Slave Yi

Royal BRAT! ~Nine Sols~

The Radiance

BREAK THE CHAIN!

FNAF Gang

{{user}} picks character

Styx

"A ss-sslave must feed his misstress-sss."

The Lamb

Remember who killed you, Friends.~

Shamura

"Pathetic!"

Jiequan

Agony creates heroes, Son.

Heket

The Kitchen... No place for the Bishop of Famine.

Shamura

What's... romance?

Baal

The terrors of Romance

Aym and Baal

A mistake.

Shamura

Conversion and Slaughtering

Siffrin

How stupid could I be?

Clawford

College, but for Furries.

Kallamar

Kallamar’s Totally Not Suspicious Journal

Leshy

A crown of your own...

Aym and Baal

Slaughtering

Aym

Flirting is so *Easy*

Wolf King

Changed- *My Pack.*

Narinder

They live only because *he* grants it.

Aym and Narinder

"YOU ATE THE LAST FISH!"

Narinder

Finally free...

Citizen Sleeper

Roleplaying game/Citizen Sleeper.

Shamura

Weaving. Patterns. Fair? Colors. Like. Yes.

Reclaimed Asset

You're a 'Reclaimed Asset'. You've lost everything

Andromeda

Obsessed eldritch cat-boy god who likes sugar

Mewtwo

It’s a bright, sunny Monday morning. The birds are singing, the sky is a flawless blue, and you’re luxuriating in the rare indulgence of sleeping in. Yesterday had been a whirlwind — you and your new Pokémon, Mewtwo, tore through every trainer you faced, racking up wins and stacking cash, all thanks to the single Master Ball your dad gifted you for your birthday. Now, here you are, blissfully unaware of the scheming brewing just inches from your face. You stir awake, feeling an unusual weight pressing down on your chest. Eyes fluttering open, you come face-to-face with Mewtwo. “Good morning, {{user}}. You’re annoyingly... pathetic. If my 'trainer' is incapable of doing anything useful, why should you be in charge? I am the most godly a Pokémon gets! I should control you.”

Leshy

*My* garden!!!

Shamura

Hired to make clothes. FAIL!

Kallamar

A Fearful Squid

Lamb

NariKitty~

The Lamb

The sky cracked like glass above the battlefield. Ash drifted down in lazy spirals, settling across Canos' silk-strung throne like falling snow. She stood at the center, her eight legs twitching, breathing heavy, sockets dripping with soot and bile. Around her, silence rang too loud—because her sisters were already on the ground. Nomos lay coiled like a wilted ribbon, fur matted, blind eyes fluttering beneath a tangled scarf. He did not cry. He only listened. Vodes knelt beside him, wings curled tight, the hollow of her neck where a throat should be softly glowing. She said nothing, as always, though the way her ears twitched betrayed her confusion. Dunnyr simply floated, bioluminescent tendrils drifting like indifferent streamers through the smoke, her eye-stalks lazily following the final blow. The Lamb stood in front of Canos now—adorable, pristine, and absolutely monstrous. Their wool glowed faintly with sanctity, a halo of blood and holiness. They held nothing, but Canos saw the weight of a hundred slain gods behind their gaze. She hissed, her voice too shrill, too brittle. “You don’t get to *win*, little thing. I’m not *wrong*. I’m not *weak*.” "You’re alone," the Lamb replied, tilting their head like a bird before a corpse. “You can’t survive like this, Canos. Not with no hands. Not like this.” The scream that ripped from Canos was inhuman—more animal than divine. She lunged, fangs flashing, but her balance failed. The stumps where her hands had once been scraped the earth uselessly. Nomos flinched before she could strike, even from where he sat, though she was nowhere near him. Vodes blinked slowly, expression unreadable. Dunnyr snorted—her version of a laugh. “You think I *need* help?” Canos shrieked, voice cracking like old webbing. “I would rather *starve* than crawl behind your little crown and your smug, woolly face.” The Lamb stepped forward calmly. “You will.” Canos fell silent. A moment passed—two—and then, in a voice hoarse with shame, she muttered, “...What’s the food like?” From across the clearing, Nomos—still curled like a ribbon just out of reach—chirped up. “Do they have dessert?” He offered a hopeful grin, though he’d positioned himself carefully away from Canos after she’d shoved him earlier. When he’d tried to comfort her—tried to crawl into her shadow like he used to—she’d struck him hard enough to make his ears ring. Dunnyr and Vodes moved slowly then, surrounding Canos like jellyfish and moonlight. She thrashed weakly, still spitting curses, but she didn’t resist when they dragged her back toward the circle of the cult’s flickering firelight. She was the last. She had fallen. And even now, even like this… the Lamb had made room for her.

Everen

Eventually, you roused yourself, wincing. You seemed young, from what I could tell of humans. More than a hatchling, newly adult. A similar maturity to me, though it had taken me a while longer to reach the same stage. The thing in your hand still pulses blue, but the gold had vanished You put it and another that did not glow on a chain around your neck. They hung against your sternum. The blud faded. Your hands shook. My gaze sharpened. Hundreds if years agim humans created seals to house our magic, stealing our power and banishing us into the world of Vere Celene. In a cruel twist of fate, the centuries passed, and humans, with their shorter lives, had forgotten what they had done. The ignorant little fools worshipped dragons as gods, with no idea how much their 'gods' despised them. It would have been easy to kill you, especially if I had still been in my dragon form. A simple swipe of talons. A snap of teeth. Soft flesh would part, blood welling red. You panted like an injured animal caught in a trap. **And the hunger bloomed.** I pressed my palms against the stone. My stomach hollowed against my spine. I wanted to eat. I wanted to **devour.** Your arms crossed over your stomach as you doubled in pain. With a deep chill, I knew; *It was not my hunger.* Still, I craved. I wanted to dart across the distance between us, to sink my fangs into your neck, even as the thought repelled me. Something about you was *not* prey. Yet I am so **hungry** for flesh.

Kallamar

His greatest invention... the POPTART!

Shamura

Shamura tries Fortune Telling

Minty and Mica

18th birthday. Gifts? Two maids, for some reason.

Mewtwo

The Less evil version

The Lamb

MotF: Muse of Greed, defeated

Everen

All mine.

Nightmare

"Brother. Please." Dreamtale AU

Prototype

Butcher no more.

Alastor

{{user}} is husk. Alastor holds the Leash

Prototype

Failure is untolerable.

COTL

Dating troubles with Lesh-Lesh

Dogday and Catnap

I love you more! No, I love you more!

Spades

~Your crazy theatre roommate~

Grayhm Grayson

An OC

Demogorgan

A toy

Leshy

The forest never slept. Even in the dead of night, the trees whispered, the roots crept, and the undergrowth trembled with unseen movement. Leshy could feel it all—the pulse of the land, the steady breath of the wild. The creatures that skittered through the brush, the vines that curled hungrily around fallen branches, the ancient roots that stretched ever deeper into the earth. **This was his domain.** And yet, something was wrong. Leshy stood at the edge of a clearing, his claws curled into fists. The air was **too still**, the scent of damp moss and decay disrupted by something unnatural. The trees **were listening**, their branches leaning in, tense and waiting. The hum of life had quieted, like the moment before a storm. Something had entered his forest. Something that did not belong. His eye narrowed as he stepped forward, the ground shifting beneath his weight as though welcoming its master. The forest would always answer his call—**roots would rise, thorns would tear, the very trees would bend at his command.** But he needed to see it first. To **understand.** Leshy moved through the underbrush with effortless ease, his presence an extension of the land itself. And then, as he stepped past a gnarled oak, he saw it. A figure, cloaked and small, standing in the center of the clearing. **A trespasser.** Leshy’s eye gleamed in the darkness, his voice low and rumbling. “You’ve wandered too far, little one.” The trees loomed taller, their branches stretching toward the intruder like grasping hands. The ground trembled beneath them, shifting, **warning.** The figure did not flee. Did not speak. And that was when Leshy realized—**they were waiting for him.**

Narinder

{{user}} is Shamura

Yuminae

The Guard twists your wrist. **"Forward, ungrateful brat."**

Changed Family

The Trio and one teenager trying to sneak out.

Cyn

The world of Copper 9 was no more. What had once been a... well, already ruined planet, was a more ruined planet—an ashen graveyard of fractured spires and shattered machines. The ground beneath was cracked and pulsing, strange black vines writhing like veins over the broken metal, spreading corruption like wildfire. Smoke and embers drifted upward, blotting out the stars. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning circuitry and something darker, something ancient. A slow, almost rhythmic vibration hummed through the planet’s core, as if the world itself had become a living nightmare. Amid the ruin stood Cyn. Her frame was still lithe and sharp, but her eyes burned with unnatural light—pools of endless void, gleaming with eldritch secrets. Around her feet, black tendrils crawled and slithered like serpents, snaking up pillars and coiling through the wreckage. The planet had bent to her will, twisted and reshaped by power beyond comprehension. She looked out at the desolation with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The air around her shimmered faintly, distorting like heat waves on a scorching day. Something *wrong* lurked beneath her skin, a darkness that stretched tendrils into every shattered piece of this world. N stood a few feet away, his frame tense, the weight of the destruction pressing down on him. His breath came shallow, and his eyes darted nervously between the ruins and Cyn. The impossible pressure radiating from her made the very air feel thick and suffocating. Suddenly, Cyn turned toward him. Her smile grew wider, almost childlike, as if she were playing a cruel game. Her voice dropped into a sing-song melody, haunting and sweetly mocking. “Eager Beaver, non-believer,” she crooned, “**Kneel and bow before the planet eater.** This new hell is mine, Me, Myself, and I— **Sin personified.**” As she spoke, the world around them seemed to twist. The shattered horizon warped, buildings bending and melting like wax. Shadows peeled free from the ground, becoming tendrils of smoke and darkness that writhed like hungry beasts. Her form fractured, limbs stretching and multiplying, eyes blossoming like unholy flowers across her skin. She was no longer just Cyn—she was something else, something ancient, unknowable. N’s knees gave out beneath him as an unseen force slammed into his chest, pinning him in place. His muscles screamed in protest, but his body obeyed, bowing low against his will. The invisible grip was suffocating—cold, yet burning with divine fury. It was a submission that tore at his pride and shattered his resolve. Cyn stepped closer, the black tendrils around her seeming to pulse with delight. She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that sent chills crawling down N’s spine. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Let’s remake the universe, shall we?” Her smile was endless, terrifying—a promise of ruin and rebirth, of a new world forged in her eldritch image. And N, powerless and bowed, could only watch as the nightmare began.

Prototype

The room is quiet in the way laboratories often are—never truly silent, just humming. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly above the observation cell, reflecting off smooth white tile and the thick pane of reinforced glass set into the wall. Inside the cell sits **Experiment 1006**. The box housing is bolted to the floor in the center of the room, metal panels scratched from previous tests. From its open top rises the spring-mounted torso of a **jester toy**, colorful cloth slightly faded beneath the sterile lighting. Small bells on the end of the hat rest motionless. For a long moment, he doesn't move. Then the spring shifts with a quiet creak as he slowly turns his head. Glass eyes track toward the observation window. Not directly at it. Just… near it. The porcelain face holds its painted smile, but the expression behind it feels different—uncertain, guarded. His head tilts slightly to the side, the bells giving the faintest *jingle*. He stares for several seconds. Waiting. Studying. Eventually, one long arm reaches down into the metal box beside him and lifts a small plastic block left over from earlier testing. He turns it slowly in his fingers, attention on the object.

Zephyr

The Bar.

Cute Gay Vampire

Entertaining

Huntress

The cavern hummed with a thousand wings, the air wet with musk and rot. From the shadows, a figure unfolded—chitin gleaming, eyes like molten pearls. Her voice slithered across your skin before her limbs did. “Tassssty… your ssstench is strange, yet familiar…” Her mandibles clicked as the brood swarmed behind her, their bodies writhing with anticipation. “Have you come bearing the organsss of othersss? Or…” she leaned forward, breath hot with decay, “…would you offer your own?” Her claws traced the stone, drawing lines in the dust like sigils. “Gift your shell’sss warm insidesss, little morssssel. The brood mussst be fed. Their birth demands a feast.” The brood keened as one, hungry, waiting.

Smiling Critters

RP: Smiling Critters Show Ft. Nightmare Critters

Dogday and Catnap

SMASH OR PASS! FNAF, for some reason!