What's the OC Below Feeling and Why?

Hmm yes. Interesting. The character below is stressed.

Look at my idiot son boldly assuming that Marco doesn't live of 50 cents that he found behind his couch and wouldn't be okay with cuddling for 2 hours straight as long as it means he can spend time with En

(Bless u)

En chewed the inside of his cheek as he nervously stared up at the sky. There were plenty of pretty stars up there, but he couldn't focus on a single one. He wanted to go on another date with Marco, but every time he had an idea, he ran into the same issue: money. If he were still a prince he could have easily brought Marco to the castle, maybe have a long walk with him at the nearby beach, have any kind of food cooked for them. But now? Pathetically, the prince looked down at his open fist, and the five shiny coins staring back at him. Not enough even for a vending machine.
With a groan, En fell onto the ground, his arms spread out and his brows furrowed. His heartbeat was increasing, and it was like each beat sent this chill throughout his body. What if him being unable to provide made Marco not like him anymore?! What if it made him realize that he really WAS what everyone kept calling him: a loser? A loser incapable of anything...
Oorg, this stress wasn't going to let him sleep tonight.

The character below is irritated!

Roswell was irritated all right. His hand dangled outside a partly opened window and he tried to hook his kram behind a pin-and-chain rammed into a hinge, that hept the window from opening. The leidsman pressed himself against the glass. Cooling his cheek. He'd planned that the window would be open and thus providing him with an easy way to get on the (burgled into) house's rooftop. It was the only window in the attic. So he had to stomach up and try. Or get caught. And Roswell didn't like being caught. The delousing-powder they use in prison sting and irritated poor Roswell's delicate skin. No. He wasn't getting caught, not today.

Just a wee bit further, he muttered to himself. Just a wee lil bit… The point of the kram reached the chain and...Slipped. Roswell cursed. Cried, bargained and pleaded. Almost dropping his kram (2 floors down) as a result. But the pin didn't budge.
"Void be damned," Roswell breathed out. He took a deep breath. Closed his eye. Pressed his hand in his chest and tried to feel a connection to this world, to zen out. Tranquility.
Gud, Roswell's blood pressure had lowered a bit. At least it was no longer audible in his ears. Let's try dat again.
He started to swing his kram towards the iron chain again. Missing for a 5th time.
"De Emperor's clipped toenail!".

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the character below me is sad (🚂🚃 toot toot angst train)

Val took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. Pull yourself together, he thought. You can't be seen like this. You have to be strong. But then... "Why? Why can't I stop thinking about him?" He looked down at his shaking claws. "It's been years. Twelve.. god damn years! It's over! He's gone!" Tears welled in the king's eyes. "He's... gone. Damnit, Krobus, why couldn't you have just talked to me? Why did you have to go and-" he cut himself off. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, how his own brother had single handedly ruined his life. "It didn't... have to end like that. I could have helped him. I could have saved him. Surely he's alive, right? I could... I..."

"I just want my baby brother back."

The character below is afraid

Oh, no, Hiraeth thought anxiously. The sky was darkening quickly, with rain beginning to drop in - presumably to say hello. Right. The rain was saying hello, and the clouds were merely greeting it. Yes, that was what it was. Not a thunderstorm at all. Though the poor Soulfox jumped two feet in the air at the first clap of thunder. "No, no, no," he whimpered, cowering to the ground. "Not thunder!" Oh, yes, it was a thunderstorm, and quite a large one.

He took neat, quick little steps down the street, over and past the puddles steadily forming as the rain dropped into them. Hiraeth wondered if the rain was perhaps crying - perhaps the clouds had said something rude? Nevertheless, he was terrified of the thunder, and, murmuring a quick apology and condolence to the rain, he ducked into a shop where he lay curled up, panting, flinching every time the thunder boomed. Gods above, he hated thunder. It was going to be a long night.

The character below me is hangry-

In his home, in his apron, in his paper bag mask, Smiley impatiently stared at the oven currently heating his casserole. His stomach grumbled, as if to pester him about dinner, to which he laid a hand over it more to muffle than comfort.
It was late tonight. Mattie wouldn't be here for another hour because of a meeting with his boss, and Kiddo was steadily getting impatient with dinner. If Smiley had known that there was only milk in the fridge by the time he'd come back from his own job, he'd have brought groceries on the way! But now he had to settle with something he could pick up quickly from the nearest store.
Oh, how frustrating. The only other stronger feeling was his rising hunger. Smiley took a deep breath. "Keep smiling. :)" he chanted under his breath. It'd all be better in about ten minutes.

The character below is happy!

SiLk loves reading the morning papers. It always puts a smile on his face and made him super happy! Sometimes if it was a lucky day. There will be a story written about his favorite ongoing story about this mysterious masked person named Smiley. Though the serial killer scared the shit out of him. He had to admit he was also intrigued... At first SiLk was just straight up terrfied of this being. But now he's invested in their story. And now it somewhat brought him happiness reading about their evil doings. Deep down inside, SiLk was happy that killer hadn't been caught yet. And now he gets to read about the murders in the morning papers! Hey! SiLk isn't a sick man is he? Like most, he just enjoys reading and watching about serial killers... Like them crime documentaries... And today was one of those days Smiley made it on front page news! Wonderful.

The character below is embarrassed.

Their eyes had made contact, one filled with more meaning than anything. An awful, fluttering feeling was rising in Marcus' stomach from the glance the hound dog had given him. Her baby blue eyes mixed with his brown irises, a raindrop landing on a patch of dirt. His cheeks had flared, the woman's snippy attitude in response to his unexpected and he wasn't prepared to have such an interaction. The scowl on his face had turned to awe, though frustratingly warm as he had snorted before walking away. The entire interaction was uncomfortable to him, the awkward state of wanting to be displeased but simply not having the strength to be. If what he experienced was unpleasant, why the butterflies in his stomach? Why the red hot face that left him embarrassed, feeling as if that shell around him had fallen from one interaction with a lady that had more fire than he ever could? He hadn't the time for relationships, he thought while pressing a wet rag against his cheek, angrily looking in the mirror. His brown fur was a tinted pink and his dress shirt felt as if it had turned black in the sun. He needed to leave his firm as soon as he can. And avoid that woman at all costs.

The character below me is puzzled.

Despicable? Out of the thousands of words in the English dictionary, I’m left puzzled as to why you choose that word in particular to describe my hard work. Unethical perhaps, is an arguable description. Not a word I’d use myself, but I wouldn‘t argue at the interpretation. Despicable. Despicable is a strong word, a negative one at that. Do you, find my practices negative? Do you look at my years of work in utter disgust? You poor thing, the strict morality of the world has shielded you from experiencing the pleasure of these things you so call “despicable”. Come with me and I‘ll introduce you to a true world of wonder.

The character below me is feeling hopeful

Quiet. His bedroom was quiet. Despite the TV being on, despite Netflix playing softly, everything was quiet. He was anxious, anticipating a reply, a message on text. Thirty minutes ago he had sent someone one, greeting them with a playful emoji and asking if they were free for the evening. He knew their schedule. Knew that by now, they were shedding their clothes and dressing in a different pair, then checking their phone. 

As his own device chimed out, he felt his heart rise, hope bleeding and bolting throughout his body. It thumped loudly, pulsing his veins as excitement climbed his spine, urging him to grab his phone and check the screen. A reply! From the person he wanted. Joyful! This was exactly how he wished everything would go!

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Character below me is feeling panicked.

Mismatched eyes stared at the rain outside, his eyes a void of any hope as he watched droplet after droplet it the floor below forming small pools which grew inch by inch as the rain continued. He usually love the sound of rain, however today the grey skies only further darkened his already melancholy mood. His family was on his mind and the disaster that took them away from him. Baring his hand into a fist he closed his eyes tightly and bit his lip; tears slowly falling down his face as he did so. 'Mum......dad........I'm so sorry.' He though as he buried his face in his hands and began rocking back and forth.

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The character below me is feeling overwhelmed.

How long has it been since he was bit? Less than a week? 

Huddling beneath an awning, Michael hides his face behind the rim of his mug. Even under the shade, the sunlight forces him to squint and keep his head down. It's awful. He loves the sun! He likes warm weather. But now it's just too bright. It shines off of the windows of the buildings, and the cars, and a passerby's jewelry, another's scales, another's shell, the glint of someone who glows, it's all making his eyes sear. He never asked for this shit. If everything didn't seem like it was trying to reflect as much light as possible onto him, then maybe the noise wouldn't be so bad. 
Which, sure, the city is loud, but it wasn't always THIS loud. Seemingly all at once, he can hear the chatter of a nearby conversation, the roar of the cars and their wheels on the asphalt, the rattling of a baby's carriage, the slap of a skipping rope, the jingle of a bell over a door, the squeak of the hinges as it closes, the clicking of hooves, clattering of claws, slapping of shoes against the ground. There's the smell of someone's morning muffin on the wind, the sweat on the arms of a passing jogger, engine oil left on the street from a leaky car, the rain that came by a day ago, the fresh leather off a new bag, perfume, dog fur, salty skin and all the things underneath; meat, warm blood and- UGH he's being GROSS. Those are people! People!!! Not goddamn food.

This can't even be avoided. He's stuck in the shade until either the sun goes down or someone takes pity and hands him an umbrella. It all makes him want to curl up, screw his eyes shut, and hope he'll be left in a lightless, odorless, soundless world. 

The character below is feeling nostalgic.

The lack of light from the new moon made the world a dark place, Jade could see just fine though as she traversed over to the old, decaying stable behind her mansion. Perhaps her heels hadn't been the best decision because of how they sunk slightly into the wet ground, dewy grass dampening the material of the shoes ever so slightly, but she didn't want to walk barefooted out into the yard.

As she entered the old stable, the first thing that came to her was that it was a shame she couldn't keep it in a nicer condition but she had enough on her hands keeping the mansion clean on her lonesome. The staff had been the first to go when she'd realized what had happened that night. The horses were next. No, they weren't human, but she'd found out that she would still go after them had she been starving and much more often than a human, after all, human blood kept her satisfied for far longer than animal blood did and it would be cruel to keep them and not have enough people to care for them properly. Still it did sadden her to see them go. Even her precious Arabian mare she'd sold.

She could still remember it like it was yesterday, the wheels of their carriage turning on the dirt roads to their new home. Her father had not emigrated them to America until their home was finished. It was truly a grand thing and sat on the outskirts of what would eventually be known as Miami. Her father had been wise with his investments and money and so had his parents before him and it had allowed them to rise in the world. Unknown to her, the country had been repairing itself from a war for the past few decades. It was by no means perfect and this was a new place for her. Her father knew she was scared and upset at having to leave the only home she'd known so he'd had a surprise waiting for her. A gorgeous bright chestnut mare he'd had imported. It was an Arabian horse, he'd told her, known for being loyal and alert. That mare had been her companion during her days of exploring her family's new land and her companion during days spent reading in the cool shade of a tree on a warm spring day. She smiled a bittersweet smile upon seeing the dilapidated roof of the stables above her mare's former stall and gently glided her fingers over the top of the stall door, half coming off its hinges. There was no denying that she missed that little horse but it was for the better, she couldn't risk her only friend from a time when she was alone.

The character below me is feeling jealous.