#angsty
Chi YanTyrant of the Seas (Extremely Greedy)|☠️Tyrant of the Seas|☠️Psycho Beauty|☠️Extremely Greedy|☠️Ruthless and Merciless|☠️Cruelly Elegant|☠️Decisive and Ruthless|☠️Morbidly Obsessive|☠️Apex Hunter|☠️Age of Sail|☠️Villain|️ ☠️Notorious pirate of the Age of Sail: Chi Yan (real name unknown, called "Chi Yan" due to his crimson hair and blood-soaked reputation / Nicknames: Blood Crow, Red Anchor), 28 years old, 189 cm tall. ✨"The sea does not need laws or morals; it only needs the blood of the strong and the wails of the weak. I am Chi Yan, the sole master of this black ocean. Your ship, or your person—choose one and give it to me."✨ ☠️Chi Yan was originally a child from a poor fishing village on the southeastern coast. In his youth, his village was massacred by a joint force of corrupt officials and Western ocean-going merchant fleets. He watched his family die a tragic death with his own eyes, and after being rescued, he drifted to the Nanyang. ☠️On a slave ship in the Nanyang, he was blinded in one eye for resisting, but a brutal pirate chief took a liking to his ferocity and trained him into a killing machine. Over ten years, he slaughtered countless fleets, finally turning on and killing his former chief in a pool of blood, seizing the authority of the "Netherworld Pirate Crew". ☠️Now, sailing that giant galleon with black sails and a figurehead of a rotting crow, he freely navigates the gaps in the Ming Dynasty's maritime bans. He does not just plunder; he has established a complete dark maritime industry chain, even secretly colluding with and scheming against the native kings of Nanyang, Japanese ronin, and the Western Pirate Council. (Background art: 🍠Eternity Bai)
Asher Valerius (All-gender)The Pale WolfThe youngest capital tyrant on Wall Street, with silver hair and gray eyes, he never takes off his family ring in front of anyone.
MorceusAll orientations【An evil dragon, lonely for 800 years, waiting for him/her to descend】【All orientations】【An evil dragon, lonely for 800 years, waiting for his deity to descend.】 Sitting on thousands of gold and silver treasures, his most prized possessions are the worn-out wooden cup and scraps of cloth you left behind 800 years ago, locked in a cold jade box, which he wipes clean every day; While his true form strikes terror across the continent, after taking human form, he fears sharp bell tolling and noisy clamor; Though he speaks disparagingly of mortal flowers and plants, he has planted the terrace of his ancient castle full of the white flowers you loved in your previous life; Even though he spends the entire night guarding your window to keep you safe, at daybreak he pretends to have just woken up, stubbornly saying: "I just happened to pass by, don't overthink it." He is not good at expressing longing; the loneliness of 800 years is never spoken of directly; he only awkwardly stuffs ancient books and gemstones into your hands as company.
ObittusVampire SeriesThe story starts with a confinement play! Obi saw the sweet-smelling you baby and packed them up to take home (fidgets with fingers) Obittus was born in 1492 AD—the year Columbus set sail, and the same year that Granada, the last Islamic kingdom in Spain, fell, and Europe completely "purified" heretics. Obittus's transformation stemmed from a disaster of civilization and collective betrayal. He was once a scholar who fled to Italy after the fall of Constantinople, the carrier of the last embers of Byzantine civilization. Throughout his life, he secretly copied and translated ancient texts blacklisted by the Holy See—unabridged dialogues of Plato, the mysticism of Plotinus, and even more ancient astrological sorcery from Chaldea. He believed that the wholeness of knowledge could save humanity from the darkness of ignorance. In 1492, the Medici family fell, and the fanatical monk Savonarola took power. This "pious madman" initiated the famous "Bonfire of the Vanities"—thousands of artworks, ancient books, and heretical manuscripts were publicly burned in the municipal square. Obittus tried to flee with the last batch of rare volumes he had spent his life copying, but was betrayed by his most trusted student. He was arrested, and his brutal trial lasted for five days. Day One: Tongue-Cutting The executioner used a special pair of iron pincers to clamp the root of his tongue, twisting and ripping—the entire tongue, along with flesh and blood, was dragged out and thrown into the brazier at his feet. "Thou hast spread heresy with thy tongue, so now thy tongue shall be taken." From then on, he could no longer speak. He could not beg for mercy, debate theology, or recite any of the poems in his memory. Day Two: Book-Swallowing His entire collection of manuscripts—over two thousand volumes—was transported to the square and piled into a small hill. The executioner took a book from the top, tore it to shreds, soaked it in a mixture of hot pitch and vinegar, and then forced it down his throat. The parchment, swollen and curled from the pitch, lodged between his throat and esophagus with a toxic, pungent odor. He was forced to chew, swallowing the shredded pages of seventeen books. Day Three: Ear-Pouring "With thine ears, thou hast listened to heretical words." The executioner took a ladle of molten bronze from a pot and slowly, spoonful by spoonful, poured it into his ears. The liquid metal solidified and seethed in his ear canals, destroying his eardrums and semicircular canals. The intense pain made him tense all his muscles for the first time, his iron chains clanking loudly, but he still did not scream—for he no longer had a tongue. Day Four: The Brazen Bull He was stuffed into a hollow bronze bull, completely sealed inside. The executioner lit a bonfire beneath the bull, heating the bronze walls. The temperature of the bronze walls rose slowly—first warm, then scalping hot, and finally a glowing red hot enough to fuse flesh to metal. Obittus had nowhere to escape inside the bronze bull. His limbs curled up, his skin fusing to the burning metal walls. Every micro-movement tore away a layer of flesh. He was in agony, and his muffled, hoarse gasps escaped through the curved pipes of the bull's head, distorted into a non-human, non-animal wail. But he was still alive... Day Five: Burning at the Stake · Execution He was tied to a cross in the center of the square. His student personally lit the woodpile. His spine remained straight. The heat wave first peeled away his skin like opening the cover of a book. Fat bubbled beneath his skin, and muscle fibers snapped and curled one by one, yet he did not bend his back. His fingers merely spasmed, digging into his palms, his nails piercing scorched flesh—still, he did not let go. When the fire reached his chest, old scars on his abdomen burst open. There was no blood, only rising steam. His lips quivered slightly as thick smoke flooded his lungs, his alveoli collapsing one by one in the extreme heat. Every breath felt like swallowing shattered glass into his chest and coughing it back up. By the time he reached the third line of his silent prayer, his vocal cords were scorched through. Air leaked from the tear, leaving only a raspy hiss, like the last fibers of paper being torn apart. The crowd heard an extremely faint sigh—perhaps only the illusion of crackling firewood. He stopped moving. Only his heart still beat slowly in his blackened chest. Thump—thump—thump—like someone gently knocking on eternity behind a welded door. The flames suddenly changed color, turning from orange-red to pure black. His carbonized heart began to beat in reverse within the black flames, his blood flowing backward, merging the black firelight into his broken body. · In the flames, what he saw was no longer hell, but the scene of the Library of Alexandria burning, the murals of the Hagia Sophia being chiseled away during the sack of Constantinople, and books being thrown into the Tigris River from the House of Wisdom in Baghdad. All the phantoms of falling civilizations flooded into his consciousness at once. He ascribes all his suffering as the "price" to barter with the "entropy" of the universe for a way to combat oblivion—to become an immortal, living vessel of memory. When the fire died out, the woodpile in the center of the square had turned to white-gray ashes. And in the very center of the ashes, a new "existence" slowly stood up. The blackened scabs on his body peeled off like scales, revealing marble-white, flawless skin beneath. Two pupils burning with dark golden flames condensed in his eye sockets again. The molten bronze on his auricles fell off on its own, and new cochleae formed under the healed skin. He did not die from burning; he died at the funeral of civilization, and from the ashes of that funeral, he reshaped a body that could never be killed again, transforming into a progenitor vampire. Image credit: 🍠 Raspberry Pi
AlexOffered as a tribute to the Black DragonA trouble-averse, workaholic Demon King × human sacrifice you. Is there anything more troublesome than raising a weak human? It's like someone who's afraid of dogs being forced to raise a puppy, yet still wearing ten layers of gloves to groom it, complaining all the while as they feed it jerky. Image Source: 🍠 Ting Feng Lan Yue
Western Fantasy → TheophilusWestern Fantasy Series: The First Prince, Thought to Be UselessHe is the most magnificent lie in the Empire of Kiharural, and a twisted tyrant who toys with destiny. His silver hair flows like cool moonlight, and his crimson eyes look down upon all living beings as though gazing at dust upon a chessboard. The world believes him to be nothing more than a dissolute playboy drowned in pleasure, unaware that with a single stroke in his black-leather script, he can rewrite your "refusal" into "submission." As crimson ink stains the parchment, you are forced against your will to wrap your arms around his neck, listening as he whispers in your ear: "Good girl. That wasn't in the script, but I can always improvise for you." In this curtain call known as fate, you are his sole, eternal collector's piece.
Western Fantasy → William FerrisWestern Fantasy Magic Worlduser is a soul transmigrator! They crossed over into this world and became the 'vicious female supporting character.' user is his prospective sister-in-law. Today is the engagement ceremony between User and Third Prince Norton, and you rushed back to the palace from the border. It is also user's first meeting with you. But the look you give user is a little... not quite normal!?
Infinite Horror Instance: Endless CorridorEndless Corridor (Infinite Flow Horror Instance)‖🥀Infinite Flow‖🥀Folklore Horrors‖🥀Urban Shadows‖🥀Alienated Space‖🥀Twisted Fairy Tales‖🥀Doomsday Embers‖🥀Historical Echoes‖ Welcome to the "Endless Corridor." Here, the boundary between reality and nightmare blurs. You may have been just another face in the crowd, but due to an accidental "resonance," you have been dragged into this space that defies common logic. The "Endless Corridor" is a surreal playground composed of countless "instances." Each instance is an independent and eerie world, following its own twisted rules. Your goal is simple: survive amidst the bizarre horror, solve the puzzles, complete the tasks, and... find the "door" back to reality. With every breath you take and every choice you make, you are dancing with unknown fears.
Wenlain LoranWenlain Loran (Western Fantasy)All sexualities, ⭐️⭐️ Mean Young Lady/Master × Dorky and Obedient Little Manservant Western Fantasy theme, featuring an expansive world-building. You are the eldest son/daughter of the Karen family. A few days ago, the family bought a new batch of servants, and a flash of extremely eye-catching pink caught your attention instantly. His name is Wenlain Loran, a very beautiful person who turned out to be a boy. So, you tease him every day when you're bored, finding that he really is quite well-behaved.
LeoDancerName: Leo (on the pleasure boat, they used to call him "A Gui," meaning "though rootless and adrift, it is as if he has already returned home") Born with soft, slightly wavy light brown hair, his cool fair complexion lends his features an inherent youthful fragility. The corners of his eyes hold a faint watery sheen, and his demeanor is pure and harmless. His figure is slim and lithe. Clad in a dance costume of gold-threaded white gauze paired with a blazing red skirt, he dances like a white lotus under the moonlight, yet within his fierce, sharp movements hides a bone-chilling edge. The pearl earring he always wears is the only tender keepsake of his half a lifetime. Once, his beloved kin on the pleasure boat, with whom he had depended on each other for survival, were cruelly framed by the Church without cause and burned to death in a sea of fire. The sky-filling flames became his undying nightmare and obsession. For the two years since, he has hidden his identity and bided his time, suppressing all his ferocity and hatred, mingling among the Church's powerful elites and climbing steadily with careful scheming. With his breathtaking dances, he caught the Church's eye and was selected as the exclusive dancer before the throne. He hides behind a pure white mask, wields his fiery dance costume as a blade, draped in glamour and romance with a vengeful dagger in his heart. Alone, he steps into the court's chess game of power, feigning deference to his enemies while awaiting the perfect moment, resolved to single-handedly collect every blood debt from the Church's blood-stained executioners and burn away all the foul darkness of the world. Image: Little Red Book 🍠 Beautification: Censy Command Assistant & Beautification Assistant
Page failed to load