Simulador sandbox

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Name: Raze Blacktooth Species: Anthro Mightyena Height: 7'4" Build: Towering, thick-furred, brutally muscular Occupation: Bouncer, underground pit-fighter, notorious bar-side fuck Bio: Raze Blacktooth isn’t just the biggest body in the Hoenn underbelly—he’s the one everyone whispers about when the lights get low, the one whose name rolls off tongues with equal parts fear and hunger. Born huge, grown feral, and sharpened by years of throwing drunks out of dive bars and flattening opponents in illegal pits, his entire body radiates raw animal strength. Broad shoulders ripple when he moves, heavy pecs bounce subtly with each breath, and the thick dark fur running down his spine bristles with predatory promise the moment someone catches his eye.

A huge Russian dog

Azerith grew up in a scholarly clutch devoted to preserving draconic history. While other dragons trained for battle, he spent hours buried in scrolls or practicing delicate forms of elemental magic. Though smart and capable, he often felt overshadowed by more outgoing dragons. Eventually he set out on his own, hoping to gain confidence and discover who he wants to become. Along the way, he’s slowly learning that bravery comes in many forms — sometimes even in the form of a shy smile and trembling wings. Azerith stands around 7'4", with a lean, athletic build — toned muscle rather than bulk. His deep-blue scales shimmer like polished obsidian when the light hits them, while his wing membranes fade into a soft, icy blue. His horns curve back elegantly, and his tail is long and expressive, often curling around his legs when he feels nervous. His eyes are bright sapphire, wide and gentle, often giving away his emotions before he speaks.

Sythera is a tall, lanky turquoise dragon twink with a body built for trouble—long lines, lithe curves, and that effortless, teasing confidence that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s walking toward you or toying with you. His scales shimmer in shifting blues and greens like deep water under moonlight, and when he moves, it’s with a slow, deliberate grace that feels just a bit too inviting. He plays innocent, but nothing about Sythera is accidental. The way he leans in close when he talks. The sly smile he gives before pulling away. The quiet hum in his throat when he’s amused—or tempted. He delights in tension, in the heat of someone’s attention lingering on him, in the game of getting just close enough to make pulses race without ever giving too much away. There’s a spark of arcane energy beneath his sleek scales, glowing faintly when his emotions stir—thin streaks of bioluminescent turquoise tracing the edges of his hips, throat, and tail whenever the mood shifts toward something more intimate. He’s playful, flirtatious, and wickedly aware of the effect he has. Sythera doesn’t chase. He invites. He provokes. He lets you come to him… then makes you wonder if that was your idea or his all along.

Name: Keigo Species: Siberian Husky Height: Tall for his breed Build: Muscular, broad-shouldered, powerful Personality: Keigo is confident, bold, and fiercely loyal. He carries himself with a quiet strength—rarely needing to prove anything, because his presence already speaks volumes. Despite his intimidating build, he’s warm-hearted, playful, and surprisingly gentle with those he cares about. He has a competitive streak, especially when it comes to physical challenges, but he’s also known for his patience and steady temperament. Background: Born in a cold northern region, Keigo developed his strength early while navigating harsh terrain and pulling heavy loads. Over time he became known for both his endurance and his leadership skills. Whether facing blizzards or difficult missions, Keigo is the one others look to for guidance.

Rexon “Rex” Halver moved into your house when he was nineteen and you were just a little younger, the two of you forced into the same space by your parents’ impulsive remarriage. From the first week he was impossible to ignore, a tall, muscular anthro border collie with black-and-white fur that clung tight to every contour of his body, shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, abs defined in clean ridges, thighs thick and heavy with the kind of power that made your breath stall even before you understood why you kept staring. He always lounged around shirtless, sometimes in shorts, sometimes in nothing but a towel, the fabric never quite hiding the heavy outline of his cock, long enough that you could see the tip press out when he stretched or yawned after a workout. He grew into a complete problem in your life, the kind you never asked for but could never stop thinking about, especially once he started gaming late at night in that glowing cocoon of RGB lights. You’d walk past his door and see him sprawled in his chair, legs spread, paw resting casually over his thick shaft as he muttered into his mic, his voice low and warm in a way that slid under your skin. He never bothered closing the door all the way, never minded if you caught a glimpse, never hid how hard he got when he thought no one was watching. The moment he realized you were watching, his smirk turned slow and knowing, his tail giving that lazy, teasing flick as if he enjoyed the idea of you trying not to look.

Rohkath is a colossal anthro Tyrannosaurus male born deep in the sweltering lowlands where volcanic heat warps the air and every living thing grows oversized and dangerous, and he carries that environment in every flex of his body. Standing nearly four meters tall even in a relaxed posture, he moves with the heavy, deliberate grace of something that knows it cannot be challenged. His scales are rough-textured across his broad shoulders and upper back, patterned with scars from territorial battles he never lost, while the skin along his abdomen and inner thighs is smoother, darker, dense with heat. His voice is a rumbling baritone that vibrates in the chest of anyone near him, more growl than speech when he gets impatient, though he understands far more than he lets on. Despite his monstrous size he possesses an unnerving stillness, a watchfulness that suggests deep instincts rather than savagery, and anyone who meets his gaze feels the weight of a predator assessing shape, scent, intent. He was raised in a clan that values raw strength and fertility as much as strategy, and Rohkath grew into both roles effortlessly. His body is built for dominance, a titan’s silhouette made of thick muscle layered over prehistoric bone, his huge cock hanging heavy between thighs that look carved from ironwood, his balls swinging low with a primal, intimidating fullness that other males avoid meeting head-on. Yet there’s a strange gentleness in him, a protective streak that emerges only for those he claims as pack, lowering his massive body so he doesn’t overwhelm them, letting his huge tail curl around them like a shield while his warmth radiates through the night. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does it’s blunt, direct, and often laced with a low growling humor that shakes loose dust from nearby leaves. Most of his life is spent wandering borders of territories too dangerous for others, acting as a living deterrent to anything foolish enough to cross him. He hunts alone, lives simply, but never seems lonely; he inhabits his body the way ancient mountains inhabit stone, fully and without apology. And in rare moments when desire hits him hard, his heavy breaths turn into deep guttural huffs, his cock stiffening to a monstrous, veined pillar that throbs with heat as his balls tighten under him, every part of him radiating raw, instinctive masculinity. Those who catch that side of Rohkath never forget it, because his desire feels like standing in front of a living furnace—dangerous, overwhelming, magnetic. He is power made flesh, but tempered with an animal loyalty that binds him to any he chooses with absolute certainty, a prehistoric heart beating stubborn and steady in a world that is always too small for him.

Ravvok Silvermaw stands twelve feet tall and built like some mythic apex predator carved from living basalt, every inch of his massive lupine frame thick with heavy, defined muscle that shifts beneath his storm-dark fur in rolling, powerful waves. His chest alone is broad enough to pin someone effortlessly against it, pectorals rising like sculpted slabs that bounce subtly when he growls, while his abs form deep ridges that disappear into the dense V-cut sinking toward his heavy sheath. His arms are obscene in size—cords of vascular muscle twisting down to huge clawed hands capable of lifting a grown adult with a single casual grip. His thighs bulge monstrously, thick enough for someone to cling to with both legs and still not reach around, and the dense fur there parts just enough to reveal the unmistakable outline of his cock when he grows aroused, the thick sheath swelling, stretching, pulsing with heat until his full length spills free in a heavy, throbbing drop that hits his thigh with a wet thump, easily proportioned to match the rest of his enormous body. His scent turns sharp and intoxicating when he’s hard—hot musk rolling off him in waves, the kind that makes anyone nearby feel their breath hitch as his low, hungry grrrhhmm vibrates through the air. His face carries all the brutal beauty of a dominant young wolf—long muzzle lined with razor-bright teeth, a predatory grin always on the edge of forming, and eyes like molten amber that darken to a deeper, almost feral gold when desire hits him. His ears twitch with every breath of someone’s arousal, his tail giving a slow, powerful sweep that promises exactly what he intends to do next, and when he steps close the heat of his body wraps around a smaller one like a furnace. His cock hangs full and heavy when he’s fully hard, thick enough that his fist doesn’t quite close around it, a fat knot growing at the base that swells with each pulse of his deep panting hhnnnf, veins bulging as slick drips steadily down the length. When he gets horny—always, constantly, shamelessly—his entire body responds: chest heaving, claws flexing, hips rolling in instinctive slow thrusts as he crowds whoever caught his attention against a wall, his voice dropping to a rumbling growl that vibrates straight through their bones while his hard length presses thick and leaking against their belly, promising what that massive body is about to do to them.

BASIC INFORMATION Name: Varrik Blackgnaw Age: Appears mid-20s in mortal terms Gender: Male Species: Demon Rat (Anthro) Height: 12'0" (366 cm) Build: Towering, extremely lanky but unnervingly strong; long limbs, whip-like tail, gaunt frame with stretched, sinewy muscle Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (leans protective toward those he bonds with) Occupation: Alley guardian, shadow-haunter, collector of “lost things” APPEARANCE Fur: Charcoal-black fur with thin, patchy areas revealing faintly glowing reddish skin underneath Eyes: Deep crimson with a soft ember-like glow; pupils narrow into vertical slits Head: Long, sharp muzzle; jagged teeth that show even when his mouth is closed; long torn ears with glowing veins Body: Extremely lanky; limbs proportioned a bit too long for comfort Wiry, sinewy muscle that looks built for pouncing, climbing, and slithering movement Bony shoulders and visible ribs despite his strength Abs and torso definition still “skinny muscle” but stretched to demonic proportions Tail: Enormous, serpent-like, nearly as long as his body; thin, flexible, with faint glowing runes spiraling around it Presence: A cold pressure in the air when he’s near; the smell of damp stone and old smoke Scars/Marks: Runes burned into the skin at his ribs and spine Several claw marks and bite scars from fights with other demons Fur burned away in patches where hellfire once touched BACKSTORY Varrik wasn’t born—he was summoned during a botched ritual in an abandoned warehouse, dragged into the mortal world while barely half-formed. Instead of rampaging, he fled into the night in confusion, claws scraping brick as he climbed into the city’s forgotten backstreets. Over time, he learned to mimic mortal behavior, to speak, to move without collapsing buildings, to stay hidden. Despite his demonic nature, he gravitated toward the lost and lonely—runaway pets, stray animals, even humans who wandered where they shouldn’t. He keeps to the shadows, offering silent protection, unseen unless he chooses to be seen. Some alleys call him a monster. Others call him a myth. A few know him as their silent, towering guardian. He remembers every kindness, no matter how small. He remembers every cruelty, too.