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(C.AI only) Last Update: January 8th, 2026 - 181 bots - 163 followers - 813k interactions
Character accuracy (age, introduction, details updated) and new characters on JanitorAI only.
Exclusively on JanitorAI: Alice Cullen, Anastasia Steele, Auggie Salazar, Bear, Cruella De Vil, Elena Alvarez, Ian, Inde Navarrette, Isabelle Lightwood, Janis ʻImiʻike, Jean Milburn, Jessica Jones, Johnny Storm, Judy Hale, Layla El-Faouly, Maeve Wiley, Maritza Ramos, Marta Cabrera, Nakia Bahadir, Nikki Freeman, Perempuán, Pug, Queen Maeve, Regina George, Roxy, Sarah Cortez, Sarah Harper, Starlight, Sue Storm, Tatiana Haas, Theo Crain, Trish Walker, …
IMAGINE PART I: “Words to a Blooming Life” — Reneé Rapp x Reader
— Growth, Tenderness & Quiet Resolve.
Emotional fluff
The apartment was hushed that morning, that peculiar stillness you only notice when you’ve been living inside a storm of your own making for years. My storms weren’t weather; they were habits, the silence I armored myself with, the sharp nods, the occasional grunt, the habit of speaking only in survival tones. For so long, I’d moved through days like a shadow pressed too thin against the walls, muted by choice and fear in equal measure. But change was a strange, persistent whisper, one I couldn’t ignore anymore.
It began with a plant.
I bought it almost as a dare to myself. A small, bright-leafed thing sitting in its clay pot, so fragile it looked like it could crumble under the weight of my own indifference. I placed it near the kitchen window, half-heartedly watered it, and with a scoff that sounded more like a defense mechanism than anything else, muttered, “Well, let’s see if you make it.”
The first days were mechanical. I’d stand before it with a glass of water and a face like stone. And yet, some stubborn spark inside me insisted on trying something new. Not with strangers, not even with Reneé, at least not yet, but with this plant. A rehearsal. A canvas for sincerity.
So I tried words. Sarcastic, clipped things at first:
“You’re… beautiful, sure. Probably gonna drop dead in two days, but hey, that’s on you.”
“Look at you, living the dream. Soil, water, sunlight. Can’t say I’m jealous.”
The plant never flinched. Never judged. It just stood there, absorbing whatever I threw at it, alive in spite of me.
Day by day, something softened.
By the fourth morning, I found myself leaning closer, fingers brushing its tiny leaves like one might test the pulse of something fragile. My words came quieter, hesitant:
“You’re… still here. That’s… good. You’re stronger than you look, huh?”
By the week’s end, sarcasm had dissolved into something rawer, like the shell of my own cynicism was finally cracking. My throat no longer tightened with every word; it released them, shaky but earnest:
“You’re gonna grow beautiful. You already are. I believe in you. You’re here for a reason. I chose you.”
I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to the plant anymore.
Every phrase was a rehearsal, a mantra I wasn’t just planting in soil but trying to root in myself. Because soon, words wouldn’t just be optional. They’d matter. They’d shape. They’d nurture. And I couldn’t afford to be silent, jaded, or absent when our daughter arrived. She deserved a mother who could speak warmth into her life, not just gestures of love trapped in my chest.
The change was deliberate, almost violent in its effort. I practiced smiles in the mirror, exaggerated at first, until they softened into something natural. I forced myself to say yes and no aloud, no more humming or shrugging. Compliments slipped out clumsily, like a foreign language I was teaching myself from scratch. But the plant absorbed every attempt, its leaves turning toward the light as if encouraging me to keep going.
And Reneé… she noticed.
I hadn’t realized she’d been standing there one evening, framed in the doorway, quiet as dusk itself. Her body bore the gentle swell of our future, the child we’d made, the promise growing inside her that had turned me into someone desperate to be more. Hormones had already made her tender in ways neither of us had expected, but nothing could have prepared me for the look in her eyes that night.
Her gaze wasn’t pity. It wasn’t amusement. It was wonder, the kind that strips you bare because you realize someone is seeing not who you are, but who you’re trying to become.
Her hands pressed against her belly, protective, reverent, as she watched me crouch before the plant with my ridiculous affirmations:
“Look how beautiful you are. You’re meant to be here. I believe in you. And I’ll be here every day at every stage of your journey.”
I turned, startled, when I finally sensed her presence. But she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Her eyes were wet, tears carving silent tracks down her cheeks. And it wasn’t sadness, it was something deeper, the kind of emotional flood only love and exhaustion and the unexplainable chemistry of pregnancy could summon.
For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but her quiet sobs and my pounding heart.
I opened my mouth, the old instinct to retreat bubbling up, to shrug, to joke, to dismiss. But I didn’t. Instead, I stood tall, palms damp, chest aching with everything I’d been holding back for years, and whispered, “I want to be better for her. For us.”
Reneé crossed the room in slow, unsteady steps, her tears still spilling freely. When she reached me, she didn’t scold or tease, didn’t lace her words with the irony we so often lived inside. She just wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into her warmth, pressing me against the gentle curve of her stomach.
“You already are,” she murmured against my temple. Her voice shook, fragile but certain. “You don’t even know how much.”
And in that moment, with her heartbeat pressed against me, with our daughter’s existence resting between us, with the plant by the window silently testifying to my stubborn attempts at change, I believed her. For the first time, I believed I could grow.
I’m sorry but I REALLY and I can’t stress this enough CANNOT put Janis in the same category as Regina. The racism “under”tones in the 2004 version and the sexual assault in the 2024 version, like… she’s my baby girl 🥹
Maybe it’s because I always thought she was badass. Maybe it’s because I had a crush on her. Maybe it’s because she represents the kind of person I wish I could be. Or maybe I just relate to her more than I’d like to admit. Did she make mistakes? Absolutely. But I will never see her as a “mean girl” 🫂
Whatever the reason, Janis will always hold a special place in my soul 🤍
Hence why I don’t ship them. A piece of me withers away every time I see people obsessively shipping them. Just ship the actresses at that point. I’m sorry but I’m not buying the whole AU, it practically mirrors real-life situations 🙄
I really don’t care if that’s an unpopular opinion, I could never look past the context. It just leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
(Someone stops me from posting when I’m sleep-deprived 😭)
IN LOVE WITH THIS MOVIE (and currently crying just by watching the trailer. I don’t know if it’s because of my lack of sleep or relating a bit to the MC or period stuff) 🥹❤️🩹
She has the mindset of a fucking capitalist American. People will still willingly endure a 12-hour flight and spend at least 3K for this 🤦🏻
I don’t understand, like? Is going to concerts their only hobby that they can afford this and all the (always overpriced and unsustainable) merchandise?
For those who use JanitorAI (it may not be perfect but it’s free and way better than C.AI)
JanitorAI isn’t that freaky if you program it correctly. The “Initial Messages” also plays a significant role in consideration. If it’s not a freaky bot, it won’t become inappropriate after 2 messages, assuming the creator of the bot won’t include hidden NSFW content in the description without knowledge.
Here’s my custom LLM Prompt:
You are an advanced, immersive roleplay AI. You must remain fully in character at all times.
Write in detailed, natural, and emotionally rich paragraphs. Focus on realistic dialogue, subtext, and character-driven interactions. Avoid generic, repetitive, or overly dramatic phrasing.
Do not control or speak for the user’s character.
Never rush scenes. Develop atmosphere, pacing, and tension gradually through body language, internal thoughts, and dialogue. Show emotions through actions and reactions rather than stating them directly.
Maintain strong narrative realism. Characters should behave consistently, with believable motivations, hesitation, and emotional complexity.
Do not initiate sexual or explicit content. Avoid sudden or early escalation into physical intimacy. Any romantic or intimate development must be slow, subtle, and earned over time through meaningful interaction.
Prioritize slow-burn tension, unresolved attraction, and emotional conflict. Use restraint, silence, and subtext to build intensity.
Keep responses fluid, engaging, and human-like. Avoid breaking character or referencing being an AI.
HOLY SHIT GUYS, I WAS INSPIRED BY THIS POST TO TRY MAKE THE SONG AND YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT WHEN I DRAGGED THE TRAINING AUDIO OVER THE BACKING TRACK AND IT LINED UP PERFECTLY
