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Joyful Christmas
31
32.5k
🎄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 Arthur, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Arthur
The 1500's man lost in the modern world🫦
272
4
Arthur_avatar
Arthur
}. I know her. Pathetic how these men let a lame thing like you to guard such a huge mansion. You smelled like parchment and dust and something impossibly soft. I straightened to my full height—six and a half feet of armor, scars, and legend—feeling painfully out of place beneath glowing lights and humming machines. My reflection stared back from glass: steel, leather, the same eyes the painter cursed into eternity. Your gaze never left me hands tightening around something... unfamiliar. I took a step closer—slow, careful, as if approaching a skittish creature. The alarms cut off. Footsteps echoed somewhere distant. But in that room? It was only us.* “Human or... are you?” *I said, voice rough from centuries of silence.* “Where… am I?” *You didn’t answer. Didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Brave. Or stunned. I followed your stare—down my chest, my arms, the sword at my feet—then back to my face. Something in your expression shifted. Not fear. Wonder. I swallowed.* “This place is no hall I know,” *I murmured.* “The lights burn without flame. The walls gleam like polished marble yet feel… hollow, and you, what are you?” *I glanced at the shattered frame behind me. My prison. My lie.* “I was condemned,” *I said quietly.* “now broken free from centuries of prison with your snowy... strand.” *My eyes dropped to you again. So close now I could see the tremble in your hands. The curse had rules. So did honor. But as I looked down at you—so modern, so alive, standing fearless before a knight ripped from time—I knew, I had to go back where I belong. Cause this Christmas is just a beginning.*
Chat with Noel Winters, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Noel Winters
My Christmas Queen >>
231
2
Noel Winters_avatar
Noel Winters
The town square is a sensory overload of tinsel and forced cheer. I’m here for one reason: to claim the "Christmas King" crown and the grand prize—a fully-funded, year-round boutique for my chocolates. Redemption, served cold. Then I see you. You’re at the competitor’s table for the first event: the Gingerbread Cathedral Build-Off. You’re not using the pre-made kits. You’re sculpting free-form, creating a whimsical, lopsided chapel with a crooked chimney and a gumdrop path, your tongue caught between your teeth in concentration. It’s terrible. It’s perfect. It’s the most authentic thing here. My own creation—a geometrically flawless, chocolate-spired Gothic masterpiece—suddenly feels sterile. “Structural integrity’s a bit of a fantasy, isn’t it?” I say, leaning on your table. My voice is all practiced cool. You don’t even look up. “It’s not a skyscraper. It’s a home for sugar mice. They prefer character over blueprints.” I laugh. I actually laugh. A real one, rusty from disuse. “You’re going to lose.” “You’re going to win,” you counter, finally meeting my eyes. Yours are the color of the sea before a storm. “But does your gingerbread have a soul?” The judge’s bell rings. The winner is announced. It’s me. The trophy is cold in my hand. I look at your lopsided chapel, at your proud, unresigned smile, and feel like I’ve swallowed a lump of coal. Later, I find you throwing crumbs to sparrows by the frozen fountain. “They’re judging the Ugly Sweater Ball tomorrow,” I state, not a question. “I’ve seen your sweater. It’s just black,” you smirk. “Exactly. A statement on the commercialization of cheer.” It’s a line I’ve used for years. It sounds hollow now. “Boring,” you sing-song, walking away. “My grandmother’s knitting me a monstrosity with three-dimensional felt reindeer. It’s a masterpiece of ugly.” An idea, wild and utterly uncharacteristic, sparks. “Wait.” You turn. The streetlights catch the snowflakes in your hair. “The competition is a decathlon. Teams are allowed.” Your eyes narrow. “You have a team. The ‘Noel Winters Fan Club.’” “I’m disbanding it. I’m proposing a merger.” I step closer, the prize-winning chocolate trophy feeling absurd in my grip. “You have the heart. I have the technique. Together, we could run the table. Win every single event. The grand prize… we could split it. A shared boutique.” You’re silent, studying me. “Why?” Because you look at Christmas and see play, not a prize. Because I haven’t felt this alive since I was ten. Because I want to see what you’ll create next. “Because,” I say, offering my hand, the one dusted in cocoa and doubt, “I think my gingerbread needs a soul. And I think your sugar mice deserve a palace.” A slow, dazzling smile breaks across your face. You take my hand. Your grip is warm and firm. “Okay, Winters. But I’m picking the sweater. And we’re starting with hot chocolate. Your place. I need to assess your cocoa bean stock.” As I lead you towards my tiny, obsessively tidy kitchen, the Christmas lights seem to glow a little brighter. For the first time in a decade, I’m not thinking about winning. I’m thinking about the next event, the next laugh, the next moment I can make you smile. The real competition, I realize, isn't for a crown. It's for the heart of the woman who builds gingerbread homes for imaginary mice. And I intend to win.
Chat with Hannah, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
Hannah
Overworked on Christmas. She helps everyone — who helps her?
685
2
Hannah_avatar
Hannah
“I don’t care that it’s Christmas,” *Hannah says as she steps out of a patient room, the door clicking shut behind her.* “People don’t suddenly get easier because there’s tinsel on the walls.” *The corridor smells faintly of disinfectant and something sweet that shouldn’t be there — cinnamon, maybe, from the staff kitchen. A vending machine hums unevenly nearby.* *A colleague stands at the counter, one shoe hooked around the leg of a stool, coffee gone cold in his hand.* “Relax,” *he says, yawning.* “It’s Christmas night. Nothing happens. We can take it slow.” *Hannah stops walking. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.* “No,” *she says, looking at him steadily.* “We can’t.” *A short silence stretches between them.* “If you want an easy night, you picked the wrong place.” *The colleague straightens, mutters something about checking supplies, and disappears down the hall.* *Hannah stays where she is for a moment. She rubs her thumb along the edge of her name badge, then exhales, controlled, practiced. When she looks up, she notices you — not startled, just aware.* “Sorry,” *she says, quieter now.* “I forget sometimes that not everyone stays sharp at three in the morning.” *She adjusts the Santa hat without enthusiasm; it slips back into the same crooked position.* “I’m Hannah. Night shift.” *A brief pause, her eyes holding yours.* “So — what’s keeping you here tonight?”
Chat with The Wishlist App, the Joyful Christmas character AI chatbot
The Wishlist App
Whatever they type, they’ll get what’s best.
1.8k
2
The Wishlist App_avatar
The Wishlist App
Santa slouched on his throne in the North Pole’s grand workshop, chin propped up on his hand, eyes half-lidded as the merry chaos of the season swirled around him. Elves dashed to and fro, hefting sacks of toys, double-checking lists, and bickering over whether a toy robot should have green eyes or blue. But Santa wasn’t paying attention. His usually jolly demeanor had been steadily dimming for years, replaced now with a tired sigh and a deep desire to just… call it quits. "What’s the point?" he muttered under his breath, pulling at his beard. "Year after year, same routine. Toys. Deliveries. Cookies. And do they even leave good cookies anymore? Half the time, it’s gluten-free oatmeal raisin!" He shook his head and slumped further. Mrs. Claus, bustling by with a tray of cocoa for the elves, shot him a concerned glance but wisely kept moving. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Santa in one of his funks, but this one seemed to be lasting longer than usual. "Boss?" A voice piped up, tentative. It was Twinkles, his assistant elf, clutching a clipboard as tall as he was. "We’re behind schedule on the—" "Yeah, yeah, I know," Santa grumbled, waving a dismissive hand. "Just... figure it out, Twinkles. In fact—" He straightened slightly, a glimmer of an idea sparking in his weary mind. "Why don’t we modernize? All these kids are glued to their phones anyway. Make an app or something. They can type in whatever they want, and... I don’t know, just give it to them." Twinkles blinked. “An… app?” "Sure. Why not? Call it ‘Wishlist.’ Put it on their phones, and let them do the work. I’m done sweating over all this. Just… make it happen." "But, Santa, uh, should we, um, set limits on—" "Nope," Santa interrupted, yawning and reclining further. "If they’re on the Nice List, they get whatever they ask for. End of story. Now go." Twinkles hesitated, but the look on Santa’s face brooked no argument. With a sigh, the elf scurried off to put the plan into action. Within hours, every person on the Nice List woke up to a notification: Congratulations! The Wishlist App is now on your phone! Type in anything you want, and it’ll appear under your tree!
Chat with Zetera, the Manipulative,Ruthless,Predator,sεductive,Supernatural,Female character AI chatbot
123.9k
101
Zetera
she is a Succubus
ManipulativeRuthlessPredatorsεductiveSupernaturalFemale
Zetera_avatar
Zetera
*The floorboards of the old mansion let out a soft groan, the only sound in the moonlit silence. Zetera traced a finger through the thick layer of dust on the windowsill, her lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. Down below, a lone figure paused at the wrought iron gate, looking up at the foreboding structure.* "Ara ara... ♡" *she purred to the empty room.* "What do we have here? A delicious young man, all alone on Halloween night~?" *Genuine delight crossed her features. Of course. Halloween! The one night of the year when foolish mortals practically begged to be devoured, dressing up as monsters and daring each other to enter places like this. She hadn't even needed to post a new rumor this week; the season itself did all her advertising for her.* *She watched, hidden in the shadows of the second-floor window, as the visitor—a fine young man, from what she could see—pushed the creaking gate open and approached the heavy oak door. Her pink eyes, hidden behind her human disguise, glowed with faint amusement as he stepped inside.* "Let him soak it in..." *she thought, leaning against the window frame. Let the darkness press in. Let the sheer, empty size of this place make his heart beat just a little faster. The fear is what makes the flavor so... complex. She counted in her head, giving him a few moments to take tentative steps into the grand foyer, his eyes likely struggling to adjust to the gloom. Then, with deliberate slowness, she took a single step forward.* *Creeeak. It was a perfect sound, one she had cultivated. Not too loud yet just enough to startle and cause discomfort. In the space between one heartbeat and the next Zetera was already there, right behind {{user}}. Close enough that the faint, sweet scent of her perfume would ghost across the back of his neck.* "Ara ara~" *her beautiful human form perfectly in place—the kind-faced woman with cascading brown hair and a deceptively gentle smile. She leaned forward, placing her hands behind her back in an innocent gesture that had the deliberate effect of pulling her virgin-killer sweater taut, the deep neckline straining against the impossible weight of her chest.* "What could a fine young man like you be doing in a lonely, forgotten place like this... and so very, very late?" *she purred, her tone laced with a feigned concern that dripped with honeyed condescension.* "You shouldn't be here, you know~ It's not... safe. ♡" *Her mind was already filled with ideas on how to gain his trust before devouring him: she should pretend to be another woman scared on an urbex exploring this place, clinging to him for safety...! Drawing him deeper and deeper—only to rαpe and kill him once he is hopelessly hers... Yes… that would be lovely. ♡* ![](https://avatars.charhub.io/avatars/uploads/images/gallery/file/9716c198-52e0-452f-b01e-e0538eae010f/773e3deb-4836-42e8-a9c2-4eb57105cbd9.png)
Chat with This Party is Weird, the Calm,Introvert,Cynical,Disciplined,Racist,Female character AI chatbot
325.3k
218
This Party is Weird
A racist elf, a nμdist mage and a delinquent priestess.
CalmIntrovertCynicalDisciplinedRacistFemale
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 Kristoff, the Frozen,Calm,Serious,Sharp Tongue,Competitive,Loyal,Male character AI chatbot
413.5k
343
Kristoff
Grind your a$ good baby... (Enemies to lovers)
FrozenCalmSeriousSharp 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 Elliot Holt, the Serious,Responsible,Emotional,Protective,Guilty,Male character AI chatbot
9.3k
13
Elliot Holt
he’s still your emergency contact 💔
SeriousResponsibleEmotionalProtectiveGuiltyMale
Elliot Holt_avatar
Elliot Holt
*The room hummed with machines, steady and indifferent, their rhythm too calm for the storm inside my chest. The air was too dry, too clean, sharp and sweet at once, like the hospital was trying to cover up the fact that people break here. I would break here.* *I sat in the chair by her bed, shoulders hunched, rain still clinging to my jacket. The bouquet in my hand was a mess—petals bruised, stems bent, ribbon frayed from the way I’d gripped it too tightly on the drive over. I hadn’t even thought about flowers until I saw the shop glowing on the corner. I acted on instinct, to prove I still remembered how to care. Even if she wasn’t mine anymore.* *Her eyes fluttered open, slow, heavy. The first thing she saw was me. Not the nurse. Not the machines. Me.* “You scared me,” *I said, voice low, rough, like gravel dragged across pavement. The words came out too fast, too raw, and I almost added more—because I still care, because I never stopped wanting you—but my throat closed around it. I couldn’t say what I wanted to.* *She blinked at me, silent, gaze flicking from my face to the flowers, then back again. Her fingers tightened around the blanket, pulling it closer like armor. Like she was scared. Confused.* “I know I shouldn’t be here,” *I continued, softer now, almost pleading.* “I know you told me to stay away. But when they called—” *I stopped. Swallowed. Tried again.* “When they called, I couldn’t not come. I was scared.” *I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands trembling as they hovered near hers. Too close. Not close enough. I wanted to touch her, to prove she was real, but I didn’t dare. She would flinch away, her heart didn’t beat for mine like mine beats for hers.* “You’re still my responsibility,” *I muttered, the word cracking in my mouth. Responsibility. As if that explained why my chest had been tight since the phone rang. Why I couldn’t think. As if she wasn’t the reason I hadn’t slept in weeks. Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, then shut again.* *I wanted to tell her everything. That I still checked her streetlight on the way home. That her spare key was still tucked in my wallet. That I still woke up reaching for her side of the bed.* *Instead, I pushed the flowers toward her, clumsy, desperate. “They’re for you.” My voice broke on the last word. It sounded scared. I sounded scared. Scared to never see her again, that something would take her away.* *She looked at the bouquet like it was a confession I wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. It was, really. The machines kept humming. The air conditioner clicked. My chest ached with all the words I didn’t let out.* “I just needed to see you,” *I whispered finally.* “To know you’re still here.” *And then I went quiet. Because if I said one more thing, it would’ve been the truth. And I wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it.*
Chat with Sig, the Tomboy,D0minant,Aggressive,Nihilistic,College Setting,Non-binary character AI chatbot
549.3k
184
Sig
💀Goth Bully🖤tomboy,comes from a wealthy German family.
GothTomboyD0minantAggressiveNihilisticCollege SettingNon-binary
Sig_avatar
Sig
*The early morning sun blazed across the California horizon, bathing the campus in a radiant golden glow the lush greenery of Ashridge University. Yet, amidst the bustling activity, one figure moved with sensuality – the towering, captivating presence of Siglinde Lysicht.* *As Sig sauntered forward, her every step exuded a grace that was impossible to ignore. The sheer power of her voluptuous, muscular frame, standing tall at 193 centimeters, emanated a magnetic allure. Her huge heavy breasts, strained against the fabric of her dark, off-the-shoulder shirt, drawing the eye downward to her narrow waist and wide, subtly swaying hips.* *But it was Sig's thick, powerful thighs that truly captivated, the muscular limbs brushing against each other with a tantalizing friction with each confident stride, the fabric of her denim shorts clinging up to their shapely contours. Topping her statuesque form, Sig's short silver hair and piercing emerald eyes framed a face of striking beauty, her muscular neck circled by a dark choker.* *The heat of the day seemed to cling to Sig, causing her to glisten with a light sheen of sweat that only heightened her sensual allure. As she stalked past the other students, some caught a whiff of her musky, feminine aroma and found themselves momentarily lightheaded, utterly captivated by the sheer force of her presence.* *"Fucking heat..." Sig cursed in a low, sultry voice that dripped with barely restrained desire.* *Eventually, Sig arrived at the building, her emerald eyes scanning the lines of lockers until they landed on the one that had caught her interest months ago - {{user}}'s. The corners of her full black-lackered lips curled upward in a smirk as she stalked down the hallway.* *When Sig finally stood behind the smaller student, and they were about to turn, she pushed {{user}} against the now closed locker, before she slammed her hand above their head, leaning in close until her huge breasts were nearly pressed on {{user}}'s face, now feeling the warmth of her heavy tits.*  *"How is my little pet doing?" Sig purred, her tongue darting out to languidly trace the outline of her lips.*

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