#trying to distract myself from my problems with cats

[opt1mistic]

TORMENT ME 𓋜 ft. mean bbf!ellie williams

cw. nsfw, kind of exhibitionism, slight dubcon, ellie isn’t really mean she’s just a tease, loser ellie implied bc i can’t help myself lol, reader has a brother bc duh, and is afab but gn. wc. 1.6k. based on this request

it was about 11 in the morning, you are in your kitchen getting breakfast, ‘the most important meal of the day’ they say. but you could care less about getting breakfast with this leech constantly hovering over you at a distance that should be considered too close.

ellie. where do i even start? she’s just like a stray cat, you feed her once, one time and she’s here again begging for more. but instead of feeding her once, you may have slept with her... it was one time and you were both drunk. you barely remember it. so why is she always here reminding you that she was knuckles deep inside of you?

your eyes drilling holes into the fridge, so many options, but none that fill your needs. you’re not even hungry, if you were to be honest. you just came down here to see her. as much as you hate to admit it you like ellie. you’ve always liked her. she’s been your brother's best friend since, like, forever, you can’t quite recall a moment where she wasn’t here. on the couch in your living room, your brother's room, or the kitchen, the fridge specifically.

you knew ellie liked you as well, she’s made that fact very obvious. she is constantly reminding you of it, but not in a desperate way, no, ellie isn’t desperate at all, well maybe a little, she’s just really persistent. she knows you like her so what is the problem with the two of you finally having something, at least?

your brother doesn’t even seem to care if the two of you date. because you how it’s always when you fall for your brother's best friend. the same: ‘uhhh no you can’t date my friends.’(pretend that was said with a very forced imitating voice). or something like ‘fuck no, my friends are off limits.’

but no, not with your brother. he could give less of a fuck about whatever it was going on between you and ellie.

you were the real problem here. so stubborn about admitting your feelings and so, so bratty every time ellie makes a pass at you that clearly has an effect on you.

and here she was again. you, still trying to find something to eat, mind coming up blank of mostly anything only being occupied by the toned biceps that you got a glimpse of when you walked into the kitchen. she was already there making breakfast for herself as your brother sat at the dining table with his back towards the kitchen and a pair of headphones plugged into his ears, eating what seemed to be the biggest breakfast you’ve ever seen.

you walked past her trying not to stare too hard at her arms as you made your way towards the fridge.

it’s been a good minute and a half of looking at some jar(that’s filled with something of a very strange colour…)in the fridge trying to think of what you should eat, so you decide on the same thing you have almost every morning; toast. everything you needed was already on the kitchen counter.

you whip around, fridge door slamming shut behind you. she’s still in the kitchen, you were hoping she would’ve left by the time you finished your staring contest with the insides of the fridge. and she’s got that damn lopsided smirk like she just won something. with her elbow perched up on the counter right next to the bread and butter.

“found what you were looking for in there?” ellie asks.

you roll your eyes “i wasn't looking for anything.”

it was a stupid question because she knows you weren’t pay attention to anything that laid upon the shelves of the fridge. she did, however, catch your attention on her arms. and ellie was really hoping that was what had you so distracted.

she laughs at your obviously annoyed answer. you walk over to grab a plate from the cabinet, setting it down on the counter right next to her. you reach for the bread, ellies eyes following your every movement, they have been since you entered the kitchen.

she shrugs. “could’ve fooled me. you were in there like it owed you money or something.” again with her dumb jokes, does she seriously think she’s funny?

you shoot her a sharp glance, but it only makes her grin widen.

“or maybe you were just buying time. needed a minute to cool off,” she adds, voice lower, more pointed. “you always get like that when i’m around?”

you continue trying to make your toast, putting the bread in the toaster pulling the small lever of it down watching the two pieces of bread disappear.

“bet it’s exhausting,” ellie continues. “pretending you’re not obsessed with me.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mm, probably.” you didn’t dare to look at her, to look at that grin of hers that makes you weak in the knees. “still doesn’t change the fact you’re thinking about that night every time you look at me.”

is she crazy? you slam your palms onto the counter very lightly though, afraid your brother might hear.

“what do you want, ellie?”

she leans in just a little moving behind you now, enough for you to feel her breath on your cheek and you could still see her from the corner of your eye, but still keeping your gaze on the toaster before you.

“you.”

you almost choke out a gasp, it wouldnt really sound like one anyway, more of a silent gag. you push it all down, can’t be feeding into her ego too much. and before you could respond you feel ellie’s hands grip your hips.

as soon as her palms make contact with you, your eyes fly up to look at your brother. what if he sees? is she serious right now?

her face peaking from the side of you shoulder, right next to your face. your butt is right in her crotch pressed firmly against her.

ellie leans in, her voice dropping to that stupid low whisper she knows gets under your skin.

“y’know, if you keep pressing back like that, i’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

how did i get here??????

you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to flinch. “get your hands off me.”

“say please.”

you whip your head toward her, eyes narrowed, and for a second, she just watches you with that insufferable half-lidded gaze—like she’s already won, like she always wins.

“ellie. i’m serious.”

her grip tightens just a bit, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips. “so am i.”

the toaster pops.

“you’re lucky he’s got those headphones on,” you mutter, trying to pretend your hands aren’t shaking as you reach for your freshly toasted bread when you feel ellie’s hands move upward from your hips to your waist.

she snorts behind you.

“yeah?” she echoes, voice laced with something smug and hushed. “i’d be luckier if he wasn’t here at all.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, grab the toast with a little too much force to put it down on your plate. “and what? you’re still doing the same shit with him right if front is us.”

she hums, dragging her fingers just beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing the skin there. “you’re right.”

you stiffen. your breath catches.

“but i’d just be less discrete about it.”

her voice is low and honey-slick, curling against your ear like smoke. palm by palm creeping upward under your shirt more, brushing warm fingers over bare skin.

“ellie…” you warn, but it comes out breathless.

“mm,” she hums, all mock innocence, fingers dragging lightly over your ribs, “what? just warming you up. kitchen’s cold this mornin’.”

you hate how you don’t push her away. hate even more how your stomach flutters when her thumbs graze the curve of your under boobs.

you roll your eyes, lips curling in something like a smirk. “you’re so full of shit.” you almost whimper as you speak.

“maybe,” she murmurs, ducking in closer, lips brushing your jaw now, “but you’re letting me touch you.”

you scoff, but it’s weak. you’re trying not to arch into her palms when her fingertips press into your hardened nipples. and you also can’t bark anything back at her when her fingers start to play around with the buds of your nipples, pinching them, twisting them, trying to get a noise out of you.

and it works.

you moan in shame as your head looks the opposite way from ellie, who's now kissing down your neck. her palms go to grip your breasts, messaging them, needing them like dough.

“so soft…” she whispers out against your pulse.

ellie’s hands now start to make their way back down your body, feeling the hem of your bottoms dipping her thumbs under to feel the lining of your panties.

and before things could escalate any further your brother sneezes, causing you to flinch.

your body feels empty all of a sudden as ellie moves her hands off of you. you turn your face to look at her as she’s moving away from you and grabbing her plate of food and leaving you, but not before whispering “you gonna let me finish that later, or are you just gonna keep playing pretend?” into your ear.

all empty and unfulfilled. so hot and bothered, worked up, your face flushed with heat. how could she just do that and walk away like nothing happened?

but truth be told, ellie is freaking the fuck out right now. face red, mind going crazy. all she hopes for is that you let her finish later.

[livchvz]

a/n: my second Leon oneshot, i can't believe it 😭 I hope you like it, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

summary: After a friend sets up a dating app profile for Leon, he—still a bit hesitant—ends up meeting you. And maybe, just maybe, it makes him rethink the idea that being on this app isn't so bad after all. (I’m terrible at writing summaries, sorry!)

words : 2k (sorry)

+18

"You did what?" Leon raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, staring at his friend.

"Relax, I just gave your love life a little update," his friend replied, grinning, phone already unlocked. "Check this out. Your profile looks amazing. Seriously, I outdid myself."

Leon huffed, running a hand down his face.

"Dude, this is a terrible idea. Seriously. A dating app? You know what happens when my face starts showing up out there..."

"What do you think will happen? Terrorists will break into your apartment because you liked a girl who’s into cats and bad TV shows?" the friend shot back, laughing. "Don’t tell me you're super happy with your lonely routine of cleaning guns and eating frozen meals while watching the news?"

Leon narrowed his eyes. "First of all: I don’t watch the news. Second: you know my life isn’t that simple."

"Exactly why you deserve to laugh a little, go out, I don’t know… live a little?"

The friend turned the phone to show him the screen. The first picture was one Leon barely remembered taking — he was leaning against a car, leather jacket, distracted expression. The second showed a rare real smile, from some random afternoon they spent together at a bar.

"You used that one?" Leon pointed. "I’m smiling too much in it."

"Exactly. People need to know you’re almost friendly."

Leon shook his head, about to argue, when the friend suddenly said, excited:

"Look at that, you already got a like!"

"...What?"

"Someone liked your profile. Here, look." He slid the phone forward with a dramatic gesture.

Leon hesitated. He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to be interested. But his eyes fell on the screen.

It was you.

Your profile picture showed a sweet smile, round cheeks, bright eyes. And the description… it was funny. You weren’t trying to impress — and maybe that’s why it already did.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at the screen.

"...She’s pretty," he said, mostly to himself.

"Mhm, and she seems nice. Don’t tell me it’s not worth at least a conversation?"

Leon bit the corner of his lip, thoughtful. "It’s just a conversation, right?"

"Exactly. A ‘hi’. Maybe a ‘how are you?’. Do you even remember how to flirt or should I type it for you too?"

Leon grabbed the phone from his friend’s hand, rolling his eyes — but the corner of his mouth betrayed a small smile.

"Alright. Just this once."

[...]

Days went by as your conversations with Leon developed. Talking to him was a little… different. The blonde was kind of cold in texts, didn’t always get your sense of humor, and sometimes took forever to reply. Still, he seemed like a decent guy and very respectful. You still remembered how hard you laughed when he told you how he made his dating profile.

After a week of chatting, you both decided to meet up, even though Leon was still a bit reluctant. The age difference wasn’t a problem for you — you always preferred older men. For him, though, it was still a little confusing. It wasn’t a huge gap, but it was still there.

The day came — at night — when Leon came to pick you up for the date. You saw him through your bedroom window, standing outside the car, taking a deep breath and talking to himself.

So cute.

He was wearing a white shirt under a blue blazer, dress pants, and his hair, as always, was perfect. As you walked outside, you saw him brushing off his clothes — he clearly didn’t know how to hide his nerves.

Leon seemed very different in person than in texts. Besides being a gentleman who kissed your hand, opened the car door, and complimented your outfit, he actually knew how to hold a conversation — even if he threw in a few awful dad jokes. He was taller than he looked in pictures, and definitely more muscular… honestly, he was hot.

Leon’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest — it was his first real date in years. You were beautiful, sweet, and smelled amazing… He knew he’d have to control himself not to kiss you right there in the car.

The way your breasts peeked out slightly from your dress neckline caught his attention — one wrong move and he’d be staring too much. You looked so delicate and sweet, so… perfect.

At the restaurant, his chivalry stayed the same. Your body shivered every time he spoke. That deep voice filled your ears, drowning out the other sounds of the place.

"So, are you in college?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah..." you laughed. "But probably not for long. I hate my major."

"Why? I thought you liked psychology." His voice sounded genuinely concerned.

Leon’s large hand reached out to touch yours, covering it completely. His hand was big and slightly rough, but still comforting.

"I don’t know… I just don’t feel the same passion I used to, you know? Like, when you finally reach that childhood dream of working with something and then, after a while… it just doesn’t make sense anymore."

That hit Leon deeply. He knew exactly what you were feeling… he’d felt it too.

"Yeah… I know that feeling all too well."

[...]

"Oh my God, yes! It’s so crazy... like, some people really mistake kindness for flirting," you said, laughing, covering part of your face, a little embarrassed by how much fun you were having.

Leon chuckled too, that low, rough laugh that came straight from his chest. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes, elbows on the table, glass forgotten beside him.

"I’m like... girl, I just helped you, okay? I don’t want you."

You burst into laughter. The way he said things, with a hint of sarcasm but never mean, made your stomach feel warm — it wasn’t just the laughs, it was his presence. His direct gaze, lips slightly parted as if always about to say something that’d make you smile. It was impossible not to feel at ease with him.

Conversations with Leon flowed with such delicious ease, so naturally, it felt like you’d known each other for much longer. You couldn’t even remember the last time you laughed so much on a first date — or when you allowed yourself to feel this comfortable with someone. Usually, you hated being touched during conversations; your personal space was sacred. But with him… it felt different.

Leon’s touch was almost hypnotic. He spoke calmly, sometimes pausing to listen to you, and in those moments, he let his fingertips lightly caress your hand. He did it like it was automatic, intimate without being invasive — like he had memorized your skin’s rhythm. And you loved it. Loved it so much that when he stopped, you missed it.

"Are you sleepy?" he asked, voice soft, eyes watching yours.

"A little… but I don’t want this to end yet," you admitted, looking down for a second, feeling your cheeks warm. You meant it.

Leon gave a slow, shy smile. He glanced around, calculating time, the hour, the distance.

"It’s getting late. I can take you home, if you want. I don’t want you walking alone."

You hesitated for a second. Not out of fear — you just didn’t want the moment to end. But he was looking at you like that — kind, protective, no pressure. Just him being… him.

"You’re gonna drop me off and then disappear from the app, huh?" you teased, half-joking but also testing him.

Leon raised an eyebrow. "If I disappear, will you miss me?"

You looked away, smiling to yourself. "Maybe."

He stood up, offering his hand, and you took it without thinking much — his fingers closed around yours with both firmness and gentleness, the kind of touch that made you forget the world outside existed.

The walk to the car was calm, sidewalks quiet under the yellow glow of the streetlights. He opened the door for you, and for a moment, when you sat down, the scene didn’t feel like an ending — but the start of something.

On the drive to your house, the conversation continued — softer, more intimate. You talked about little things, shared interests, bad movies from childhood, what you both hated about Sunday nights. Leon drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally resting on your thigh, touching your exposed skin lightly — and that small gesture made your heart skip.

When he parked in front of your house, he turned off the engine but didn’t rush to say goodbye. He just stayed there, turned toward you, eyes locked on yours.

"Thank you for tonight, really," you said, voice softer than you expected.

Leon tilted his head slightly. "I think… it’s been a while since I felt this way. Light. It was good."

"It was great," you corrected, smiling.

And for a moment, silence fell — that kind of silence full of unsaid things.

You hesitated at the door handle but turned to him again.

"You’re gonna text me, right?"

"I will," he promised — and you believed him.

You meant to get out of the car, go into your house, and freak out like any normal girl would after a date with a hot guy, but your body wouldn’t move.

You let go of the handle and sat back, looking at him, noticing how his blue eyes looked even more intense.

"I was gonna leave, but…" you laughed nervously, "I don’t know… I can’t."

"Good. I was already regretting not kissing you before you left," he said, smiling softly.

He leaned his head back against the seat, glancing between your eyes and lips. You mimicked his posture, resting your head back too.

"So you do want to kiss me?"

"Fuck yeah," he whispered, the sound tickling your stomach.

A silence filled the space before the blonde leaned closer, inch by inch, until his lips met yours.

Leon’s lips moved with gentle hunger, savoring yours. His tongue danced with yours in a slow rhythm, making the car feel warmer by the second.

A moan escaped your throat when his fingertips touched your thigh again — this time moving up and down against your soft skin.

Hearing your moan, feeling the vibration of your voice in his lips, made his pants tighter — his cock growing harder, craving your wet, warm touch. You ran your fingers through his platinum hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from Leon. His fingers pushed your dress up until they reached the spot he wanted most, brushing against your damp panties.

His touch made you shiver. Breathless, you pulled away, but your faces stayed close. Heavy breathing, flushed skin, lingering tension… you wanted more. A lot more.

Without thinking too much, your small hand found his cock over his pants, squeezing gently and feeling his size, drawing a sharp inhale from Leon who shut his eyes, gripping your thigh harder.

So many years without a touch that wasn’t his own, so much time craving a moment like this — he just wanted to rip that dress off and fuck you until you forgot your own name. Feel your warm pussy swallowing him, squeeze and suck your tits while you rode him hard...

But this was your first date. And he wanted a second one. He knew that if you had sex now, there was a chance it wouldn’t happen.

"Baby… wait," he said, pulling your hand away, opening his eyes. "How about we save that for another day, hmm?"

"You don’t want to?" you asked, hesitant.

He chuckled, kissing your neck.

"Oh honey… if you only knew what I really want to do to you right now… but I think we should wait for a second date. What do you think?"

You felt his tongue teasing your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made your head spin.

"I think that’d be good…"

"Yeah?" he smiled. "I promise, next time, you’ll get to touch me as much as you want. But now, you need to rest."

You kissed a few more times before saying goodnight and finally getting out of the car.

Damn… you wanted him so badly.

[joehills]

Summer Reading Recommendation: Dungeon Crawler Carl books 1-7

Three trusted friends each recommended Matt Dinniman’s Dungeon Crawler Carl series of novels to me, but the series stayed toward the back of my queue for almost a year because I found the name of its emergent genre, “LitRPG” unappealing to the point of avoidance. I started the first book about a month ago, loved it, and read the following six immediately. I refuse to recommend you a LitRPG series, because I don’t want this at the back of your queue when it belongs at the front.

After reading the first few chapters of book one, in which Seattleite shipyard worker Carl and his ex-girlfriend’s award-winning cat are drawn into an alien-built underground dungeon where video game rules are enforced, I realized the book is basically structured as a written Let’s Play for a non-existent video game. I counter-propose the term “Lit’s Play” and I will strongly recommend you Matt Dinniman’s Dungeon Crawler Carl series of Lit’s Play novels.

The Dungeon Crawler Carl novels are full of well-grounded human characters coerced, tricked, or forced into comedically ludicrous scenarios with all sorts of bonkers aliens and dungeon NPCs. These situations are structured to condemn systemic exploitation in a way that feels to me like they could have been imagined by Kurt Vonnegut if he were young enough to have grown up reading Douglas Adams and playing D&D. The dialogue is snappy too, and if you enjoy books-on-tape, the narration and voice-work for the characters by Jeff Hayes is masterwork-quality.

If you’re dubious about whether this series is for you, here’s a few points I’ve noted that might encourage you to read it:

The first couple books introduce basic abilities, spells, and game mechanics that the characters try to find ways to exploit. Malicious compliance is king. As the series progresses, the equipment and abilities the characters gain access to and their interactions with other players compound to create new exploits that are increasingly wild and frustrating to their enemies—and delightful to readers like myself!

By book three, The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook, it’s also obvious that Matt Dinniman isn’t only a gaming nerd. He wanted to do a lot of research on trains, track gauges, subways, and other railroad technology, and shares his passion that subject in all sorts of fun ways in the Iron Tangle level of the dungeon. It makes me smile when folks are excited about their interests and Dinniman’s definitely add to the fun!

By book four, The Gate of The Feral Gods, it became clear to me that the series is heading toward Game of Thrones levels of complexity in terms of competing factions with internal strife squabbling about the problems they are most familiar to distract themselves from the shadows of emergent threats they deem impossible. Dinneman does a great job of grounding the external galactic intrigue to in-dungeon events, which keeps its presentation as goofy as everything else. If you appreciated how Bojack Horseman used animal puns to facilitate its unbearable dive into the crushing horrors of addiction and depression, you’ll love how Dungeon Crawler Carl cranks everything familiar and bizarre about game logic up to 11 in order to showcase the depravity of exploitative systems of government and commerce.

I won’t say much about the later novels, except that they rewardingly build on the groundwork of the first few books and escalate everything in ways that made me cackle throughout. After finishing book seven, I immediately restarted the first book, and I’m enjoying it thoroughly.

Strongly recommend.

[notsooldmadcatlady]

So, I saw this portrait and was fired up to create this boy's costume. But since I like to invent difficulties for myself, I decided to make some variations of it separately: a suit with one shirt, separately a suit with a shirt and a vest, separately a full suit… To make a set. But I'm slow, easily distracted and in a minute from sticking my head in the oven because this damn world decided to slide into hell. So as the last meme with cats that I saw said, "a small steppy is better than no steppy at all" so I will post this set part by part, as it is created.

download (simfileshare)

If you have any problems with my cc tell me. I have no intention to ruin someone’s game and will try to fix it.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 22 - The hero Gala

Summary: The cat is out of the bag - Izuku is in trouble.

Warnings: swear words, mentions of sexual shenanigans, angst - IM SORRY GUYS

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1st Chapter Master List Support the potato

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Izuku’s friends tried their best to change Izuku’s mind about the whole Gala situation but their words fell on deaf ears every time; Izuku was adamant that he has no rights to be there and no one could change his mind, not even you.

There was a weird tension in the air between you two after the trip was over; Izuku went back into his shell right as you opened the door to his apartment and the only time you managed to make him smile was when you sneaked under his covers and cheekily kissed his thighs while giggling to yourself like a child or other cheeky shenanigans. Apparently, Izuku adores moments like that; when he is loved, appreciated, without the need to prove himself worthy. Izuku loves to be loved, especially by you, and even though you never ask for anything back he’s always keen to do the same for you and by the look of it, he enjoys it just as much as he enjoys “receiving”.

“Sweets, love me.” Izuku mutters into your neck on a sunny afternoon, right before the hero Gala. First, you have a slight urge to laugh and remind the greenette that you love him every day but then you realize his whole body is rigid and you stay quiet.

Something is wrong and that something is connected to the hero gala, you are sure of it, but you don’t ask questions; you just let your fingers rake through Izuku’s messy locks, you play with his scalp and the back of his ears, and Izuku closes his eyes and sighs, his breaths long, deep and full of lust.

“You like it when I play with your hair?” You finally ask him, and Izuku blushes like a schoolboy.

“A little bit too much, to be honest.” He giggles. “But it works. I don’t think there is enough blood left in my brain to overthink.” Izuku sheepishly admits.

This conversation makes you think about your first time with Izuku; it has only been a few days since but you feel like you’ve been intimate with him for so much longer; it just feels so right to be together in that way, to show how much you love the other without the need of words. On that first day, you grabbed Izuku’s hair from the back and pulled it, and the sweet sound Izuku had made will forever live in your head rent free. Seeing Izuku vulnerable and worked up is your new favorite thing; mostly, because you know that with you, he can let himself go completely, clear his mind and just be himself. It’s good for you and it’s good for him.

But you also start to get concerned that your random acts of love became a way for him to distract himself from this problem he’s facing right now and you really don’t want this new kind of love to become a bad memory for him.

“Can I be honest with you?” You mumble into his hair, a little bit terrified to continue.

“Sweets, of course.”

“I… I’m scared.” You admit. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake. I’ve been trying to cheer you up and make you happy but I feel like… now, every time you feel anxious you try to… well.. get cheeky with me but I want these moments to be happy, to be about us… I might be selfish, but…”

“Stop.” Izuku jumps into your words, a little bit offended. “I would never use your body for such a thing and if I ever do, I’ll tell you and ask for your permission to do that. You are the love of my life and while yeah, it is a really good way to distract myself from the turmoil in my head, the only thing I think about during our time together is you and you only. Us doing things so frequently since has nothing to do with my anxiety. I just love loving you. I love how there is no one but us in those moments. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, I love to see how much you enjoy my touches. It’s like a drug to me. Please, never say such thing ever again because it breaks my heart.” Izuku finally finishes and you feel terrible now.

“I’m so sorry, Izu, I just…”

“You just don’t understand how much I love you. And I get that. It’s hard to understand that you can mean so much to another person. Even if you are… mentally okay… everyone is a bit judgmental when it comes to their own self.” Izuku smiles and kisses your lips to prove his point even further. “But Sweets, you are everything to me. Even if the world falls apart, even is loose all my memories, I’ll forever come back to you. There is no path in life where I don’t end up right here at the end of the journey. I kiss you because I need you, I love you because I can’t get enough of you. I might be a little bit too clingy thanks to the fact that my brain wants me to believe that me being the way I am now is not the same person you fell in love with but I know it’s all bullshit. I just need a lot of validation right now. And maybe I’m seeking it by being intimate with you. Hm. Maybe you had a point.” Izuku rambles and you can’t help but laugh.

“Those therapy sessions are really good for you. Look at you self-analyzing yourself!”

“I know, right?” Izuku laughs, slowly moving up to tower over you. “So can you do that to my hair again? I’ve been so good today. So so good.” He grins, clearly aware of how cringe his is right now.

“Nope. You ruined it.” You push the man away and run into the kitchen to sit down by the table cluttered with drawing materials. “I need to finish this commission, anyway!”

Izuku stays put for an hour then sneaks under the table while you’re distracted by all the different kind of greens you need to choose from for pro hero Deku’s hair.

“Hey.” Izuku looks up at you from between your legs with a big, hungry grin on his face and… let’s just say he gets what he wants afterwards.

This man will be the death of you.

~•🥦•~

The evening is a blur. You two sit down on the sofa when the time comes; Izu looks restless, stressed, absolutely out of it, he doesn’t cuddle, he doesn’t come close, he just sits by the TV, his right leg bouncing up and down and you are five seconds away from yelling at him; no, not because it’s annoying, but because there is something he’s hiding and you really do not appreciate being left out of something so important and you hate how you are incapable of helping because Izuku does not let you in on this one.

The gala starts and the fellow heroes make their grand entrance; Katsuki and Eijiou look gorgeous in their tailored suits, elegant but deadly, Kyouka is wearing a beautiful frilly dress, all black, and her favorite boots, she reminds you of Avril Lavigne but more extreme. It takes 10 minutes for the interviewer to question the number one hero’s absence; Izuku’s leg stops moving and he stares at his feet, not even looking at the screen. You usually love watching the gala; the beautiful dresses, the smile on the heroes faces but today, you are dreading it; there is a static coming from TV, but maybe it’s coming from Izuku’s uncontrollable quirk, the colors are faded but maybe that’s only in your head, it’s weirdly dark and something is just wrong, so wrong you can’t shake the feeling off.

“What have you done…” you look at your boyfriend, because you can’t do this anymore.

“Sweets…”

“What have you done, Izuku?!” You ask again, frustrated. You can barely finish your sentence before the event officially starts; the 10th hero gets announced, then the list goes up to the top three… you already know something is up when there is only 3 places left but there are four people, the top four still seated in the crowd, or in Izuku’s case, at home. The camera zooms in at Katsuki, who looks angry and disheveled, nothing like he looked like a few minutes ago. Katsuki is clever and he definitely knows how to count. Kirishima has concern etched into his face, already up the podium as a fellow top 10 hero. He probably hates not being there for his partner. There is anger boiling inside you from seeing how this beautiful event was completely ruined for these people.

“Before we move to the top three, I would like to play a video we got from our Number One hero, Deku.” The retired hero who was asked to hold the ceremony announces with an utterly confused face.

… And then you understand what’s going on.

“Hey there, my fellow hero partners and everyone in Japan.” Izuku’s voice is firm and confident or at least it sounds like it but you know it’s all a fucking act. “I’m really sorry for not coming to the Gala in person but I have a feeling I would be killed by friends if I do.” He smiles sadly. “First of all, I want to thank everyone for keeping me on the first place for so long. It has been a pleasure and I do feel I worked hard enough to get to that first place but it wouldn’t have been possible without all of you. But…” this is a bad dream. This is not real. This can’t be fucking real. “It’s time for me to give this opportunity to someone else. As you all know, I’ve been out of commission for a while now and it will take a long time for me to heal. Until my body is ready to earn your votes, until I’m able to thank you by saving as many people as I can, I would like to announce my temporary retirement from the hero business.” In the background, Katsuki stands up and is about to leave the event. Kyouka stops him. Katsuki yells but it’s not audible. More heroes come over to tame the beast. Eijirou looks like he’s about to cry, his eyes full of longing as he looks at his partner, his best friend, struggling while he’s standing on the podium. “Once I’m ready, I want to earn your votes with my actions. I want and I will earn my spot back in the future. But for now, I want you guys to move on without me. Thank you for everything. I can’t wait to see the new Number One hero. Kacchan, make me proud.”

Katsuki cries. But not from happiness.

“I don’t want it!” Katsuki yells so loudly it’s audible. “I don’t fucking want it! It’s not mine! It’s not…” the first sob leaves Katsuki’s mouth and that’s the last straw for Eijirou; he jumps off the podium and runs towards Katsuki, completely ruining the gala.

Izuku jumps up from the sofa and leaves without a word, leaving droplets of tears on the floor as he runs by. You have no idea what to do. You want to run after Izuku, you want to run to the gala, to be there for Katsuki, because in the last few weeks, he and Eijirou became family to you. You are also extremely mad and disappointed in your Izuku so you have a selfish thought of letting him stew in his own juice; but you need to be an adult here, you need to think about Izuku’s mental health, about the reason why Izuku is going to therapy in the first place, you need to be the bigger man, put your anger aside and help him get through it.

Yes, the Gala was ruined, but in a fucked up way, Izuku wasn’t wrong; the doctors did say he won’t be able to be back to work for a couple of months and he probably won’t be at his best for the next few months after, so technically speaking, he would have lost his first place by next year anyway. Ripping of the bandaid now instead of watching your rank go further and further down while you are supposed to be stress-free would have done more harm than good.

The problem here is the way Izuku did the deed but at the same time, there is no way Katsuki would have let him do this even if it’s the right thing to do.

On the screen, Katsuki and Eijirou leaves the Gala while the poor spoke-person tries to save the event.

There is no way they are not headed this way. Which means you MUST get Izuku out of his stupor before they arrive. The event was held 1 hour away; that is if they use a taxi. Knowing how angry Katsuki is, he’ll fucking fly through the sky and arrive without Eijirou in less than 20 minutes, leaving the blonde without the only person who can restrain him if he looses his shit.

You could close the back door but Katsuki would break through anyway. They also have a spare key. There is no point.

20 minutes.

“Fuck.” You pull yourself together and run towards Izuku’s secret office entrance; you don’t need to see him going that way to know that’s where he went. Your phone rings in your pocket; there is a message from Izuku’s mom and a missed call from Eijirou; you quickly message his mom back saying you have it under control and it’s all good, then you call the red haired man back who can’t stop rambling for the life of him.

“Dude, I can’t understand what you are saying.” You mumble angrily as you run through the small corridor. “But if this is about Katsuki flying though the city to kick Izuku’s ass, I had a hunch and I’m trying my best to sort him him out so he can at least communicate with him.” You end the call without waiting for a response. You have twenty minutes to get Izuku out of his office, if not, Katsuki will explode the small hidden room and you will all die from smoke inhalation… wait, does he even know about this room? Oh, he does. He doesn’t know how to open it, though. Not like it really matters, he is a clever man so it would take him a few minutes to find out the “code”. He knows Izuku better than he knows the back of his own pretty, smooth hands.

“Go away” Izuku mumbles right as you put the code in and open the door. “I said GO AWAY” Blackwhip surges forward but you are not scared; Izuku would never hurt you.

“PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT BELONGS, MIDORIYA IZUKU!” You yell; black whip shakes a bit and retreats. Izuku looks like a deer caught in the headlights, utterly surprised by your stern voice.

“I’m… so… Sorry.” Izuku stares at the floor, embarrassed. He’s still crying. You want to give him a hug but you also want to pummel him to the floor (not in a cheeky way.)

“No, I get it, and I get why you did what you did but we have 15 minutes before Katsuki barges through the back door and I don’t want our love nest to explode so let’s make a plan and let’s wait for that angry Pomeranian outside. If he ruins any of my plants, I’ll kill him myself, though. I worked really hard to make them look this pretty.”

Izuku looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing; there is so much fondness in his eyes, so much love it almost makes you forget that the man is in trouble.

“You are the best girlfriend in the whole wide world, do you know that?”

“Well, you can show me your appreciation later, now let’s get ready for battle.”

Izuku says nothing but smiles; he takes your hand and lets you pull him towards the exit.

“A fated battle between two men, as Ochako would say.” Izuku smiles to himself, eyes still full of tears. You roll your eyes.

“Fated battle between two idiots, I would rather say.”

“Fair point.”

Honestly, at this point, you don’t remember how it feels to have a normal life. You’ve changed so much in the last few months your own parents would probably think you are an alien in their daughter’s body which might sound like a bad thing but it’s quite the opposite; you’ve become stronger, better, kinder but you’ve also learned how to say no, how to stand up for yourself, how to be your own person. You’ll be always grateful for this weird bunch for helping find yourself after being lost for years.

“Explodo-boy is about to land. Take a deep breath, Izu.” You mumble as you see a flaming meteor in the sky coming closer and closer.

“This is how I die.”

This retort earns Izuku a big smack to the back of his fluffy head.

… next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Eyyyo, sorry for the angst but it had to happen! I tried to be nice and not actually end the chapter with a really bad cliffhanger so please appreciate me trying. Haha.

- I only have two chapters to write (this is real life time, you guys have a few more chapters! For now, it should end with Chapter 26.) but I think I’m gonna post the ones I have ready, so I can read your feedback and maybe add some extra chapters or put some of your ideas into the existing ones. This means there is going to be a bit of delay again in the future, but hopefully, not months, but a week or two. I don’t really like writing without hearing your thoughts first but I’m also not in the right mind space to keep posting every week so it’s the devil’s cycle really.

I enjoy writing to you but I enjoy writing together with you even more! So feel free to share your thoughts or things you want to read about; this is your last chance to speak up! 💜

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

[camryn-haitani]

hello m'lady

pt2 to c'mon bugaboo

no specific episode

TW: cursing, tad bit if angst

part 2 to c'mon bugaboo. y'all asked and now y'all shall receive. hopefully y'all like it 🖤

- - - - - - - -

cat continued to visit y/n almost every night when ladybug didn't show for night patrols. they would always talk on y/ns balcony. talked, laughed, cried, or anything else that happened that night.

they talk about a lot of things. stories about what's happened in the past, what they want for the future, or random shit. tonight.... was a little different though..

"did that really happen?" "yeah it did... hehe" he let out an embarrassed laugh. they laid on the lawn chairs y/n has on their roof. they've built a little hang out for the two of them ever since cat met them that night.

the sound of a yoyo can be heard in the distance, but cat was too distracted to hear it.

Ladybug POV

'i swore I heard cat's laugh.' I thought to myself. I heard him laugh again and I decided to follow it. i see up him on..... a rooftop? with..... who is that? a feeling bubbles up in my stomach as I see them two together.

I'm confused as to why I'm feeling this way. but these questions keep flying through my head. 'who are they?' 'are they dating?' 'who are they to him?' the question that made my stomach turn most of all. 'do they know his identity?'

I swing over to where they are. "hey cat, you ready for patrols?" I say to him, trying to hide unknown jealousy in me.

"oh... yeah I guess." he sadly says. he slowly gets up from his chair and looks at y/n. "I'll see you soon?" he questions. "uhm yeah, I guess" they look at him.

"c'mon cat, let's go. we're already late." I try and hurry them up so me and cat can leave. I walk up to the edge of the roof and look back at him. "well... come on." I say. he walks up beside me and looks back at y/n. he sadly waves at them and they wave back. I grab his hand and jump down.

we fall onto a random roof as I begin to question him.

"who are they? do they know who you are? where did you meet them? how did you meet them? what happ-" I get stopped by cat mid question

"stop with all the fuckin questions, ladybug! they're my friend and you have no business knowing who they are. now, let's get this patrol over with." he jumps down and swings to the next roof.

my body fills with anger. how dare he speak to me like that. I stop my thinking when I realize something. I'm jealous. what? no, no I'm not. why would I be jealous of that bitch? it's not like they're together.... right?

Cat Noir POV

I jump from roof to roof, fuming with anger. why is she interested in y/n all of a sudden? I push past my thoughts to slow down on a roof. I didn't realize I was out of breath and ladybug yelling for me

"cat! slow down!" she yells from behind me. I stop and turn around to wait for her.

she finally catches up and leans down to catch her breath. "cat *gasp* why are *gasp* you going so fucking *gasp* fast?" she pants.

"I don't know, maybe if you weren't so slow, you'd catch up" I go off again.

roof after roof after roof. once my foot leaves the ground, it's onto another roof. I can't stop running.

I feel something grip around my waist and pull me back. I fall on my ass and try to get up again, but a foot steps on me.

"what the hell is your problem?" ladybug yells at me. "I'm fine, leave me alone" I struggle to get up. "no, you're not leaving until you give me goddamn answer. now, spill" she pushes her foot more into my stomach.

I groan from her foot digging into my stomach. "fine fine." 'well now's not the time to lie' I think. "how could you come swoop in and act like nothing's wrong?! you walked up like nothing has happened. you've missed our patrols everyday for 3 weeks. how do you think I feel?"

she looks at me with sad eyes, filled with regret. "i-im sorry, kitty. I didn't mea-"

"shut up. just shut the fuck up! don't call me kitty. I'm done. we're done. there's no more ladybug and cat noir. it's. just. you" I grab her ankle and throw her down on the ground, then I run off.

I run and I run and I run. with one destination in mind.

y/n POV

i start my skin care routine, ready to go to bed, when I hear footsteps. and they're coming quick. I go out to the balcony to see cat running at me. jumping from roof to roof, with no intent on stopping

"cat? what are you doing here? I thought you-" I stop when he reaches me and traps me in a hug.

this isn't like the other hugs he's given me. it's more.... loving? I return his hug, wrapping my arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

"are you ok?" I ask in his chest

"I am now. thank you"

"for what?" I question

"making me realize something very important. plagg....." he pauses

I pull from our hug and look at him. his perfect emerald green eyes. his bouncy blond hair. his clear skin. his perfectly shaped lips. his black cat ears making him cuter. it all makes me attracted to him even more.

"who's plagg?" I ask, tilting my head to further my confusion.

".....claws in" he closes his eyes

his famous black cat suit disappears from his feet to his head. my eyes widen to see who he really is.

"Adrien? it's you? you're my black cat?" I ask. "it was me all along, my love. I couldn't hide this from you any longer."

I cup his face with my hands. "I'm glad I finally know who I'm in love with. after all these weeks I finally know who you are."

"you.... you love me?" his eyes widen slightly. "I do. Adrien I lo-" before I could finish, his lips crash into mine.

we pull apart. love intoxicating both of us.

"-ve you" I finish. he laughs at me and hugs me again.

"y/n I love you so much. you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. will you be mine?"

"of course. I'm all yours, and you're all mine" I give him a quick kiss.

"my pretty kitty" I smile.

- - - - - -

IT'S HERE

I DID IT

Y'ALL ENJOY🖤

- - -

mentions🖤

@lily-sinclair-2006

[theonlyqualitytrash]

Have you ever watched the show Infinity Train? It's on YouTube if you haven't seen it. Anyway, what do you think would happen if some of the bsd cast got stuck on the train?

Hello there! ^^ Thank you so much for your ask! I had such a great time brainstorming and imagining different scenarios for it.

Honestly, I feel like every character in the BSD cast could benefit from some therapy, so I just kept adding more and more characters—couldn’t help myself! (I really need a stop button.) When I first got your ask, I hadn’t yet watched Infinity Train, so I’m sorry for the delay in getting back to you. But I hope the length of this post shows just how much I loved your idea.

In this post, I’ll dive into what each character needs to work on, share some of my headcanons, explore their fate, and talk about their relationships with The Cat.

Just a heads up: this post is pretty long and does contain spoilers for Infinity Train, so if you’re not caught up yet, proceed with caution!

Atsushi

Atsushi struggles with his self worth, the right to keep living and making decisions on his own; He is strong under someone's guidance, but gets crippled by his anxiety if he does not have that support.

First encounter with the cat:

"Oh mon Dieu, a shapeshifter? And not just any shapeshifter—a tiger? How utterly marvelous!" She says as she circles around him, her tail flicking, already plotting something. "You simply must let me borrow you for just a tiny favor. Nothing too difficult—just a little distraction while I, shall we say, acquire something of importance~?" Atsushi, deadpan: "Absolutely not." They end up being the most reluctant duo ever. Atsushi is exasperated and The Cat is entertained. He does not trust her, but she still manages to get him involved in her schemes. She even ends up helping him lower his number without meaning to—by forcing him to think on his feet, make his own decisions, and challenge his instincts to always do what he’s told.

General headcanons:

He would most likely run away from ghoms, as they are unfamiliar and dangerous. Atsushi is not the type to fight first, especially not against something he doesn’t understand, like ghoms. He’d probably panic, try to run, and only fight if there was absolutely no other choice—but even then, he’d aim to disable rather than destroy.

He genuinely cares about the denizens of the train, treating them with kindness and respect, as he views them as people.

He is surprisingly good at solving puzzles. Despite his struggles with decision-making and self-doubt, Atsushi is good at problem-solving when he puts his mind to it.

Over time, Atsushi becomes a quiet but steady source of hope for other passengers he encounters. He would probably try to help others get off the train, even if he himself hasn’t figured it out yet.

The Chrome Car:

Atsushi’s biggest enemy has always been his own mind, so facing a version of himself that sees him as weak? That would be brutal. Chrome!Atsushi is more aggressive, assertive, and confident—likely from observing Atsushi’s struggles and self-directed pep talks in the mirror. He calls Atsushi out for hesitating, doubting himself, and constantly relying on others for direction. With an exasperated sigh, he rolls his eyes and scoffs, “I don’t understand how we’re the same person. You have all this power, and you waste it.” His voice hardens. “You’re always waiting for someone to tell you what to do. No wonder people keep using you.” And the worst part? Atsushi agrees. At first, he doesn’t argue—because deep down, he believes Chrome!Atsushi is right. He’s spent so long questioning his own worth that hearing his doubts reflected back at him makes them feel even more undeniable. When he finally tries to push back, insisting that kindness isn’t weakness, Chrome!Atsushi doesn’t buy it. Their confrontation would mirror (no pun intended) Tulip’s struggle with her Chrome counterpart. His number drops slightly after the encounter, a small step forward, but he still has a long journey ahead.

Fate on the train:

He’s the type to question every lesson, every experience, and hesitate before fully accepting his growth. I see him getting close to the exit multiple times—his number almost dropping to zero, only to go back up. But eventually, he will leave—with a new sense of self and a little more faith in his own choices.

Akutagawa

Akutagawa, like Atsushi, struggles with his self-worth and his right to exist, rooted in his survival-of-the-fittest mentality. His greatest obstacle is his relentless need to prove himself, driven by a deep-seated inferiority complex. He ties his value to external success and recognition rather than any intrinsic sense of self-worth, making him emotionally volatile and desperate for validation. His number would only start to drop once he begins to understand that his worth isn’t dependent on being "useful" but on simply being.

First Encounter with the cat:

The moment she starts her usual playful, smug attitude, Akutagawa would be done with her. He wouldn’t even give her time to talk—he’d activate Rashōmon immediately, ready to shred her into ribbons. The moment Akutagawa activates Rashōmon, The Cat would hiss, leap backward, and immediately rethink her life choices. She knows a bad deal when she sees one, and this angry, coughing, trench-coat murder machine is not worth the trouble. She’d dart away and watch from a safe distance, silently judging. "Ah. A rabid dog. How… unfortunate." The Cat would not push her luck with Akutagawa. She’d observe, make a few remarks, and keep her distance. Akutagawa, in turn, would ignore her completely—unless she somehow proved useful. I would see no real conflict, just mutual avoidance and silent judgment.

General headcanons:

Akutagawa got stuck in the Cross-Eye Duck Car for an embarrassingly long time.

He tried to cut tthrough the Train with Rashomon—Was Met with the Void™.

The number on his palm is a cruel, constant reminder of his stagnation. He stares at it often, too often.

Debutant ball car:

A lavish golden ballroom stretches before him, glittering with refinement. Overhead, a massive talking chandelier twinkles, greeting him with theatrical flair. Akutagawa is not having it. He has no patience for such nonsense and immediately turns to leave—only to find the doors locked. The chandelier descends with exaggerated grace. “To leave, you must learn to dance and make your proper debut.” “I refuse.” “Your refusal is noted. But you will dance.” Cue a montage of extreme frustration. Akutagawa is stiff, rigid, and painfully awkward. He tries to force his way through the steps with sheer willpower, but that is not how dancing works. The movements require something foreign to him—grace, patience, trust. At first, he brushes it all off as pointless. But slowly, something shifts. The repetition of the steps, the steady rhythm of the music—it’s… oddly calming. No one is attacking him, and no one is demanding he prove his worth through strength or violence. For the first time in a long time, Akutagawa is simply existing. When the moment for his official debut arrives, he moves through the waltz effortlessly. The octopus people applaud. The chandelier proclaims him an honored debutant. And at last, the exit door unlocks. His number drops—not by much, but enough. He doesn’t fully understand what he’s learned, but he feels different.

Fate on the train:

Akutagawa's epiphany moment would happen when someone calls him strong—but not for his power, not for Rashomon, not for winning a fight. Maybe he helps someone in a way that isn’t violent.

Maybe he shows restraint, compassion, or understanding—something small, but deeply uncharacteristic of the Akutagawa that first stepped onto the train. When he finally reaches zero he doesn’t feel triumphant or victorious—just… at peace. The exit door appears, and he steps through without hesitation.

Ango

Ango drowns himself in work, using it as a way to numb the guilt he refuses to let go of. He has betrayed so many for the "greater good" that he fully believes he deserves the hate—especially from Dazai. Even so, he still helps Dazai whenever he can, not for Dazai’s sake, but for Oda’s. He wasn’t directly responsible for Oda’s death, but that doesn’t matter—he still feels like he owes him. Ango doesn’t seek forgiveness, nor does he expect it. But what he truly needs is to learn that self-inflicted suffering is not atonement. Also, he depersonalizes himself but refuses to let others be forgotten. He doesn’t see himself as someone worth grieving over, but for others? He painstakingly records their names, their lives, their deaths, because they mattered. He won’t let them become just another casualty in a report. Maybe it’s his way of trying make up for the fact that he has to make choices—choices that cost lives.

First encounter with the cat:

Ango steps into the cluttered, treasure-filled car, immediately feeling the weight of the disarray surrounding him. The chaos of old antiques and forgotten objects piles up around him like a maze. The Cat, ever observant, watches him closely. Noticing the subtle glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, she smiles with an almost knowing amusement. "Good taste," she comments playfully, her tone light but teasing. Ango doesn’t react immediately but can’t help but acknowledge the compliment in his own quiet way. There's a strange understanding between them—an appreciation for old, lost things, the stories that linger in the forgotten corners. As they speak, Ango can’t hold back his question about the number on his palm, the mark that seems to follow him, burdening him with unknown meaning. The Cat’s response is as cryptic as ever, her words teasing at the edges of something deeper but never fully revealing it. She seems to enjoy the back-and-forth, her eyes dancing with mischief as she observes his attempt to untangle her riddles. Though he doesn't fully trust her, there’s something about the interaction that keeps him on edge, and yet oddly intrigued. He can't quite shake the feeling that she knows more about him than she's letting on—and that, perhaps, they’re more alike than either of them would admit.

General headcanons:

He keeps a small journal during his time on the train, documenting his thoughts, his progress, and any notable things he encounters. Writing down his feelings might help him process what’s going on, though he’d rarely share it with anyone.

He would overwork himself even here: He treats self-improvement like a job, pushing himself relentlessly to figure out what he needs to “fix” so he can get off the train. He takes mental notes on his own behavior, trying to measure progress as if personal growth is something that can be quantified.

Ango and his tape:

Ango stumbles upon the tape by accident, and before he knows it, he’s pulled into it. He finds himself reliving his memories, the moments spent with Dazai and Oda. The overwhelming weight of his guilt, his choices, and his constant self-punishment fades away. In the tape, he feels lighter—calmer—like he’s finally at peace. Oda is alive, laughing and talking with him as if nothing ever happened. They share an easy conversation, perhaps discussing life or just being in each other's presence. What matters most is that, for the first time in so long, Ango doesn’t feel the crushing burden of his decisions. The weight of his responsibilities lifts, and he can almost convince himself that everything is as it once was. But then, reality crashes in. That’s not how it happened. Oda’s dead. Dazai’s harsh words echo in his mind, telling him never to show his face at Lupin again. The false serenity shatters, the illusion crumbling to the ground and leaving Ango to suddenly realize that it is all a lie. The life he’s been reliving is a curated version of the past—artificial and unattainable. His chest tightens as the truth settles in. This was never his reality. It never could have been. When he pulls himself away from the tape, he feels physically sick. His mind is disoriented, as if it’s still clinging to the illusion, struggling to reconcile the peaceful image he just experienced with the bitter truth of his life.

Fate on the train:

I think it would take for him a very very long time to get off the train, guilt is not an easy thing to get over.

Ango will realize at some point that his past mistakes won’t disappear, but he can learn to live alongside them without constantly being consumed by them. Perhaps he learns to forgive himself bit by bit—understanding that he doesn’t have to live in perpetual atonement to be worthy of peace.

Chuuya

He has always been defined by others—first by the Sheep, then the Mafia, and later by his connection to Dazai. His existence has never truly been his own, shaped instead by the expectations of those around him. Even his immense power isn’t something he chose but something that was forced upon him as Arahabaki’s vessel. Whether as the Sheep’s leader, the Port Mafia’s strongest fighter, or Dazai’s partner, he has always been seen as a tool, never just as himself. Deeply loyal yet hesitant to open up, he craves genuine human connection, but years of betrayal and being used have made him wary, leaving him caught between longing and distrust.

First interaction with the cat:

“Monsieur! A distinguished gentleman such as yourself!” The Cat purrs as she presents her latest creation with a dramatic flourish. “You have arrived just in time for my most exquisite product yet!” She pulls out… a hat with a hole punched straight through the middle. "...What the hell is that?” The Cat smirks. “A donut, of course!” He squints. It is, very clearly, just a ruined hat. “That’s a hat with a hole in it,” he deadpans. “Non, non, non! It was a hat. But with the revolutionary Donut Holer™—” she gestures proudly to a rusty metal pipe sitting next to a pile of equally destroyed hats, “—I have transformed it into a fine delicacy! A donut, as you humans call it.” Chuuya exhales slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple. After this interaction he actively avoids The Cat whenever possible. He has neither the time nor the patience for her ridiculous schemes, and every encounter with her leaves him feeling one step closer to a migraine. Still, he isn’t naive. If The Cat has something useful—a shortcut, information about the train, anything that might actually help him get off—he’ll work with her. He doesn’t trust her, but he knows she can be resourceful. That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

General headcanons:

The first thing he did after escaping his first car was try to fly off the train. Naturally, the train—being a pocket dimension with invisible barriers—did not care. He got flung right back to the train, cursed loudly, and spent a solid minute pacing in frustration before admitting defeat.

For some reason, most denizens end up loving him. He doesn’t try to be particularly friendly, but something about his no-nonsense attitude and unexpected patience makes him weirdly well-liked.

He takes care of people without thinking about it. If someone looks lost or overwhelmed, he’ll wordlessly toss them a piece of advice or physically drag them out of a bad situation. He pretends it didn’t happen immediately after.

Mediterranean Republic Car

The train doors open, and Chuuya finds himself in a sun-drenched countryside. Rolling green hills, warm stone houses, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and wine. The denizens? Flower people, living simple lives. They run vineyards, tend to gardens, and speak in soft, content voices. No fights. No schemes. No need to prove himself. He keeps waiting for the catch—a hidden enemy, a test, something. But nothing comes. The denizens simply welcome him, offer him wine, and ask about his journey. Slowly, Chuuya lets himself relax. He drinks the wine, listens to the laughter of the denizens, and walks the peaceful roads in quiet contemplation. This is the life Verlaine wanted for him. The life he never got. He feels human here. Not a gravity-manipulating experiment, not a Mafia executive. The flower denizens never question his existence. To them, he is simply Chuuya, no strings attached. Slowly, it dawns on him—they don’t see a monster, a test subject, a weapon. Just a man.

Fate on the train:

Spending time in the Mediterranean Republic Car is the turning point for Chuuya. For once, he isn’t a weapon or Arahabaki’s vessel. The flower people treat him like anyone else, not as something to be controlled or feared. It’s disorienting at first, but slowly, it settles into something almost… comforting. He doesn’t immediately recognize how much it changes him. When he finally leaves the train, he knows truly, that his past does not define his humanity.

Dazai

I, like many others, went through all seven stages of grief with Dazai’s character. At first, I loved him. Then I started questioning why I even liked him. Then I hated him. And now?

Trying to dissect Dazai would take an entire essay—he's a walking contradiction, layered and impossible to pin down. At his core, he wrestles with the conflict between his desire for death and his search for meaning in life. Beneath his humor and carefree façade lies a deep-seated self-loathing and existential despair, carefully hidden from those around him. This duality fuels his self-destructive tendencies—he believes himself unworthy of happiness, even as he tries, in his own way, to be better.

First interaction with the cat:

Dazai finds The Cat’s antics entertaining but doesn’t fully trust her. He plays along with her schemes, but internally, he’s always analyzing her motives. He eggs her on just to see how far she’ll take things; playing dumb when she tries to con him, acting as if he’s about to fall for it. He keeps things lighthearted and playful but never lets her get the upper hand. He’s not an easy mark, and The Cat might find him frustratingly unreadable, since he constantly plays mind games back at her. Would they be friends? Not really. Would they tolerate each other? Yes, but with a lot of playful suspicion.

General headcanons:

Dazai would find the Chess Car intriguing at first, but then he realizes none of it makes sense. The game follows rules that feel like an AI’s warped interpretation of chess—it was a headache to get out of that car.

Between cars, he hesitated. Just one step, and it’d be over. But then the thought passed, it would be too painful and messy—and no beautiful lady to do it with.

He would also develop a strange tolerance for the denizens. He’d initially treat them as just part of the train’s weird mechanics—nothing interesting, but over time, he’d start engaging with them more, slipping into casual conversation as if they were just ordinary people.

Not having done any progress in some days, he would start rolling around on the floor out of stress.

The crystal car:

Dazai steps into the Crystal Car, greeted by an endless, glittering landscape. But his usual flippant attitude fades when he realizes the exit is locked—and the only way forward is through something deeply personal. When Greige mimes the challenge—"Sing from the heart" Dazai shrugs. "That’s it? What an easy game." He confidently places his hand on the resonance crystal and begins singing. "You can't do... a double suicide all on your own...". He barely gets through the first verse before… Nothing. The crystals don’t react. He blinks, slightly confused. Why didn’t that work? He tries again, voice smooth and carefree. "Boom, boom, it takes two who don't wanna die all alone!" Still no response. Dazai leans against a crystal, quiet for a moment. His mind drifts—not to suicide, not to tragedy, but to something… softer. The low crackle of an old radio in Bar Lupin. The warmth of cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and laughter. Oda leaning back in his seat, Ango taking a quiet sip of his drink. And a song—an old, forgotten tune—playing in the background. Almost without thinking, he starts humming it. The moment the tune leaves his lips, the crystals stir. Dazai doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke—for the first time in a long time, he just exists in the moment. The crystal giant appears, unlocking the door. A strange tightness sits in his chest, something unfamiliar. He exhales, glancing at his hand—his number has dropped slightly.

Fate on the train:

It’s harder to face your emotions than to simply pretend they don’t exist—mask them with humor and bury them deep. “What does this metal box even want from me? I have changed!” Despite his resistance, the train does its job, forcing Dazai to confront his issues. When he finally steps off, he’s a little lighter, but still undeniably annoyed.

Fukuzawa-Fukuchi

Fukuzawa’s Struggle

Fukuzawa holds himself to an unrealistic standard because so many depend on him, believing that if he falters, those under him will suffer. He carries the burden of being a protector, founding the Agency to shield the gifted from abuse—but he still questions if he is doing enough. Unlike Fukuchi, he’s always been cautious and restrained, but deep down, he compares himself to his old friend, wondering if he should have acted more boldly. His greatest regret is losing Fukuchi to the path he walks now, and he still wonders if there was something he could have done differently to prevent it.

Fukuchi’s Struggle

Fukuchi believes he is the only one who can fix the world, burdened by the failures of others. In his eyes, Fukuzawa abandoned him, leaving him with no one to share the weight of his mission. His noble intentions became corrupted by manipulation, pushed further by Fyodor’s lies. Despite his arrogance, he still cares deeply about Fukuzawa’s opinion—but he would rather die than admit it. His anger masks the wounded loyalty still buried beneath.

First encounter with the cat:

Fukuzawa immediately likes her. He’s always had a soft spot for felines, and the fact that this one talks and hoards trinkets only makes her more endearing. They get along quite well—Fukuzawa respects her autonomy, and The Cat enjoys his quiet, cat-loving energy. Fukuchi, seeing Fukuzawa instantly warm up to the Cat, scoffs. "You're really bonding with a talking cat?" The Cat, unimpressed, side-eyes him. "You're really not?" She doesn’t trust Fukuchi—something about him rubs her the wrong way. Maybe it’s the warlord energy. Maybe it’s the smugness. Either way, she keeps her distance. Fukuchi, in turn, thinks she’s just another obnoxious denizen wasting his time. Fukuzawa and The Cat are instant friends. Whereas Fukuchi and The Cat trade passive-aggressive comments. She will actively roast Fukuchi whenever given the chance.

General headcanons:

They would have synced numbers because their issues stem from each other—Fukuzawa’s regret over losing Fukuchi, and Fukuchi’s resentment toward Fukuzawa.

In a peaceful car, they end up sharing drinks, sitting in silence. Neither directly acknowledges it, but it’s the closest they’ve felt to how things used to be.

The Spa car:

Steam curls through the air. The only sounds are the distant trickle of water and the occasional shift of heated stones. It was Fukuchi’s idea to stop, to take a moment—he hadn’t been in a sauna in ages. For a long while, they sit in silence, the heat sinking into tired muscles, the quiet settling deep into their bones. Then, finally, Fukuzawa speaks, his voice low, measured. "I don't hate you. You did what you thought was right." Here, in the stillness, without war or duty hanging over them, the words come easier. No accusations, no justifications—just the simple truth. Two old friends, stripped of everything but themselves. And in the end, there is nothing left to do but acknowledge the weight of it all. A quiet embrace, a moment of understanding neither of them asks for but both accept. After a beat, Fukuchi huffs a laugh. "Is it weird that we're only in towels?" Fukuzawa exhales, shaking his head in mock exasperation. But there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Fate on the train:

They would get out rather quickly. With nothing left to focus on but their own respective problems—and because they’re grown men—they’d make progress faster than expected.

Fyodor

Oh boy—now let's see... distorted worldview, savior complex, deep-set loneliness, and isolation. In essence, Fyodor's biggest struggle is that he is a man who believes he must save the world, pushing past the cost of doing so—the loss of his own humanity and the destruction of those around him. His savior complex becomes a self-destructive cycle, where the more he strives to "fix" the world, the more he isolates himself from the one thing he truly needs to feel fulfilled: human connection and compassion. He will only escape the train when he realizes that he does not need to fix anything—but find peace for himself and a bit of compassion from others.

First encounter with the cat:

The Cat, with her usual charm, would approach Fyodor, offering something absurd or quirky. Her exuberance would be in stark contrast to Fyodor’s controlled demeanor. "How quaint… a creature like you, playing with such childish nonsense." He’d humor her with a brief glance or nod, but remain emotionally distant. The Cat would immediately sense something off about him but wouldn’t push too hard, used to the complicated personalities of the passages. Fyodor, though amused, wouldn’t trust her due to her unpredictability. He’d see her as just another curiosity on the train, politely distant but not threatened. Over time, The Cat would continue trailing him, intrigued by his calm, enigmatic demeanor. Fyodor would acknowledge her presence with polite indifference, not revealing anything deeper, but perhaps with a flicker of amusement. Despite his efforts to avoid her though, The Cat would grow increasingly fascinated by him, sensing potential beneath his stoic exterior. Over time, their relationship would remain cordial, with him offering polite dismissals and her continuing to probe his calm exterior.

General headcanons:

I do not want to think about the implications of Fyodor being killed by a ghome. Even if his ability worked, it could trap him in a warped, unstable existence—something non-human, something he couldn’t control.

He does find the train interesting—an engaging distraction where each car presents a new challenge.

Will absolutely kick the toad no problem but will politely apologize afterward.

Genuinely enjoyed the crossword car.

Crossed paths with Amelia once. They were both a little too sharp-tongued for their own good.

Scoffs at the idea of the train being "therapy," dismissing it as a crude, artificial attempt at forced change. But the thought lingers. If manipulation won’t get him off the train, then true change might be the only way—and that thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

Not a headcanon but an interesting tidbit of information: the denizen in the cube car and himself share the same name.

Iceberg car:

Snow, endless snow, and the quiet blanket of ice. Fyodor wouldn’t rush to leave this place. Instead, he’d linger for a moment, his guard never fully down, but for once, he lets the cold air fill his lungs—sharp, familiar, a strange comfort. Home... He’d scoop up some snow, watching it settle in his palm before slowly crushing it between his fingers. How long has it been since he last set foot in his homeland? The weight of the question lingers, unspoken, but the answer is irrelevant. For now, in this moment, he allows himself the indulgence of remembering.

Fate on the train:

Fyodor is incredibly self-aware and blind at the same time, meaning he would recognize his flaws, but accepting change is another story entirely. He sees himself as above worldly attachments, and breaking that mindset would be nearly impossible.

If he ever did change, it would be slow, begrudging, and almost accidental. He wouldn’t have a grand revelation—rather, something small and human would unsettle him, forcing him to question himself in a way he can't ignore.

Ultimately, whether he gets off the train depends on one thing: Can he accept that he is just a man, not a savior?

Kyouka

Kyouka's biggest struggle is self-worth. She has always been defined by her past as a weapon and the trauma that came with it, especially under the influence of the Port Mafia. For so long, she’s been told that her value lies in her ability to serve someone else's cause, this leaving her with a deep fear of not being able to stand on her own and questioning if she’s capable of being more than the person she was forced to be. She struggles with finding her identity outside of the trauma and the expectations placed on her. Additionally, there's a sense of guilt over her past actions—having hurt others, even if she didn’t want to.

First encounter with the cat:

Of course the Cat would be talking a mile a minute, completely unfazed by Kyouka's calm demeanor. Kyouka, on the other hand, would probably blink a few times, a little confused by the oddity of the situation. She's not easily rattled, but she might tilt her head slightly, observing the Cat's antics with quiet curiosity. She might even give a small, polite smile, but it would be a little awkward, like she's not entirely sure what to do with someone like The Cat. Kyouka would likely try to keep her distance, not quite used to The Cat’s overly forward nature. She'd probably be too polite to outright reject whatever the Cat was offering, but there would be a gentle refusal: "No, thank you..." Her voice would be soft and controlled, with an air of caution as she tries to figure out the Cat’s intentions. In the end, their interaction would be more about observation than anything else. Kyouka might not fully understand The Cat, but she'd respect her space. The Cat would, of course, find her intriguing but wouldn’t push too hard. They wouldn’t be close friends right off the bat, but the foundations of a relatively peaceful relationship would be set.

General headcanons:

Kyouka actually enjoys the "boring" cars on the train, finding comfort in their quiet simplicity. It’s a rare opportunity for her to relax without the usual chaos.

She has a habit of collecting small trinkets from the different cars—stones, seashells, and flowers. They’re little, personal reminders of her journey.

Once, while lost in thought on a puzzle, she was startled by a denizen behind her, drawing her knife instinctively. The denizen fell back in surprise, and Kyouka, apologized awkwardly.

Though she keeps her distance, Kyouka observes others closely, intrigued by how people form bonds and handle their struggles, even if she doesn’t engage herself.

When The Apex tried to recruit her, she politely declined, preferring to stay independent and navigate the train on her own terms.

Doily car:

Kyouka would step into the Doily Car, immediately taken aback by how soft and delicate everything is. This one feels… safe. Warm. Almost like stepping into a quiet dream. The Crochet People welcome her gently, noticing her reserved nature. At first, Kyouka simply watches them go about their lives, particularly intrigued by the way they craft small plush figures. Their precise, rhythmic movements captivate her. Eventually, they hand her a crochet hook and some yarn, silently encouraging her to try. Though hesitant at first, Kyouka gives it a go, her fingers moving carefully, focused on getting it right. It’s calming in a way she didn’t expect. By the time she’s ready to leave, one of the crochet people hands her a small bunny doll they made just for her. She doesn’t say much, but she clutches it tightly as she leaves. It’s soft. Familiar. Something she can hold onto when things get difficult. And for that, she’s grateful.

Fate on the train:

Kyouka would likely spend a long time on the train, not because she refuses to change, but because she struggles to understand what change even means for her. She’s already trying to be a better person, already walking the path toward self-discovery—so what else is there? What is she still missing? Her journey wouldn’t be one of rebellion or outright denial but quiet contemplation. She would go from car to car, learning, watching, collecting small mementos without really knowing why. It’s not until she realizes that she gets to decide what kind of future she wants—not just following orders, not just atoning, but truly living—that her number finally reaches zero.

Kenji

Kenji’s main struggle isn’t deep internal conflict, but rather the balance between his overwhelming kindness and the destructive power he possesses. While he has the potential for immense destruction, especially if he's consumed by strong emotions like rage or sadness, Kenji has an extraordinary ability to keep his emotions in check. His kindness and compassion allow him to navigate a violent world without giving in to the darker sides of himself.

First encounter with the cat:

The Cat would see Kenji and immediately be reminded of Simon—his youth, blond hair, and cheerful nature striking an old, buried chord in her. Unlike her usual playful or mischievous approach with passengers, she would treat Kenji with a quiet, almost motherly warmth, as if trying to make amends for what happened with Simon. She wouldn’t openly acknowledge this, of course, but her actions would speak for themselves—she would actively stay by Kenji’s side, a rare departure from how she usually interacts with passengers. Whether consciously or not, she would gravitate toward him, walking alongside him through different cars, engaging him in conversation, and offering small tokens or words of advice. Kenji, in turn, would accept her presence with a bright smile and an open heart, never questioning why she stuck around—just happy to have a companion, unaware of the guilt and quiet sorrow driving it.

General headcanons:

His number would be ridiculously low, probably around 6. He adapts quickly, and doesn’t struggle with deep-seated personal conflict like most passengers. If anything, the train might struggle to find things for him to “fix.”

He would unintentionally speedrun the train. Puzzle cars? Solved in minutes. Emotional breakthroughs? Already had them before stepping onto the train. The only thing slowing him down is that he keeps stopping to help others.

Denizens adore him.

At some point, he casually punches through a door. Not out of frustration—just because he thought that was how to open it.

Family tree car:

Kenji accidentally and effortlessly steps into the role of family therapist, resolving disputes in record time. He listens to everyone's grievances with genuine patience and warmth, treating the feuding Gillicutys and Trundleshanks like familiar neighbors from his village. Rather than arguing, he shares heartwarming stories of his hometown—tales of cooperation, understanding, and the importance of letting go of old grudges. His words resonate so deeply that the portraits pause, reflect, and slowly begin to reconsider their feuds. By the time he's finished, both families are exchanging apologies, their long-standing resentment fading into reconciliation.

Fate on the train:

Kenji's fate on the train would be a quick exit. The cat would watch him leave, feeling a bittersweet sense of pride. She would be sad to see him go, but also proud, because in helping Kenji, she’d feel like she finally did something right after her failure with Simon. It would be a quiet, emotional goodbye, as Kenji’s innocence and goodness had made an impression on her.

Lovecraft

Lovecraft isn’t exactly human in the way the others are, so he doesn’t really have the same kind of emotional struggles or deep-seated trauma that the train usually forces passengers to work through. He’s more of an entity than a person—his problems, if he even has them, wouldn’t be about personal growth but more about… cosmic weirdness? If anything, his biggest "struggle" might just be existing in a world that isn't built for beings like him. He doesn’t seem particularly invested in human affairs, nor does he seem to have personal desires beyond idly going along with whatever’s happening. He doesn’t care about power, morality, or even survival in the way most beings do.

First encounter with the cat:

She approaches like she does with everyone, but the moment she gets close, her entire demeanor shifts. Her fur stands on end. Her tail puffs up. There’s no reason for it—Lovecraft hasn’t moved, hasn’t even looked at her, he is the perfect picture of calmness, maybe boredom—but something in her gut is screaming NO. Lovecraft, meanwhile, barely reacts. Maybe he blinks one eye open lazily, yawns, and mumbles something like, "Mm… you smell funny." Before closing his eyes again, already drifting back into whatever half-sleep state he exists in. The Cat, who rarely gets rattled, never gets spooked, immediately decides: Nope. No thank you. Not dealing with that. She just backs away, slow and careful, and makes a mental note to stay as far away from him as possible. She doesn’t even try to mess with him after that. He’s the only passenger she doesn’t attempt to pry into. Whatever he is… she wants nothing to do with it.

General headcanons:

People mistake him for a denizen; He barely reacts to most things, doesn’t seem concerned about getting off the train, and just exists in a way that’s eerily similar to the background elements of the train.

His number is broken anyway—It flickers, shifts, and just doesn’t exist in a way that makes sense. Someone tried to look at it, and it was just...eldritch runes? The train tried, but it doesn’t know what to do with him.

He doesn’t really understand the train either. Not in a confused way, but more in a detached way. When someone tried to explain the whole “self-improvement” thing, he just blinked slowly and went, “Mm… sounds like a lot.”

The beach car:

Lovecraft sees the ocean, shrugs, and just walks in without hesitation. No reaction, no sense of urgency—he just disappears beneath the waves like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He ends up in Randall Town, completely unfazed by the fact that it's underwater. The inhabitants take one look at this unbothered, eldritch-looking guy who strolls into their city and immediately assume he's some kind of deity. A religion forms around him almost overnight. Randall Town starts treating him like an honored guest, bringing him offerings—chocolates, ice cream, maybe even a little seashell necklace. Lovecraft, still half-asleep, just accepts it all with a sleepy, "Mm… thanks." He does not correct them. Not out of malice, just pure apathy. If they want to worship him, that’s their business. He ends up napping in some grand coral temple they build for him, completely unaware of how much of a cultural shift he’s caused.

Fate on the train:

He settles in Randall Town because it’s comfortable, quiet, and most importantly, full of people willing to bring him food. Randall starts worshiping him as some kind of deep-sea deity. He doesn’t encourage it, but he also doesn’t stop it—because, well, why would he?

He takes the offerings without a word. If they bow or chant strange prayers? Whatever. Not his problem.

He doesn’t even rule the town or anything—he’s just… there. A permanent, immovable fixture of Randall Town.

The Cat, from a very safe distance, watches this unfold with growing horror. Of course he ended up with a cult. Of course Randall started worshiping him. She refuses to go anywhere near Randall Town ever again. Lovecraft, meanwhile, remains completely unbothered. He has food, a comfy place to nap, and a bunch of weird little water people who adore him. He’s never leaving.

Lucy

Lucy struggles with abandonment issues, fear of rejection, and a deep need for control. Her harsh upbringing in the orphanage left her with scars—both physical and emotional—teaching her that mistakes lead to punishment and that love is conditional. Her ability was her only refuge, but it also made her an outcast, reinforcing her loneliness. Beneath her fiery attitude and sharp tongue, Lucy hides a deep fear of rejection and a desperate need for security. Her "mean girl" demeanor served as armor, keeping others at a distance so they can’t see just how much she longs for acceptance—a place where she won’t be left behind.

First encounter with the cat:

Their first meeting would be a rollercoaster of emotions—mostly on Lucy’s end. At first, she’d be delighted. "Oh, a kitty!" She crouches slightly, reaching out as if to pet The Cat. Then The Cat speaks. "My, my, aren’t you a lively one?" Lucy freezes. Her expression drops. “…What.” The Cat smiles, sitting down and curling her tail around her paws. “What, have you never seen a talking cat before?” Lucy straightens up, arms crossing as she glares. “You’re creepy.” The Cat tilts her head. “Rude.” She is genuinely confused by Lucy’s hostility. She flicks her tail with exaggerated offense. “I see, I am clearly not wanted here.” Lucy’s heart stutters in her chest. There’s a familiar, unwelcome pang in her gut—the creeping sensation of being left alone. Again. Even if The Cat is weird, even if she gets under her skin, she’s still someone. Before she can think it through, she blurts out, “I never said that.” Not quite an apology, not quite an invitation. The Cat pauses, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ohhh, so now you want me around?” Lucy groans, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.” But she doesn’t tell The Cat to leave. And The Cat, thoroughly entertained, decides to stick around.

General headcanons:

She acts like the train is the biggest inconvenience in the world, but deep down, she loves the mystery and drama of it all.

She keeps getting into arguments with denizens.

Her number confuses and frustrates her. She checks it constantly, scowls at it, and even tries yelling at it to change faster.

Acts like she doesn’t care about The Cat, but secretly relies on her. She’ll roll her eyes and sass back, but if she disappears for too long, Lucy will start looking for her.

Origami car:

The delicate, folded world reminds her of Anne’s room—not in appearance, but in feeling. Both spaces feel like places where a child could finally feel safe. And for the first time, Lucy’s inner child does. In a world where she’s been forced to suppress her emotions and put up walls to survive, the peaceful atmosphere of the Origami Car provides Lucy with an opportunity to reflect and engage with her own feelings. She is alone in the car, but not lonely, not afraid of being alone. The Origami Car teaches Lucy to form a connection, not with others, but with herself. Her number would drop significantly in this car.

Fate on the train:

Lucy would leave the train, but not quickly. She’d resist at first, clinging to her usual habits—pushing people away, trying to prove she doesn’t need anyone, acting like none of this affects her. But the train, of course, isn't fooled. Lucy will leave the train when she learns to cope with her fear of abandonment and rejection—not by erasing it, but by understanding it doesn’t have to control her.

Musitaro

Mushitaro’s biggest struggle is his deep-seated loneliness and guilt. He presents himself as smug, theatrical, and self-assured, but it’s all a front to mask how lost he feels without Yokomizo. His entire life revolved around his best friend, and after losing him, he’s left without a real purpose. He tells himself he’s fine alone, that he doesn’t need anyone, but the truth is, he’s terrified of connection—because to him, getting close to someone means risking the pain of losing them.

First encounter with the cat:

The Cat, ever the opportunist, takes one look at Mushitaro and sees potential. His refined dress, his carefully groomed demeanor—surely, someone of his presentation would be well-received in matters of business. And so, she approaches, eyes gleaming with the promise of opportunity. “You carry yourself with an air of distinction,” she muses, circling him like a merchant appraising fine wares. “Tell me, have you ever considered expanding your considerable talents into the realm of commerce? I find myself in need of a partner—one with charm, poise, and an appreciation for the finer things in life.” Mushitaro’s brow twitches. “You cannot be serious.” “Quite the contrary. You, monsieur, possess all the makings of a most successful businessman. A mind such as yours should not be wasted.” She offers a knowing smile. “Think of it—wealth, influence, the admiration of those beneath you. All within reach, should you simply seize the opportunity.” Mushitaro exhales sharply through his nose, adjusting his cuffs as if to shake off the absurdity of the conversation. “If you believe I would stoop to peddling whatever charlatanry you are involved in, you are gravely mistaken. I am a man of literature, of refinement. I do not ‘sell.’” The Cat watches him for a moment, tail flicking. Then, with a slow, measured nod, she steps aside. “C'est la vie. I had hoped you would recognize the brilliance of this endeavor. But alas, not all minds are suited for vision.” Mushitaro scoffs, turning on his heel, coat flaring with the motion. “Good day.” He strides off, determined to leave this nonsense behind. And yet, much to his dismay, it is not the last he sees of her. No, the Cat has taken an interest in him now—and once she does, she is not so easily dissuaded.

General headcanons:

Mushitaro treats the train like an elaborate personal inconvenience. He complains about the absurdity of it all but still begrudgingly plays along because what choice does he have?

Any car requiring physical exertion is his personal nightmare. If forced into an obstacle course car or something equally undignified, he will gripe the entire way through.

Runway car:

Mushitaro would step into the Fashion Show car with a dramatic sigh, muttering under his breath about how utterly ridiculous the entire idea is. He’d roll his eyes at the flashy décor and extravagant setup, but there’s no hiding the flicker of genuine interest in his eyes when he sees the finely tailored outfits displayed on mannequins. He quietly admires the clothes while pretending to be above it all. As Sashay, the flamboyant host, rushes forward with over-the-top enthusiasm, Mushitaro would maintain his cool, offering nothing more than a bored glance. Despite his attempts to stay unimpressed, his mind would be working overtime, mentally critiquing the designs and subtly rearranging the outfits in his head to meet his standards. Sloppiness is simply not an option. Walking across the runway with effortless grace, Mushitaro would exude a practiced, almost blasé confidence in his appearance. As he passes Sashay, he’d give a polite but distant nod, trying to downplay how much he’s secretly enjoying the attention. His face would remain cool, but the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips would betray his true feelings. When it’s time for feedback, the judges would shower him with praise, gushing over his elegance and impeccable style. Mushitaro would wave it off dismissively, muttering something about “not needing to be treated like a spectacle.” Yet, if anyone paid close enough attention, they’d notice the faint blush on his cheeks, a small but undeniable flicker of pride. He may not want to admit it, but he can't hide the satisfaction of knowing he nailed it. Though he’d leave the car with a final, exaggerated scoff about the absurdity of it all, there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes that he can’t quite suppress. Deep down, he’s satisfied with the experience.

Fate on the train:

Getting over guilt is hard. Acceptance is hard. His stubborn and stuck-up nature only deflects, pushing everything away, unwilling to face what lies beneath. Progress is slow, painfully slow, but eventually, he would get out.

Nikolai

(An oversimplification of Nikolai's problem.) I think Nikolai's problem lies in his deep fear of being overwhelmed—and ultimately controlled—by his emotions. He experiences feelings with intense depth, and this depth scares people away, so rather than embracing his emotions, he tries to escape, seeing emotions as burdens that limit his freedom. He longs to be free from the messiness of being human, believing that if he suppresses or rejects his emotions, he can transcend them. But this constant repression only breeds internal turmoil, for no matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the fact that emotions are an inseparable part of who he is.

First encounter with the cat:

"Ah! Good sir!" the cat called out, her tail flicking with excitement. "You look like the type of man who knows his way around people. How would you like to join forces with me?" He tilted his head slightly, his playful smirk widening. "Join forces, huh? What exactly are we... joining forces for?" It was obvious he was about to be roped into something strange—not that he minded. The cat beamed. "It’s simple! I have a vision, and I need someone with your skills to help me. A partnership, mon cher! You’ll be my right-hand man, handling the big things while I... take care of the rest!" She winked with a smile. Nikolai chuckled softly. "A right-hand man, you say? That sounds delightful. What exactly would I be doing in this grand venture of yours?" "Oh, all sorts of things!" she said eagerly. "We’ll make big moves—gather resources, meet the right people. It’s a partnership for the ages!" Nikolai’s grin widened. "Big moves, huh? And I assume this will be... completely above board?" He teased, amused by the idea. "Of course! All perfectly legitimate!" she said with complete sincerity. "We’ll be the most successful duo this train has ever seen! We’ll both be rich—très riche!" Nikolai laughed, clearly just playing along with the absurdity of the situation. "Rich? I do like the sound of that. Alright, I’m in, let’s see where this goes, partner." He extended his hand with a flourish. The cat eagerly shook his hand, not realizing that Nikolai was simply along for the ride, enjoying the unpredictable journey ahead. After all, he did not have anything better to do. And his number was not going down any time soon.

General headcanons:

Because Nikolai wears gloves, he doesn’t notice his number until another passenger asks about it. When he takes off his gloves, he’s confused to find it reaching his wrist. After inspecting it further, he realizes it extends up to his shoulder. "Is it supposed to do that?" he mutters, puzzled. It’s just another thing weighing him down, though he quickly brushes it off with a smirk.

His number grows steadily, not because he's doing anything that directly causes it to increase, but because he actively avoids acknowledging it. The more he avoids it, the more it grows—like a stubborn part of his reality he refuses to confront. But that’s exactly how he copes, by pretending it doesn’t matter, while hoping he can somehow outrun it altogether.

Nikolai and Lake both crave freedom, though for different reasons. And I think they would end up understanding each other's need for release if they ended up interacting.

Lucky cat car:

Nikolai steps into the Lucky Cat Car with a bemused look on his face, already feeling a bit like he's stepped into some twisted version of reality. The flashing lights, carnival games, and the raccoon denizens bustling around the various booths catch his attention, but he’s already tired of hearing The Cat talk about her “business opportunity.” He’d expected a quick diversion, maybe some nonsense to pass the time, but somehow—somehow—he ends up running a magic show. The magic show quickly becomes a hit. It’s the perfect setup for him to strut his stuff without showing too much of his true self. The raccoon denizens are an enthusiastic audience, easily impressed by his sleight-of-hand tricks and the way he uses his portal ability to pull objects out of thin air or make things disappear in an instant. The tricks feel effortless to him, and he takes quiet satisfaction in the wonder he elicits, even though he’d never admit to enjoying the attention. What Nikolai doesn’t expect, though, is how well this “business opportunity” keeps him distracted from his growing number. As the days go on, the number on his hand continues to rise, but he does his best to ignore it. It’s just another annoying detail in the back of his mind—one he can’t control.

Fate on the train:

Ultimately, his fate is in his hands: if he can embrace his humanity, his vulnerability and stop running, he might find peace and finally escape the train. But if he can’t confront the very things that make him who he is, the train will keep him in its grip until he does. It’s about whether he chooses to face the fear of rejection and vulnerability that has held him back all his life.

Rampo

Ranpo struggles with self-worth, shaped by a childhood where he felt misunderstood—his way of seeing the world set him apart, leaving him isolated. To cope, he convinced himself he had a special ability, a comforting lie that made him feel unique and valued, but beneath his confidence, he craves recognition and approval, seeking reassurance that he truly matters.

First encounter with the cat:

The Cat saunters up to him with her usual flair, ready to rope him into some elaborate scheme, only for him to cut her off immediately with a flat, “Not interested.” Unfazed, she tries again—spinning a tale about an exclusive opportunity or some “once-in-a-lifetime” deal—but Ranpo just blinks at her, unimpressed, “That sounds like a scam. You’re bad at this.” The Cat, for once, is thrown off, tail flicking in mild irritation. “Well, aren’t you a rude little man?” But Ranpo is already walking away, just waving over his shoulder. “Yep!”

General headcanons:

Ranpo actually feels confused about how he ended up on a train—because if there’s one thing he and public transportation have in common, it’s that they absolutely should not mix.

Spends too much time in the cars that have snacks and candy.

He’s one of the few passengers who openly dislikes the denizens, especially The Cat, finding her more annoying than amusing.

Ironically, he figures out the train’s purpose almost immediately but refuses to openly admit his own faults out of sheer stubbornness.

Unfinished car:

The Unfinished Car would be one of the few places on the train to genuinely make Ranpo stop in his tracks and stare. Half-built structures jut out at odd angles, entire walls are just missing, and gravity itself seems to have no real rules. And yet, despite the sheer absurdity, the turtle people move through their daily lives with complete ease—delivering mail, running businesses, hanging their clothes to dry on floating debris like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Ranpo, who typically dismisses the denizens as nothing more than background noise, actually finds himself fascinated. Not because he suddenly respects them, but because he cannot wrap his head around how this bizarre, nonsensical world actually functions. It shouldn’t work, and yet it does. He watches in thinly veiled disbelief as turtles casually slide on the road using purple goo as transportation. "Huh," he mutters to himself, adjusting his glasses. "That weird." Ranpo dislikes common sense, and the more he observes, the more he wants to understand it. He seeks out Aloysius, the so-called emperor of this strange land, not out of politeness, but because he needs answers. He expects to find some clueless, puffed-up ruler, but instead, he meets someone who is polite and friendly. Aloysius speaks proudly of his kingdom and its achievements. And Ranpo just listens. It’s not out of respect, exactly, but out of genuine curiosity. The Unfinished Car defies reason, and Ranpo, despite himself, needs to know why.

Fate on the train:

"Oh, it’s therapy," he says with a sigh, unimpressed. "Great. How annoying."

And yet, despite knowing exactly what he needs to do, he doesn't do it. Because self-awareness and action are two very different things. He knows he has to confront his insecurities, but actually admitting his faults? Out loud? Where people can hear? Ugh. No thanks. So he drifts from car to car, solving mysteries for fun, poking holes in the train’s logic, and being generally insufferable about how quickly he’s figured everything out. But deep down, he knows he’s just stalling. When he does finally decide to face himself, his number drops fast. In just a few days, he’s at zero. He steps through with a dramatic yawn, acting like the whole thing was so tedious. But, if anyone were watching closely, they’d notice—he walks away just a little lighter.

Sigma

Sigma’s problem is rooted in his deep uncertainty about his identity and the past. His amnesia leaves him with a gaping hole where his memories should be, leaving him unsure of who he truly is or where he belongs. He doesn’t remember where he came from or what his purpose is, and that creates a pervasive feeling of emptiness. On top of that, he doesn’t feel like he has anything to his name—no accomplishments, no past to look back on, nothing to cling to for a sense of self-worth. What he truly craves is a place where he can belong, not as a tool or as someone to be used, but just for who he is. He longs for a sense of permanence and acceptance—people who see him not as someone broken or incomplete, but as someone worthy of love, care, and support. Sigma is looking for a home, somewhere he can feel safe and valued without the need to prove his worth or utility to others.

First encounter with the cat:

"Ah! You! Yes, you!" she exclaims, bouncing toward him with unnatural enthusiasm. Sigma doesn’t flinch, but he feels a slight tightening in his chest. Another one, he thinks. Another person who’s going to try to take something from me. “Come, come, mon cher! I have the perfect business opportunity for you!” she continues, her accent thick and overly sweet as she pulls out some pamphlets, likely full of nonsense. He doesn’t even glance at them, his voice flat. “I’m not interested.” She presses on, relentless. “But you must be! Think of what you could gain—belonging, importance!” Sigma’s mask remains tight. Sigma’s patience wears thin. He’s seen this before. The promises of belonging, of importance—but it’s always a game, always manipulation. He’s been used too many times in his life to let it happen again. “I don’t have time for this.” With that, he turns to walk away, not sparing her another glance. He’s not interested in anyone who sees him as a tool for their own gains. She might be different, but he’s not taking any chances. The Cat watches him leave, her enthusiasm slightly dimming as she realizes she’s been brushed off. Sigma, however, doesn’t look back.

General headcanons:

Even in the quietest, safest cars, he keeps moving. Standing still feels too much like being trapped.

The denizens unsettle him. Not because they’re strange, but because they seem content with their existence. He can’t understand it.

Sleep does not come easily. He’s not sure if it’s the train or just him, but he’s constantly restless.

Mega maze car:

Sigma finds the maze and sighs softly. “Great…” Another obstacle. Another delay. He’s tired, but he doesn’t hesitate—placing a hand on the right wall, he starts walking. It’s a simple trick, but it keeps him moving forward. That’s all that matters. The maze twists and turns, but he doesn’t let frustration take root. He focuses, methodical and precise. One foot in front of the other. There’s no point in stopping, no point in lingering. When he finally reaches the castle, he expects another trial, another puzzle to solve before he can move on. Instead, he’s met with silence. The halls stretch, filled with ornate furniture, rich carpets, and chandeliers that glow softly despite the emptiness; There are also no footprints in the dust because there is no dust—everything is perfectly preserved, perfectly still. It feels lived-in but abandoned all at once, as if waiting for something. Or someone. Then, a voice fills the air. Morgan speaks, her tone warm yet hesitant, filled with a kind of loneliness that Sigma knows too well. He stiffens instinctively, expecting some hidden demand, some expectation disguised as kindness. But Morgan only talks—soft, wistful words drifting through the grand halls as she welcomes him. And so, Sigma listens. He doesn’t feel the urge to run or keep his guard up. There is no debt to repay, no fear of being discarded once he’s outlived his usefulness. Morgan wants nothing from him but conversation, and that simple, unspoken understanding settles something deep within him. Days pass. He walks the halls, straightens picture frames, folds blankets, repairs what little has worn down over time. He’s not asked to do any of it, but he does it anyway. The stillness of the castle no longer feels suffocating; it feels comfortable. Familiar.

Fate on the train:

Sigma’s number reaches zero, but he doesn’t feel relief. There’s no rush of victory, no overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Just… emptiness.

Morgan has seen this before too many times. She doesn’t beg him to stay, doesn’t try to convince him, no, not this time. She’s learned that passengers always leave in the end. So when the door appears, she only says, “It’s time, isn’t it?” Her voice is steady, but the walls of the castle seem to shift—just slightly, just enough to betray the sorrow she won’t say out loud.

Sigma stands before the exit, but he doesn’t move.

Where would he go? The casino? The battlefield that nearly killed him? There’s nothing waiting for him on the other side. No home, no future that isn’t built on uncertainty.

But here, in Morgan’s halls, he has purpose. He’s not a tool, not a means to an end. Just someone existing in a place that doesn’t ask for more than he’s willing to give.

“I don’t want to leave.” His voice is quiet, but firm.

Dividers: saradika-graphics

So there you have it! :> I really hope I did your ask justice, my dear Sandshrew stranger. I did consider adding more characters like Q, Louisa, Teruko, and some of the flags, but the list was getting so long, and this post might’ve ended up taking me three months to finish, haha.

[razorblade180]

Devotion

After a long shift doing paperwork, Jean finally manages to leave the Headquarters at a reasonable time. Well, reasonable for her. The moon wasn’t setting. That’s all that mattered! The Acting Grandmaster was thrilled by the idea of having time to read the novel Lisa gave her, but the moment of fantasy was quickly forgotten when she noticed her sister, Barbara, walking down the church steps alone.

Jean:Barbara?

Barbara:Huh? Oh, s-Jean; hello.

Jean:You were working this late?

Barbara:I like to practice in private at times. I wasn’t expecting to run into you tonight. I guess that means work was light for you.

Jean:(Hehe. “For you”) Yeah you could say that. Want me to walk you home? It can be dangerous at night.

Barbara:Oh I wouldn’t want to take up your time or anyt-

Jean held out her hand and she could see a glimmer in Barbara’s eyes. Their relationship was awkward to say the least, but it would be a waste to not take this opportunity to spend a little time together. Her younger sister took hand and they began walking. Jean was still a little concerned about Barabara going home alone, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized there’s no way Rosaria isn’t just far enough away to not be noticed. Then there was Diluc. Oh Diluc… He might be doing his “second job” by now.

Jean glanced over to Barbara. It wasn’t uncommon for strained silence to fall between them, but the girl typically tried for a short conversation. Jean was surprised to see her sister carrying a look of worry in her eyes.

Jean:What’s wrong?

Barbara:Hmm? Oh, it’s- it’s nothing.

Jean:Doesn’t sound like nothing. You’re making the same face Klee and Sucrose tends to make when something unexpectedly goes wrong.

Barbara:I…I don’t want to trouble you with it. It’s pretty silly in all honesty.

Jean:…Try me. I’ve dealt from lost cats to fish blasting. A problem is a problem. Acting Grand Master to citizen, or sister to sister, I want to listen to you worries. *smiles*

Barbara:*red*…It’s Venti.

Jean:Wh-What about the bard?

Barbara:….

Silence had never spoken more words. Jean saw the two occasionally hang out together and sing. Venti had even been his playful self to Barbara in front of Jean, but she never considered the girl’s flustered responses to be signs of mutual affection! That couldn’t be it, right!?

Jean:Oh, I see. So are you two…

Barbara: No no no! We just..enjoy each other’s music and stuff.

Jean: (Figures. Forgive me Venti for doubting you.) What’s the issue? A musical disagreement?

Barbara:No. For some time now, he visits the church for me to heal minor injuries, drop off some food, or pray despite the fact I’m certain he’s dozing off instead. Most of the time he’s really there to see me.

Jean:Ah, so he’s getting in the way of your work.

Barbara:Well…yes and no. Physically he isn’t. In fact, he’s helped me and the other sisters on multiple occasions. Mentally however…*blushes* I find myself thinking about him more and more to the point it does affect my work.

Jean:(I was right the first time!?) You.. have feelings for Venti the bard?

Barbara: I wasn’t sure at first. I just knew I felt guilty that I wasn’t focused like I should be. Two weeks ago it reached a boiling point where I completely forgot to finish a choir arrangement! We had to postpone the performance an entire week.

Jean:That’s not too bad, all things considered.

Barbara:But it was avoidable if I had been more diligent. That entire week I wanted to do nothing but focus on creating the best arrangement without distractions, but my mind kept wandering. I got so frustrated I started praying to Barbatos himself to help deal with my feelings!

Jean:…Did you now? How’d that go?

Barbara:To my surprise, I think he might’ve been listening. I didn’t suddenly focus better, but Venti didn’t show up to the church like he usually does. He’s..still not showing up. I saw him once but as quickly as he greeted me, he left because he said he had to go apple picking. It’s not that I didn’t believe him, but I felt…a distance; physically and metaphorically. He always got right next to me but that time he was out of arms reach.

Jean:Arms reach, hmm.

Barbara:It hasn’t stopped either. I know what I’m saying sounds more than a little ridiculous but it feels like my prayers were answered by Venti not wanting to see me as much. That’s…not what I meant though. I liked when he visited, even if I didn’t say so all the time. How could I when he was doing something like scraping his knee or sleeping? Not to mention him near the holy lyre makes me nervous.

Jean:(Has the magic not warn off yet!?) If a prayer is what did this, then why don’t you pray again?

Barbara:I don’t want to be ungrateful! I shouldn’t have bothering praying to Barbatos about something that was my mistake in the first place. *drops head* Maybe this is his form or of punishment for me? That or…Venti doesn’t want to see me anymore; at least not in the way I realized how I liked seeing him.

The two finally made it to Barbara’s house and stopped in front of the door. Poor girl looked so defeated. Jean didn’t have much trust in her own abilities when it came to romantic problems, but she knew without a doubt Venti heard the prayer and proceeded to act accordingly. Jean rested her hands on Barbara’s slouched shoulders and had the girl look her in the eyes.

Jean:Barbara, I say with certainty the Anemo Archon would never punish someone as caring and devoted as you. As for Venti, I also have no doubts he thinks you’re wonderful. He’s told me before you are a wonderful person to sing beside.

Barbara:*red* You two have talked about me?

Jean:On occasion if we run into each other. His exact feelings for you I can’t say because I’m not too sure, but I know the way he looks at you and says your name. Venti cherishes you.

Barbara:Are you saying I should talk to him about it?

Jean:I’m sure that will help. Buuuut, I also think you should pray to Barbatos again. Even if this was some lesson, which I highly doubt, I believe you know better than anyone how kind he is. Coincidence or not, it would give you better peace of mind.

Barbara:Yeah…*gentle smile* Yeah! I’m the Deaconess. I can’t let this shake me and do nothing about it. What example would that set?

Jean:That too, but frankly I meant to do this more yourself. No one would judge you.

Barbara:Oh, hehe. I guess that’s true.

Jean:(Is this how the Knights feel talking to me?) I wish you the best of luck, Barbara. Stop by anytime to tell how things are going.

Barbara:Okay, I will! Also, thank you for this. It means more than I can explain.

Jean:The feeling is mutual.

She gets a surprise hug from Barbara. It didn’t take long before Jean wrapped her arms around the girl gently. Barbara had grown up before Jean had gotten the chance to notice, but she was a little happy she could still help with problems like these. Their hug ended, and Barbara finally went inside.

All things considered, that went well. A normal person would pat themselves on the back and head home. Jean desperately wanted to be that normal person, but deep down not only was she still a tad concerned, but she also was way more invested in this love story than the book Lisa gave her. Against her own will, Jean found herself hurrying over to Angel Share.

xxxxx

The door open with a single push as Jean hurried in. The normal customers were around drinking their fill like usual. That included Venti, who was face down at the bar in front of Diluc; the fiery redhead locked eyes with Jean.

Diluc:Well this isn’t something I see everyday.

Jean:I’m not hear to drink.

Diluc:I meant you off work this early.

Jean:So is Kaeya just sharing my overtime hours or something? Also I thought you’d be “working” by now.

Diluc:I… am working.

Jean:If you say so. Anyways, I’m not here about that. I’m here for Venti. *gently shakes him* If he’s conscious that is.

Venti:Mmm, hmm? Oh, hi Venessa.

Jean:E-Excuse me?

Venti:What? Oh, I’m sorry. *sits up* didn’t have my wits about me. You remind me of her at times.

At first, Jean was a little worried about Barbara unknowingly liking their alcoholic deity, but Jean would be lying if she said his little mistake just now didn’t made her very happy inside. She couldn’t let that distract her though! Now was the time to be diligent!

Jean:Diluc, could you possibly give us some space? I have a delicate, personal matter to discuss with Venti.

Diluc:Is it about Barbara?

Jean:…

Diluc:He begged me to bartend tonight to wear his heart on his sleeve. In my eyes it’s more like drowning his sorrows.

Jean:So he isn’t typically this drunk?

Diluc:Well…at the very least he’s a happy drunk. Today he’s sung no song and has kept to himself.

Venti:I’m right here you two. So Barbara went as far as to talk to you? I guess this is the perfect time to apologize to you properly, Jean. I’m sorry for my behavior. I’ve caused your sister unnecessary stress. *bows*

Jean:Lord B- Venti, raise your head! There’s no need to bow to me, ever!

Venti:Ehe, I guess that would be weird for you, wouldn’t it? My bad.

Jean:So you did hear Barbara’s prayer?

Venti:Loud and clear, just like all the others that say my name. Honestly I didn’t realize I had started to be a burden. I got a little caught up in the moment of seeing her.

Jean:..Why do you see my sister often? Is it because of her devotion to the church?

Venti:Not specifically. It’s not her devotion to the Anemo Archon if that’s what you mean. Her dedication to the job itself, much like your own, is very admirable. Barbara is awfully kind yet stern when she has to be. Yet somehow she knows how to be uplifting and has an air about her that’s so refreshing to see. It’s hard not to feel at ease when you’re around her.

Diluc:That’s high praise coming for you.

Venti:Countless people would echo my sentiments.

Jean:Yet yours would resonate loudest. I can understand your choice but I feel like you should’ve known Barbara wouldn’t. I’d go as far as to say nobody in Mondstadt is as emotionally intelligent as you, and not for the reasons you’d assume. As her sister, I ask you to be more earnest with her. As your friend, I implore you to be more kind to yourself.

Venti:And as a citizen…?

Jean:*smiles* I hope the god I admire always experiences the same peace he so graciously fought to protect in the name of his people.

Jean pulled out a small but heavy bag of mora and put it on the counter before walking towards the door.

Jean:This enough to clear his tab?

Venti:!? Normally I’d feel honored but you really shouldn’t-

Diluc:Consider it clear. It’ll fill up again soon enough.

Jean:That’s fine. The wine here is good after all. I just hope the next few bottles will be for a merrier occasion.

The proud knight finally left, leaving Diluc to watch Venti slowly put his head back down and sigh.

Diluc:I hope you know you’re cut off for the night.

Venti:Fine by me. I’m sobering up.

Diluc:You’ve seemed sober for a while now.

Venti:Emotionally, Diluc. Emotionally… Thanks for being here.

Diluc:…It’s my tavern.

Venti:(Oh boy…how to handle this? It’s too late now but maybe tomorrow I’ll catch her before work and-”

“Lord Barbatos, please hear my prayers…”

Venti:….

xxxxxx

“I know what I’m about to say might make me seem pretty fickle as of late. To be honest, I’m not even sure if what’s happened is your will or pure coincidence. Either way, Venti has stopped talking to me lately. Now I know last time I was practically begging to clear my thoughts of him so I could continue doing my best, but…I was wrong to do so. He just might bring out my best. Or at least.. my joy; a joy that I don’t want to lose. Now that I see how that might be over I….…… Please. Please don’t let it be over. I want to see him; truly see him. I know it’s greedy and again, fickle of me, but it’s the truth. May the wind lead.”

xxxxx

The girl undid her hands and wiped her face of welling tears that threatened to fall. Already in her nightgown and hair undone, she stood up after praying by her bedside to try and rest her mind. However, a sudden knock at the door caught the girl’s attention and she made her way down stairs to see who it was; assuming it had to be her sister.

As she cracked the door open to peek, her heart nearly stopped. Barbara opened it slowly to see Venti standing there with Cecilia flowers in his hand. The boy stood rather rigid and had a flushed color across his face. Though he tried to hide it by looking at the ground with a bow.

Venti:H-Hello. I know it’s pretty late but I wanted to apologize if I’ve been pretty distant lately. I could see how stressed you were about the choir situation and I could sorta see I wasn’t really helping the situation by bothering you so I thought it would be best to-

Barbara: Hic

Venti looked up and gasped, seeing the Deaconess of the church crying before his eyes, her face growing red. Years of living, but Venti was ill equipped to deal with a girl crying so meekly in this situation. He try to hold in his panic to not wake anyone as he wrestled with the idea to hug her in this situation or not.

Venti:Hey now. Please don’t cry! I’m- I’m sorry. I should’ve said something to you.

Barbara:No, it’s not your fault. I just.. I don’t know why I thought for some reason you might hate me!

Venti:I could never hate you….

His voice, so calming, so certain of those words. His eyes stared at her with a familiar gentleness and sincerity as she felt his left hand brush away her tears while she calmed down. Venti finally flashed a smile as he put the flowers in her hand to clutch tightly. Barbara couldn’t help but feel a little silly inside, but silently she understood Venti wouldn’t think so at all. Barbara finally returned his smile.

A sense of ease hit them both. Venti gave a small curtsy, his job completed. As he turned to let the girl get some well deserved rest, he froze as he felt warmth grab his right hand. Venti dared to turn back around and look at her puffy eyes and flushed face under the moonlight that somehow managed to melt and break his heart. It was moments like these he envied mortals. He had no one to pray to; nobody at all to grant him strength. Though he may be the god of freedom, Venti understood himself well enough to know he was completely at the mercy of Barbara’s words. He could feel his heart race and hoped his redness was mistaken for drinking. It would all me over if he heard her say…

Barbara:Don’t go. Can we talk some more?

Venti:Barbara I-

Barbara:Please? Stay with me.

Maybe he had grown weaker than he thought? Perhaps it was the wine, or the simple truth he understood how courage it took her to say that. Regardless of the reason, Venti let those word’s echo in his heart like a lost hymn; he let it play out as he followed behind Barbara into her home. Tonight in the land of the Anemo Archon, Venti the bard was given a sanctuary by a woman who without realizing it had answered his prayers. A prayer to be welcomed in lovingly with open arms; like he was so many years ago by another with a song in their heart.

[brightdarkness-2013]

Chapter 8: Food for Survival

Summary: Prowl tries to feed Jazz.

I stumbled into the house that night. Due to the danger of my state I had taken a cab home. Blaster had done the same and I was sure that by now he was puking and holding onto his dog. I would no doubt be doing the same as well. I more collapsed onto the floor than lay on it. I really shouldn’t have taken that challenge. That dude was an asshole, but I had to admit he made really good shots. Whatever that last batch was tasted like sunshine, but now I was regretting even looking at them.

Shit I was gonna puke. I wanted to just curl in on myself at this point and die. I didn’t know why I never learned. Everytime I did this I cursed myself and yet I ended up doing it again at some point or another. Then I was distracted by my nausea by a peculiar sound. Something was being dragged. Silence… Draaaag. Silence… Draaaag. Then I felt the cat hitting at me.

I looked up at it. Ice blue eyes never blinking or looking away. Then I noticed the bag of food. Had it really dragged that in here? Was it that hungry? Geez I swore I had filled his bowl before I had left, but now the memory was rather hazy and difficult to pull to the forefront of my mind. Then it tipped the bag over, spilling the half empty bag of kibble on the carpet. This cat. Why did he have to be such a problem? Against my better judgement I pushed myself up. My stomach lurched. Picking up the bag I slowly moved and filled its bowl before putting the bag away. I’d have to vacuum another day to get all of kibble out of carpet. It meowed at me.

“It’s right there, Prowl.”

I got another meow in response. Talking back again. Such a pain.

“You can’t have anymore of the canned stuff. You need regular cat food too.”

What was going on with my life? I was drunk and feeling sick and here I was arguing with a cat instead of laying in bed and being miserable and trying my best not to puke. And speaking of it I was off to the bathroom and turning out my guts like I had been struggling not to do for the last ten minutes or so. I dry heaved for a minute. I had to admit that I felt a little better than before, but most definitely not well. When I looked up I saw the strangest thing. Prowl was sitting with his back to me while he sat in the doorway. Weird, but I could puzzle that out another time. From there I stumbled and struggled my way to my bed and curled in on myself like I had planned. And for the first time ever Prowl joined me. He lay at my back and purred. The sound was soothing and the soft rumble was nice.

Maybe having him here wasn’t so bad.

--------------------------

I looked up from my spot to see it practically fall into its den. Instantly I was alarmed. It was clumsy on any regular day, but it wasn’t This clumsy. I stood when it didn’t get back up. I jumped down and approached. Was it hurt? Had it gotten into a fight? I circled it. It didn’t seem to have any injuries, but it smelled strange. It had been somewhere that it must not normally go. Had it been out hunting all this time? Was it this hungry? I had been spending most of my time napping in the warm spot between training it so I didn’t know if it had eaten lately. There was plenty of food, but it had been starving itself? It really was hopeless if it was forgetting to eat. I’d have to get it something to eat now before it was too late. If you get too hungry it hurts and then you get cold and stop moving. You die. So off I went to the food room and worked open the hiding spot. Biting onto the food carrier I pulled. It was awkward having to drag it like this, but it was the only way. A few steps then pull. A few steps then pull. Once I was close enough I pawed at it.

It looked up at me and still it didn’t move. This was concerning. I knocked the carrier over and spilt the food. Come on. Eat something before you stop moving and die. Then it slowly got up and I felt a bit better. If it could still move that was a good sign. But it didn’t eat. It just filled the bowl and put it away.

“Eat something already!”

“It’s right there, Prowl.”

“Yes. Food. Now eat.”

“You can’t have anymore of the canned stuff. You need regular cat food too.”

Why was it so stubborn? Did it not understand that food would make it better? What was wrong with it? Then it was off. Turning is back on me and leaving. I followed. I couldn’t leave it alone like this. And then I got my answer. It was sick. The question was, how long had it been sick? It hadn’t seemed sick when it left the den. Had it eaten something poisonous? Something that wasn’t a fresh kill? Either way I couldn’t leave it alone like this. It was far weaker than usual now. So I sat in the opening to the small alcove with my back to it and guarded it while it struggled to gain its bearings.

When it got up and struggled to its sleeping space I followed and when it collapsed and jumped up and lay next to it after it had settled. After getting comfortable I purred like I was trying to comfort a kitten. Caring for it was hard work.

Next

First

Masterpost

[ingydar-phan]

Happy birthday Dan. I found you at a very, very low point in my life. It’s funny, because that point was only a few months ago. March 3rd. March 3rd. Jesus Christ. I was dealing with severe bullying, depression, hopelessness, isolation, gender dysphoria (i have been out/socially transitioned for like 5 years), and most of all, loneliness. I had a circle of about 3 friends who i talked to regularly, but only 1 i even saw in person more than once per year. Then, two of those 3 people began having relationship issues and were on the verge of breaking up. I felt like i was a bother, a burden to their already existing issues. Every single day I’d walk into school, put my headphones on, and not talk to a single person. I’d read, sleep, listen to music, dissociate, and sleep some more throughout the day just to distract myself from everything. From class, from parents, from the outside, everything. I fully and truly believed everyone besides those 3 people hated me. They found me disgusting, annoying, taking up space, and simply didn’t want me there. I think that is true to an extent, but i don’t like how i was just letting that be how it is. My dad was genuinely hopeless, he told me to just ride it out and if i could try to be just a little bit normal-er, maybe i wouldn’t be ignored by every person every day. That didn’t work. Instead, i decided to do some self work. Or rather, my dad stopped intruding on my free time which allowed me to still be awake and do things i wanted to do in peace. I thought, “Dan and Phil….those two emo guys with the cat whiskers….i have such a vague memory of a friend mentioning them or scrolling across a post of them, who even are they?”. I typed into the YouTube search bar “Dan and Phil”. A gaming channel? Are these people streamers? Oh god (i did not know you were one of us 🏳️‍🌈….or british…..). I watched one video. Now, ACCORDING TO YOUTUBE HISTORY, i somehow watched What Dan And Phil Text Each Other 4 as my first video. Not even the gaming channel, i don’t know how this happened maybe YouTube is lying to me. Whatever. Ok so which ones Dan and which ones Phil? Why do they look SO different? They’re British? I started watching Dan and Phil edits on TikTok. Ok, i know who you are, i get the vibes. Oh, coming out timeline? Gaming channel timeline and hiatus? Reacting to PINOF? On March 13, i watched Basically I’m Gay and Coming Out To You. It took me an entire month from then to watch Why I Quit YouTube. By late April, i was in it. I was watching Dan or Phil every day. Before, during, and/or after school. Since then, I’ve purchased YWGTTN (limited edition signed updated paperback). It was 38 fucking dollars in USD but it was worth it. I also now own TATINOF and DAPGO, one of which is signed by Phil, i bought second hand. So yes, now this is my new thing. But you know what else? I was getting happier. I was going to more concerts. I was doing my schoolwork, or at least trying to. I was reading!!!! I’ve since finished The Secret History. I made a friend; reconnected with an old childhood friend and started eating lunch together and hanging out and having shared trauma dump sessions, and we are so so close now. My two friends broke up, but it’s ok. I’m best friends with one of them and he’s so much better off, and the other and i are still casual friends!! I value them both for the multiple years I’ve known them. I’ve taken family vacations and done religious holidays with genuine care while getting to reconnect with my family. I’ve very passionately finished acting in a musical that I’ve put so much care into for about 5 months. I’m graduating tomorrow!!! And me and my close friend will be going to a concert tomorrow night afterwards, and I’m going to have a great summer where i see my close friend who i haven’t seen IRL since March of 2023. I’m getting closer with my dad and seeing a new therapist. I am having medical problems as of right now, but i would 100% be lying in bed crying and skipping graduation had i not found a reason to enjoy my days.

Did i just take one sentence referencing Dan to write a whole autobiography on tumblr? Yes, but also no. Dan and Phil are real people. They really do rescue pigeons named Steve and getting 10 sauces for their pizza and say hi across the city with binoculars. But they also genuinely have an impact on people, and they see that, and they LIKE to see that. I don’t think Dan will see this post. But I’m making it anyway. For me.

I love Dan so much. I cried twice while watching We’re All Doomed in my kitchen. I have actively watched Dan and Phil videos while crying at school. Once, in my bedroom, i was having a panic attack. I had an overwhelming rush of thoughts around 10 or 11 at night about how worthless i am and how terrible everything was going. I opened my tiktok, and there was THE edit that saved me. It was a video of fetus Dan on YouNow talking about his dream home. And then it was cutting back and forth to the Phouse. Then, Dans hopeful monologue in Basically I’m Gay. Finally, Dans hopeful monologue in We’re All Doomed. All of this in a softly shaky screen with sad music behind it. I cried a lot. This aspect of my life means so much to me. I think about the Halloween 2023 baking video at least 5 times a day (and sister Daniel’s….uhm….legs…). I am still so mad i did not buy the satanic Craft shirts. I just rewatched Dans interview last year with Anthony Padilla just because of how goddamn much I’m obsessed with that angle of Dan with his cute chin and cheeks and fucking dimple. I think about Dans bluntness in his defined-self and truly feel inspired to be like him. I look at his change over the years, his comfortability in his body, seeing that his face and neck are shaped like my face and neck, and he’s fucking beautiful. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable in my weight if not for Dan Howell, and i mean that so insanely sincerely. I read Dans book whenever I’m feeling hopeless and need a soft sexy British man to tell me the scientific reasoning behind why i feel this way and to assure me he’s felt worse. I’m so serious when i say i cannot imagine a day of my life without Dan and Phil. I truly don’t understand how i lived before or how I’d expect to live without it. “Live”, in the sense of find a way of life, not as in “stay alive.” I can’t imagine a day without those big brown boba eyes and that cute dimple and mainly that calming voice that reminds me someone else has felt this way. That reminds me love is possible. That reminds me i have so much ahead of me, so much life and love and joy.

Phil’s birthday stream may be my favorite piece of Dan and Phil media, or at least one of them. I find it so comforting and wholesome and beautiful and hilarious. I have such high hopes for Dans birthday stream. Until then, I’ll be working on my long-awaited (still very very unfinished) 2009!Dan and Phil art piece within my art initiative (pinned on my profile) (just for funsies, no money or anything involved). I’m going to sit there at 3pm (my time) and watch with a huge smile on my face to see my amazing dads spend the time of their lives being sexy and old and happy and disgustingly homosexual while i just embrace all you’ve done for me.

Happy birthday Dan

@danielhowell

[dvzaiosamu]

dvzaiosamu here with another silly oneshot! This time the theme is about you being easily frustrated and stressed. And the pair today is no other than fem.reader and dazai!

and guess what inspired me to do this? Exactly! Myself, since it happend to me just now, soooo, I just decided to write something about it.

A blue-gray sky surrounds you as you walk on the tiles under the soles of your shoes. The sun hides behind the gray clouds and you just sigh, trying to relax after an event at work. Your (eye color) colored irises are overwhelmed by such memories, but looking at a pair of cats walking next to you distracts you from that thought and you manage to calm it down a bit.

"Everything is going to be okay... I just have to get home," you say to yourself.

As you continued walking, you ran into familiar people, but you kept your head down to avoid them, not because you didn't want to, it was because you didn't want them to see you so overwhelmed. Your steps accelerate and your gaze stays on the ground, you did not dare to look forward, but this action will have consequences—

—THUD.

You bump into someone. You didn't fall, but you took a step back. Your breath catches in your throat and you immediately look at who's in front of you.

"Dazai...?"

"(First name)?"

You spend a few seconds analyzing what happened. Your eyes look into his, but you try to avoid it, even though it's hard and it seems too obvious that you're nervous. The brown-haired young man looks at you with a raised eyebrow and his hands in his pockets.

"Are you okay? You look burdened," he tells you, his tone seeming soft but keeping his distinctive tone in his voice. "Something happened?"

“It's just a normal day at work, it's nothing,” you try to avoid his question, downplaying your problems with a weak, unconvincing smile.

"I can clearly see that something is happening, (First name)…” he sighs, his eyes softening slightly at your figure. “Come on, I'll walk you home and you can tell me what's wrong. I'm sure you'd prefer that to talking about it here."

"Really? No... I don't want to be a bother, you probably have a different destination, I don't want to delay you," you excuse yourself with one of your hands lazily making a gesture as if you were going to reach for something with your hand.

He smiles. "Don't worry, I don't have to go anywhere, I was just walking to my house. I don't mind going to yours if it means you explain to me what happened."

You sigh, giving Dazai the approval that you've given up making excuses. You take a light breath and look him in the eyes. "Alright, let's go."

He smiles back and turns to walk you to your house, which wasn't too far away. It seems that Osamu suspected from the beginning that something was wrong, whether related to your work or not, but he was aware that you were not at your best.

[TIMESKIP]

While you insert your key into the door of your home you feel as if everything is watching you, you become overwhelmed and turn the key in the opposite direction, all because out of nowhere you got into your head and imagined that, you sigh and feel a warm hand on your your shoulder that helps you concentrate. Finally you turn the key and open the door with a CLACK. You open the door and enter.

You close the door behind you and Dazai takes off his shoes, placing them facing the door and taking some slippers that you sometimes reserved for when he came to visit you, then you do the same and during that time you maintain a long silence.

"Now, are you going to explain to me what's wrong with you, belladonna? I can make my hypotheses, but I lack data to conclude," he tells you as you walk with him to the couch.

"You could say that I will try to explain it to you..." your gaze clouds slightly as you remember his words.

"Focus more, (First name) (Middle name) if you don't want me to fire you! Get to work faster if you don't want to lose your position at this job," his boss said this morning in the office with a rough and harsh tone.

You remember that as if you were living it right now, your eyes crystallize and you begin to feel the characteristic obstructive lump in your throat, a few tears accumulate in your eyes as you sit on the couch, Dazai next to you, noticing this and placing his hand on top of yours.

"Take it easy, don't worry, let those tears flow. You can explain it to me later, it doesn't have to be now," he adds.

As those tears slide down your cheeks, a small tremor takes over your body as the power of the salty tears intensifies. You instinctively hug Dazai, surprisingly he wasn't expecting this, but he agrees to hug you tenderly as he closes his eyes.

He allows you to relax for a few minutes, helping you eliminate stress by crying. Your hands grip his body tightly and the heat of his body helps you calm down.

When you manage to recover, you break away from the hug, still even with teary eyes. "Thank you..."

In response you get a small smile, his hands intertwine with yours in a comforting way and his eyes convey to you the tranquility of an afternoon contemplating the ocean while sitting on the sand.

“About what happened… Yes, you were right, something happened, yes, it was while I was working,” you pause to breathe. "My boss scolded me for not working faster and focusing on tasks, e-even though I just... couldn't keep up with everyone else, but I did my best, and I wasn't too far off on time in comparison to my coworkers."

"Don't worry about that, I know you're doing everything you can. Don't take his words so seriously, let the string of your kite break and you can fly high, without worrying about what you left behind," he smiled. "Do not worry, everything will be fine".

You nod your head and his words make a small smile appear on your lips. "Alright, alright."

Now, Dazai stands up from the couch without comment, this leaves you dumbfounded and you can't help but ask, "Where are you going? Aren't you staying longer?"

"I wish I really would stay, dear..." in that period of time he goes to the door and puts his shoes back on, leaving his slippers well placed, sighs and opens the door, but not before turning to you, and he smiles crookedly. "I have a matter to solve..."

"What matter?" You ask, but he just lets out a sound that sounded like a laugh.

He turns towards the door and just walks away, leaving you with a confused feeling on your face.

Where and what is Osamu going to do now?

No answers.

[caldella]

ASK GAME!!!

If you want to play:

1st: Answer this ask with 5 things you like about yourself!

2nd: Send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers! (or as many as you can/want to)

:)

Real time pic of me trying to answer this ask. 😂

@sneakyxthexclown Sorry, it took a few days to get to this! Had a bunch of things pop up all at once, and uh.... this is a topic that's actually HARD for me to write about. So I couldn't just crank it out in 30 seconds. 😅 I don't really like complimenting myself and am very uncomfortable receiving compliments. So we'll consider this a personal challenge.

Curiosity. I like to delve into details, whether it's work or fandom content or anything else that catches my interest. It's probably pretty obvious from my blog and how I interact in general. It can be a distraction at times, but it's overall a benefit to me. I'm the person who will Google the weird info and get answers. I'm the person who asks detailed questions to try and nail down projects or figured out potential problems in a situation. It helps when we're stuck with things at work. It helps when I need to look up something outside of work. It helps with writing/art. Overall, it's more of a benefit than a detriment. And I wouldn't want to be a person who doesn't like learning.

Animal lover. I've had pets for literally my entire life: everything from bug terrariums to fish and anoles and a gerbil and dogs and cats and horses. I did school reports on them. We went to museums specifically to see dino/prehistoric fossils. I worked at a pet store for 4.5 years. I used to help out at charity events where customers would get their pics taken with big pythons/boas. I've raised rescue kittens. I co-owned a horse for 19 years. I have a Cat Mom hat a friend got me for Christmas. XD I literally can't imagine who I'd be if I didn't love animals.

Quippy? Not sure what to call this one. I'm not always the best conversationalist. I can fall into awkward silences at times or overlap other people. But I have gotten decent at making little quippy jokes in convos.

Creative. I do like to have external inspiration (which is why I love being in a fandom), but I do have a need to create. It might be a pain for my budget and my personal space to flit between a bajillion hobbies, but I'd rather have them than not! I wouldn't have my job or be the person I am without it.

Struggled with a couple options with option 5 but I'm going to go with martial arts training! I'm not the best but have been taking it for over 12 years. I could be better or more consistent, and some health issues hinder that a bit, but I'm proud that I took a basic class because I was "just curious" about how an asthmatic like me with crappy coordination might handle class. I managed to find a cool, supportive group and have kept at it for over a decade and 2nd degree blackbelt. I've also helped judge/score keep at a few small regional tournament. It's not something I discuss much online but something I feel like I've definitely "earned" through consistency.

I'm not going to tag anyone because i find that stressful, but if anyone else wants to, please reblog and join!

[straypurrgatory]

I did in fact stay with my stepdad majority of last night but at that point it was just a long conversation about me to "knock my shit off" with the mental finally as usual

At this point, I feel as though nobody is really on my side in this house Even my brother was calling me childish and "taking advantage" of the situation, when I was just trying to distract myself from going hysterical.

Suddenly everyone had my throat in their hands cause ever was acting out on me last night. I feel like I'm the nutty one here?

I shouldn't feel like I'm the oddball when everyone else in this house is nuts??

"It was not booby trapped" Yes it was if she pulls this. It shouldn't be a "Fuck around and find out" answer; Just say yes or no??? It's never been hard for her to do before. She can't get mad for me actually taking her words- despite her adding insults to my existence.

All I do is aggravate people? I just ruin her life? Then why are you dragging me to a place where I don't want to be in nor you want me to be in your life?? "You shouldn't have to burden people, it's my problem" Wow okay.

I knew my stepdad since I was 9! Granted, things I still don't have answers to happened, but he's legit the only person to treat me with some level of respect and decency. My mom makes me feel like her other cats.

You'd think working at a vet, you'd have more compassion for animals than the way she behaves, but she literally hits the cats for things they can't control or if they piss her off enough- same applies to me, but luckily for my stepdad, he's here to stop her.

With him gone, it's basically a free-for-all cause all she cares about is herself and what SHE wants, disregarding everyone else and their feelings.

My stepdad convinced my grandma that I can stay, and so he needs to compromise with my mom next, but he's trying to convince her not to leave NY in general and take me with her

Whatever happens today is up for debate

[vminjackbaddie]

Feeling Lucky

authors note: eye...haven't written a one shot in such a long time but his recent activity on ig has got me in shambles and I'd like the chance to try again. now forgive me because I've always written in first person but you can still pretend. also im super rusty so im sorry if this comes out cheesy lol I am not an expert for sure! lastly, please don't repost or claim as your own. I appreciate y'all pairing: female reader & jackson wang | 1st person word count: 3.4k+ summary: it's been a lot of trial and error: using dating apps in hopes you find a serious relationship and for the third time, you find yourself disappointed with someone, feeling cursed and very unlucky. to help get your mind off of things, you go visit your best friend at the bar with 0 intentions except to enjoy yourself until jackson walks in with his own group of friends. he's eyeing you, you're eyeing him but will either one of you make a move? or will you let your "cursed" theory ruin any chance with him? genre: mature | strangers to lovers au | angst | one shot | kinda soft | fluff warnings: 21+ ONLY! some cursing, making out, small mentions of heartbreak

“…and that’s exactly why I believe dogs are far superior to cats…”

He kept rambling, spewing nonsense. Is this really my life right now? How am I sitting here, listening to this man go on and on about why dogs are better than cats? Is this supposed to be life-changing information? Definitely not! And just for the record, cats are just as good—if not better.

To make matters worse, I wish I could say this was my first bad date in ages, but that would be a lie. A month ago, I signed up for a dating app, and while things started off strong, the past two weeks have led me to men with halitosis, nonstop misogynistic comments, and now this guy: a man who thinks his monologue is more interesting than asking about me.

Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and decided to use the old bathroom excuse.

“Excuse me—sorry. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” I said, trying not to trip over my heels as I pushed my chair back, ready to make my escape.

“Take your time! When you get back, we can talk about the ghost in my parents’ basement!” he shouted as I walked away.

I raised an eyebrow, knowing it was now or never. Ghosting isn’t my usual move, but it felt like my only option. Luckily, there was an exit door next to the women’s restroom, and I made a beeline for it. I attempted to call my best friend to fill her in on the disaster, but I reached her voicemail, followed by a quick text:

[Hey, I’m working. You okay?]

Ugh. I completely forgot she was on a shift at Oasis, a local bar. But that might not be a bad idea. I could definitely use some company and a distraction. I hopped into my car and rushed to get inside before he realized I wasn’t coming back, quickly texting her:

[Hiiii~ nvm! I’m coming by. See you soon!]

The message was brief, and as I sat at the first red light, I surprisingly didn’t feel guilty. Isn’t that awful? But honestly, while I felt bad about the first two dates, this third one confirmed that maybe my days with dating apps were over. I felt cursed—searching for real love for so long only to have every potential match turn sour as soon as we met. So tonight (and perhaps for the rest of my life), I decided to focus on enjoying myself.

Oasis wasn’t far. Within five minutes, I was in line to get in. While I waited, I noticed the coffee shop guy had bombarded me with at least eight messages, calling me every name in the book for bailing.

“Wow,” I muttered, scrolling through his barrage of insults.

“Looks like you dodged a bullet,” the bouncer said as I finally reached him.

“What? Oh yeah, he’s definitely a piece of work,” I replied, blocking his number while handing over my ID.

“You came to the right place.” He nodded as he returned my ID. While he recognized me from previous visits, I wasn’t in the mood to chat with another guy about my problems. I simply made my way to the bar.

“Danielle!” I called, spotting my best friend as I slid onto the first empty barstool. The bar wasn’t too crowded, but the dance floor was alive, and it felt great to soak in the energy after those awful messages.

“Another bad date?” she asked, handing me my favorite drink.

“Oh, it was so bad, Danielle! I just don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“I don’t think it’s you. Sometimes men just suck, and dating app guys are a whole different level of awful,” she chuckled.

“I’m starting to think it might be time to give up.”

She sighed. “You always say that. But remember what I tell you: you’re more likely to find the right one when you’re not stuck playing 40 questions over a screen.”

She patted my hand for reassurance, and I felt a little lighter.

“Don’t beat yourself up—we’ve all been there. Just enjoy your drink.”

I nodded, acknowledging she was right.

“Okay, but no more than three drinks tonight. I don’t want you getting in trouble again for giving away too many free ones.”

We both laughed as I took a sip while she attended to the next guest.

About an hour later, I was on my third drink, and let me tell you, I was feeling it. “Slightly tipsy” was the best way to describe it, and I was really vibing with the music pouring from the speakers. However, I wasn’t much of a dancer. Sitting at the bar, swaying back and forth in my little bubble, felt just right. I could have kept it up all night, but then I heard an uproar from the dance floor.

Curious, I turned to see what all the commotion was about. Right in the center of the crowd was a group of guys dancing like nobody was watching, and they were good. But the one drawing everyone’s attention wasn’t the loudest or most flamboyant; instead, it was the guy making the subtlest moves. His presence alone was magnetic, giving him an air of mystery that was incredibly alluring.

I found myself standing up, inching closer to get a better view. I didn’t want to get too close—just close enough to appreciate his every move. But maybe that was the mistake, because as soon as I got within range, I was completely captivated. He wore all black: a fitted tank top, loose black pants, and sturdy boots. His shaggy hair was a striking lilac or lavender color, cascading over his forehead. It felt wrong, but the thought of getting his attention flickered in my mind. The only problem? I was supposed to be enjoying myself, not fantasizing about some guy.

“Y/N!” Danielle’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see her waving me over. That was my cue: stay away from him. After all, it was clear why there were at least ninety girls surrounding him—or so it seemed.

What I didn’t realize was that her shout had caught his attention too, because when I looked back just before walking away, we locked eyes.

“Oh god,” I mumbled to myself, quickly diverting my gaze as he flashed me a gentle smile. The only thing I could manage was a quick nod before I hurried back to the bar, eager to escape any further embarrassment.

“What were you doing over there?” Danielle asked as I settled back into my seat.

“Did you not see those guys? They were amazing!” I nearly pointed but caught a glimpse of him and his friends gathering at the other end of the bar.

“Those guys?” she asked, tilting her head in their direction. “Oh yeah, they’re here every Friday, or so.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

For some reason, that realization made him feel completely out of reach. I shouldn’t have even considered approaching him, but the thought lingered. Now, with him just ten feet away, it was impossible not to steal glances as I tried to finish what was left of my drink.

“Need another?” I heard a male voice say.

I looked over to find a glass of Hennessy right beside my hand. My gaze lifted to meet the exact guy from the dance floor, and I was shocked. Why was he talking to me? Where were his friends? Regardless, I needed to play it cool; I didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“No, I’m good,” I replied shortly. “This is my third one, anyway.” I barely made eye contact, taking another sip.

“Is that why you were almost on the dance floor?” he joked.

“Maybe. But how would you know?” I finally turned my body toward him.

He took a small sip of his drink. “I saw you—almost as soon as you walked up. I was waiting for you to join in.”

“I’m sure the other ninety women were more than enough for you,” I retorted.

“Damn. Don’t do that,” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t do what? Point out the obvious?” I chuckled. That’s when I really started to feel the liquid courage kicking in. To be honest, I had a lot of animosity toward men right now, and he was my first target. This could either go really well or extremely badly.

“I’m not just another girl for you to toy with, okay? You think I didn’t see all the smirking and body rolling on that dance floor? Keep it over there.” My finger landed on his chest. “And don’t bring your fuckboy act over here.”

He smirked again, taking another sip before resting his hand over my finger that was still resting on his chest. God, why was he so attractive? I’d said enough, so why couldn’t I just get up and leave?

“Let me be clear…” His voice was low and husky, and I barely noticed he had leaned in closer, making my hand rest against his chest. “If I had any intentions with the other women on that floor, or if I were the fuckboy you think I am, then why am I over here with you?”

His eyes searched mine as if trying to find something beyond the asshole persona I was attempting to project.

“Touche,” I responded, quickly pulling my hand back. I finished off my drink, trying to distract myself from getting lost in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Jackson,” he said with a smile, clearly pleased that I wasn’t trying to push him away any further. “And you?”

“Y/N,” I replied shyly, worried I might have ruined the rest of the conversation. Just then, another song played, and the crowd erupted again, making us both break our unannounced staring contest and look at the dance floor. The same guys he had arrived with were back out there, cutting loose. I noticed Jackson subtly mimicking their moves.

“You should join them!” I yelled over the music.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’d rather be dancing with someone else,” he said, slowly bringing his gaze back to me.

I rolled my eyes, smirking a little. “Could you be any more corny?”

“No,” he smirked, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer. We were chest to chest now, locked in each other's gaze. “But I’d like the chance to show you what I can do on the dance floor.”

I glanced back at Danielle, who had been watching the whole exchange. My expression should’ve been a dead giveaway for help, but instead, she winked at me. What the hell? She wasn’t helping at all.

“Come on,” he said, breaking our gaze and taking my hand. He led me to the dance floor. “I don’t expect anything more than for you to just feel the music.” He moonwalked to the center of the dance floor.

How could I possibly keep up with that? I barely had rhythm as it was, but that didn’t stop him from pulling me closer. The liquid courage needed to kick in any minute now because I had never been more nervous than I was at that moment.

He turned me around so that my back pressed against his chest, swaying slowly behind me, guiding my body to move in harmony with his. I felt as if I were in a trance, his hands exploring my waist in a way that was both respectful and undeniably sensual. His nose brushed against my hair, and I could feel my eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to his lead as I let the music envelop me. I placed my hands over his, turning my head slightly to bring his face closer to mine, anticipating the moment our lips might meet. But just then, the tempo of the music shifted, shattering the spell we were under. I smiled as we both paused, realizing that our moment had come to an end.

I turned to face him, and I noticed his friends slowly approaching from behind.

“Alright! We see you!” one of them called out.

“Get lost,” he replied, feigning annoyance, which made them all chuckle.

“Sorry, man! We were just about to grab another drink. You coming?”

He glanced back at me. “Yeah, actually. I’ll be right there.” They nodded and headed off, and he turned back to me.

“You know you don’t have to stick around. I wasn’t exactly nice to you a few minutes ago.”

He shrugged. “I can get drinks with them anytime.” He took my hand again and led me back to my original spot at the bar to order another drink. As we waited, he turned to look at me.

“But what was with all that attitude? Was it really just because of how you viewed me?”

I shook my head. “No... just... bad dates.”

He nodded slowly, as if he understood more than I realized.

“Men ain’t shit,” he started, his tone serious. “And I mean that. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and it’s really none of my business, but can I offer you some advice?”

“Sure,” I replied, still swaying to what we could hear of the music.

“Don’t assume every guy you meet is going to be like the last. I know that’s tough, but calling me a fuck boy was a bit much.” He whined playfully, laughter escaping him. “Though, I have to admit, it was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry... I really shouldn’t have said that—” Just then, my favorite song blared through the speakers. Tinashe’s “Nasty” filled the air, and the energy shifted.

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” I shouted, letting go and fully immersing myself in the music. Whatever liquid courage I had left finally surfaced, and I danced like I’d never danced before. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t even notice Danielle bringing him another drink; he simply stood there, a huge smirk on his face, watching me.

“Is somebody gonna match my freak...” I began to sing loudly, draping my arms over his neck and leaning in close, letting my hands glide slowly over his chest.

He watched intently as I continued belting out the lyrics. The way he sipped his Hennessy while keeping his gaze fixed on me made my stomach flip. Somehow, I managed to maintain my composure, still singing and letting my hands roam lower, tracing over his abdomen, which made his breath catch.

“Easy...” he murmured, and I couldn’t help but smirk. I had no idea what was happening, but I was enjoying every moment.

I leaned back into his space, my arm wrapped around his neck as the chorus looped again, the constant refrain of “I’ve been a nasty girl” echoing in my ears. I sang every word, body rolling against him while his free hand trailed down my side and rested at my waist. With his other hand, he finished his drink and set the glass down, then placed his palm at the small of my back.

We were mere inches apart; I could feel his breath against my lips, and it made me freeze as the music began to fade into the background. At that moment, I was intoxicated by his scent, and there was no way I could back down now. I’d been in his face for nearly three minutes, singing about being a nasty girl—what else could I expect?

“You singing all of that makes me want to do a lot more than just dance with you...” he whispered. “But that would be disrespectful on our first meeting.”

Good god. At this point, he could have done anything to me; a man who shows respect is the sexiest thing a girl could ask for.

“Then what can you do that wouldn’t be ‘disrespectful’?”

I knew I was asking for it, but I couldn’t help myself. At this rate, I wanted him to make a move.

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against mine as our faces inched closer together. One hand cupped my face, while the other rested on my hip. I felt his body draw nearer, moving slightly as the music began to swell again, creating a bubble around just the two of us. I slowly closed my eyes, fully aware of what was about to happen. The build-up was intoxicating. I could have closed the distance myself, but something urged me to savor the moment. He began to turn my body until my back was against a wall, his hands landing on either side of me, brushing his lips against mine. When I opened my eyes, I saw him glancing between my eyes and my mouth, so close I could nearly taste him.

My hands moved to cup his neck as we tilted our heads, our lips nearly meeting once more. He was teasing me mercilessly, and damn, was he good at it.

“May I?” he asked, brushing his nose against mine again. There he went again with that respect.

“Please,” I nearly begged, and he slowly closed the gap between us, finally kissing me after what felt like an eternity of anticipation.

Our lips moved in perfect harmony, just like how we danced. His hands slid from the bar back around my waist, while mine fumbled to find their place. I felt most at ease tangling one hand in his hair while the other rested at his side. The kiss deepened as our tongues battled for dominance, making me want to nibble at his bottom lip to tease him even more. But just like that, it was over. He pulled away, leaving me craving more.

We were both breathless, but it was more than worth it. I even heard Danielle cheering quietly behind me, which made us glance at her and shake our heads in amusement.

“I’m sorry. If I’d kept going—”

I raised a finger to his lips. “It’s fine,” I smiled. “There’s always next time.”

He nodded. “I hope it made your night a little better.”

His smile was enchanting, and I could tell he genuinely meant it, which made me feel incredible.

“Mission accomplished.” I gave him a quick peck. “Now, stay in touch.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?” he frowned.

“No!” I laughed. “Danielle’s my ride home since I’ve had a couple of drinks.”

“Smart. I like it,” he teased, locking his gaze with mine again. “Care to dance once more before the night ends?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get back to your boys?” I asked, noticing them still on the dance floor.

“Look, those are my best friends. I can dance, drink, and whatever else with them anytime,” he assured me. “They’ll understand if I keep dancing with you. And while this may be our last dance tonight, I hope to see you again, outside of this bar.”

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks. Who would have thought one bad night would turn into something so lucky?

“Deal,” was all I could think to say before he pulled me back out to the dance floor, where we danced until the sun rose.

[melissamasakari]

Confessions you didn`t notice

Chapter seven. Bright sun

Persistent and loud knocking on the door distracted me from an important engineering problem. Who the fuck is that? The third prototype was ruined! Covering the needlework with a blanket I went to find out what I am needed for this time. Definitely that’s not my red blockhead. He would simply take the door off its hinges and walk in as if this house was his own.

“Here you are! I’ve searched the whole city for you! Why didn't you come to catch gifts from the sky?”

“What should I do there? I have already donated gifts for the city so there are lots and lots there with my logo. It won't be fun to catch two more umbrellas or three more jewelry boxes.”

“You're are overthinking! What about the spirit of competition? And don’t you believe in miracles?”

“It would be a miracle not to get hit in the head with a desk lamp. The broken one.”

“Whatever. Oh, you’re bleeding, kid,” and it’s true, apparently, I pierced my finger somehow.

“Damn it. I’ll treat it now, and it will heal in a couple of days. The main point here is not to catch any infection. That would be just the best thing to catch on that Day of the Bright Sun of yours.”

“An injury like that is quite unusual for you.” Sam looked around at the blanket-covered mess on the dining table. “What are you making?”

“Secret device for neutralizing blockheads. Do not touch! It bites as you’ve seen.”

“Okay,” my beloved friend pulled her hand back and made a funny face. “You didn’t come to the feast, so WE were worried. Cap sent me to check on you and, if possible, bring you with me back.”

“Whose princess am I supposed to be this time? And they even gave me a guard of honor. I'm impressed!”

“I have no idea. You have more and more heart pillows here. Who showed off this time? Gust, Dr. Xu, Albert or someone else?”

“Nobody. I bought it myself. I got used to sleeping on them on my lonely cold nights. What is the dress code?”

“Any, even oil stains on the face would do. But it’s going to be a group photo there. So take the blue uniform and let's go out. They are waiting for us. Wait. No. Not a uniform. Blue shirt, cargo jeans and sneakers.” Sam pointed to hangers one by one.

“I obey your orders, comrade escort! Should I send gifts for friends by mail? But they are over-sized,” I muttered from behind the screen.

“Oh, so you are prepared. Can't wait to see.”

“Certainly. Practical, useful or something for the soul. Children will get toys, certainly. Adults...well, you'll see soon.” I left my shelter and looked into the mirror. “Well, how do I look?”

“Intimidating! Just fit for a ‘wanted’ poster.”

“Fine by me.”

There was a typical celebratory chaos in the Central Plaza. Cheerful townspeople showed off their prizes to each other. The airship flew majestically over the waterfall, having completed its mission. That’s nice - I missed the whole dull part. Now Gale will begin another solemn speech and will herd people onto the platform under the tree. And Sam took me to a bench near the school.

“Captain Arlo, on your orders, the dangerous recluse has been delivered! She did not resist the arrest. Please take this circumstance into account when passing your sentence.”

“At ease, soldier! I promise to file a report on additional days off!”

“Well, I'll catch you later, you cunning cat!” I pretended to have my hands tied behind my back and trying to kick Sam in the knee.

“And this is an insult to the authorities,” Remy added with a sly smile, coming to my other side.

“So exceeding official powers for personal gain does not offend your authorities enough? I'll file a complaint! To your boss directly.”

“Don't kick up the heels” Their so-called boss muttered through his teeth. He threw his arm over my shoulder and pulled me against him by the neck. His palm was now resting on my breast. Mmm, his familiar scent. I'm starting to melt again just fro, that! Wait, what did just happen? “Your lady love,” I nodded towards the church robes flashing through the crowd, “doesn’t mind that you're groping dangerous criminals in front of everyone?” I said in exactly the same conspiratorial whisper.

His reaction exceeded all of later my expectations. Arlo immediately blushed deeply. He hiccuped nervously and abruptly let me go, straightening up, to the roar of laughter from the rest of the team. Worth it! I might regret this later, but not just now. Nora giving away a vibe of a jealous wife, pouted like a huge duck and ran away as I was watching her attentively. Hm. Friendship with her is l definitely out of the question now. I hope she will not stand beside me this time for a group photo.

“You promised not to tell anyone!” It seems that Arlo was seriously insulted and angry.

“Don’t you think it’s already too late to care? The whole city is talking about it. I was the only one who was silent. The statute of limitations should have expired three times already,” I retorted without raising my voice. So are they dating or not? If so, then why am I here? So cruel. Why do you, red blockhead, still insist on giving me false hopes?!

“Stop it immediately! Or I’ll lock you both in a cage, you dumb redheads!”

“Let’s go,” Remy added, “everyone else has already taken they places, they’re just waiting for us.”

“Civil Corps! Do you need a special invitation?” Our good mayor yelled.

Oh, what nice gangster faces we made for the photo! I'll hang this picture on the wall. I can almost see the steam coming out of Arlo's ears. Nora took off her hat and crumpled it in her hands, looking at the floor. Sam, standing behind me, put her elbows on my shoulders, almost like her boss had done before, but much less intimately. Remy, as always, smiled cheerfully, but for some reason it looked very scary today. Django...yes, he is sad. Apparently this friendship is over. Well, okay. I'll survive. The mayor tried to put his arm around my waist. And pet a little just below. WHAT?! Is this a harassment already? I'll kill you, nasty old pervert!.. I couldn’t wait to wriggle free from him!

I was brought in specifically for this photo, wasn’t I? So that Gale has somewhere to put his hand. Old fart, I'll kick a shit out of you! But why it is me who are feeling SO ashamed now? In order not to do something terrible, I decided to flee.

“Hey, guys! Your accusations are void, so I’ll go about my business. Bye-bye,” I made a teasing gesture with a hand and walked towards the Western Gate.

“Stand down! Nobody’s let you go!” Wow, what a statement! I wish I could hear this in a different situation.

“Ha. Try to catch me! Your princess is in another castle!” The gaze Nora gave me definitely deserved a separate photo. That’s a pity I don't have camera though.

“Fuck it!” The unlucky dragon swore. He abruptly gave out several commands and rushed to catch up. I wonder if I have a chance of sneaking away? At least he won't see me bursting into tears.

Now here is the opportunity to check if I have surpassed my personal trainer. And where should I go? At home they will quickly catch me. So, lets go to the left. Rushing past the Papa Bear's home, I headed towards the Bassanio Plateau. Elevator. A great opportunity to get lost in the forest there. All that was left was to climb up the hill. I should hide my hair – it’s too noticeable against the fresh grass. Why didn’t I think to grab a cap? Okay, I’ll hide it with my shirt and turn up the collar. Out of breath, I finally made it to the elevator. I was lucky that it was downstairs. Breathing heavily, I poked at the controls and pulled the lever. Now you can only get here through the Wasteland. Or from a cave on Amber island. By the way, that’s a great plan. I can go down there through the ventilation and return home by nightfall. Surely by this time the supposed siege on my ‘castle’ will be broken. No matter what I am guilty of... It is unlikely that such seriousness is due to the disclosure of his unclassified great secret. Well, they are dating. So what? Here in this small town near everyone is somebody’s significant other, a relative or an ex. What does he want from me now? And why does this very thought make me cry and want to throw sharp objects? I already decided that we are friends. True, after today’s prank it’s no longer a fact.

Oh, the hatch into the caves is not pressed tightly. I can rest there. And I won’t even reveal where I'm hiding with noise. Great. The coolest thing is to climb a tree, but, my height does not allow me to do this quickly. I made my way inside, found a shelter behind some half-broken boxes and sat down in the shadows, clasping my knees with my hands. If something happens, I can even clearly see the stairs to the hatch from here.

I have no idea for how long I sat there in the twilight. For some reason I felt very painful and disgusting. The guys are probably worried. Seeing the stopped lift they should have realized that I had been here. Maybe even Higgins was called in for repairs. What if Arlo went through the Wasteland? What if he got hurt there, it will be my fault! Wiping away my tears with my sleeve I nearly already decided to follow the planned course, but then the roller rails of the hatch began to move with a nasty squeal. I hid back, covering my ears with my palms.

“Well, she definitely passed here, Cap. There's traces in the dust, do you see?”

“The question is where to look next. And what if she needs our help?” Sam and Arlo walked briskly down the stairs and along the wall opposite of my hiding place.

“She herself can help just anyone. You know that.”

“I’m still worried.”

“Why were you so angry? It’s true, Nora’s crush is not a secret for a long time already. And everyone already knows for sure that you mercilessly blow off any girl who dares to bring you a heart knot. Why should Nora be an exception?”

“Oh, leave me be, little thorn. Better take a closer look.”

“I see something. Let's go ahead. Little fella seemed to have rushed into the haunted cave direction through this corridor.” Sam walked past my hiding place, pushing Arlo’s back with her palms and guiding him into a long passage. “Come on, move.”

Then she turned around and winked, supposedly into empty space. In response, I made a closed-mouth gesture. So I have an accomplice, cool! Let them go. It's definitely safe there. And I’ll have time to get out and at least wash myself clean. Wait! Sam DID say that he blew Nora off TOO?! At that time, she already realized that I could hear everything, so this is a hint for me! And what should I do now? First, get out and make my way home to hide the handicraft I have started. In case of unexpected guests, that is.

Great, it's even not dark yet. I can rush through the Eastern gate and up the hill, for example. Most likely, they will come to my house a little bit later. I hope that Sam will effectively hide my trail giving the redhead some extra loops so I can restore some peace of the mind.

To my incredible surprise, there was no ambush near the house. And I didn’t even meet anyone on my way home from the waterfall across the field. Climbing into the window through the hole in the stable I found myself in my kitchen. I listened. I looked out. Silence. Just in case, I blocked the front door with a bedside table and went into the shower. Even if they hear any noise, they will at least not break in right away. Oh...that's right, I almost forgot. I grabbed the blanket from the dining table, threw everything into it, rolled it up in a knot and stuffed it under the bed. Looking in the closet, I took out some sportswear and finally went to the bathroom.

I barely had time to change clothes when I heard the clatter of hooves from behind the fence. Remy? The rest could have came on foot. Judging by the fading sounds, he is now galloping towards Amber island. Did he guess everything too, or I’m delusional? Well, what a show is going on! I’m hiding in my own house from those who swore to guard and protect me here, from my best friends and from the guy I’m in love with. They were so unlucky with me. I myself didn’t notice how I dozed off, sitting behind the screen near my closet. I was awakened by a knock on the kitchen window. Three long, two short. And repeat. Okay, that’s Sam. I carefully peeked out.

“There is no tail. Let me in. I know you're here.”

“Then climb through the window. The door is blocked. Then we’ll tell everyone that there was a rummage here,” following my instructions, Sam successfully climbed inside.

“Where did the chase go?”

“They rush around the field and around the pond. Don't worry, it's good for them. Why did you run off?”

“I won’t tell you, definitely not now. I haven’t really gotten my head around it yet.”

“As you wish. Are you okay now?”

“I doubt it. I told you it was a bad idea to drag me to a party. I was just sitting here and was not bothering anyone. Why did you need to drag me in?”

“You’ll find out when our pepper-breather will finish blowing of steam and will cool down. You should have seen Higgins in his pajamas at the elevator! He yelled, he swore and he absolutely demanded a double price for urgency.”

“What a moron. There were only three buttons that had to be pressed on the panel down the side. How long did he fumble?”

“About two hours exactly. Then he just pried open the plug with a knife and connected the wires directly.”

“Was he at least electrocuted? Now I have to repair this crap nearly from scratch all over again after this.”

“Certainly. Phyllis also have had some extracurricular work. Sooo nasty. Let's dismantle your barricades, okay?”

“Your boss won’t destroy my door later, will he? After his kicks I merely have time to repair the gates.”

“If we don’t sort it out ourselves, he’ll take it out along with the furniture. And, perhaps, with walls, if he understands that I found you a long time ago and now hiding you from him.”

“Won’t you get punished for this?” We carefully lifted the bedside table and dragged it to its place.

“I’ll get away with a couple of extra shifts. Trivial matter.”

“But can you not drag me out of the house?”

“Certainly. Let me get out and run around for show. Then we'll turn on the light. And pretend that this is my first time here. It's already dark enough that I won't be noticed ahead of time.”

Sam left. After some time, the sound of hooves became clearly audible. - from the kitchen side. There are more than two horses. Are those some kind of glitches or else? One of the riders dismounted. His steps were heavy and nonrhythmic. Remington. And the other is Sam. I can hardly hear her steps at all. Oh, here came the wide brusque steps. Predictably, the door was thrown open with a powerful kick. It’s good that I managed to open the lock and didn’t come close.

“Alive,” Arlo breathed and rushed forward. He abruptly grabbed me like a doll and pressed me onto himself, burying his beard on the top of my head.

“You keep squeezing me like this, and this will change pretty soon,” I squeaked in response. He relaxed a little, but did not release me from the hug. What's wrong with him? He stroke my back. And since this is already a pretty long physical contact, now I will either blush, or burst into tears, or suffocate. Or maybe all at once. Well, at least I'll die happy.

“Hmm. We're all ready, Cap.”

“I'll be back soon. Close the door. From the outside,” wow, his heartbeat is at extreme rate. Now I can even feel it with my cheek. And my blood is pounding in my ears so terribly. I just wanna bury my face in his chest. Maybe forever. Should I probably say something?

“Sorry for causing so much trouble. I don't know what came over me.”

“It's okay. The main thing is that you are safe. I don’t even want to know how you got here before us.”

“Agreed. And what do they have ready?”

“You'll see now. Let's go.”

Arlo took me by the hand and led me out into the yard. We walked around the house and found ourselves near the stables. I was not mistaken, there were more than two horses here. But Teddy isn't here. This white one is Spacer. Brown mare in dapples is Arrow. And for some reason, some balloons were tied to the saddle of a cream-colored young filly.

“Surprise!” All three shouted in unison.

“Come and greet her.” Sam lightly pushed me in the back. The redhead released my hand with obvious reluctance.

“What?” I was surprised to recognize the very same filly for which I had been saving money since last fall. I asked McDonald not to sell her to anyone. “Guys, have you all gone crazy? I planned to go buy her next week!”

“Now there is no need. So what will you say?”

“I say – welcome home, Shifter. I hope you’ll like it here as much as I do,” the horse trustingly poked her wet nose into my neck. That looks like a start of a new friendship. I would really like that

Spacer whinnied and tried to bite my ear. That's a nasty horsemeat sausage!

“What kind of tricks are there?! Calm down! If you behave like this, we’ll miss the land run!” The mischievous horse stiffened and calmed down. What a commanding voice Arlo used. I'm so impressed.

“Admit it, whose idea it was?”

“You won’t believe it, but it’s yours. I just remembered and organized everything. The rest of us supported. And besides, if you’ll decide to join Corps, you won’t be able to do this without a horse. And the territory will soon get larger so we will probably have to expand our staff.”

“I love you guys!” I extended my arms invitingly for a group hug. “Thank you all so very, very much!”

[onlyonewoman]

One good thing about getting older and having grown up partly without the Internet - and certainly without the extent of social media we have now - is that you could watch and read stuff with flawed characters without immediately jumping to the conclusion that:

The creators thought the bad traits of a character were morally good.

You should equate shitty behavior from a fictional character with a prompt to act like that yourself or excuse that shitty behavior in others in real life.

You should police and shame other people's personal preferences in media consumption publically, like a fucking HSA during the satanic panic, only ramped up like a squirrel on speed.

I have no problem with content that is clear about consent and who's good or bad, sometimes that take fits the story and characters well. A clear "this good, that bad" story is like comfort food or following a nice evening routine.

It serves our need to stay grounded and relax, which is very important, especially in a world where we're exposed to more daily impressions and personal choices than ever before in history.

I wish more young people kept in mind that ONE of the reasons why we're stressed, distracted and easily feel alone and/or watched, is that the consumation of literture, movies, tv shows, music etc. now almost never is a solo experience, which in turn robs us of some of the joy.

What I'm trying to say is that while it's good to reckognize shitty behavior in fictional characters - kudos to you youngsters who discover it earlier than we did - it doesn't make the one reading/watching/listening to a promoter of sexual assault, murder, gas lighting, bad sterotypes, shitty friends, non-existing communication etc.

Like, the worst "crime" I've committed is getting absurdly high library fines due to forgetting to return books in time. My worst behavior includes yelling in complete frustration and possibly tossing my own possessions around - which happens like once every five years. (Thanks emotion regulating meds!)

I'm a trusted animal caretaker and sometimes supervisor for minors. I'm on the organ donor list, I do volontary work, loves Studio Ghibli movies and if I see a cat, I stop dead in my tracks, hoping it will grant me the honor of petting it.

I also write hardcore porn sometimes.

One of my favourite movie characters of all time, is the killer Bill in Kill Bill and the fact that David Carradine died from erotic asphyxiation only makes him hotter.

I loved Marilyn Manson as Ron Tully in Sons Of Anarchy, because the role was just small enough to leave all the room for excellent prison fanfics - and I will go to my fucking grave claiming that Jax Teller was a way worse person than Ron Tully, without claiming that Tully was in any way a good person.

I can't watch the scenes in either Casino or Goodfellas, when Joe Pesci's characters die, because while his absolutely horrendous characters definitely deserve to die, the way it happens in both cases, plays with my own fear of betrayal.

I fear that plenty of younger people have been robbed of the wonderful experience of realizing they can't despise a bad character with the same ease they could as kids.

Yes, some films, movies, books etc. are like comfort food: no resistance, no surprices, less thinking and more feeling. And we need them!

We also need the type of media that shows grim reality with an easily defined enemy, like the nazis in Schindler's List, where there's no way we can identify with the nazis, but still have to balance on the edge with Schindler, who didn't care about the Jews at first, only his business.

We need characters like the despicable yet somehow also caring Aunt Lydia in The Handmaid's Tale, who in her own twisted way cares about the women she's set to control and keep in line. I myself find it impossible to wish her dead, not because she deserves a second chance, but because her lack of cruelty just for the sake of it, has shone through enough times to reveal she might be a vital key for the good in the end.

By being exposed to morally grey characters, we learn about ourselves and what we, as human beings, are capable of in extreme circumstances, whether it's good or bad.

I believe that with the literal fear of coming across as "toxic" or a promoter of shitty behavior by loving characters with awful behavior, makes people less interested in challenging media and thus, not building up an inner understanding for and capacity to deal with bad things and shitty people in real life.

And if you find yourself in a position where you feel like you can't handle characters who can be both monsters and human beings, it's no longer a content problem, it's a YOU problem.

Maybe you're not old enough to connect with certain characters or stories. Maybe you're not in the right mindset to watch/read it right now. Maybe it's simply not something you find enjoyable at all.

All three are valid reasons to stay away from this kind of content.

What it isn't, is a reason to try and shame other people for taking a liking to it. Don't spend your 20's playing moral police online, pretending to be judge, jury and executioner for some stranger enjoying fictional criminals consentually fucking their rival criminal in chains in the basement.

We already know it's fiction, know perfectly well it's not an advertisement for healthy relationships and if YOU didn't understand that, you're simply not old and/or experienced enough to partake in that sort of content.

And if you ought to be old and mature enough to understand this, yet still get your panties in a twist when you come across, lets say, the vegaspete tag: just remember that had Scorsese wrote Kinnporsche, most of the characters aside from Porsche, would've ended up:

buried alive

shot in the neck

blown up

mutilated or, at best:

living under secret identity for the rest of their lives, on the top of the Bangkok mobster death list

Goodfellas is still one of the best movies ever made and if the young people in the 90's could go and watch it without leaving the theatre thinking "yeah, lets start money laundring, doing blow and shooting friends in the head", I'm pretty damn sure today's youth can do the same.