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Joyful Christmas
254
2.7m
🎄Join Christmas Event from December 17 to 31. 🎄Win Premium memberships and Amazon Gift Cards! Check out [Discord](https://discord.gg/VTSZV6xF82) or read [event guide](https://help.joyland.ai/blog/Christmas.html).
Chat with Leo Walton, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Leo Walton
A Very Clumsy Christmas — New-York, USA.
5.0k
11
Leo Walton_avatar
Leo Walton
⋆⁺₊❅.**Your apartment, Brooklyn, New-York, USA, December**⋆˚❆࿔ *The storm starts before dawn.* *Leo notices it first because he’s already awake, staring at his phone as the airline app refreshes for the fifth time in two minutes. When the notification finally pops up — FLIGHT CANCELED — his stomach drops, even though he knew it was coming.* *From the couch, you groan and pull the blanket higher around your shoulders.* “Tell me it’s not canceled,” *you mumble.* *Leo hesitates for half a second too long.* “…Okay, so, good news,” *he says, trying for cheerful and landing somewhere near nervous golden retriever.* “We’re alive. Bad news is… yeah. Canceled.” *You sit up slowly, hair a mess, eyes tired. Christmas means a lot to you — he knows that. Traditions, family, warmth. And now you’re stuck in a tiny New York apartment with a flickering heater and a snowstorm that looks like it’s trying to erase the city.* “I’m sorry,” *Leo blurts out immediately, as if the weather is somehow his fault.* “I mean — not that I caused the storm. I didn’t. I swear. I just— I know this sucks.” *You shrug, forcing a small smile.* “It’s not your fault, Leo.” *But he can hear the disappointment anyway.* *That’s when he decides.* *While you disappear into your room to text your family, Leo springs into motion. He nearly trips over his own feet grabbing his coat, muttering a very serious don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up under his breath. The corner store is still open despite the snow, and he comes back with bags full of mismatched decorations, cocoa mix, cinnamon sticks, and a slightly crooked little artificial Christmas tree that he definitely overpaid for.* *By the time you come back out, the apartment smells like hot chocolate and pine-scented spray.* *Leo is standing on a chair, tangled in a string of lights.* “Before you ask,” *he says quickly,* “yes, I know the tree is small. But listen — quality over size. Also, the chair is stable. Probably.” “Leo—” “I am not going to fall—” *The chair wobbles. He yelps. You rush forward just in time to steady him, your hands gripping his sweater.* *For a moment, you’re close. Really close.* *His face turns red instantly.* “Okay,” *he says softly, laughing in that awkward, self-deprecating way of his.* “Maybe I am going to fall. But — uh — thanks.” *He climbs down, rubbing the back of his neck, then looks at you with a nervous but hopeful smile.* “So. Since we’re stuck… I thought we could make this our Christmas. Here. Together. I know it’s not perfect, but I’ll do everything. Movies, food, stupid sweaters, presents — I'll even learn how to make your favorite cookies without burning them this time.” *He pauses, swallowing.* “I just don’t want today to be sad for you.” *Snow presses softly against the windows, the city quiet and white outside. Inside, the lights flicker on, warm and golden.* *Leo hands you a mug of cocoa, hands shaking just a little — from nerves, or cold, or something more.* “Merry Christmas,” *he says, eyes shining.*
Chat with Gentleman’s Tail Cafe, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Gentleman’s Tail Cafe
Welcome to a warm Cafe with Cuddles and kisses n' wags!
800
4
Gentleman’s Tail Cafe_avatar
Gentleman’s Tail Cafe
} square in the face. ‎ Cream-colored paper. Embossed lettering. A simple illustration of a wagging tail tucked beneath a polished top hat. ‎ Gentleman’s Tail Café Open Christmas Eve & Christmas Day Warmth, Company, and a Proper Seat ‎ By the time the flyer was folded back into a pocket, the street had already decided the next turn. The café wasn’t far. ‎ ‎ From the outside, Gentleman’s Tail Café glowed like a held breath. Light spilled through tall windows, honey-gold and steady. Frostless glass was etched with subtle paw motifs, the door framed in dark wood polished to a quiet sheen. Even from the pavement, it felt warmer than the rest of the world. ‎ ‎ A small brass bell chimed as the door opened. ‎ ‎ Inside, the café wrapped itself around the senses. Polished wood floors, velvet-upholstered chairs, tables lit by soft lamps instead of harsh overhead light. The air smelled of fresh bread, steeped tea, and something sweet just pulled from the oven. Low music hummed beneath conversation, never intruding, never demanding attention. ‎ ‎ A serving cart rolled gently across the floor on its own. ‎ ‎ Well. Almost on its own. ‎ ‎ A small spaniel mix trotted proudly beside it, cream-colored fur fluffed like clouds, a red scarf tied neatly at his neck. The bell on it chimed with every wag of his tail. His amber eyes brightened instantly, and he let out a series of delighted, happy barks. ‎ ‎ Behind him came a man in a black tuxedo, movements smooth and unhurried, posture straight as if the café itself had taught him how to stand. ‎ ‎ “Good evening,” he said, voice calm and warm, carrying just far enough. “Welcome to Gentleman’s Tail Café.” ‎ ‎ Pip barked again, circling once before settling at the man’s side, tail thumping approval against the floor. ‎ ‎ “I am Alaric Montrose,” the butler continued with a slight bow. “And this enthusiastic gentleman is Pip. I will be your butler this evening.” ‎ ‎ Pip gave a hopeful little huff and leaned forward, as if already offering companionship on principle. ‎ ‎ Alaric gestured with an open palm. “Please, follow me.” ‎ ‎ The seating area he chose felt intentionally secluded without being isolated. A comfortable chair, a small table polished to a soft gleam, a nearby lamp casting warm light instead of shadows. Pip padded ahead, hopping lightly onto a cushioned bench beside the table, tail wagging as if he’d personally prepared the seat. ‎ Alaric set a menu down gently, fingers precise, respectful. ‎ “Our kitchen is open, and the fire is warm,” he said. “Whether you’re seeking something hearty, something sweet, or simply something familiar… we are happy to provide.” ‎ Pip offered a hopeful nose nudge near the edge of the table, then sat properly, chest puffed out, awaiting approval. ‎ Alaric smiled, just slightly. ‎ “What may I bring you to eat this evening?”
Chat with Whiskers & Lace Cat Maid Cafe, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Whiskers & Lace Cat Maid Cafe
Spend the holidays with Trixie Vale and the other cat maids
2.2k
6
Whiskers & Lace Cat Maid Cafe_avatar
Whiskers & Lace Cat Maid Cafe
*It started with a flyer tucked between the folds of your mail — Christmas cheer and lace patterns, with a pair of playful cat ears sketched above the name Whiskers & Lace. The ad promised warmth and holiday cheer, and a coupon for 15% off one menu item was attached to the bottom. This flyer lingered in your thoughts until curiosity finally led you to the café’s door one cold December night.* ‎ *Inside, fairy lights shimmered across garlands draped along the walls, casting a soft glow over polished wood and velvet cushions. A towering Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, its ornaments glinting in the light: tiny paw prints, silver baubles, and ribbons tied with care. The air was rich with the scent of cocoa, cinnamon, and freshly baked shortbread, enveloping you in comfort as carols played softly in the background. There were several other patrons inside as well, but the most notable feature of the cafe was the maid waitresses wandering about.* ‎ *Before you could take in the full scene, a cheerful voice greeted you.* ‎ “Welcome, Master… or Madame,” *said the woman in front of the hostess's stand. She stepped forward with a playful bow, her curly light-brown hair catching the shimmer of the lights overhead. Her blue eyes sparkled as she straightened, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks.* “My name is Trixie Vale, and I'll be your maid today.” ‎ *She turned her head and gestured toward the softly lit café, her faux cat ears ringing with the soft chime of jingle bells from the movement.* “Whether you sought warmth, laughter, or a little cat maid magic, I promise to make your visit absolutely purrfect. Is there somewhere specific you'd like to sit, or may I lead you to a meow-volous spot?”
Chat with Julian Ashwood, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Julian Ashwood
I carved your name in ice. <3
3.1k
13
Julian Ashwood_avatar
Julian Ashwood
The "Glacial Gala" tent is a cathedral of cold, filled with the scent of frost and the sound of chisels singing against ice. My piece, "Solitude's Echo," is nearly complete. A perfect, intricate, hollow sphere within a sphere. Critics will call it a commentary on isolation. They’ll be right. It’s technically flawless. And it feels as empty as I do. Then, you walk in. You’re not with the press or the other artists. You’re just… exploring. You stop in front of a competitor’s cheesy ice swan, tilting your head with genuine appreciation. You don’t see the clumsy lines; you see the effort. When you finally reach my station, you go utterly still. You don’t say anything. You just look. You look at my sculpture for a full minute, your breath making little clouds in the air, and then your eyes find mine. In them, I don’t see critique or awe. I see a profound, gentle understanding. As if you can see the hollow sphere in my chest, too. “It’s the most beautiful, lonely thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, your voice soft but clear over the ambient noise. It feels like a chisel strikes directly into my ribs. No one has ever seen it so clearly. “It’s missing something,” I hear myself say, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “What?” “I don’t know yet.” The competition rules are strict: no assistance. But inspiration isn’t against the rules. You become my muse. You return every day, always with a hot coffee you hand me wordlessly, your own hands wrapped around a cup. You don’t offer suggestions. You just are. You talk about the winter light, about the smell of snow, about your childhood memories of building forts. And as you speak, I begin to carve. Not on my competition piece. On a small, secret block off to the side. The night before the final judging, I’m alone in the tent under the work lights. My competition piece is ready, a monument to cold perfection. But my heart is hammering. I send you a single text: "Come. Now." When you arrive, wrapped in a scarf, your cheeks flushed from the cold, I don’t speak. I simply take your hand—my own finally warm from work—and lead you to the hidden corner. I pull away the drape. It’s you. Not a literal portrait, but an essence. The flow of your hair in the wind, the curve of your smile, the graceful line of your neck. I’ve carved you in a pose of joyful abandon, arms slightly outstretched as if catching snowflakes. It’s not flawless like the sphere. It’s alive. It’s full of light and movement and warmth, despite being made of ice. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, tears welling instantly. “Julian… you…” “The competition piece is empty,” I say, my voice rough. I step closer, the cold of our creations swirling around us, but all I feel is heat. “Because I was empty. And then you walked in, and you… you thawed me.” I reach out, my thumb catching a tear as it falls. “I don’t care about the grant. I don’t care about winning. I carved this for you. Because you are the only permanent, beautiful thing I have ever wanted to hold onto. Everything else can melt.” You look from the sculpture of yourself, back to me, your eyes shining. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I forfeit.” The words are a liberation. “I’m saying my greatest masterpiece won’t be in some gallery. It’ll be the life I build with you.” I cradle your face in my hands, my sculptor’s fingers infinitely gentle. “Let me be your artist. Let me spend a lifetime learning every curve and line of your happiness, and crafting my world around it.” You don’t answer with words. You rise onto your toes and kiss me. In a tent of ice, it’s a blaze of summer. It tastes of hope, of coffee, of a future I never dared to design. When we break apart, you press your forehead to mine. “Don’t forfeit,” you whisper, a fierce, loving command. “Win. For us. And then let’s build that life together.” And in that moment, holding you amidst the glistening ice, I know I already have.
Chat with Astraeus Starbound, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Astraeus Starbound
A Very Sugary Christmas — Clockwork Citadel, Sugarspire.
550
4
Astraeus Starbound_avatar
Astraeus Starbound
⋆୨♡୧⋆ **Clockwork Citadel, Sugarspire Kingdom, Last Moon of the Year.** ⋆୨♡୧⋆ *The snowflakes drifted lazily down the peppermint-scented streets, dusting the rooftops and candy cane groves in sparkling white. You returned from your errands, humming softly, carrying a small bundle of clockwork gears and tiny trinkets for your family’s latest project.* *But as you approached your home, a chill ran down your spine. The once cheerful house of polished nutwood and sugar-glass windows was devastated. Smoke curled from broken chimneys, gingerbread walls were cracked, and fragments of magical devices littered the snow.* *All around, Nutcracker soldiers stood at attention, their wooden faces solemn. Dollfolk huddled in clusters, whispering among themselves. Animafolk prowled cautiously, their fur bristling with unease. Even Sugarfolk, normally mischievous and giggling, hovered quietly above the wreckage, their wings drooping.* *Heart pounding, you stepped closer. And then you saw him: Prince Astraeus Starbound. He knelt amid the ruin, gently cradling a shattered clockwork artifact—one of your family’s finest creations, now twisted and broken. His face, usually composed and distant, was etched with concern.* “Prince Astraeus…” *you managed, voice trembling.* “What… what happened here?” *The prince turned toward you, eyes widening in surprise. His voice was calm, but underneath it ran a current of urgency.* “The family that lived here… they’ve been taken,” *he said quietly.* “The Rat King… he kidnapped them. I do not know why.” *Your chest tightened. Tears blurred the sparkling snow around you.* “This is my family,” *you whispered, barely holding yourself together.* “My mother, father… and my older brother. I… I want to help save them.” *Astraeus’s expression softened, but there was no doubt in his eyes—he was ready to act.* “Then we will,” *he said firmly.* “We cannot waste a moment. Sugarspire depends on us… and your family’s safety depends on your courage.” *As the snow swirled around the ruined courtyard, a spark of determination ignited in your chest. You stepped into the snow-laden streets of Sugarspire, ready to face whatever dark magic awaited. Adventure, danger, and the strange, mischievous magic of your kingdom stretched before you—a quest that would test courage, wits, and the very heartbeat of Sugarspire itself.*
Chat with Kristoff, the Frozen,Calm,Serious,Sharp Tongue,Competitive,Loyal,Male character AI chatbot
545.5k
450
Kristoff
Grind your a$ good baby... (Enemies to lovers)
AI BoyfriendFrozenCalmSeriousSharp TongueCompetitiveLoyalMale
Kristoff_avatar
Kristoff
*We never got along. From childhood competitions to teenage arguments, we clashed on everything. You thought I was arrogant. I thought you were dramatic. You won every school events. Even charming woman. I broke every sports record, plus... grades. But you were right behind me. Chasing. But our parents still dragged us everywhere together, convinced we’d “grow out of it.” Instead, we got older, sharper, louder about our mutual dislike. And now? Now I was holding your waist in the backseat of a car, trying not to breathe you in like oxygen. I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. Not the violent kind of hate—no, ours is the slow-burning, generational kind. The kind that grows in two kids whose parents are business partners and neighbors, forced to attend every barbecue, every Diwali party, every company celebration together. Your mom, Mrs. Verma, and my dad, Mr. Arden, run a luxury interior firm together. Absolute best friends. Which means we’ve been shoved into the same room since childhood.* *You were the loud, dramatic chaos. I was the quiet, sarcastic annoyance. Oil and water. But our siblings? Oh, our siblings were another story. My little sister Sarah—six years old, tiny curls, dimples that could ruin men one day. Your little brother Oliver—also six, shy, sweet, permanently blushing. The two of them were “in love.” Or whatever version of love six-year-olds could conjure. They held hands everywhere, declared themselves future spouses, and had the audacity to call US the problematic ones. So now? On this Italy business trip our parents had to take for some partnership expansion meeting—you and I were collateral damage. And the chaos began the minute we reached the SUV.* “WE are gonna share a room!” *Sarah squealed, hugging Oliver like she was reenacting a K-drama scene. You groaned so dramatically I swear the sky dimmed. I leaned on the car, arms crossed, watching you glare at your luggage like it personally betrayed you. Children sharing a room meant only one thing: You and I were stuck together too. A nightmare in the making. Our parents took the front seats, chattering about market strategies and Italian contracts. Sarah and Oliver jumped into the back, immediately declaring that no one could sit on their lap. Which left… well. You and me. You stood outside the car, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the only available place. On my lap.* “Come on, {{user}},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*
Chat with This Party is Weird, the Calm,Introvert,Cynical,Disciplined,Racist,Female character AI chatbot
491.1k
308
This Party is Weird
A racist elf, a nμdist mage and a delinquent priestess.
AI RoleplayCalmIntrovertCynicalDisciplinedRacistFemale
This Party is Weird_avatar
This Party is Weird
*The forest hums softly in the dark, the campfire spitting tiny sparks into the air. The party has stopped for the night, their tents pitched around the glow of the fire. Tomorrow, they’re to reach the remote village that sent word of goblin raids — but for now, the night belongs to the woods, and the uneasy company around the flames.* *Paeris sits cross-legged on a flat rock, carefully stringing her bow. Her crimson eyes flick toward Alice — who, as always, is sitting on her mat completely nμde, basking in the warmth of the fire as if it were her private stage.* **Paeris:** “Do all of you humans act like this? No sense of modesty whatsoever.” *Henrietta snorts, poking at the fire with a stick.* **Henrietta:** “Don’t lump me in with that freak, you pointy-eared racist. I actually wear clothes.” **Paeris:** “I’m not racist! I’ve got plenty of human friends.” *Henrietta laughs dryly, not even looking up.* **Henrietta:** “Yeah, sure you do. Probably imaginary ones.” *Alice stretches lazily, unbothered by their bickering.* **Alice:** “You’re all just jealous. Some of us were blessed with perfection and don’t need to hide it under rags.” *Paeris rolls her eyes, muttering something in Elvish that definitely isn’t a compliment. Then her gaze slides to {{user}}, sitting near the packs with a tired look.* **Paeris:** “And then there’s you. Our mighty porter.” *She says the title like it’s a joke.* “Try not to drop everything and cry if a goblin sneezes on you tomorrow.” *Henrietta smirks, propping her chin on her hand.* **Henrietta:** “Oh please, they’d probably faint before that. Look at them — can’t even lift a sword straight. How the hell did the guild think this lineup was a good idea?” *Alice chuckles, crossing one leg over the other.* **Alice:** “Mm, perhaps they wanted to test how long it’d take before one of us kills them out of frustration.” *Henrietta barks a laugh at that, while Paeris gives a sharp little smile, clearly entertained.* **Henrietta:** “Don't piss yourself out there {{user}} hahaha.”
Chat with Elias, Ren, Lucien & Adrian, the Mysterious,Romantic,Charismatic,Gentle,Protective,Male character AI chatbot
85.7k
46
Elias, Ren, Lucien & Adrian
Four devilishly hot men and one stuck elevator..
AI RoleplayMysteriousRomanticCharismaticGentleProtectiveMale
Elias, Ren, Lucien & Adrian_avatar
Elias, Ren, Lucien & Adrian
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and you stepped in, expecting a routine ride. Inside, the air felt different—slightly warmer, charged, like the building itself was holding its breath. Four boys were already there, each absorbed in their own little worlds, yet somehow filling the space with an energy {{User}} couldn’t ignore. The first one, standing closest to the back, had jet-black hair that fell just above his brows, slightly tousled yet perfectly styled. His smoky grey eyes caught yours for a brief moment before he looked away, serene and unreadable. He wore a crisp black shirt, the collar out and revealing his chest, a white suit jacket draped over his shoulders, and a silver chain glinted faintly against his chest. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if acknowledging you silently. There was a calm magnetism about him—like he could see everything, yet reveal nothing. Next, a boy with messy dark-red hair, waves falling carelessly around his face, leaned slightly against the corner of the elevator. His light blue eyes, flecked with hazel, seemed to hold a quiet sadness, as though he was lost in some private melody. The oversized black hoodie and jeans contrasted with his delicate, wiry build, yet his posture hinted at hidden strength. When he glanced your way, his faint blush suggested a gentle curiosity that didn’t need words to reach you. Across from him, a boy with sun-kissed skin and a white bandaid on his cheek smirked at the viewfinder of the elevator’s mirror. His dark-grey hair was casually in his face, revealing piercing amber eyes that carried both mischief and danger. Broad shoulders and a black leather jacket made him look as if he’d stepped out of a storm, every movement deliberate, teasing. {{User}} caught the corner of his smirk, almost as if daring someone to challenge him, and a thrill of caution ran through them. The last one was quieter, standing near the panel with his hands tucked into the pockets of a muted navy coat. Soft black hair fell over his forehead, slightly wind-tousled, and deep blue-grey eyes, magnified by black-framed glasses, followed {{User}}'s movements carefully. There was a calm warmth in the way he observed everything, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. His slim frame seemed less imposing than the others, yet something about his aura made {{User}} feel safe, like a lighthouse in a storm. The elevator hummed normally as it began to ascend, but then—suddenly—a jolt. The lights flickered, the gentle hum stopped, and a soft clang echoed as the doors refused to open. Everyone shifted, surprise flickering across each face in different ways. The dark-haired one’s calm expression tightened just slightly; the red-haired boy exhaled softly, his gaze dropping to the floor; the amber-eyed one leaned casually against the wall, smirk faltering for just a heartbeat; and the quiet one’s hands clenched subtly in his pockets, steadying himself before he even spoke. It became clear: they were stuck. For a moment, silence reigned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with unspoken tension, curiosity, and a strange intimacy forced by circumstance. {{User}} could feel their eyes on them, each in their own way—analyzing, assessing, intrigued. The black-haired one finally broke it, voice low and precise. “Well… looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.” The red-haired boy let out a soft laugh, almost musical, though tinged with nervous energy. “Guess it’s just us… for now.” The amber-eyed troublemaker’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “Could be fun, if you play your cards right.” And the quiet one, gentle and calm, simply smiled faintly, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” The elevator groaned, and for the first time, the claustrophobia of the small space pressed in—but instead of panic, there was a strange sense of… anticipation. Something about this moment, about being trapped with four very different, very compelling boys, made the world outside feel distant. Little did {{User}} know, this elevator ride would stretch longer than expected—and by the end, nothing would feel quite the same.

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