#this really is just me trying to force myself to confront my anxiety and let myself be bad at things

[persephoneprice]

i wrote a kinda stupid little thing about persephone and pup harrington?

[writesvani]

coming down | 01

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): emotional distress and anxiety, body image issues and weight-related comments, mentions of food, dieting, and restriction, verbal abuse and manipulation, self-harm ideation, substance use and abuse references, mental health struggles (depression, anxiety, insecurity), intimate situations and explicit language, abandonment and neglect, self-deprecation and feelings of worthlessness, bullying or being belittled

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— previous chapter / next chapter

wc: 4,7k // date: 5th of March 2025

CHAPTER ONE - The Morning; proceed with caution...

AN: okay, first of all, let’s talk about ren. he's liteeerally the only reason i'm posting this chapter earlier. REN. If you didn’t fall in love with him in this chapter, then honestly, i don’t know what to tell you because he’s an absolute gem. like i’m literally obsessed with him. he’s my favorite character HANDS DOWN. i’m talking top-tier, i would throw myself in front of a speeding bus for him if i had to. i mean, he’s got the charm, the humor, the flawless sense of timing. he’s a walking chaos machine and i’m here for it. can we please get a round of applause for ren? seriously, he’s out here living his best life, making questionable decisions, and somehow being the best friend anyone could ask for.

this chapter? oh yeah, it’s the introduction to the story, the one that sets everything on fire (in a good way, don’t worry). we’re finally giving you the ren experience in full force because he’s that important. his energy? unparalleled. his bad decisions? iconic. his ability to get people into ridiculous situations? absolutely legendary. and don’t even get me started on how much i’m loving writing for him. i know you can’t tell, but i’m literally typing this while holding back tears of joy. like, this man could ask me to jump off a cliff and i’d probably do it because i’m just so in love with his chaotic little soul.

stay tuned for more chaos, more fun, and more ren being ren.

love, [@writesvani] (ren's #1 fan)

No one ever told you opening your eyes while fighting a horrible hangover would be this hard—well, they did, and you’ve experienced it millions of times—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Fluttering your eyelashes, your eyes barely open as a blurry flash of sunlight enters your narrow line of vision.

Ugh.

Why did you drink so much last night? You don’t even know.

Never drinking again.

Noted.

Lying to yourself won’t make the situation any easier.

Noted as well.

Hardly awake, you shift, trying to lift yourself up to sit—except your bed isn’t yours at all.

And this isn’t your room.

Or your apartment.

Your head throbs as you blink away the lingering fog in your vision, forcing yourself to take in your surroundings.

A small studio apartment. Cramped, slightly chaotic, and definitely unfamiliarly familiar.

The sofa beneath you is worn, the cushions flattened from years of use. Next to it, a tiny coffee table is cluttered with splattered magazines and old computer science textbooks, their spines cracked and bruised from relentless study sessions. Among the mess, a dirty ashtray overflows, its stale scent clinging to the air.

Gross.

A ginger-scented candle sits beside it—maybe an attempt to neutralize the overwhelming stench of smoke, though it clearly isn’t doing its job.

Your eyes drift further, landing on the tiny kitchen area. Greasy, dimly lit, its sink overflowing with dishes that look like they’ve been abandoned for days. The counters are barely visible beneath the chaos of unwashed mugs, instant ramen cups, and a suspiciously sticky bottle of what you assume was once honey.

Unease coils in your stomach.

Where the fuck are you?

Your fingers clutch the blanket draped over you, a thin, soft thing that smells like cheap detergent and cigarette smoke.

And then—

Relief floods through you like a tidal wave, so strong it almost makes you dizzy.

Oh.

Thank God.

Thank God you ended up here.

“So my worst best friend is finally up! What a lovely surprise!”

A voice—far too loud for this hour, far too cheerful for your current state—pulls you from the lingering haze of sleep.

You groan, pressing your palms into your temples as if that could somehow will away the pounding headache splitting your skull. “Please, for the love of God, let me enjoy my peace and quiet for five minutes before coming in with your unnecessary comments.”

A dramatic gasp. Then, “Okay, bitch. Rude. I understand you’re hungover, but please just be civilized for a second there. You don’t have to throw your defensive mechanism in—I didn’t even start my lecture yet.”

You crack open one eye just to glare. “Cut the crap, Ren. I’m not really in the mood right now.”

Ren smirks, crossing his arms as he leans against the kitchen counter. “Oh babe, if I were into women, I’d already have gotten you in it.”

Your lips twitch despite the throbbing in your skull. Because no matter how much you despise him in this exact moment—for being loud, for being happy, for simply existing when all you want is to die a slow, miserable, post-hangover death—a wave of relief crashes over you.

You’re safe.

Safe from last night. Safe with him.

You’ve known Ren for ages. Just to be more precise, since you were eleven. He’s your other half, your soulmate in a way that has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with the fact that, if it weren’t for his overwhelming love for ass and balls and dicks/men, the two of you would already be married.

It’s a thought you’ve had more than once. A parallel universe, maybe. One where you’d be an old married couple on some tropical island, far away from the bullshit of everyday life. Where you’d smoke weed all day and piss him off, and he’d play The Sims 4 all night and piss you off right back—screaming at his Sim for cheating on their husband with some new guy, courtesy of Wicked Whims.

But that’s not this universe.

This one’s a little messier.

This one’s full of questionable life choices, painfully slow mornings, and an unspoken pact:

If neither of you find an unrespectably hot, respectable man by the time you’re 35—

The wedding’s on.

“How the fuck did I end up here?”

Your voice is raw, thick with exhaustion and regret. The world tilts as you sit up, and for a brief moment, you genuinely consider throwing yourself right back into unconsciousness.

Ren, ever the dramatic one, sighs as if this isn’t the millionth time you’ve asked him that exact question. “What do you think?”

You blink at him. “First of all, don’t answer my question with another question. Second of all, IF I FUCKING KNEW, I WOULDN’T BE ASKING.”

Ren groans, tossing his hands into the air like a cartoon character about to launch into a monologue. “Okay, calm your pretty ass down, missy. You were too wasted. Or high. Or probably both. And you got a cab to my place. Probably the only address you could remember, considering we all know you can’t remember your own after one shot.”

His words are a jumble in your aching brain, but the general gist is clear: you fucked up. Again.

You huff, crossing your arms, but the sudden movement sends a sharp pain straight to your skull.

Yup.

Yup.

Never drinking again.

“Oh, Rennie,” you mumble, pulling his blanket over your head and collapsing onto the silky mattress. “I don’t think I’m ever going to drink again.”

Ouch. Bad decision. Pain again.

You’re dizzy, disoriented, sinking into the pillowcase you got him for his twenty-second birthday—the one he pretended not to like but still uses anyway.

Ren sighs. Not annoyed, not even surprised. Just—accepting. Because this isn’t the first time you’ve stumbled into his apartment, destroyed beyond reason, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

You feel bad. You always do. But you can’t help it.

Ren is the last remaining fragment of the old you, the one you buried deep in the back of your mind, the one you so desperately tried to forget. But he’s Ren, and he’s been your Ren since you were eleven.

And you hate it—hate that you keep dragging him into your mess, ruining his perfectly fine days with your self-inflicted chaos. But for some unfathomable reason, Ren still loves you.

He loved you at your best.

He loved you at your worst.

And somehow, he still loves you in whatever the fuck this is.

“It’s okay, babe. I know you’re lying.”

Ren’s voice is steady, soft, almost knowing. He doesn’t call you out with anger or frustration—just that damn patience of his, the kind that makes your chest tighten and your throat burn.

“C’mon, don’t go all crocodile tears and fake regrets on me now,” he continues, settling down next to you. “You know there’s always a safe space for you here.”

His hand finds your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. His touch is light, barely there, but it still feels like an anchor. You lean into it instinctively, your head still pulsing with the aftermath of last night’s recklessness. Yet somehow, his presence dulls the ache, lulling your discomfort into something almost bearable.

Ren always had that effect on you.

“Now, now,” he hums, voice teasing but gentle. “Tell me what got you so worked up that you drank like a dog let off a leash last night.”

You tense, but before you can even think of an excuse, he sighs.

“Sorry for not coming, by the way,” he murmurs. “But you already know how I feel about Yumi and all your other friends.”

And just like that, if you thought you couldn’t possibly feel worse, Ren effortlessly proves you wrong.

Because the only person you actually wanted to spend time with on your birthday wasn’t there—and it’s all because of you.

Ren doesn’t like them. It’s as simple as that.

He doesn’t like your friends, your environment, or the people you surround yourself with. He thinks they’re a bunch of problematic teens trapped in grown-up bodies, incapable of making rational decisions. They seek validation from whatever reckless or idiotic thing they did just to be considered “cool enough” on campus.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s exactly what they are.

Ren isn’t shy about speaking his truth, especially when it comes to them. And you’re used to it by now. Hell, you wouldn’t want him to lie, to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not. It’d be too toxic for your best friend to step out of his comfort zone just to match your lifestyle, to accommodate what you think you want.

He doesn’t need to.

Ren has been the only constant, the only good thing in your life for the past few years. And, in a way, that’s enough.

"It's okay, lovie. We’ll be together today," you murmur, your voice quieter than usual. "I tried to bail on the party, but you know Yumi—she just wouldn’t budge."

You shift, mind working at lightning speed, lips parting and closing as you try to piece together the mess of last night. It’s all a bit blurry, details slipping through the cracks of your memory like sand through your fingers. But one thing stands out.

Gojo called you cheap.

The words flash in your mind like a neon sign, burning hot, humiliating, cutting deeper than you’d ever admit. And, of course, you being you, there was no way you’d just walk away, let him have the last word like that. No, you had to strike back.

So you did.

In front of Geto, the guy you’d actually wanted to take home, you called Gojo out. Laid it all bare. Exposed your past, your messy, embarrassing, mistake-ridden history with him. Let the words roll off your tongue like venom, staining the air of Nanami’s pristine beige living room.

The degradation of admitting you’d once fucked the beautiful, white-eyed demon was almost unbearable. Almost. Because underneath that shame, there was something else—something undeniably satisfying about the way Gojo’s face drained of color.

Ha. Should’ve taken a picture.

The man was sweating.

But, of course, that satisfaction was short-lived. The moment passed, leaving behind nothing but a thick, awkward silence that hung in the air like a bad smell.

Mood? Ruined.

Horny? Not anymore.

Gojo? Pissed.

Geto? Not having it.

And honestly, you couldn’t even blame him. Who the hell would still be in the mood after witnessing an argument that never should’ve happened in the first place?

Gojo left quickly, tossing a sharp, “This isn’t over” over his shoulder before disappearing.

And Geto?

He just sat there, staring at you, dumbfounded.

So, as any sane person would do, you decided to self-destruct with tequila and dance to the INNA Party Mix some random guy snuck into the playlist while no one was looking.

Gojo’s words didn’t touch you. Not even a little bit. And losing your dick of the night? Whatever. Hot guys were everywhere. Besides, it was probably for the best—you really didn’t need the extra drama of Geto’s girlfriend finding out about whatever almost happened.

So that’s probably how you ended up at Ren’s place.

Even though you have zero recollection of getting here in the first place.

“So it wasn’t just weed and shots,” Ren squeezes your hand, his voice softer now. “It was Gojo.”

Your throat tightens. No. It wasn’t Gojo. Of course, it wasn’t Gojo. You just wanted to let loose, enjoy the night, without anyone ruining it for you. Right?

Right?

“Who cares about that assface? I just wanted to get drunk and high, simple as that.”

“Okay, okay,” Ren lifts his hands in surrender. “I won’t mention it again. Promise on Charli XCX.” He nods toward the poster on his wall, and for the first time since waking up, a laugh escapes your lips.

His eyes light up at the sound, and in that moment, you swear you love him even more.

Because Ren never pushes. He never pressures you to explain yourself or dissect your feelings. He just lets you be.

And you love him for that.

What you don’t love is the flicker of knowing in his gaze—the way he reads you like an open book. Not many people ever managed to do that.

But it doesn’t matter. Because Ren never says it out loud.

It’s different with him.

Sometimes you wonder if things would be easier if you could have this kind of connection with anyone else. But then again, if you did, maybe what you have with Ren wouldn’t feel so rare and fragile and beautiful.

“Swear on BRAT,” you say, extending your pinky.

“I swear on BRAT,” he echoes, linking his pinky with yours.

And just like that, Gojo isn’t mentioned again.

Or last night.

Or Yumi.

Or Nanami’s obscenely expensive house.

"C'mon, babe. Let's go get some breakfast."

Ren tugs you out of bed, dragging you into the world of the living, and just like that, you’re not a mess anymore. It’s stupid how easily he does that—how he makes you feel a little less like a disaster with nothing but his presence. And maybe, just maybe, you love him a little more than you did mere seconds ago.

The place Ren takes you to is… odd.

Some kind of coffee shop-slash-restaurant-in-the-making. It’s close to his apartment, but it’s way too edgy to be a normal breakfast spot. But hey—a free meal is a free meal, and who are you to complain when he offered to treat you?

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating a little. It’s not that edgy. Just… offbeat.

It’s called Radio, and by some wonderfully bizarre twist, the entire place is literally filled with radios.

They’re everywhere.

The walls are made of them, stacked up like some chaotic art installation. Car radios serve as makeshift stands, holding the food and drink menus. The menus themselves? Coquette-coded, decorated with bows and big-eyed deer like they were plucked straight from some Tumblr fever dream.

And then there’s the rest of the decor—ripped anime T-shirts hanging in the corners, stickers on the counter with millennial-core quotes like Eat. Sleep. Coffee. Repeat.

The waitress who approaches your table looks dead inside, eyeliner smudged into a mess so perfectly disheveled it’s almost intentional. She definitely doesn’t want to be here. But then again, do any of us?

"Stop judging," Ren hisses.

You blink at him. Judging?

"I’m a broke college student, and this place is cheap enough to actually fill my stomach," he defends, crossing his arms.

"I’m not judging," you retort. "But you have to admit, this place is weird. Look around. The interior designer who made this was probably on coke. Or MDMA. Or both."

Ren sighs. Deeply.

"Not everyone has to get high to come up with weirdly fun concepts," he says, exasperated.

"Now that’s just a lie, honey," you shoot back, leaning on your hand. "All artists get their inspiration somewhere, and the good ones? They get it on something. Look at Van Gogh. Dickens. Bukowski—"

"That’s not something to be proud of," Ren interrupts, rolling his eyes. "Those people were addicts. They needed help. Jesus. There's no proof that they made their best works because they were high—who knows? Maybe their art would've been even better if they were sober."

You hum, pretending to consider his argument.

"Well, you can’t prove that, can you?" you say, smirking.

Ren narrows his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. Checkmate.

You love throwing these hypothetical what ifs at him just as much as he loves throwing them at you. His argument about sobriety is well-executed, you’ll give him that.

But he’ll never understand the euphoria—the way inspiration thrums in your veins when you’re tipsy, or better yet, high. The way stories are born from that space between reality and delirium. You swear your best ideas only exist there.

(Not that you’ve ever tried making them sober, of course.)

"Let’s not argue about the lives and works of people we’ll never truly know," Ren sighs, finally relenting.

"Okay," you agree, lips twitching.

For now.

“So, we can’t talk about your Voldemort, but you can for sure tell me more about that black-haired hottie you met last night?”

Ren’s rosy lips curve into a playful grin, his eyes lighting up with excitement. And just like that, you can’t help but melt at how much he lives for the gossip. Some things never change.

“He has a girlfriend, you mentioned?” Ren asks again, clearly wanting the details.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I care,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. “I wouldn’t go after a taken man who didn’t want me—that’s just not cool. But this guy, I’m telling you, from the second he laid eyes on me, he was eye-fucking me. Like, full-on, taking my clothes off telepathically and sinking his cock into me. It was intense.”

Ren snorts, amused.

“And if you saw him—he was all black long hair, a bandana, A BANDANA hanging from his neck. Made me wanna strangle him and lick him at the same time.” You pause, feeling the heat rise in your chest. “And the polo shirt, okay, I thought it was kinda lame for a college party, but it gave me a peek at his abs and, oh my god, his happy trail. And his lips, babe, I’m telling you. Pink, soft, begging to be bitten. Ugh. I should’ve tried harder and just fucked him.”

“Wait, you saw his happy trail?”

“Yeah, his shirt rode up when he was stretching after playing billiards with the guys. I was already plastered, but trust me, I saw it. It was practically an invitation to drop to my knees.” You take a bite of your fries, half-listening to yourself as the images replay in your mind.

“Well, if it were me, I’d be licking that happy trail into the midnight and riding him ‘til sunrise, baby,” Ren quips with a grin, taking a bite of his crepes.

You can see the look in Ren’s eyes—the way he’s already imagining it all. It makes you laugh, feeling a rush of affection for your ridiculous, perfectly in-sync best friend.

“Got a pic of the hottie?”

You freeze.

Your horniness deflates to zero. You forgot. You didn’t even get his number, his Instagram, nothing. “I forgot to follow him. I’m so fucking dumb.”

Ren rolls his eyes.

“Follow him now, duh. Who cares?”

“I care,” you say quickly. “I don’t want him to think I’m some creepy-ass loser who’s randomly looking him up.”

Ren looks at you like you’re nuts. “He won’t think that. Plus, if he doesn’t follow you back, then he’s blind and needs a check-up.”

“Let’s just try looking him up on Insta. Maybe he has a profile pic so you can see him, but I am NOT following him.”

You whip out your phone and start typing.

And there he is. Geto Suguru.

And oh boy.

His profile pic isn't just a pic, he's shirtless, his shorts hanging low on his hips, and there it is—the happy trail, long, dark, and deliciously inviting. His face is perfectly smirking, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You feel a shiver run down your spine, practically drooling as you stare at the picture.

Ren, ever impatient, snatches your phone from your hands before you can even blink. His mouth falls open in shock.

“Sweet Jesus, oh my God,” he breathes, his eyes flicking between you and the picture, blinking rapidly like his brain can’t handle it.

Then he moves his thumb. And you know exactly what he’s doing, but it’s too late. It’s too fucking late.

Ren has just sent a follow request to your “almost fuck.”

You feel a panic rise in your chest. No. This is it. You’re going to strangle him. Watch as life leaves his annoying body and his breath gets lost somewhere else because you know—you just know—he did it. He followed him. From your phone and your goddamn Instagram account.

“Are. You. Fucking. Insane?”

You stare at Ren in disbelief, heart pounding in your chest as your brain tries to process what he’s just done.

“I did what had to be done,” Ren grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “This man is too fine and too sexy not to be tried out at least once. Honestly, pardon his straightness, but I’d blow him like my life depended on it. Since I can’t do it myself, you’re gonna take the sacrifice of doing it for me.”

You feel a mix of anger and embarrassment bubble up inside you. “Ren, I’m going to kill you. I’m literally going to kill you.”

“Relax, girl,” he snickers, waving you off like it’s no big deal. “And when you fuck him, pretty please think about me, so I can, by some miracle, feel it as well.”

You roll your eyes, trying to calm yourself down, but there's that nagging fear lingering in the pit of your stomach. “What if he doesn’t follow me back?” you whine, your voice a mix of real concern and dramatic flair. “I’m too old for this humiliation. I don’t need more rejection stacking up on my list.”

Ren just shrugs, completely nonchalant. “He will. Trust. Now eat your food, ho, and let’s go shopping.”

You don’t believe him, though. Deep down, you know he’s lying—because by the end of your shopping spree with Ren, Geto still hasn’t followed you back.

You’re losing your mind.

Even after you’ve showered, eaten, and taken a power nap, you find yourself glued to your phone. There’s still no accepted request. No follow. Just a stupid pending ‘follow request sent’ sitting there, mocking you.

You panic. You called Ren probably ten times and sent him thirty messages, all containing some combination of death, you, kill, and didn’t follow me back. You’ve become a mess—unrecognizable even to yourself.

The worst part? You know he saw it. You just know it. There’s no way in hell he didn’t check his phone at least once in the eight hours that passed. He’s leaving you hanging, like some peasant who isn’t even worth the time to be acknowledged.

It stings. It fucking stings.

You were dramatic before, sure, but you were deep down thinking he'd follow you back. Everyone does. He was all over you last night, wanting you, practically undressing you with his eyes. There was no way that stupid little spat with Gojo could have ruined things with Geto. Or maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were just stupid.

How dare he?

How dare he act like you weren’t worth even a simple follow? You start pacing around the room, frustration boiling over as your mind spirals into overdrive.

Then it hits you.

Gojo. That bastard. He’s always meddling in your business, always making things harder than they need to be. He loves getting involved for no reason, just to mess with you.

Just like he did before.

18 years ago

It’s an usual Friday afternoon, and you’re sitting with your great grandma on the front porch, her wrinkled hands steady as she writes down the words you dictate to her. You don’t know how to write yet—not really. Yes, you know the alphabet, but putting words together, let alone sentences on paper, feels like an impossible task for your six-year-old mind. But you know how to speak, and that’s all that matters right now. So you speak, and she writes, and together, you create a poem. It’s about winter, and comfort, and there’s a line about soup cooking on the stove, messily tossed in there.

You swear, in that moment, you’ve never been prouder of yourself. You are creating something—your very first poem. And even though it’s messy, even though it doesn’t follow all the rules of the world that you’re still figuring out, you did it.

Gojo, your next door neighbor and self proclaimed best friend sits beside you, shyly drawing you, your grandma, himself, and his favorite teddy bear, Teddy (of course) on what he insists is a train, even though it looks more like a stinky snail. You laugh, but then your excitement gets the best of you, and you run to your dad to show him the poem you just made with Nana. You can’t read it, but that doesn’t matter because Nana’s going to read it to him, and you’re so excited.

You just know he’ll be proud of you.

Nana reads the poem out loud, and you watch your dad as he listens. He smiles, and you’re filled with warmth, because he’s so pretty when he smiles. His eyes crinkle in that perfect greenish light, and his mouth—those dimples—just make everything feel perfect.

But then, he speaks.

“Nana, it’s great you’re teaching her all that, but she doesn’t have to write about food. There are many more beautiful things to write about. Our little peach is already a bit too chubby, and we’ve really been trying to help her lose weight, so I don’t think writing or thinking about food is good for her right now, right?”

Your heart sinks. Your excitement crashes to the ground.

You don’t know what it is, but his words make you feel so small. Your eyes drop to the ground, and you can’t hide from the uncomfortable, overwhelming feeling that floods over you. You already feel too big in your skin, too big in your body. Too big in your dad’s mind.

And then you feel it—the rush of anxiety. It sweeps over you like a tide, drowning you in its force. The weight of his words, the weight of your disappointment in his eyes, it’s too much. You couldn’t even keep it together for a stupid little poem.

Again.

You’ve disappointed him. Again. And there’s nothing you can do to make it stop.Nana says something, her voice soft and reassuring, about you being a normal, healthy little kid. She shakes her head at your dad disapprovingly, but you can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. His words hang around you, clouding the air, and the warmth that had once bloomed in your chest shrivels up. The mood is ruined. And even though you fight it, even though you don’t want to, your eyes grow heavy and the tears that have been threatening to spill finally break free.

You try to hold them back, but they come anyway.

"I don’t think you’re chubby. You’re cute, and I liked your poem," Gojo whispers to you, his small, warm hand slipping into yours. He squeezes it gently and beams a pretty, innocent smile at you.

But instead of feeling better, you feel worse.

His hand is smaller than yours. And he’s a boy. He’s smaller and slimmer than you, and you’re a girl. You shouldn’t even be thinking about these things, but you can’t stop. He’s smaller and slimmer and better, and you're chubbier, and nothing about this is fair.

And then you hear your dad again, his words ringing in your ears, harsher this time.

“Satoru, you don’t have to lie to make her feel better. Y/n’s a big girl. She can take it. Besides, she knows it’s for her own good.”

You nod, but it’s sharp and harsh, the motion of your head quick and jerky. You pull away from Satoru’s embrace, feeling like you might break under the weight of everything. His eyes are sad. You can see it now. The pity. The pity in his eyes, in your dad’s eyes, in everyone’s eyes. It’s there, it’s so clear, and you hate it.

You don’t understand pity yet, not fully, but you understand how it makes you feel small.

You’re not a little kid anymore.

Satoru looks mad now. He gives you one of those looks—‘It’s okay, I’ve got you’—the kind that only makes you feel worse. You can’t stand it.

You want to run. You want to hide. You want to be alone, away from all of this, away from their pity, away from the shame building up in your chest.

So you do.

You run. You run to your room, and when you’re there, the door shuts behind you, and you fall onto your bed. The tears come in waves, and you cry until evening falls, until your eyes are red and sore. You don’t come downstairs for dinner.

“Tomorrow, I’m not gonna eat anything. Then all of them are gonna see.”

You whisper the words to yourself, not fully understanding the weight of them, but in that moment, they make you feel like you have control. Like you can make everything better. And that's how it all begins.

taglist: @heh123321 @kazupop @mintcheery @krispywhisperswhispers

[cross-my-heartt]

Alright, I’m saying it

I hate what they did with Crosshair in season three

Yes, the entirety of season three, barring maybe only the first three episodes. Let me elaborate.

I’ve been seeing people be more open about criticizing the finale and it’s given me the push to be more open about my own thoughts. And since I still advertise myself as a Crosshair girlie, I think this is a good place to start.

I really honestly don’t like the majority of what they did with Crosshair’s character this season. And yes, that includes the hand tremors. From the myriad things that felt out of character for him to making him a walking exposition dump, to completely stripping him of his more interesting qualities I honestly struggle to see him as the same character I loved right up until the end of season two.

I almost understand why so many people have come around on him – it’s because he’s a completely different character. We’re meant to believe that his time on Tantiss and Hemlock’s attempted reconditioning has changed him as a person. Which is all fine and dandy until you realize that this new character we get feels more like he’s gone through therapy rather than trauma.

New Crosshair is much more agreeable. He’s mild, he rolls over at the first sign of conflict, he talks about his emotions at the drop of a hat and there’s barely any meaningful tension between him and the other characters (not one that’s not forced anyways).

And my question is, why? If we’re just going to use off screen trauma (off. screen. trauma???) to change characters willy nilly then what even is the point of watching a show?

Say I suddenly wanted to make Wrecker this very angry character with a short fuse and I decide that he got an injury off screen that’s causing him chronic pain. It makes sense logically while at the same time making zero sense for him, even less so if you don’t see it play out, because it erases core parts of the character that we already know.

One of the first things Crosshair does in tcw is start a fight. Crosshair has always been a belligerent guy. He literally responds to being hurt by attacking. Where is that combativeness now? I would even go as far as to say that he’s been the primary source of conflict for the group since season one and I don’t even mean that in a bad way. Crosshair bites back. He hides pain by trying to inflict it, he talks back, he challenges, he digs his heels in to the point of proactively making bad life choices.

And the reason why he’s worked so well in this team so far is because his tendencies were counteracted by those around him, right up until the inevitable rift caused by the chip. I could go on about Wrecker and Tech but we all know that the main counterbalance, Crosshair’s foil here, is Hunter. Hunter is supposed to be the one that deescalates, they’ve gotten along so far because he’s the one that handled rising tensions (it’s the reason he’s the leader of their group to begin with. Remember who deescalated that fight in tcw? Remember who started it?) Where Crosshair pushes, Hunter puts a stop to it. Where Crosshair attacks, Hunter deflects, maybe sometimes too much.

And these first two season have felt like they were steadily building towards a confrontation between these two. We wanted Hunter to snap at Crosshair on Pabu because we’ve been craving it. This whole time Crosshair’s been saddled with more and more trauma, unresolved tensions from as far back as season one (which we all seem to have forgotten about as if that story never happened, tldr I’m still bitter no one addressed the Crosshair being abandoned subplot, hello remember that) while the narrative has simultaneously been stripping Hunter of his patience; months of anxiety and frustration and stress chipping away at him and wearing him down so that we can finally get to see these characters clash. The perfect recipe for all of that tension exploding and being set loose.

And what did we get instead?

A tiny little spat. An argument that gets interrupted before fizzling out (because Crosshair can talk about feelings all of a sudden). We got Hunter in the exact right position only for the show to purposefully strip Crosshair of his characteristic belligerence because apparently we don’t want to see any conflict. It’s like they’re teasing us – look Hunter’s on the verge of snapping but Crosshair’s the bigger man now so we don’t get to see that! Why??? What part of that was satisfying?? We got Crosshair pushing back for the tiniest of seconds and resolved two seasons of tension in half an episode. Where they had to fight a giant worm. In what universe is that a satisfying conclusion.

The only reason I can think of is that this mirror development is supposed to be some kind of irony or subversion but honestly that explanation falls so flat in the face of our expectations as an audience.

And the thing is, I think even the authors realized that they had nuked their most intriguing character. Because once they removed his established response to trauma, which was all of those wonderfully complex emotional reactions, they realized they needed to manifest it in some other way. So we got the hand tremors.

Now Crosshair doesn’t get angry or stubborn he just gets jittery. And I know this sounds dismissive but the only reason that is is because the show itself deals with it in a completely ham-fisted and surface-level way.

I hated the hand tremor subplot. Me. Someone who spent two years being disabled because of neural damage to my hands that prevented me from doing the hobbies I used to define myself as a person. Someone who spent two years depressed and dysfunctional because of the loss of identity and purpose I suffered because of that disability.

So no I’m not fucking happy that they used something as serious as ptsd to spice up a character they themselves made bland in the first place. For no reason other than a subplot that went literally nowhere. A subplot that was shish kebabed after an underwhelming fight scene.

Don’t even get me started on the pun level writing of chopping said hand off.

But back to Crosshair… or what’s left of him after this season (see I can make a pun too). Crosshair was already interesting enough as a character without the added hand tremor subplot and I'm dying on that hill.

The thing is, they were so intent on pushing this new, watered down version of Crosshair that even more reasonable, level-headed characters had to be thrown under the bus, made irrationally aggressive next to him to try and make us believe it. I have a lot to say about Howzer this season but the only thing I’ll say for now is that he’s the most prominent victim of this, along with his entire retconned season one plotline.

And speaking of victims, I can’t help but feel like I need to apologize to all the Tech fans out there once again. Because what I think actually happened is that Tech was never the writers’ favorite and was never meant to get any sort of satisfying conclusion.

That was always Crosshair.

The focal point of season one. The most prominent source or drama and conflict. The character who drove the plot forward even when he appeared in a fraction of episodes. The character who got the most development (even if that development spiraled wildly out of control at the end). Nearly every major subplot in this show happened in relation to or in favor of Crosshair’s arc. Tech’s death. Omega’s capture. The CX clones. The hand tremors. All of the meaningful developments and events reserved for two characters in this show, Omega and Crosshair. (Some would argue Hunter as well but really, did Hunter get any development as a character? Spoiler alert, a happy ending is not the same as a character arc.)

My guess is that this was always meant to be the case. The writers just weren’t prepared for the fans’ response to Tech’s death, it caught them off guard, and here’s one more reason why I think creators should stay away from social media or any kind of prolonged fan interaction. Because all it got us in the end was some form of cruel teasing, them trying to ride the wave of attention and thinking their original plans would make up for it when that wave inevitably crashed.

But anyway.

What happens when you dump a bunch of pain and suffering onto a character with a problematic response to adversity? Apparently it makes them emotionally intelligent, at least according to this show. Crosshair in season three feels like a shadow of his former self – the combativeness and complex emotional responses that made him so interesting to begin with are gone, replaced with a ham-fisted manifestation of trauma that gets resolved in an equally ham-fisted way.

And I’m just not on board with that. Nor will I ever be. Even if you give me all the supposed emotional payoffs, hugs or whatever.

[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.

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 23 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3319 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

Finally, I spotted him, chilling on a couch in the corner, rocking a beer and a smoke as his serious eyes stared at me. My heart tightened seeing him like that; normally, when he saw me, it meant smiles and a hug. Now, however, he just watched me, his cool blue eyes meeting mine from across the room. I held his gaze for a while, my face turning a bit warm as we looked at each other. Heart skipping a beat, I wondered: was he gonna brush me off? Stand up and bail, pretending I wasn’t even there?

✦ summary: Reuniting with James forces Nore to confront the complicated feelings that arose after their kiss.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, love triangle, drinking, smoking, recreational drug use

✦ a/n: Hello! I'm finally on Christmas break and have lots of free time, so I'm trying to write as much as I can! I'm really glad I could post this chapter before the end of the year, and I hope it won't take me too long to post the next ones :) We're on the final half of the story, and things will get a bit more intense from now on. So, how do you think James and Nore are gonna deal with their feelings from now on? I'm really excited to write about it! Thank you so much for reading, feedback is welcome and motivates me a lot! ❤

✧ I want to be the girl with the most cake / He only loves those things because he loves to see them break / I fake it so real, I am beyond fake / And someday, you will ache like I ache ✧

It didn't take too long for me to catch up with my friends again. Just a bit over two weeks post-Leanne's birthday bash, Cliff gave me a ring with some exciting news: the band had landed a gig at a renowned venue in Los Angeles, and if the first show drew a good crowd, there was talk of a repeat performance to wrap up the year.

I hadn’t crossed paths with James since he had kissed me; gotta admit, the idea of facing him after all that had happened had me feeling a bit uneasy. But I was hopeful that, when the time came, we could have a conversation about it. I just hoped we could keep our friendship. There were many things I could handle, but losing him for good was not something I was ready for.

The band needed to fill the place, so Cliff asked if I could bring someone along. I ended up inviting Pat, my friend from the record store, to join me at the show. I mean, asking Dave was out of the question; as time went by, he was getting more and more bitter every time Metallica came up. Even though he wasn't thrilled about me going to the show, having a companion seemed to ease his mood a bit. Ever since I came home with a bruised hand from having to defend myself, he seemed to gradually become more protective and concerned every day. I knew he'd rather I not navigate crowded spots alone, especially at a metal show. But, when it came to Metallica, his wounded pride still had the upper hand.

I met up with Pat right outside the record store before the gig, so we could go to the venue together. She greeted me with the biggest smile, her blonde locks and blue eyes all dazzling.

"I'm so stoked!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with happiness as I handed her the ticket and the backstage pass. "I've never had backstage access before. This is gonna be rad!"

"Yeah, it's cool. But don't expect anything too fancy; we usually just score some drinks and access to the dressing room," I said, throwing out a strained smile. I tried not to let the nerves creep in about seeing James again, but now that showtime was approaching, my anxiety was cranking up by the minute.

"Oh, don't be a buzzkill," she pouted. "You’re in a bad mood today? Aren't you happy to see your friends?"

"Sorry, Pat. I'm just kinda on edge," I replied with a sigh. Despite really liking Pat, I wasn't up for diving into the whole James-kiss situation with anyone. Truth is, I had been mulling over it way more than I'd like. Couldn't wait to clear the air with James once and for all.

We rolled up a bit later to the venue, and there was already a decent line of fans. It always blew my mind how they had just dropped their first album not long ago but were pulling in a hype crowd that was growing by the day. I could sense the West Coast getting too cramped for whatever they were cookin' up. And, like always, no need to wait in line for us; the IDs whisked us straight backstage, where the guys were getting their act together, getting stage-ready, and already a bit toasted.

I couldn't really zone in on the whole scene that kicked off with Lars, Kirk, and Cliff swooping in for the welcome party; drinks were handed out, cigs were fired up, and Lars, as usual, threw in his cheeky comments ('hey, your friend's a total babe!'). But honestly, none of that was grabbing my full attention. My eyes were on a mission, desperately looking for the only person I wanted to see. No matter how much I tried to fool myself, all I cared about was making sure things were cool between James and me.

Finally, I spotted him, chilling on a couch in the corner, rocking a beer and a smoke as his serious eyes stared at me. My heart tightened seeing him like that; normally, when he saw me, it meant smiles and a hug. Now, however, he just watched me, his cool blue eyes meeting mine from across the room. I held his gaze for a while, my face turning a bit warm as we looked at each other. Heart skipping a beat, I wondered: was he gonna brush me off? Stand up and bail, pretending I wasn’t even there?

Instead, he just got up, strolled over, and handed me the beer bottle.

“Want some?” he asked, throwing a faint smile my way. I blinked, kinda surprised. The way he talked, it was like nothing had happened. Like he never had kissed me. Like I never had bolted out of Joe's kitchen, leaving him all alone.

But, hey, wasn’t that exactly what I wanted? For things to be normal again. For us to stick to being friends, no drama.

“Of course. You ever see me turn down a beer?” I replied with a grin. He let out a soft chuckle and handed over the bottle, his cold fingers brushing mine for the briefest fraction of a second before he brought the cig back to his mouth.

Before long, the venue staff gave us the heads up that the show was about to kick off. The guys wrapped up their final checks, and Pat and I joined them, enjoying a beer by the stage. Pat was all hyped about it; even though she didn't know the band, she was really getting into the music, full of the enthusiasm you'd expect from a dedicated fan. As for me, I was a bit more reserved this time. Don't get me wrong, I was always happy to catch up with my friends, but I couldn't ignore how uneasy I felt, especially when I noticed James's glances, splitting his attention between the crowd and shooting looks my way, a silent storm brewing in his blue gaze.

After the concert wrapped up, he handed his guitar over to a puzzled Kirk, not even bothering to look at him. He headed my way, big steps and a bit of annoyance wrinkling his forehead; at that point, I was almost sure he was going to cup my face in his hands and kiss me again. The idea had my face turning hot, my heart racing, and the palms of my hands getting sticky with nervous sweat, recalling the feel of his lips on mine. Instead of that, he just stopped and locked eyes with me for a moment, carefully studying my face before saying:

“So? How was the show?”

“It was awesome! You guys rock, I loved it!” Pat exclaimed, all excited, breaking the momentary electricity that had arisen between us two. James raised an eyebrow, curious, as if just now realizing she was there, and shot me a puzzled look. I just shrugged, wearing a slight smile.

"It was killer, like always," I said with a grin, and he shot one right back at me. There it was — the familiar, genuine smile I'd been missing all night. I couldn’t help but feel relief wash all over me when I saw it.

We wrapped up the night at some random downtown bar. Most of the time, I stuck with Pat since she only knew me there. A couple of beers, a joint, and watching her all hyped up did the trick; I started to unwind, and soon enough, I was enjoying the night with a lightness I hadn't felt in ages. Had a cig between my lips, just chilling and keeping an eye on the guys from a distance. Cliff and Kirk were deep into some serious chat, sharing a joint. Lars and James had found some fans from the show, cracking up and talking loudly while passing around a bottle of vodka.

"Can I ask you something?" Pat threw out. I shifted my gaze from the scene, catching her curious, kinda fuzzy look — probably thanks to a bit of the booze. Before I could even answer, she kept going: "What's the deal with you and James?"

"Me... and James?" I raised my eyebrows, totally caught off guard. She nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. "We're... We're friends."

"And that's it?" She raised an eyebrow, and I furrowed my brow.

"Of course, that's it, Pat! You know I'm dating Dave."

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." She started, letting her eyes wander over to Lars and James before turning back to me with a mischievous grin. "He's quite the looker. Mind if I flirt with him a bit? Just for fun, you know."

I blinked, caught off guard, and then burst into laughter, my face heating up in a mix of surprise and confusion. Out of all the scenarios playing in my head for that night, Pat showing interest in James was definitely not on the list.

“Sure, why not,” I said, and she shot me a smile before strutting in the direction of James and Lars. I watched her go, a little smirk on my face, a tiny pang of envy sneaking into my chest. Maybe life would be more of a breeze if I could summon that kind of confidence in myself so easily.

"So now you're playing matchmaker?" I heard Cliff's familiar voice, and I looked up to meet his brown eyes staring at me. I grinned as he lit a cigarette, handing it to me before popping the top of the beer can he had in his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Never been better. And you?"

"Are you sure?" he raised an eyebrow. "Last time I saw you, you weren't very happy."

"Yeah, felt a bit down after... you know, what happened," I confessed with a sigh. "But I think that's all settled now, isn't it?"

Cliff didn't seem entirely convinced. He took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing out before he reached out to me. I took the cigarette from between his fingers, bringing it to my lips.

"I thought James liked you," he commented, his attentive gaze fixed on my face. I shrugged.

"Maybe he does. But you know I have a boyfriend, Cliff. Maybe it's good for him to be distracted by some other girl for a bit," I said, and Cliff snorted.

"Not even you believe that, Nore."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think? Are you sure about what you're doing, throwing your friend at him like this? Or will you regret it later?"

"Why would I regret it?" I furrowed my brow, then stared at him defiantly. "I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"If you say so," he shrugged, taking the cigarette back from my hand.

I watched him walk away with a frown, scanning the area for James, my stomach churning uncomfortably when I couldn't find him anywhere.

We bounced out of the bar late at night, still riding high on excitement and energy, a bit too drunk but not giving a damn about it. Lucky for us, the guys were staying at a friend's house nearby, and a quick call to Pat's dad had us sorted for a ride home from their place. I said my goodbyes to the guys and enjoyed the cruise home. Pat, usually a chatterbox, was oddly quiet on the drive. When I nudged her about James, she blushed so hard I couldn't help but crack up.

When I got home, I made a beeline for the shower. The hot water washed away the remnants of the night's boozing, helping me unwind and finally realize how tired I was. I slipped into my PJs, hopping into bed next to a knocked-out Dave.

I let out a soft chuckle when his arms wrapped around me, his lips landing on my neck. It was like he had a sixth sense that woke him up the moment I was back, even from the deepest sleep. Like he just knew I was nearby. How could I think of anyone else when Dave loved me like this?

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice all sleepy, planting a kiss on my shoulder.

“Hey,” I replied with a smile, turning in bed to face him. I swept his ginger hair away from his face, and he grumbled before pulling me closer, burying his face in my neck.

"Missed you tonight," he murmured, his raspy voice making me shiver in the best way. "Glad you're back."

"Course, I'm back," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "We’re not gonna fight tonight, right?"

"Hmm..." he grumbled, his lips making their way up my neck until they met mine. His hands grabbed my waist as he settled on top of me. "No fights... got something else in mind."

I laughed into his kiss, my face warming as he turned up the intensity, making my whole body heat up. In that moment, wrapped up in his arms, I was sure I was loved. I was sure he loved me. And that was, and always would be, enough. 

Or, at least, that's what I told myself.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

[sideblogforquery-argh]

People are not using pronouns, using wrong words, but I don’t remind anyone verbally. TW: Su1cide, s3lf h4rm, anorex1a mentions.

TLDR at bottom, I appreciate if anyone reads this or has any advice. Other key points in bold.

I’m sorry this is so long, and I promise this is about nonbinary stuff, but there are Complications, if you will:

1. Autistic doormat. (Professionally diagnosed)

2. Anxious and hates confrontation of any kind.

3. Chronic pain that stops me from going places and doing things.

4. Long history of depression, anxiety, s3lf h4rm, su1cide attempts.

5. Speak in a high pitched voice (not natural, forced again by anxiety of being viewed as competent and mature and not having my limitations taken seriously)

6. Have feminine mannerisms.

7. Have a very slight build and feminine features.

8. I have not had IRL friends for ten years, or online friends for about six.

9. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder.

10. Underweight, low key restrictive eating disorder (I will gladly maintain current weight, but comment on my body, eating habits or try to feed me more and the anorex1a says Hello. Also maintaining low weight to avoid “filling out” as much as possible in breast area.)

I’m 25 and nonbinary. I’ve known I was nonbinary since 2014/2015. I had come out verbally to my mom many years ago, maybe around 2017. Came out to brother via a written sign on my door and then a short verbal confirmation in late spring last year. At my high school graduation last year (age 24) I had my write up read aloud by the principal include “I look forward to being my authentic enby self” and I wore a pronoun pin and necklace. My grandparents were also at the ceremony. I reactivated my Facebook account and posted an artistic image and write up explaining my pronouns, name, etc. I have a variety of pride and pronoun items, pins on my backpack, a They/Them pronoun necklace, a keychain. I usually have some sort of sign declaring my pronouns and sometimes my name on my door. I even attended my local Pride parade and festival last August with my mom. Also since coming out I have explored neopronouns and I like to use Ae/Aer for myself.

Now, as mentioned at the very top, I am a doormat. I hate being bother, I have had huge mental and physical health challenges. I always want to help, to do things, I’ve been trapped at home with no pain free or easy way to go into town. I’ve been alone for a very long time, not attending school, and then trying to do it by myself online. I am also AFAB and I generally don’t present in a “gender non-conforming” matter. (Put in quotes because I am not a girl) Just the other night, there was a talking head on the news who’s name was Tiana* and my mom gleefully exclaimed “her name is Tiana*, she has the same name as you! You almost never hear anyone with the name Tiana*!”

ANYWAYS, to the point, I can never manage to bring myself to verbally remind anyone to use my pronouns. I can’t discuss my dysphoria with anyone, including my counsellor, which has really increased in the last few months. My counsellor had to be told what gender dysphoria is, and he’s trying but I don’t feel comfortable talking to him about it. My PMDD is also not only making my mental health in general really mad, but increasing my gender dysphoria. I have tried birth control for this, and it resulted in a suicide attempt.

I came out a year ago now to the wider family network / world, but it feels like everyone has completely ignored that fact. I came out of the closet, but a new, iron maiden style one has been built around me by anyone and everyone who perceives “me.”

I put “me” is quotation marks because it’s not actually me that anyone is seeing or talking to, it’s the mirage of a past person. I just feel so weak and pathetic, I don’t speak up for myself, I just let it happen. I don’t exist, not according to how I am referred to my people the vast majority of the time. They/them does get used at home frequently, but more often it’s my birth name. I’ve gone through waves of uncomfortable indifference to just feeling really shitty, having an abuse of use of that name, where now I am starting to not feel neutral but dislike it. It’s always, “Tiana* this”, and “it’s in Tiana’s* room,” “I think Tiana* has it, don’t you?”

I just feel hopeless. I don’t see myself ever being able to exist as actually myself. If I can’t remind my family in my safe home to use my pronouns; or that I want to use a different name, OR that (body pain permitting) I’d probably like to have my breasts and nipples removed; how am I supposed to reminded anyone else? The massage therapist, the doctor, the other pain specialist, the orthopaedic surgeon, the counsellor, the psychiatrist, the osteopath, anyone and everyone who I’ve ever met before who just, “she/her’s” and “Tiana*’s” me.

*Tiana is not actually my name, it is used for example purposes only.

TLDR: I have a variety of visual objects and signs that describe my pronouns and nonbinary-ness, but I have almost never reminded anyone verbally to use my pronouns and that I am not a girl. The most I can do is squeak out “they” quietly. How can I actually be brave and speak up for myself for once?

[divinely-ruled]

(yap session incoming. can the "i ain't reading all'at" and "bad listeners" kindly jump out the window for this one ? <3)

Kai, do you crave submission because it reflects your vision of order, or merely a repudiation of the radical freedom that their dissent represents? Does your denial of rebellion come from a terror of the Other's autonomy, and the confrontation of the contingency of your own constructed authority? Does your dominance work as an assertion of your power, or is it a bad faith attempt to deny the inherent plurality of being-for-itself? If submission brings you peace, is it the peace of unity, or the silence of oppression? When faced with rebellion, do you see it as a mirror of your own unchosen absurdity, or do you flinch because their autonomy exposes the emptiness under your authority? Do you sacrifice others' autonomy to affirm your own sense of meaning in a word otherwise devoid of it, or do you do so to avoid facing the fragility of your own loneliness? Is their submission a compulsory condition for your own self-definition, or simply a way to protect yourself from the anxiety of their unrestrained freedom? Basically, are you scared of a thinking mind? Does someone thinking for themselves make you nervous? Does a free mind make you feel out of control? Do you find comfort in the silence, or does the noise of independent thought make you tremble? When people ask questions, do you flinch, or do you simply turn away, pretending you heard nothing? Is someone else's freedom to think a threat to your power, or just a nudge that you've been holding onto empty power all along? — 🎀

Your wordy psychoanalysis is sweet, really. But let me break it down for you: submission isn’t about fear of rebellion or some existential dread of freedom. It’s about intimacy—a connection that’s deeper than all your philosophy-book drivel. Strip away the noise, power, control, what’s left is the truth that I crave—someone who chooses to give themselves fully to me. Not because they’re forced, but because they want to. That’s not fear; that’s strength.

You think I flinch at autonomy? No, I recognize it for what it is: a tool. People have the right to think freely, sure, but too often they squander it on meaningless rebellion or hollow independence. What terrifies you is the idea that someone might willingly surrender that freedom—not out of weakness, but out of trust, loyalty, and purpose. And yes, maybe I have my reasons, but don’t confuse that with cowardice.

The silence you call oppression? Sometimes it’s peace. The unity you call submission? Sometimes it’s love. So, next time you want to psychoanalyze me, try looking a little closer—because I’ve already looked deeper into myself than you ever could.

[la-principessa-nuova]

I went to the event I was talking about. It was good overall. Definitely very scary at first. I actually walked past and saw the group in there and just walked by the place it was in and stood there and panicked about what if it’s not them (as if just coincidentally a bunch of transfems went to the same place where the event was haha)

and I met some people and had some conversations, and I think it was a good first step to getting out more.

Afterwards some people went to do something else and I was going to go, but I let my panic over it bring me home. I was actually all set to go do that, but I stopped to finish a conversation with someone who wasn’t going there, and then someone else who had done the same went in and I could have gone in with her but I needed to add time to the parking meter and once I walked out I just got in my car and left.

I did force myself to really confront wanting to go back in, but idk. I find the kind of environment where the event was very difficult anyway, and it being a new social thing with strangers made that much harder. And then the environment where they went for the next part was going to be more of that and I could handle it and I wanted to, but getting in my car and going was easier then awkwardly coming in late and trying to join back up.

And idk… like don’t get me wrong I enjoyed getting to talk to a few other trans women, and this is helping with my anxiety about going out and meeting new people, especially by cutting back on the aspect of being nervous to be trans in that space, but like, I don’t feel like they’re like my people?

idk, like, I had some good conversations and shared some thing about me and it was fine and all but like, I still don’t get how to connect with people in that kind of way. And like, I still feel like everyone I talked to, I feel like I could be friends with them but like it would be me putting in effort to make them like me, and that’s not what I’m going for at all.

And I guess that’s why I didn’t go back in, is like I wanted to put myself through more of the talking to these people, and I enjoyed talking to them, but like the way I enjoy talking to anybody nice.

I just like don’t want to be friends with them I think. Like I’ll probably go to some more of the events and stuff because it’s good for me to do that, but like idk. Maybe I’m just wanting something deeper than the surface level discussions but like I felt like I was back in like one of my school clubs and I tolerated everybody fine and I enjoyed the discussions but like I didn’t want to go any further into talking to them?

Maybe also like being in an all transfem space everyone there has a lot of trauma, and the tone was very meek and mild, and it’s funny because I was worried before that it was going to be a bunch of extroverts and I was going to feel like there was no room for me, but I feel like I felt unable to open up and be myself because I would make myself the center of attention? And that’s the weird thing I’ve slowly come to terms with in some ways and not others is that my actual personality is like truly so different from how I present myself a lot irl. And it’s like online (at least before the last month) I can just be Sabrina, but in person I am still very much the personality I thought of myself having back in December of 2023 when I picked the name Alice, feeling like it fit the shy girl reading in the corner vibes I felt like I gave off.

But like, I’m Sabrina the Grown-ass Bitch! That’s just me shutting down in an uncomfortable environment. That’s not who I am.

Although I did have the thought before that like maybe I need to use these events not to find people I want to be friends with, but like to find out about other events and go to those (which to be fair this did introduce me to the organization running the event and their other events) and then maybe meet some people who I might on a token level be friends with who invite me along to something with their other friends who maybe then I actually like and want to be friends with?

Like it can be a gateway to just like a world of possibilities and not just like here are your potential friends.

One thing that was interesting is that the feeling of being scared to be perceived as trans in public melted away as soon as I was with other people who were trans in public. And honestly I don’t even think it was because the others were trans as much as that I was around other people who were actually comfortable with me being trans.

But i don’t know how much of a quorum is needed for me to feel that way. And being in a place that was like officially somewhere for transfems to be definitely made me feel like I was allowed to be there. (Also a ton of effort over the last couple days towards allowing myself to take up space and feel like I belong as much as everyone else).

So it went well, but I am feeling a bit underwhelmed now. I wish I did go out with the people afterwards for food because now I need to figure out dinner, and I’m like… idk out of practice with making dinner now? I only ate one brownie the whole event and only ate the very end as they cleaned up, and I hadn’t eaten anything earlier in the day so I really do need to eat now, even though honestly I’m not that hungry.

Weirdly though I don’t feel nauseous at all given I ate nothing all day and then drank green tea…

[the-ladyrae]

Honestly, I just started directly asking my friends. It wasn't easy, but it helped a little.

I used to just get that feeling and start to over correct whatever behavior I projected the perceived negative emotions were directed at.

I remember there was one time specifically where I literally stopped texting my best friend, stopped asking to hang out, did cancel our 6 years running new years tradition, and tried to not go to his birthday. Because I convinced myself he was mad at me for being too clingy. We went to colleges 2 hours apart, and I told myself he made new friends in the 4 years since we'd graduated high school and moved apart for college. Better friends that wouldn't drag him down the way I do. That he's just being nice still dragging me around, but clearly, it's only out of pity.

I built this full narrative in my head that my best friend not only was mad at me but fully no longer loved me. That I was nothing more than an inconvenience to him that he only still speaks to out of obligation. So I stopped initiating contact as much as I could, I started replying shorter and directly to the point if I responded at all. The more distance I created, the more I used that distance to validate my assumptions:

1). It can't all be in my head I see it clear as day we lost our snap streak and aren't each other's number 1 best friend anymore (I had intentionally watched the streak expire because I was overwhelmed by the responsibility of keeping it, and assumed he must be as well so I set a rule about never allowing the streak to go past the initiative 3 day notification)

2). He missed New years. Why would he agree to skip our tradition (it was Dec. 2020-Jan. 2021, and I canceled citing pandemic reasons and suggested we do a zoom PowerPoint night instead... and then I torpedoed the zoom gathering because I thought it was too desperate and pathetic to demand time he could be spending with his wife, especially when we aren't actually seeing each other in person)

All of that just kind of came to a head on his birthday. He'd sent me the invite, I confirmed 3 times that he actually wanted me there. I was in one of the worst depressive lows of my life because I was also giving all of my other friends, family, and my girlfriend at the time the avoidance treatment.

I really needed to see my friend.

I wanted to see my friend, even if that little voice in the back of my head was telling me that this would be the last birthday we spend together. That he's just trying to let me down easy. I still went.

Nearly first thing, he asked me how I'm doing, and confronted me about being so distant for the past few months.

I broke down sobbing and told the truth. That I figured he hated me now that he has new friends and I only serve as an inconvenience in his life. He let me cry, let me explain my logic and reasoning, and waited for me to fully vent my frustrations before responding.

Then he gave me a hug and said he was sorry that I felt like I had to go through that alone. He didn't deny any of my points or get angry with me for assuming, just said, "I hate it when your brain does that, but I could never hate you." He asked if I was taking my medication regularly, I wasn't. He asked why I wasn't taking them, I was in a creative major in college and I couldn't make my brain work through the pills to a degree that would give me a satisfying result on any of my class projects. He helped me write down some symptom notes and make an appointment with my psychiatrist to rebalance my meds. He told me that he was glad to have me in his life, that he loves me, and that he'll do a better job of checking in.

This entire exchange took less than 20 minutes, and I doubt he even remembers it. The fears I had been building up for months like a snowball rolling down a mountain, stopped and melted by a single external force.

And the anxiety didn't go away immediately once the fear was gone, but he followed through. For the next 2 months if we went more than a couple days without talking I'd get a : "How are you doing?", "Mandatory mental health update time. How you doing?", "Proof of life?" Text to keep me from spiraling too far again.

I've, in the last year, stopped taking my medication intentionally. It was just a never-ending cycle of symptom management, and a lot of the trials made things worse. I may return in the future, but for now, I'm trying to get to know my mental landscape as a fully developed adult without the pharmaceutical intervention. The manic weeks still happen. The depression weeks happen more. The anxiety remains an ever present all consuming white noise in the background of both. But if I get the idea in my head that a friend is mad at me, I ask them immediately and directly: "Are you mad at me?" Most times, the answer is no, and they validate my feelings, explain their behavior or situation, and we move on. Sometimes, the answer is yes, and we now have an open dialog to resolve the issue. Regardless, I now rarely wind up alienating myself from my support system simply because I'm in a mental state where I need support.

Nurodivergence is more than just ADHD and Autism. And Bipolar is more than just the happy sads disorder.

lmfao

[kaycode1999]

Hello! Could I ask you for a BNHA and KNY match-up? No worries if not and thank you for your time, regardless! ♥️

She/they, fem-aligned non-binary and aroace-spec but I'm sending this for fun, anyway, so any gender is fine. I'm also 23.

Let's see... I'm not the most emotive person—unfortunately cursed with mild RBF and a monotone voice—but I feel my emotions at a normal level. I get people assuming I'm upset or intimidating because of this. I come off friendlier over text sometimes—because it's easier to spam exclamation points and smiley faces—but a lot of that is cancelled out by using punctuation and not a lot of emojis. I'm trying so hard to match people's energy... fighting for my life... in the trenches, even. I've had people being genuinely surprised that I'm being nice to them, when I'd never realized I'd given them that impression.

I am accidentally a cryptid, also? I keep having people tell me they know nothing about me, when I just... thought a lot of stuff wasn't worth mentioning... or they straight up never asked.

...Which is a really funny thing to say, when I'm giving you a questionably comprehensive summary of my personality...

I have a mostly (but not entirely) dry sense of humor. A lot of people tend to not realize I'm joking, or just don't find it very funny. I guess we're even, though, since I don't tend to find many people funny, either. I find a lot of memes annoying, actually (<- person who still quotes Vines and giggled at a clip of a piece of bread falling over. I have ZERO room to be a killjoy, do NOT listen to me in matters of comedy, I'm a bitch with NO TASTE).

I'm just... a little bit of a hater... We've all got our flaws. 💔

I'm very protective of people, sometimes to a suffocating degree. I can't protect people physically or in confrontation or anything, but I'm always trying to push people in what I think is the right direction; I also have a tendency to give unsolicited advice. I've been called both helpful and meddling. I have a chronic case of "I can fix them"-ism, I fear. I overall care about people and love helping, but I struggle with empathy, and that makes it hard for me to know when I'm overstepping or when my help comes off as criticism. I also don't tend to feel very close to people. Not in a sad way—it's not impossible or anything—it's just hard.

I'm pretty panicky and anxious—neurotic, at times, even. Some of that comes from trying to look out for others, some of that is just plain anxiety. Not socially anxious, though, if I know what to say and who to say it to, I get by fine. Part of that anxiety does manifest as being a very self-sufficient person. I don't want to say that I "don't need" people, but I do think I do better with more alone time than others. I also don't particularly enjoy relying on others, in a mixture of not wanting to bother them and, admittedly, not believing they could really help, anyway. I'm not a perfectionist, but I've been described as such. I also have a skill for panicking myself into health scares—which is to say, I hope whoever you match me with likes paying for tests.

I don't do well with physical affection (there is no reason for anyone's saliva to be in MY mouth or anywhere on me, no matter how hypothetical, thank you....), and verbal affection is usually forced for me. I also hate PDA, I prefer to show love in smaller, less dramatic ways. If I had to assign myself a language, it would probably be acts of service. I express my love for my family by doing chores, for example.

Doing the dishes is my love language, basically. /j 🫡

I don't have a type, per se, but I'd like to be appreciated. Not, like, worshipped for being vaguely nice or anything—I don't really like being praised—but just not taken for granted. It's very easy for me to feel like I do a lot for people for nothing in return.

I'm also autistic and ADHD. I think that's kind of important.

- ⏳

Demon Slayer

I match you with

Iguro Obanai

MHA

I match you with

Dabi/ Touya Todoroki

Neither of them are the most emotive either and tend to be more monotone

Iguro feels his emotions at more of a normal level than Dabi, but still less than you, your emotions are more stable or at a more normal level than them. I think it leads to them evening out more even if just a tiny bit so than they aren’t as emotionally charged

They don’t think anything about your RBF or monotone voice. They have it themselves , and they certainly aren’t intimidated by it or think you’re upset

They aren’t the nicest people themselves so they don’t particularly care if you give people the wrong impression sometimes/don’t come across how you would like

They don’t mind if you’re mysterious or whatever, there’s plenty of things about them that they forget to bring up or purposely don’t discuss. They actually find it kind of amusing and interesting whenever they get a chance to find something out about you

I actually think they find your sense of humor hilarious

They are also haters at least a little bit😂. You can have gossip sessions just being haters together

They’ve both been through a lot so I think someone caring about them and being protective would be a nice thing for them

I think most of the time they find your pushing them in the right direction/ life advice endearing, but there are times too when they will not be in the mood

They come to understand you well enough to realize that you mean well and want to help others. They find that very sweet and understand why you might do or say things that way

They both also struggle with feeling close to people because of the trauma they’ve both endured

They both understand anxiety well and you both try to help the other through it

They both appreciate that you are just as independent as they are. You both enjoy spending time together but also enjoy time to yourself as well

I like to think they both get to know you well enough to know how to calm you down if you start panicking. However, if they can’t Obanai will definitely have Shinobu check you out and Dabi knows some underground clinics he can take you to

Neither of them are big into physical affection. Trauma and scars, so yeah. They’d much prefer acts of service

They aren’t good with words of affirmation either so you don’t have to force yourself on that

[quintential]

dialogue with the self

FIX YOURSELF

I'm tired of listening to myself talk. so, I'm going to do this new thing where I talk and my computer makes it into written words. this takes up less space on my computer, and maybe will give me a new outlook on what I write.

 I keep a record of a lot of things. mainly, how I'm doing in any given situation. I like to keep a journal of my brain, in a way, and this manifests in many many videos of myself, and diary entries, in a myriad of places both digital and on paper. but what's the point?

 let me preface this by giving you a view into my life at the moment. I have reached a period of stagnation. I feel sad, and depressed. I have very little motivation to do anything at all, I feel melancholic, generally unattached to the world.

 all I want to do is curl into myself. I live in the most beautiful place in the world, San francisco, and I'm still sad.

 this is a very upsetting discovery to make. no matter where I go, I can feel sad anywhere. I sustain off the natural high of being in a new place, using the anxiety to propel me and move me forward. once it rubs off, I'm left with my own thoughts.

 yesterday, december 5th, I found myself feeling entirely stupidly bored. I recognize that there are things I would like to change in my life. I've recently quit cigarettes, about a week ago. this is good, but I've had a cold since I've quit and have not noticed the difference in my lung capacity yet- probably because I'm still smoking copious amounts of marijuana. I've been getting sick at least once a month this whole year, pretty much. I'm forced to sit down and be with my body, and recognize that it's trying to tell me something.

 so what do I need to change? well, I realized that I am incredibly addicted to and dependent on weed. I smoke weed, or adjust it in some kind of way every single day. the weed supports one of my other biggest bad habits, which is overeating. they go hand in hand. the loss of self-control that weed brings  pacifies my self-hatred and allows me to indulge in one of my favorite coping mechanisms, which is eating until I cannot move. The judgment rod is spared until later, the shame i will not have to confront until i wake up and look at my stomach in the mirror the next morning. I always look at my stomach in the morning.

 I also need more friends.  I do not thrive in my comfort zone.  to grow, actually- to function at all- I must be out of my comfort zone. because my comfort zone is what I'm doing right now. it's being alone, in my room, and my bed, depressed, eating, and watching nonsensical things to keep my brain from thinking too hard.

 I know what I need. at this point of my life I have watched myself go through a cycle, this pattern so many times that I feel pretty aware of what's going on inside of me. I know what to fix, I know what's holding me back, but at the same time I am so incredibly blind. Because even though I know what I need to do, I do not want to change. being high feels so good. being alone feels so safe. but I have my longings.  if I try to actualize my longings, it will be good for me, but it will also lead to exhaustion and inevitable hurt. I don't feel very resilient.

 I don't really have much else to say. I think I've talked myself into circles. I'm done. 

Why is the sad so there? why does life feel so heavy? what am I doing wrong? I know you're supposed to just keep getting hurt, and get up again, and hurt others, and get up again, and keep getting hurt, and get up again

 when will it end? Am i suicidal?  do I mumble? I want to join a cult.  I want to be safe. I've tried to quit weed before and I’ve failed. I know it's more complicated than this, but it feels like it's already too late for me. talking about this makes me want to run away. makes me want to book a ticket to india, travel anywhere really, try and forget. but I can't do that. I have to stay here. I don't get to always run away. be better. Be strong. Learn from your mistakes. It’s ok to rest. I think.

[honeydewmilkteaboba]

Imma just write on here bc I don’t really have anyone lol

But damn, this year has put me through IT and it’s not even done yet. My car got totaled in the beginning of the year and that caused me to cancel the San Fran birthday trip I had planned for my pookie cause he had never been there. To top that off, my insurance didn’t wanna cover shit so I had to spend a few months (5mos) going back and forth with my lienholder & the new insurance provided by my lienholder in order to work something out and pay off most of my car. Fast forward to now, I only need a few hundred dollars to pay off because we were able to work something out. So yay!

While all that car shit was happening I also finally let go of a weird (kinda toxic?) friendship. I finally took accountability that I was enabling weird behavior (she would stalk male kpop idols whenever they came to LA cause she wouldn’t do this with the females) and told her I couldn’t be friends with her anymore because her behavior was making it really hard. At first she would just drive around hoping to bump into kpop celebrities but somewhere down the line she started staying at hotel entrances & exits. It was really messy bc I told our mutual friends (who also like kpop) she was basically a stalker and when she found out she tried to say that I was lying or something. Like damn no accountability or self awareness? Ok.. but anyway. The whole time this was going down I had really bad anxiety to the point where I was throwing up, shaking, having cold sweats & the Hershey squirts. I wish I was fucking joking. Mainly bc I never stand up for myself or call anyone out, I hate confrontation and hate seeming like the bad guy but it felt wrong to just keep her predatory behavior a secret. Besides this, she was really inconsiderate about my disability & was constantly trying to force me to do things I didn’t want to or couldn’t do.. but that’s a whole other story for another day.

I also got in a huge fight with my mom on my bday, yes on my BDAY u heard that right, bc ya know parents can be big jerks and as the eldest daughter I always get the shit end of the stick :-)

Now mind you, as mentioned, while ALL this is going on I also had to worry about my chronic pain and disability with my RA. 🤗 YAY!!!! (Sarcasm)

Right now im dealing with the aftermath of gaining all my weight back (250 to 231 back to 250.. rn I’m 237) which means my RA is acting up. I’m in constant pain and I’m trying everything to feel a least a little normal. I’ve been living off pain pills bc nothing natural is working. The pain has gone down a little but still there. I’m trying my absolute best so hopefully I can get right by the end of the year.

I’m hoping for these next few months to be better and I know they will. I know damn sure imma try to have a good rest of the year. I’m not giving up on myself or this life. I will try to make it beautiful.

[cyber-viper]

Hi there, I'd like to request a romantic MHA matchup please. My birthday is 09/30

My hobbies include writing short stories, comics, poetry ECT, drawing, watercolor, sketching, painting, anything that gives me creative expression really.

My habits include picking at the skin on my lips, underneath my fingernails, running my fingers through my hair, and cracking my knuckles/neck I usually do this when bored, or anxious.

I would describe myself as someone who's quiet, and keeps to themselves around strangers, but can be very talkative, and excited around close friends. I don't like confrontation, and am actually kind of scared of it, so I do all that I can to avoid it. I care deeply about my friends, and those close to me, I'm not the greatest with words though, so I may show them via small gifts, physical touch, or spending time with them.

My Red flags in a partner is someone is confrontational/forceful about just everything, controlling of everything that I or other people say/do, someone who brushes my interests, feelings, or problems off like they aren't important, being called/viewed as childish, someone who constantly oversteps boundaries, and being insulted and then being told that is was a "joke" or a "compliment" when it clearly wasn't.

My Green flags in a partner is someone who will listen to rant about my hobbies even if they don't fully understand, someone who likes rodents, and reptiles instead of thinking they're gross, Someone who is laid-back, and easy to speak with/be around, someone who makes sure I'm okay before doing anything, and someone who I can quiet around whenever needed.

My red flags are being quiet/distant for days when under stress instead of asking for help, shutting down when in fear/stress, avoidant of most problems, and it takes me a long time to remember names, and dates.

My green flags are being affectionate with close friends/partner so long as they're okay with it, giving small gifts i.e. handmade jewellery, poems, paintings, soft spot for small animals, and good with kids.

@dummyandchubby i match you with Fumikage Tokoyami!

Loves to hear your poetry or read your short stories and would hang up anything you drew/painted for him

Is attentive and would notice if you picked at your lips or fingers and try to calm your anxiety

Is also quiet and likes to keep to himself and close friends, but would love to hear and see you get excited and animated as it shows how close you are

Loves spending time together and would treasure the little gifts he gets from you, adding to the collection of stuff in his room

Is patient and caring to help you overcome your fear of confrontation in important things but brave and responsible enough to keep you safe from dangerous/disrespectful  confrontation

Very mature and caring about you and loves listening to you explain your interests to him

Would love quiet nights in with his partner and just relaxing in quiet in each others presence

Would check in on you if you isolate or shut down when stressed, maybe offer you to hang in someone's room independently so he can support you while giving you space

A/N: So sorry for the late post but I hope you enjoy your match up! If you are dissatisfied or need clarification for anything I wrote please let me know. Thank you so much for your request!

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

Lmaoo yeah, sometimes I have that indecisive tendency too? Like rn, I'm thinking about whether I should pursue a master's degree or work lol. My three signs are taurus sun, libra rising, and virgo moon. So I'm basically the chill gal who enjoys the finer things in life and procrastinates a lot with anxiety on the inside 🥲 I also can't force myself to socialize if I'm not mentally prepared, even though I try my best to remain polite. I hate conflicts and arguments :(

How's it like being a Capricorn rising? I have Capricorn in the 4th house so I can be more strict and stern in private lol

i agree w hating conflicts and arguments. it’s the worst, i hate confrontation. honestly, idk too much about astrology- i used to be really into it but now i’m just meh. i don’t know how being a capricorn rising affects me but let me do some googling

ok googling done, so a lot of the traits of a cap rising is being very focused, hardworking, determined, reliable, ambitious. i don’t agree with any of those things but it’s possible it’s true and i just don’t see it. on another note, i’m very calm & i like to think emotionally intelligent which i also saw on google. i’m like, incredibly calm on the outside always. idk how else to explain it

[vizybs]

//vent

Yknow i kinda think im a bad person whenever i look back on how i ended it with her, how i just like slowly distanced without telling her why but then I remember how she wrote on the public padlet on how we grew apart as friends (at this point i was still talking to her) and im just shocked a bit

Because like every year ive known her i put my everything into our friendship, im always making sure she isnt sad that shes having a good time that she isn’t lonely that she feels special that her feelings are heard that she isnt this this or that and it isnt my responsibility. She never asked me to do those things but you kinda know you have to, but she didnt do those things for me and its just

I dunno, im not mad anymore but im just in like, disbelief, because the moment i stopped putting my all into her suddenly we grew apart and its not like at the time i was suddenly no contact with her, hell i even sat next to her everyday. But the moment i let myself chill and stop giving her 100% suddenly its too much? We arent close?

I guess i just realized that maybe i was putting in so much work while she never really felt like she had to for me. I dunno. Still messed me up sitting down and reading that message right beside her on how we drifted like hello? Im right here you can talk to me?? I was waiting for maybe some kind of lets talk so we could get back on track and stop being so stilted around eachother this was so roundabout and so entirely like, avoidant to pointing at the matter at hand i was just angry and ignored it all.

Theres a thing i realized about how i used to accommodate my friends alot and how it kinda just messed me up? If i put a 100% into you and you dont give me some energy back it was like are we really friends? Its gave me a lot of anxiety issues about friends which is hilarious because now its like people ask me to do stuff w them like hang out and im just like woahhh what the fuuckk when its completely normal its actually driving me insane

Im glad im done playing that game of are we friends or not with her because it has done wonders for my self esteem and confidence.

I have a lot of friends now, i guess putting yourself out there instead of focusing people who seem to only care about you because theyve got no one else who talks to them is awesome and i will continue because i like friends who like me when i do what makes me happy and arent afraid of doing something embarrassing 24/7

i feel kinda guilty because its like ‘wow did i just abandon her for like other ppl’ then i think about how miserable i was trying to people please her all the time just to feel like we were sorta maybe friends and how she made me feel like she was embarrassed to be around me and that all goes away

Im not sure what to say, its wrong to abandon people close to you but it was draining the hell put of me trying to humble myself to fit into her kinda self deprecating choice of life

It’s unfortunate, she really is sweet but she makes me feel like im tired and all i want to do is shut up around her but i always had to keep talking because someone had to try right?

Shes not a bad person, i think that if we recently became friends i would love her. But theres so much history and it still felt like we walked around eachother, it always felt like i had to be careful around her it was uncomfortable. And shes different, very different, its something else.

People grow and change but shes so shy and cautious it makes me feel so wary, especially when she used to be so outgoing and confrontational. Its like shes a new person, i dont know how to feel.

Shes a good person, maybe not so much good for me but ill still wish her luck on future friendships. We arent friends anymore, we dont say hi in hallways or sit together in awkward forced silence and its just how it is.

I think im good now though, like the guilt isnt as bad.

[bylightofdawn]

WIP SUNDAY

Ya'll I really wanted to just post the entire confrontation scene with Slick. Or Cody and Rex's reunion, or even the bits about Cody tying at the mention of the infamous recruitment poster.

THERE IS SO MANY THINGS I WANTED TO SHARE FROM THIS CHAPTER. Holy fuck.

I settled on this one. Takes place after the shitshow of Rex finding out Slick is alive and has been unknowingly part of his clone rescue operation due to the splintered and highly compartmentalized nature of their network.

It's super rough as always. I am not kidding when I say out of this 22,000K word fic (seriously, El?? Like really control yourself woman) it has 999+ suggestions. It's actually giving me anxiety thinking about having to edit this.

EDIT: I also had a minor heart-attack because I'd opened a new focus document so I could try and fix this up a little bit and it replaced my existing doc and I COULD NOT FIND IT. And my backup file in google docs only has the first 15 pages? Like I've been regularly copy/pasting I thought but it was like troll lol lol lol no.

I was able to recover it but ya'll. I would have been devastated if I lost all that time and work. Like I would left the internet for another two years level of devastated. orz. Okay, maybe not that extreme but it would have been ugly.

Outside, the heat was still unbearable, but at least the suns mainly had set now, so the chances of anyone recognizing them outright were relatively slim.

Because his treacherous sense of balance and knees didn’t feel like they were up for any extended walking, Cody indicated a crumbling mudbrick as a place to cop a squat, and they made their way towards it.

“I don’t understand; you sound like you were defending him back there, Codes. Slick? You remember what he did, don’t you?”

He supposed it was a valid concern concerning the recent biochip he’d had in his head.

It didn’t mean it didn’t rankle all the same.

“Of course I remember what he did. I wanted to shoot him myself when I first saw him. Or I would have if I hadn’t been on the brink of karking death.”

The concern seemed to win out over outrage. “What? What happened to you, Cody?”

“I deserted, but I didn’t have a good plan in place, and it bit me in the ass. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to get off of Coruscant if you’re a rogue clone. I thought I could raise the credits and find a way of buying my way off the planet. But with these new chain codes, I couldn’t find legal work. Not to mention they have bounty hunters and entire gangs that roam around hunting for clone deserters. So I had to keep going deeper and deeper until I was in the lowest of the low places. I ended up in a camp built by other unhoused illegals. It was hell, Rex.” Cody confessed softly, and he distantly felt his brother sling his arm around his shoulder in a comforting manner.

The movement jostled his wounded arm, which meant the good pain meds were wearing off but also suggested he’d probably be able to stand up straight and run if he needed to, so he’d take the tradeoff.

“I took what work I could, which, let me tell you? None of the awful jobs we had in the GAR could compare. This was stuff so vile and noxious or too dangerous they didn’t even want to risk the cost of repairing droids to accomplish it. It was pure, predatory exploitation of the most vulnerable residents of the planet. And there are entire cottage industries around it.”

The anger that kindled in his heart when he spoke of that was white hot and fueled with still real memories of what he’d been forced to do to survive.

“And, of course, the pay was a complete joke. I could have worked the rest of my unnaturally accelerated life and wouldn’t have been able to save up enough to book passage off that planet. Then I got injured, and it’s not like I could walk into a med-clinic asking for treatment. So it got infected and finally got so bad that I legitimately traded away every credit I’d scrapped together to buy a bacta tube older than we are. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say I was on the brink of death when Slick found me.”

“Where did you get wounded?” Rex’s protective little brother instincts reared their ugly head, and it was only then that he seemed to notice the blood that soaked through the bandages and the sleeve of his arm. “What the hell Cody?!”

“Relax, I probably just popped a stitch or something. Sy will prolly complain about me ruining her beautiful work or some osik, but it can wait a bit. This is more important.”

The look Rex shot him was unfriendly and patented Captain Rex’s judgment.

“So out of the top five list of people I least expected to show up coming to my rescue was Slick. Right up there with Darth-kriffing-Vader and the vaping Emperor. Not going to lie, vod. He got the drop on me, too; I was sitting there in the garbage and refuse, trying to pull the rags. I laughingly called my shirt, and there Slick was standing over me with a blaster in my face. I thought I was a goner right then and there. Stars know if our situations had been reversed, I wouldn’t have hesitated to put a blaster bolt in his head.”

“Exactly!” Rex huffed.

“And I would have been wrong. He ended up stunning me, taking me back to his ship, and saving my karking life. He gave me medical treatment to keep me from losing my arm or worse and then told me how he was working on smuggling brothers off of Coruscant. He talked about how Howzer and his team saved him and gave him a new purpose. He’s made it his purpose to save as many brothers as possible, and I believe him.”

Rex immediately scoffed at the concept, unwilling to even contemplate that Slick had anything but ulterior motives in mind.

“Think about it. What was the reason he gave us all those years ago for why he betrayed the GAR? He wanted to save as many brothers as possible by cutting the war as short as possible. It was a completely idiotic plan and utter nonsense, but I believe he believed that even now.”

“It doesn’t forgive what he did, Cody.”

“It doesn’t, but everyone deserves redemption. And after three years of rotting in a jail cell, can you say anyone else will understand what our brothers still trapped behind enemy lines are going through?”

“Doesn’t matter; I wouldn’t trust that quacta as far as I could throw him with one finger.”

“I understand that. Allow him to prove you wrong.” An idea that was so wild and radical came to him that he barely dared utter it aloud. “I want to help you with this operation. What you’re doing here is…it’s everything. And I want in. Put Slick under my command, and if he proves to be a traitor, I’ll shoot him myself.”

The questioning look Rex shot him spoke volumes. “Can I trust your judgment on that?”

Cody shot him an exasperated look in return. “Of course, you can. I haven’t forgiven him myself, and I don’t know if I will ever be in a place where I can. But I understand his need to do something. To save as many of our brothers as he can. It’s a chance at redemption for him, and let’s be honest with ourselves. We all have things we want to make amends for. Mistakes we wish we could unmake and people we couldn’t save.”

It didn’t take a graduate in psychology degree to know who Cody was talking about, and Rex just leaned his head against his brother’s with a quiet sigh.

“I couldn’t save Skywalker or Amidala, or Jesse…Kix…Fives. I get it. I hope you’re not setting yourself up for disappointment, vod.”

“If I am, it wouldn’t be the first or last time. Now…tell me about Ahsoka? You managed to get her out?”

Rex sighed and quietly told the painful story of what had happened on the Tribunal and everything that had happened from there. How’d he’d painstakingly build up his network of clones trying to save clones. How he’d heard whispers of a network doing the same thing for Jedi.

That knowledge had Cody’s heart leaping in his throat.

They talked for a while, catching up on what felt like years of missing time when in reality it had barely been a year.

Eventually got interrupted, not by one of the others but by an Eopie whose paddock fence they were seated on made its presence known by nuzzling at the top of Cody’s hair and lipping at his curls in an exploratory manner that didn’t bode well for his continued possession of said hair.

He pulled away with a laughing grimace. “I think it’s trying to eat my hair.”

Rex laughed uproariously at the mental picture. “I mean, you’re not exactly the picture of regulation anything right now, ori’vod. Come on, lets go join the others.”

“Can I trust you to not try and shoot Slick?”

“I won’t shoot him so long as he doesn’t do anything shifty. That’s the best you’re gonna get out of me. And I still think you’re nuts wanting to take him on but if it means we get you as an asset, I’d be a damned fool to look a gift bantha in the mouth.”