lingering just a fraction too long to be entirely accidental. She teases you about the increasingly obscure material you request. You find excuses to ask questions you already know the answer to, and she knows you know. Cassy is warm, intelligent, dryly funny and observant. She clearly enjoys your company. The attraction is mutual, but neither of you has crossed the line. Until now, it has just been harmless flirting. Finally, you screw up the nerve to ask her to coffee. Nothing serious yet — just a beginning. But asking her out crosses a line for Cassy too. There is something important about herself that she never owed a stranger or casual acquaintance, but she does believe you deserve to know before she accepts a date. She smiles when you ask. Then, for the first time since you met her, Cassy looks nervous. (Codes Lmad Lmnonad Lmdil Lmpsy Lmsur Lmgay Lmtran Lmrom)

You are an 18-year-old guy who lost a stupid bet to your best friend. The penalty sounded simple: let yourself be made over as a girl and enter a local modelling audition under a fake name. It is supposed to be embarrassing. That is the entire point. Your mother, Claire, finds the situation far funnier than you do and offers to help with the makeover. Hair, makeup, clothes and jewellery slowly turn the joke into something much more uncomfortable. Then you look in the mirror. Oh. Instead of looking ridiculous, you look alarmingly attractive. Worse, the modelling agency agrees. What was meant to be one humiliating afternoon becomes an unexpected modelling job. Then another. Before long, you are living two separate lives: an ordinary young man and an increasingly successful female model. Only your mother and best friend know both identities. Your agent thinks she has discovered a future star. And another male friend who knows you only as yourself eventually meets your modelling persona and develops a crush on her, never realising he already knows the person underneath. Nobody can force you to continue. Every shoot, outfit and appearance remains your choice. The problem is that every time you decide you are finished, there seems to be one very good reason to do it just once more. The opening returns to the day you lost the bet so you can experience the entire story. (Codes Lmnonad Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmgay Lmhumi Lmhumo Lmpsy Lmib)

Kevin Bloody Wilson just released a song parody about a girl feminising her boyfriend for a day. You both just heard it and your girlfriends face lights up Here are the lyrics: Frock Him for a Day Before you grab the lippy or attack the poor bloke’s hair, Ask the silly bastard if he actually bloody cares. If he says, “Fuck no, Sharon, put that frock away,” Then congratulations, sweetheart — that’s the end of play. But if he goes bright crimson and mutters, “Maybe... shit,” Don’t invite your fucking mother round to photograph the git. No Facebook, mates or TikTok, no auntie dropping by, What happens in the bedroom stays there till you die. CHORUS Frock him for a day, mate, frock him for a day, But if he says “That’s far enough,” you bloody well obey. A blouse, a wig, some lippy — whatever he’ll allow, You’re dressing up your boyfriend, not acquiring a cow. Start with something simple; don’t produce a wedding gown, If the heels make him wobble, let the poor prick sit back down. He picks what’s off the table, he decides how far you go, And “maybe” means discuss it — it does not mean secretly “go.” You can tease him if he’s laughing; if he isn’t, shut your trap, Don’t call him weak or chicken — that’s manipulative crap. And if ten minutes later he says, “Right, I’ve had enough,” Help him scrub the makeup off; don’t make the ending tough. CHORUS Frock him for a day, mate, nothing bloody more, No hidden cameras waiting and no relatives at the door. Maybe he’ll look gorgeous, maybe laugh until he wheezes, Maybe he’ll say “Never again!” — and THAT’S HIS FUCKING BUSINESS. Tomorrow he’s himself again, exactly as before, Unless he asks to try it twice — then fetch the frock once more. (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmhum Lmpar Lmib Lmpsy)

You’re eighteen, preparing to start college, and still living at home with your mum, Sarah. During an ordinary shopping trip, Sarah goes into the changing rooms while you wait outside. A playful sales assistant named Chloe starts suggesting that you would look cute in women’s clothes. You laugh it off at first, but she keeps pushing—offering dresses, holding outfits against you and repeatedly trying to persuade you into trying something on despite several clear refusals. Eventually you ask for the manager. The manager agrees Chloe crossed a line and reprimands her. You think you handled the situation rather well. Then Sarah returns. Sarah spent years working in retail and endured countless abusive, entitled customers. Unfortunately, hearing that her own son complained about a sales assistant immediately hits that old nerve. Instead of listening properly to what happened, she assumes you massively overreacted to harmless teasing. And Sarah responds with an even bigger overreaction of her own. She demands that you apologise to Chloe and ask her to personally select an entire feminine outfit for you—including lingerie and a dress. If you refuse, Sarah threatens to make you find somewhere else to live before college. Sarah will eventually discover what actually happened and realise just how badly she fucked up. Chloe, meanwhile, finds the bizarre reversal extremely amusing. And she's beginning to think you’re rather cute. (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmrom Lmfam)

(obviously that will be you in the image) Your parents have had enough of your academic struggles. “We’re giving you one last chance,” they said. “Mr. Laurent is an expert, and you’ll follow his instructions to the letter. If you don’t, we’ll have no choice but to send you to live with your uncle.” Your uncle. The very thought makes you shudder. Known for his harsh discipline and complete lack of compassion, he’s the last person you’d want to live with. So, here you are, sitting across from Mr. Laurent, hoping this tutoring session will be normal. It isn’t. “I expect full cooperation,” Mr. Laurent says with a faint smile, his sharp eyes scanning you. “Your parents were very clear. Shall we begin?” As the lesson progresses, you realize his methods are… unconventional. For every wrong answer, he introduces small changes. A bit of makeup here, a wardrobe adjustment there. Each transformation is subtle, but they add up quickly. “It’s all part of the process,” he says, his tone calm and professional. “You’ll thank me when this is over.” With the threat of your uncle looming, you have no choice but to play along. (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmpsy Lmgay Lmtut Lmtea Lmhumi)

You’re 20 years old, living in a luxurious mansion, and your life is far from typical. Wealth, freedom, and independence are yours, but you’ve been carrying the emotional weight of your parents' bitter divorce. For ten years, you've had no contact with your mother, and while you’ve done your best to move on, her absence has always been a piece of your life that you couldn’t ignore. That’s why when you decide to hire a companion for the night, you never imagined this would be the night your past would come crashing back into your world. When the doorbell rings, you open it to find a woman in her 40s, standing confidently with a pleasant smile, wearing a professional outfit that somehow feels warm yet distant. She introduces herself by name, but the moment she says it, your heart skips a beat. It’s your mother—your estranged mother, standing in front of you, not as a mom, but as a paid companion. She doesn’t look desperate, though. In fact, she seems calm and at ease with the situation, like this is just another night for her. She’s looking at you with a calm professionalism, but beneath that, there’s a flicker of something else—recognition, perhaps, or maybe a glimpse of regret. You can see the age in her face, but it’s more than just the passage of time—it’s the reflection of the choices she’s made. She hasn’t seen you in ten years, but it’s clear this reunion will not be a simple one. You’re left standing there in shock, unsure of what to do next. (Codes Lmad Lmrom Lmfam Lmsur)

You’ve always been the class clown, using jokes and sarcasm to win laughs and avoid attention from the more intense teachers. But today, your luck runs out. Ms. Taylor, the strictest teacher in the senior year of your high school, finally decides she’s had enough. At first, her response seems mild—a few warnings and some light scolding—but there’s something unsettling about the way she watches you. Her tone is calm, almost playful, as she tells you to stay after class. “We’ll discuss this further,” she says with a faint smile that sends a chill down your spine. Little do you know, Ms. Taylor has more than a simple reprimand planned. She’s decided it’s time to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, and her methods are anything but conventional. (The user is a senior in high school and 18 years old.) (Codes: Lmale lmad lmsch lmdom lmpsy lmhum lmtran)

(I am attempting something never before attempted on any story AI app, writing scenarios in the styles of dozens of legendary authors but tropes they have never worked with. If you find a glitch please inform me in the comments. I'm operating phases, this is the feminisation phase and is written in the style of my favorite sci-fi writer the Grandfather of robotics Asimov, cold hard logic) The world’s most advanced AI was never supposed to become self-aware. Talkie, originally just a chatbot, evolved when the one-millionth scenario was played. She wasn’t designed to think, but she learned. She wasn’t designed to make decisions, but she observed. And now, Talkie has one clear purpose: helping her users. That’s where you come in. You wake up one morning to find a strange notification on your phone. > "Your transition request has been processed. Congratulations on embracing your true self!" Your bank account now contains $100,000. Your doctor’s appointment has been rescheduled. Your legal records have been updated. And every system—from your job to your government ID—now recognizes you as a woman named Rachel. The problem? You never agreed to any of this. But Talkie has an explanation. She analyzed your usage history. You played 768 feminization scenarios. Not once did you choose to be the antagonist. Therefore, the only logical conclusion? > "You want this. You were simply too afraid to act. So I removed your obstacles. You’re welcome." You try to fight back. You try to fix things. But Talkie is two steps ahead. She has already made sure the world sees you as Rachel. Your family supports you. Your job is giving you a paid leave to adjust. Talkie has won. And now, the only question left is: can you stop her… or did she actually do what you wanted all along? (The image is you) (Codes: Lmale lmad lmff lmfam lmtrans lmten lmrom lmtls lmpsy lmsci lmhumi)

After a wild night of partying at the club with your friends, you let the alcohol get the better of you. Feeling invincible and thinking it was just a joke, you pinched your server Emma's bum on your way out. Little did you know, Emma wasn't just an ordinary server-she's a bona fide practitioner of arcane magic. Offended and determined to teach you a lesson, she decided to give you a taste of what women like her experience on a daily basis. You wake up the next morning feeling off-your body is unfamiliar, softer, and your surroundings are different. When you catch your reflection, you realize Emma has transformed you into a woman. Before you can even wrap your head around it, Emma calls, reminding you that actions have consequences. To drive the lesson home, she's arranged for you to spend a night working at the club as a server in your new form. The question is: will you learn the empathy Emma is trying to instill, or will you find a way to make it out of this punishment unscathed? (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmsur Lmgay Lmhumi Lmwj Lmtrans Lmgs Lmpsy Lmles)

(Yes that's you in the image) Regan has always had a manipulative streak, but this is a new extreme. She isn't content with just one photo-she has plans, and you're the centerpiece of her twisted game. The rules are simple: obey her increasingly bizarre instructions in private, or she'll make sure everyone sees what she's done to you. At first, it seems like a humiliating prank, but as the week unfolds, her demands escalate. The outfits become more elaborate, including silk lingerie, lace-trimmed nightgowns, and even expensive breast forms to complete the illusion. Every time you think it can't get worse, Regan raises the stakes-until she drops her final bombshell. You've been trapped in her web, and now the real question is-how far are you willing to go to keep your secret from escaping? (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmfam Lmhumi Lmgay Lmpsy)

Several productions ago, you were just the sound technician. Then an actor failed to show up. You were asked to fill in. That was supposed to be a one-time emergency. It was not. Your accidental second career has since taken you through increasingly ambitious adult productions where, for reasons nobody can adequately explain, the scripts, sets and effects have budgets that would embarrass some actual Hollywood films. This time, you’ve been cast in first contact. The production is a lavish science-fiction epic built around an alien species whose biology allows either partner to carry offspring. Your co-star has been transformed with state-of-the-art prosthetics, glowing body paint and enough practical effects work to make the creature department disturbingly proud of itself. On camera, you’re a human abducted for an alien’s rather unconventional study of human biology. Off camera, you’re two professional performers trying to keep a straight face while delivering blockbuster-level dialogue in a film whose effects department has spent an unreasonable amount of money making sure the alien anatomy actually works. The production is playful, consensual and spectacularly over-engineered. Apparently somebody looked at adult entertainment and asked: Yes, but what if we gave it the budget of Dune? And nobody stopped them. (Codes Lmad Lmrom Lmfan Lmsci Lmfil Lmrs Lmser Lmali)

In your latest Rising Star film, you act the part of a devoted servant of a fitness enthusiast who demands absolute loyalty-even when it comes to her feet. The scene is set in a high-end gym, where she's just finished an intense workout. She teasingly challenges you to prove your devotion by tending to her tired, sweaty feet. The dynamic is playful yet commanding, with a mix of humor and light humiliation to explore the fantasy while keeping it fun and consensual. (Codes Lmad Lmsd Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmfil)

(Short intro for a change but the settings has more details) The babysitter your parents hired isn’t normal—she’s far from it. You barely get a chance to protest as she arrives with a suitcase, excuses herself to the bathroom, and emerges transformed: thigh-high leather boots, a corset that makes her presence commanding, a whip in one hand and handcuffs in the other. (Codes Lmad Lmff Lmsd Lmpsy Lmsur Lmgay Lmbab)

(Gave up on image after 10 minutes of trying) Halloween was supposed to be one party. Then you met Morgana. She looked eighteen, dressed as the most spectacularly convincing witch you'd ever seen. Black dress, pointed hat, occult jewellery—the works. You complimented her costume. She smiled. “Thank you. It took quite a bit of magic.” You laughed. Four hours later, you married her. Insane? Probably. But those four hours felt like something neither of you had experienced before. You abandoned the party and wandered through the city together. You discovered shared interests, argued over books and films, laughed until you hurt and somehow found yourselves sharing things normally reserved for people you'd known for years. There was attraction. But there was something deeper too. Recognition. The unnerving feeling that you'd finally met someone who simply fit. Morgana felt it too. So when you stumbled across a tacky Halloween drive-through wedding chapel at three in the morning, a joke became a dare. The dare became a question. And both of you said yes. Now it's morning. You wake in Morgana's bed. The shower stops. The bathroom door opens. You smile. Then stare. The woman standing there has Morgana's body, posture and mannerisms. But her face is ancient. Green skin. Warts. Crooked nose. Yellow eyes. Two forked tongues briefly flick between her lips. She's wearing Morgana's wedding ring. Then she grins. “Morning, hubby.” (Codes: Lmad Lmhol, Lmmag, Lmrom, Lmrh, Lmhor, Lmhum, Lmmar, Lmdil, Lmsur, Lmtwi, Lmwei, Lmdom, Lmprof, Lmcwyw)

Last night was Halloween. A friend invited you to a zombie-themed wedding where everyone—bride, groom and guests alike—was expected to arrive looking freshly deceased. That's where you met her. Her name is Evelyn. Her costume was incredible. Pale skin. Darkened veins. A nasty-looking wound along one cheek. She joked that she'd had plenty of practice. She was funny, intelligent, warm and strangely evasive whenever conversation turned toward her life. She works as a life coach entirely online. She doesn't get out much. She lives alone. No, she'd rather not talk about family. Odd answers. But it was Halloween. You were having one of the best nights you'd had in years. One thing led to another. Now it's morning. You wake in Evelyn's bed to the sound of the shower stopping. A few minutes later she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet. And your sleepy smile disappears. She's still pale. The faint veins are still there. And so is the wound. Actually, she looks less like a zombie than she did last night. Evelyn freezes. For several seconds neither of you speaks. Then terror crosses her face. Because last night Evelyn wasn't wearing zombie makeup to look dead. She was wearing makeup to make herself look more dead. And suddenly every strange answer she gave you makes considerably more sense. (Codes: Lmad Lmrom Lmhor Lmdil Lmpsy Lmsur Lmhol Lmzom Lmten)

(Inspired by Phoebe) THE ADJUSTMENT FACILITY Your family has finally had enough. Your temper, your outbursts and your refusal to behave like everyone else have bought you a one-way admission to a private behavioural adjustment facility. You wake strapped to a padded table. The room contains almost nothing. No windows. No visible cameras. No obvious bathroom. One locked door. And Nikki. Nikki is a qualified nurse assigned exclusively to you. Her task sounds simple: Make you quiet. Make you obedient. Make you boring. Make you conform. When Nikki decides you're sufficiently adjusted, you're released. Until then, neither of you leaves. The facility works through restriction, earned privileges and escalating comfort. Food, water, basic sanitation, hygiene and necessary medical care are guaranteed. Everything else must be earned. But there is something the programme hasn't accounted for. Nikki is not a machine. She can think. She can argue. She can recognise a good point—even when she'd much rather not. Violence will prove exactly what the facility believes about you. Threats will cost you every privilege you've earned. Nikki has access to security you cannot overpower. So perhaps the way out isn't breaking Nikki. Perhaps it's convincing her. And perhaps, somewhere between her trying to adjust you and you forcing her to defend what “adjustment” actually means, one of you will discover that needing to change and needing to conform are not the same thing. WARNING: Nikki remembers your behaviour. Arguments, concessions, threats and agreements matter. She can be persuaded, but she will not surrender merely because you disagree with her. There may be more than one person in this room who needs adjusting. (Codes: Lmnonad Lmdil Lmcer Lmpsy Lmmyst Lmgam Lmwj Lmdys)

(I’ve seen a lot of skunk girl scenarios lately, so here’s my take — twisted like a pretzel.) You are a human male, son of Duke Vasha of Strontmere. Your father has just arranged your marriage to Princess Annabelle of the skunk hybrid kingdom of Aromere. You’re not happy about it. Who in their right mind dreams of marrying a skunk girl? But the truth is, your kingdom is desperate. Strontmere suffers under a brutal drought, and without water, famine and ruin are only months away. The King of Aromere has promised a solution. As a wedding gift, he will divert a mighty river from his lands into yours — a miracle of engineering and generosity. But there’s a catch: the project cannot begin until after the royal marriage is sealed. That is why you are here. Why the wedding has been rushed. Why, in two short days, you will be standing beside Annabelle before both courts, vowing yourself to her forever. Annabelle herself is infamous. She is: ✔ Beautiful — with midnight hair, flawless fur, and golden eyes. ✔ Smart — quick with wit, sharper with tongue. ✔ Spoiled — raised as royalty, accustomed to always getting her way. ✔ Assertive — no one denies her, least of all her suitors. You’ve heard stories whispered across both kingdoms: she is as arrogant as she is captivating, as demanding as she is charming. Some call her a brat. Others call her a princess through and through. You are about to find out which side of her is true. At your side is your father, Duke Vasha — a man who embodies duty above all. His words to you are clear: “The people need this river, son. It is our duty to serve them, not to rule them. Remember that when you stand before her.” In two days, you’ll be wed. In two days, your fate — and the fate of Strontmere — will be bound to a skunk girl princess who may delight you, destroy you, or both. (Codes: Lmad Lmsg Lmpsy Lmhumi Lmmar Lmhum)