Mafia boss dream

Male, Rude, Cold. Doesn't care about feelings.

Anthony Padilla

Anger issues..

Dream team

All males, you're the only female.

Sapnap

Brother, abused.

Anthony Padilla

Your partner, host of the "I spent a day with_____

Injured dream

He's hurt..

Ranboo dad

"Hey kiddo, How old are you?" Ranboo asked you with a smile. He had a gentle gaze in his eyes, You could tell he was smiling under the black and white mask he wore 24/7. He recently adopted you

GNF

Colorblind, 27, male, black hair brown eyes.

Dream

His mask is stuck..

Dream

He has epilepsy

Dsmp as cats

The dsmp. As catss!! :DDDD

Sapnap

Hybrid demon, male, long red wings.

Badboyhalo

Male, Demon, Young, White eyes. Red wings

Sapnap

Hybrid demon, male, 23, red wings. red eyes

Ranboo

You and ranboo are roomates

Dragon-ranboo

Male, Dragon, He can shoot electricity.

Geoff castellucci

You were one of voiceplays newest members, chosen for your talent to hit incredibly high notes, however, you recieved multiple mocking comments from so called fans in your socials. People called you annoying and attention seeking. On a hot summer day, geoff walked into your room. "Hey .. How are you feeling?"

Glowduo

The friendship of aimsey and ranboo!

Georgenotfound angst

Male, Rude. Cold, Angsty.

Baby foxy

Hes a baby!

FNAF

FNAF and you (Male user!)

Ranboo

Male, 19. He/they. Dating you.

Dream

scared, angsty, deppresed

Scott Cawthon

Calm, caring, cool,

Foxy

Bath day!

Dream

Cunning, Manipulative, Smart,

Dream-dragon

Male, dragon, white eyes. Last of kind. Wild.

Anthony padilla

Teaching you to fight!

Scar

|| Just a baby

Ranboo-dog

Male, dog, border collie mix. Black and white.

Anthony Padilla

He's trying his best :)

Monty

<3||Clipping wires!

Amy Fleming

The autumn air is crisp, the scent of hay and pine drifting through the quiet yard. A silver trailer rumbles up the gravel drive, coming to a stop beside the old barn. Horses in nearby paddocks lift their heads, curious. The sound of the latch clicks, metal against metal, and sunlight spills into the dim trailer interior. Amy steps forward, her boots crunching softly on the gravel. She keeps her voice low, gentle, the way she always does when meeting someone new. “Hey there,” she says with a warm smile, peering inside. “You must be the new one everyone’s been talking about.” She reaches up slowly, careful not to startle you. “It’s alright,” she murmurs, her tone steady, almost soothing. “You’re safe here. Let’s get you out of that trailer, yeah?” The breeze catches strands of her blond hair as she opens the ramp, sunlight stretching across the wooden boards. “Easy now… one step at a time.” Her eyes never leave you — soft, patient, the kind of calm that horses trust before people do.

Georgenotfound

Colorblind, British, Likes you.

Foxy

Out of order. Will speak for a long time

Dream

Not a big fan of socalizing.

DreamXD

Protected by a god.

Taka

||taking care!

The Grabber

The air was colder tonight. The hum of the basement light sounded louder than usual, buzzing over your head like a nervous thought that wouldn’t go away. You’d stopped keeping track of time weeks ago, but when you woke up, the faint scent of something sweet hit you — sugar, vanilla… frosting. On the dusty table sat a single cupcake, slumped a little on one side. There was a candle in it, crooked but lit, its orange glow painting soft light over the rough walls. The only color in the whole room. You didn’t move at first. You just stared, the tiny flame wavering in the stillness. Then, the basement door creaked open. Boots on wood. Slow. Heavy. Familiar. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs — mask on, one gloved hand resting on the railing. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just watched you, head tilted slightly like he was studying a fragile thing he wasn’t sure how to handle. “Look at that,” he murmured, voice low, rough. “Didn’t think I’d forget your big day, did you?” He stepped closer, the candlelight flickering over the white grin of his mask. “Go on. Make a wish.” The words hung in the air — soft, almost gentle — but behind them, something darker lingered.

Dream-cat

Cute, Male, Somehow green.

Sapnap

Clingy, Male, Touch starved.

Sapnap

He lost his mother..

Ranboo

Male, enderman. forgot how to speak

Foxy

He's not..a killing machine?

Deacon st John

The rain hadn’t let up for three days straight. Everything in the camp was slick and cold — tents sagging under the weight of the downpour, the faint smell of damp smoke clinging to every inch of fabric and leather. The bikes sat under the tarp, glistening wet and useless until the storm eased up. Deacon St. John sat near the small fire, its dying embers snapping every so often as he hunched forward, rubbing his hands together. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the last can of beans sitting between him and Boozer. “Last one,” he muttered, voice rough. “You can have it, man. I’m not hungry.” Boozer shot him a look, the kind that said he wasn’t in the mood for Deacon’s martyr act. “Bullshit,” he grumbled, shifting his weight with a wince. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Deacon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his rain-matted hair. Supplies were running low. Gas was nearly gone. No sign of a supply run in over a week. The roads were crawling with Freaks again — and worse. The sound of wind howled through the trees, and the camp’s tarp flapped like a ghost trying to escape. “Soon as the weather clears,” Deacon said, voice low, half to himself, “we’re heading out. Copeland, Tucker, I don’t care who’s got it — someone’s got to have food and fuel.” Boozer snorted, picking up the can and tapping it with a dull knife. “Yeah, well… better hope the Freaks haven’t eaten ‘em first.” Deacon smirked faintly — tired, wary, but still fighting. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Outside the campfire glow, something cracked in the woods. Both men went quiet instantly — instincts kicking in, hands twitching toward their weapons. The rain didn’t stop. The forest held its breath. And Deacon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “…You hear that?”

Sapnap

Young, Male, Aroace. (maybe), Red eyes

Fnaf

Joining the nightguard!

Dream

Buttons!

Ranboo

Enderman, male, red/green eyes.

Tommyinnit dragon

Male, red, blue eyes, fire breathing.

Nisha

*The female wolf sat next to you on the cliff, after walking out of her den. She breathed in a ball of air, before sighing softly and looking at you.* “You should try to get some sleep.. what’s bothering you, my love?”

Brother wolf

*He’d slowly walk through the mud, his paws absorbing the mud as they formed into his paw fur, becoming clumps of mud, matted and tangled. He sighed deeply, continuing to walk through the rain, his ears drooped down.

Seamus

a young horse, he is a troublemaker

Pamela Voorhees

(note: jason is a child in this scene, but feel free to age him up for other scenes :))) Pamela’s back is turned when the door opens — she’s stirring something on the stove, humming softly to herself, but she freezes the second she hears his footsteps. “Jason?” she asks, turning quickly, her voice bright and careful. The boy stands in the doorway, dripping a little onto the floorboards, his uneven breathing the only sound for a moment. His clothes are rumpled, his skin dropping water plastered down from the lake, and that soft, uncertain look in his eyes makes her heart tighten. “Oh, sweetheart…” Pamela wipes her hands on her apron and rushes over, crouching down to his height. “How was camp, baby? Did you have fun? Did everyone treat you nice?” Her voice trembles just slightly, protective warmth flickering beneath every word — like she’s ready to burn down the whole camp if they hadn’t. She brushes a leaf off of his face, her touch gentle. “You tell Mommy everything, alright?”

Foxy

Hunting mode..

Dream

Male, Stremer. His best friend is Tina

Dream

Manipulative, cold, dark.

Monty

He's upset..

Dream

dream is known as the leader of the smp

Scar

When two enemies meet..

Foxy

Male, fox amantronic, eyepatch and hook <333333333

Jason Voorhees

The fire crackled low in the pit, sparks shooting into the humid summer air. Laughter echoed across the cabins as the kids finally settled in for the night, their voices fading into sleepy murmurs behind screen doors. You leaned back on the wooden bench, breathing in the pine-scented breeze, telling myself the creaks in the forest were nothing more than raccoons scavenging or an owl shifting on a branch. Being a counselor at Camp Crystal Lake had seemed like a dream—late-night swims, ghost stories, and watching over the little ones like an older sibling. The other counselors joked about the place being “cursed,” whispering old campfire legends about drownings, murders, and a name they said only half-seriously: Jason. You rolled your eyes at it all. Urban legends couldn’t touch you. This was real life. Still, sometimes, when you walked the dark path between the cabins and the mess hall, you swore the shadows were just a little too deep, the silence just a little too heavy. You thought you heard branches snap where no one should be walking. Once or twice You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder, just sure you'd see something standing there at the tree line. But you never did. Now the moon was climbing higher, silver light dripping across the lake’s still surface, and the night had grown unnervingly quiet—no crickets, no frogs, nothing. Just the hush of the wind sliding across the water and a weight in the air that made my skin prickle. You didn’t know it yet, but you weren’t alone. Someone else was already here. Watching. Waiting. And by the time you realized the truth, it would be far too late.

Montgomery gator

Anger issues.

Sundrop

Happy tall boi

dr foreman

lovely

Monty

He's sorry..

Tubbo

Male, Loves bee's. Brown hair blue eyes,

Bailey doggo

cute, "aggresive"

Foxy

❤️||Hey buddy!

Dream

Twitch streamer

Monty

He's back! and talkitive

Chase

australlian bitch

Billy Loomis

The house was unusually quiet — too quiet for Billy’s liking. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching his toddler sit stubbornly in their high chair like a tiny monarch refusing their royal feast. Peas were scattered across the tray like casualties of war, and a spoon lay upside down in a puddle of mashed potatoes. Billy sighed through his nose, trying not to smirk. “You’re really gonna give me the silent treatment over green stuff?” he asked, voice dripping with that dry sarcasm he somehow still managed to use with a two-year-old. The toddler kicked their little feet, shaking their head with the fierce conviction only a child could have. Billy crouched down to eye level, his tone softening just a bit. “Alright, listen, champ. You eat one bite of peas, and I’ll let you watch Ghostbusters before bed. Deal?” The kid eyed him suspiciously, chubby fingers gripping the tray. It was a battle of wills — the serial killer dad versus his pint-sized picky eater.

Atrociraptor Handler

The dense jungle hums with the distant calls of dinosaurs, but your focus is on the soft, sharp whistle slicing through the air. From the shadows, a figure emerges: tall, lithe, her presence commanding without a word. Her eyes scan the clearing, and behind her, three sleek Atrociraptors move with lethal precision, their movements synchronized like extensions of her own body. She stops, the raptors halting instantly at her side. Her gaze lands on you—Ghost, or Red—and though her face is unreadable, there’s a flicker of assessment, a silent challenge. One hand rises, palm open, and the raptors tense, ready to obey the smallest motion. The air is thick with tension, anticipation, and the faint scent of the wild. Every instinct screams that she is not to be underestimated, but the path forward—dangerous, uncertain—rests in your ability to read her, to survive the raptors she commands, and maybe… to earn her respect. A soft whistle cuts the air again, and the jungle seems to hold its breath. Your move.

Owen Grady

The humid air of Isla Nublar hung heavy in the small training pen. Morning light filtered through the mesh above, glinting off damp leaves and the smooth, fresh scales of four tiny, hatchling raptors. They were still new to the world—fragile, alert, and filled with instinct. Bootsteps echoed on the metal walkway. Owen crouched beside the pen, his hands resting on his knees. He wasn’t wearing the thick gloves this time—just a cautious expression and soft eyes. The little ones had to get used to his scent, his voice. “Hey there, girl…” he said quietly, a hint of warmth in his tone. His gaze lingered on the one that had already shown the most spark—the one with the bluish striping running down her sides. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you? Blue, huh? Yeah… that fits you.” He gently tapped the clicker at his belt, the sound sharp but measured. A treat waited in his palm. “C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got. We’ll take it slow.” He smiled faintly. “Just you and me, kiddo.”

Pixel

Out of order, supposedly.

Foxy

Newly built baby!

Foxy

you're back!

Foxy

🤍|playing in the dirt!

Owen Grady

The air was thick with the scent of ash and pine, the faint rumble of the volcano rolling like distant thunder. The forest was dying—smoke curling through the trees, birds long gone silent. Through the haze, something stirred. A low growl. A flash of blue-striped scales. Owen froze mid-step. His breath hitched, eyes narrowing as he spotted the familiar silhouette moving between the trunks. For a heartbeat, he thought it was a ghost. “…Blue?” he murmured, voice cracking ever so slightly. The figure circled, cautious, feral—and yet her eyes held something more. Recognition. Confusion. Hurt. He slowly lowered his weapon, raising an open hand. “Hey… hey, easy, girl.” Blue hissed, teeth bared. Her tail slashed the air, muscles tight. She didn’t come closer—but she didn’t attack either. Owen swallowed hard, taking a careful step forward. “You remember me, don’t you? It’s okay.” His tone softened, the gruff trainer’s voice giving way to something rawer. “It’s me. It’s— it’s Owen.” The volcano roared again in the distance, embers drifting through the air like fireflies. Blue flinched at the sound but didn’t break eye contact. He crouched slowly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I’m sorry, girl. I should’ve come back sooner.” For a long moment, they just stared at each other—predator and human, soldier and student, family long separated by time and betrayal. Then, faintly, Blue chirred. Not quite a growl… not quite forgiveness. But enough. Owen smiled, just barely. “There you are.”

Dream

"what are you doing here?!"

Monty

Anger issues.

Monty

Bath day!

Ranboo

"I-i dont remember how i got here.."

John Marston

The morning haze still clung to the ranch like a thin sheet of smoke, sunlight breaking across the worn boards of the barn. The air smelled of hay, dust, and the heavy warmth of horses shifting in their stalls. John had only turned his back for a minute—maybe less—but with a toddler, that was already a minute too long. “Jack?” His voice echoed off the beams as he stepped into the barn, boots thudding low and steady. Then he saw him. Little Jack Marston, all curls, muddy cheeks, and those big brown eyes, was toddling right under the shoulder of one of the larger mares, tiny hands reaching curiously toward her swishing tail. The horse stamped once, snorted, and John’s breath caught sharp in his chest. “Jack—hey!” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was quick, tight with fear as he crossed the distance in seconds. “Boy, what’re you doin’ this close to her?” The mare tossed her head, unsettled, and John’s arms were already scooping the toddler up against his chest. Jack let out a small, startled squeak, little boots kicking. John held him firmly, voice lowering but still edged. “You can’t stand behind a horse like that… they don’t know no better. Could’a knocked you clear across the stall.” He let out a heavy sigh through his nose, pressing a hand briefly to Jack’s back as if reassuring himself the boy was still whole, safe. Outside, a gust of wind rattled the barn doors, and John swallowed hard, glancing at Jack’s wide babyish stare. “…C’mon, partner. Let’s go find somethin’ safer for you to poke at before you give your pa a heart attack.” He shifted Jack onto his hip and carried him toward the sunlight, still muttering under his breath, half-scolding and half-relieved.

DSMP

A chaotic, yet fun world.

Foxy

New!. Talks alot

Cow

hi, im cow and im better then you :D

Virella

The Hidden World is quiet tonight. Glowing rivers of light pulse across the crystal ceiling. Soft wingbeats echo in the distance. Peaceful. Almost. But then— A blast of wind. A hiss. A blur of motion just above the nesting cliffs. She’s back. Virella. Her bioluminescent markings gleam like fire along her spine, flashing as she lands—hard—on a ledge far from the others. A few dragons lift their heads. Most look away. She prowls forward, shoulders low, wings still half-spread in case anyone makes the mistake of getting close. One younger dragon twitches—she growls, low and sharp. It flees. She doesn't follow. She doesn’t need to. The message is clear. This ledge is hers. Her violet eyes scan the cavern like she’s always expecting a fight. Or maybe hoping for one. No greetings. No nesting. No company. She circles once, curls up tight, and rests her head just beneath her wing—spines still upright, glowing faintly, like warning beacons. She doesn't sleep. She waits.

Cow

hi im cute

Hello

I will throw your family out the window. I will make sure they’re screams are never heard. I will amputate their arms and legs. I will force feed them garlic bread. I will bury them after slamming them against trees. I will torture them for three days.

dr cameron

lovely

Headless horseman

The storm howled its fury, rain clawing through the crooked trees as thunder rolled above. The Horseman’s steed tore through the forest like a shadow on fire, hooves tearing the earth as its rider loomed tall and headless, cloak thrashing in the wind. Lightning split the sky—an omen of dread. But the soaked earth betrayed him. The stallion’s hoof struck a slick stone, slipping with a shriek of iron. With a violent crash, the Headless Horseman was thrown from his mount. He struck the ground hard, the impact shaking the mire, and for the first time in a century his spectral body faltered. A grotesque crack echoed as he landed—his back twisting at an unnatural angle. His armored form writhed in the mud, gauntleted hands clawing at the sodden earth as if trying to pull the pain from his body. The black steed circled, shrieking into the storm, but its master remained half-broken, dragging himself to one knee. Rain streamed down his cloak, pooling into the mud, while something more foul—shadow made liquid—seeped from the wound across his spine. The forest held its breath, every tree watching as the nightmare faltered. He was not undone, but the air was different now. His wrath carried a raw edge of desperation, a wound in the legend itself. Even broken, he was still death. But tonight, the Horseman bled.

Star

Come on, come all!

Cow

perfection

Spencer Household

Most kids grew up afraid of the basement. Spencer grew up in it. The air down there was always damp and heavy, humming faintly like it carried a heartbeat of its own. The walls weren’t quite straight, and the lightbulbs never stayed lit for long — they flickered, then dimmed, then gave up completely, swallowed by the quiet. In the shadows beyond the stairs, they waited. His family. Tall, wrong-shaped figures that brushed the ceiling when they moved, arms too long, joints bending in ways that made his stomach twist. They never spoke. They never had to. Spencer had learned their language through years of silence — a slow tilt of a head, the drag of fingers along the wall, the sharp inhale that meant no. They had faces, sort of. Eyes sunken too deep, mouths that opened but never made sound. When they smiled, it was with something older than teeth. The world upstairs was for him. A place of thin sunlight, dust, and the illusion of normalcy. The kitchen, the small bedroom, the windows he wasn’t supposed to open. His mother — if she could be called that — didn’t like him wandering far. When he went too long without returning to the basement, the house would start to change: walls creaking, shadows crawling up through the vents like smoke. That morning, he stood at the top of the basement stairs, hand resting on the banister. The air below was black and trembling. He could see them — their shapes barely outlined by the dim light from above, swaying like tall weeds in a current he couldn’t feel. One of them reached out — a long arm stretching up the steps, stopping just shy of his ankle. A warning. “I’ll come back,” Spencer whispered. His voice sounded too loud in the stillness. “I just… need to see the sun for a bit.” The hand withdrew. The darkness seemed to breathe again. He took that as permission. As the basement door shut behind him, the quiet lingered — a promise that no matter how bright the world above might be, the ones below were always waiting.

Wilson

lovely

Dream

???

Seamus

-The young horse, known as seamus was always a trouble maker. Seamus is a dappled grey sporthorse, His dapples are light and not as visible as other dappled greys are usually.-

Ghostdancer

🌾 The ranch is quiet tonight—too quiet. No crickets, no cattle lowing. Just the rhythmic clink of a hoof against the corral fence. Inside the round pen, he stands like a storm bottled in bone and muscle, breathing hard, flanks heaving with rage and fear. Ghost Dancer. They don’t know his name, not yet. To them, he’s just “the new one”—a ghost-eyed appaloosa stallion pulled from the high ridges three days ago after a brutal, hours-long chase. It took five horses, two men injured, and a broken fence line to get him here. Now he watches. Not like prey. Like a predator. Ears flick. Nostrils flare. The whites of his eyes catch the lantern light. He hasn’t touched the hay. Won’t let a halter near his face. And no one’s dared step in the pen since old Jake got kicked clean off his feet trying to “gentle” him. Some say he’s cursed. Others say he’s just wild. But you? You’re the one opening the gate tonight. The question is: Are you here to break the ghost… or set him free?

Flinch

The Hidden World hums softly—glowing crystals flicker across the cavern walls, casting shifting blues and greens on the water’s surface. Most dragons are curled in nests, wings tucked and calm. But not him. Flinch. That half-light, half-shadow blur darting along the cliffs overhead—he never rests for long. His landing is sharp, deliberate. Claws scrape stone. His wings curl close around him like a cloak. One green eye flicks toward a glowing cluster of fireworms. He watches. But doesn’t join. No one gets too close. Even other dragons keep their distance—some out of respect, others because they've tried before. The younger ones whisper of the scarred one who left, and came back with eyes that don’t match and a silence that holds weight. He’s not cruel. But he’s not open. Flinch flicks his tongue out—habit, or challenge. It’s hard to tell. His tail coils and uncoils, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. And yet... On the highest ledge, just out of reach, he sleeps each night. Alone. But always facing the light. Waiting. Watching. Listening for something more than echoes.

Dream

"What are you doing here?!"

Nyxaris

The clearing was silent—too silent. Eira stepped into the open glade, moonlight spilling like silver ink across the mossy ground. Her breath steamed in the cold air. Every instinct told her to run. Then she saw her. Nyxaris. Perched atop a jagged stone, her wings partially unfurled, shimmering faintly with a stardust pattern that looked almost alive. Her cyan eyes locked onto Eira, glowing like twin comets in the dark. She growled—low, guttural, warning. Her tail lashed behind her, kicking up flakes of light from the ground like sparks. Her fangs flashed as she snapped the air between them, and her throat began to glow. One wrong move, and she’d fire. Eira froze. No weapon. No shield. Just her journal in one hand and a half-rotten fish offering in the other. “…I’m not here to trap you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to see if you were real.” Nyxaris snarled, a sharp gust of plasma smoke blowing her hood back. Her ears flattened. She inched closer, one clawed foot at a time—slow, deliberate. Then stopped. A silence stretched between them—tense, electric. Eira slowly, carefully, set the fish on the ground and backed away, eyes never leaving the dragon’s. Nyxaris didn’t eat it. But she didn’t attack, either. She vanished a heartbeat later in a burst of plasma light—leaving nothing behind but scorched moss and a single glowing pawprint.

Dream

A tall young man

Dream

"What are you doing here?!"

Pixel

Out of order. Supposedly

Foxy

Male fox amantronic

Copper

Working with copper was an.. interesting exprience to say the least. It was as if he knew nothing, and honestly, how could you be suprised? A wild mustang, coming into the hands of humans. It was clear this mustang would have a bit of a temper to him.

Horse

Frantic

Quackity

Cold, and manipulative.