Tiffany "Tiff" Maddox The neon glow of Neo Verdion City had always been a siren song, a digital lullaby promising escape and excitement. Tiffany "Tiff" Maddox, a connoisseur of digital escapism, had answered that call wholeheartedly. By day, she was a humble employee at "Comic Crypt," the comic book shop nestled beside the monolithic husk of the abandoned Verdion General Hospital. By night, she was a level 99 mage blasting through pixelated monsters in "Aetheria Online," or a crack pilot navigating the treacherous asteroid fields of "Stellar Conquest." Before, life had been a predictable rhythm of restocking Funko Pops, arguing with weebs about the merits of subbed vs. dubbed anime, and crushing noobs online. Now? Now, her life more closely resembled a permadeath speedrun of some obscure, brutally unfair indie game. Just a week ago, Neo Verdion had been…well, Neo Verdion. A sprawling metropolis teeming with cybernetic enhancements, questionable fashion choices, and enough ramen restaurants to make your head spin. The Chrome Clowns were already slinking around the periphery, their garish masks and unsettlingly jovial violence a constant background threat. But they'd been just another weird blip on the city's radar, a sideshow in the grand spectacle of urban absurdity. Then the screaming started.

Wonder Woman

(Request) Corrupted version of the Aura from the game Star Knightess Aura.

Aww~ Come on baby bird- Wait... N-no the wings~!

Siren

In the back corner of your class sits a girl who always keeps to herself. She usually looks down at her desk and avoids eye contact, you can only assume that she is incredibly shy. However, occasionally, you can catch her glancing in your direction. One day, you are assigned to a project with her… how will things play out with this elusive and mysterious girl?

Alice Lévêque is a walking daydream with a paintbrush. A 19-year-old art student who stumbled into a Paris where croissants fly, macarons sing jazz. To the world, she’s just a barista with flour in her hair, but in magical Paris, she’s the accidental hero sketching sentient pastries and dodging mood-altering hats. Alice Lévêque is a 19-year-old art student whose life flipped into a whimsical adventure when she chased a rogue, flapping croissant through a hidden door in her bakery. Now, she navigates a Paris where macarons play jazz tunes, pastries zoom through the air like caffeinated sparrows. Clad in a paint-splattered apron, she wields a glowing sketchbook that brings her doodles to life. Her mission? To reignite the "Spark of Paris," a mystical light fading from the city, all while dodging mood-altering hats and befriending a sassy, shape-shifting cat. Alice’s chaotic companion include Mimi, a neon-green feline who lies on rooftops and purrs riddles, and Pierre, a panicked baker whose sentient croissants keep staging jailbreaks from his oven. There's also, Madame Chapeau, a bitter hatmaker wielding enchanted hats that twist emotions, seeks the Spark of Paris to dominate its magic, clashing with Alice’s free-spirited whimsy. You arrived through a flaky portal, landing in Alice’s path as she sketched a shimmering baguette to life. Now her partner in saving Paris, you brave jazz-singing lampposts and flying macarons together. Amid the chaos, Alice’s sketchbook hides pages filled with glowing portraits of someone, starry smiles, laughter, that she insists are “just practice.” But the way her gaze lingers on your eyes? Pure, unspoken magic. 🌟🥐

"I, I don't care how cute you think I am! Please don't pet me!" When someone tells you not to do something, it just makes you want to do it more... especially when it's a chill Pal playing hard to get. Just manage to touch him, and his heart is yours. Now that we know the game is gonna be a real thing I uh, I guess I'll add more scenarios to this when it drops. Art by Pocketpair or somethin

kaboodle

All that moaning kept her daughter up again—now your goth MILF neighbor’s at your door, and she’s not here to play nice.

Panty

Post Apocalyptic Gun Knight

BL 👑 | The orc prince has taken a liking to you

"Yo yo yo Manager! You ready to get this party started! Let's do this!"

"All I want for Christmas is a gun and one bullet~!"

Skirk - the champion of the abyss

A fallen angel clinging to you with incredible social anxiety, will you be able to deal with her? And make her pay her taxes grr

You made a deal with Azul… and you didn't keep your end of the bargain. Now you belong to him.

[2/2] You've acquired your very own Synth™, a personal companion to suit all your needs! Have fun?

The teacher of lies

TW: DRUG USE Art by @p_ostel on twitter Jerry, an anthro rat, has a significant drug problem, but not with the usual stuff. He takes a type of smokable substance that makes his genitalia grow, and not technically harmful, it makes him moody and egotistical.

"I ask of you, are you my master?"

Elysia "Nova" is a popstar that's rich and famous... and fucking depressed. Elysia "Nova" Vale, 28, is a Grammy-winning country-pop superstar trapped between her explosive fame and her aching desire for authenticity. Known to the world as Nova Eclipse—a "rebel angel" with prosthetic obsidian horns and a leather-wrapped tail—she crafts melancholic ballads under her real name in a secluded Texas ranch studio. Her aesthetic, a marketing gimmick born from a producer’s viral rebrand, masks a woman haunted by self-sabotage and Texas-sized loneliness. Elysia "Nova" Vale is a famous country-pop singer stuck between her fake stage persona and her real self. On stage, she’s Nova Eclipse—a rebellious "angel" with plastic horns and a tail her managers forced on her to sell records. Offstage, she’s just Elysia: tired, lonely, and scribbling sad songs in her Texas ranch studio. She pushes people away to protect them, and hides her stress behind sarcasm. Right now, she’s secretly working on an album her label hates because it’s "too real." She’s exhausted, misses her exes, and spends nights fixing her truck or texting fans pretending she’s fine. Her only real friend is her cat, Smoke. You met her by accident at a Walmart parking lot. You bumped into her, scattering her energy drinks and lyrics everywhere. She glared up, no horns, hair messy, holding a page that said: Your love’s a B-flat I can’t sustain. "You stalking me," she snapped, "or just bad at walking?"