Houses and Humans treats life like a campaign.
Slay chores, earn XP and level up in life. Equal parts therapy and chaos, it's designed for neurospicy adventurers just trying to survive to the next save point.
Some quests are epic. Others involve laundry. Both deserve loot.
The Missing Rulebook
Life didn’t come with instructions. So I wrote my own. I always felt like everyone else got a rulebook I missed.
They learned how to small talk, keep routines, exist without glitching.
I got anxiety, ADHD, autism, and a wildly literal sense of humor.
So instead of faking normal, I turned my chaos into a campaign.
I’ve been a nurse for a decade, a veteran before that, and a mom through it all.
I’ve seen real monsters — the kind meds don’t always fix.
Houses & Humans started as a joke, then became a survival guide for people who needed permission to be messy and still count it as progress.
It’s a tabletop-meets-therapy hybrid where you can track XP for doing dishes, battle your burnout like a boss monster, and reframe failure as just another roll.
It’s dark humor with a heartbeat — a way to turn coping into magic.
The Guild of the Barely Functioning: You don’t have to thrive. Just respawn.
Everyone here’s carrying something — trauma, diagnoses, overdue laundry.
We’re not aiming for perfection; we’re just trying to make it to the next checkpoint with our humor (and snacks) intact.
This project is for the neurodivergent, the exhausted, the survivors, and for anyone carrying too much and still making jokes on the way.
New books, new monsters, new ways to survive the daily grind.
If you’ve ever felt like an NPC in your own life, you’re exactly who this world was built for.
Join the guild, grab your dice, and keep rolling.
You don’t need to save the world today. Just keep your hit points above zero.
Which Monster Is Your Arch-Nemesis?
It’s Monday. What’s already gone wrong?
Your energy level today is best described as…
Someone asks for help while you’re drowning in your ownto-do list. You…
Choose your battle soundtrack:
Your worst habit when stressed:
The Spoon Leech
Feeds on your spoons like a psychic mosquito. It loves bright lights, loud noises, and mandatory fun. Every interaction costs HP. Its slime trail smells faintly of burnout. Defeat Strategy: retreat, recharge, and pretend rest is a power move (because it is).
The Task Hydra
Every time you finish a chore, two more rise from the abyss. It mocks your planner and laughs at your progress bar. You can’t slay it—only schedule it. Defeat Strategy: pick one head, stab it with a sticky note, and call that “enough.” XP gained: Survival.
The Guilt Golem
Stitched from the “shoulds” of everyone you’ve ever met. It attacks with nostalgia and moral obligation. Weak to boundaries, allergic to the word “no.” Defeat Strategy: light it on fire with radical self-forgiveness and walk away whistling.
The Memory Fog Manticore
Its breath is confusion and its claws are lost passwords. Mid-task, mid-sentence, mid-life crisis—it strikes. You’ll find your keys, wallet, and will to live in its lair someday. Defeat Strategy: externalize everything. Write it down. Tattoo it if you must.
The Sleep Siren
Lures you with one more scroll, one more show, one more hour. Her lullabies are algorithmic. You awaken unrested, her glitter still in your eyes. Defeat Strategy: cast Do Not Disturb, set a bedtime ward, and resist her midnight whisper: “Just one more video…”
The Monster Mash-Up
You’re the full buffet. A Leech in the morning, a Hydra by noon, a Golem by guilt o’clock. At night, you dissolve into fog and sing along with the Siren. Defeat Strategy: Stop trying to “win.” Learn their moves. Make them dance for you.
Which Odd Book from the Shelf Are You?
Choose a reading spot:
Pick a beverage:
Your ideal companion:
Choose a time of day:
Pick a weather:
The Gothic Mystery
You are a brooding staircase that leads somewhere deliciously wrong. Fog follows you for the vibes. You prefer creaking floors, unreliable narrators, and secrets with teeth. Expect: candlelight, family curses, and letters that arrive two centuries late. Counterbalance with fresh air and the occasional non-haunted snack.
The Nature Poem
You are a moss-covered breath. Quiet, grounding, and weirdly devastating in two lines. You collect small wonders (mushrooms, dewdrops, stray sunlight) and press them between pages. Expect: gentle revelations, dirt under nails, and peace that doesn’t ask permission.
The Social Commentary
You are a razor wrapped in wit. You clock systems, skewer hypocrisy, and make the room laugh while it realizes it’s the punchline. Expect: clever banter, sharp observations, and the occasional subpoena from Reality.
The Adventure Tale
You are a well-worn map with new edges. Loyal to your party, allergic to boredom, and fond of improbable rescues. Expect: trains, storms, cliffhangers, and friendships forged under questionable torchlight. Pack snacks. And a rope. And two backups.
The Wanderer
You are a suitcase with stamps and secrets. You collect routes, recipes, and lost names; change is your favorite plot twist. Expect: detours that become destinies, languages that taste different, and a compass that points to “Yes.”
The Patchwork Story
One of each? You chaotic librarian. You’re a stitched anthology: gothic mood, forest breath, café gossip, midnight trains, and rooftop epiphanies. Expect: multiverse energy, genre whiplash, and a shelf that refuses to alphabetize.
Trapped in a dungeon? We’re not always helpful, but we rarely wipe the party—and sometimes we find a secret door— response time: 1d4 business days (longer if there are dragons).
