#Dry Fish processing

[dpradip]

Dry Fish Market in Frazergunj

We are currently at the Fraserganj Dry Fish Market in Bakkhali. This market offers various types of marine dry fish. Behind the market is Lakshipur village, where the primary livelihood is fishing from the river and sun-drying the fish. In the entire Lakshipur village, almost all the houses have bamboo fences for drying fish. Different types of fish, such as shrimp and lote, are being dried in…

[garyfischy]

is anyone else really autistic about the following

-road signs

-emoji food

-food sprites (like those in super smash bros / tomodachi life)

it might be the bright colors or the fun assortment of a variety of things that draws me in. I also have a deep vested interest in reading encyclopedias cover to cover

[fishmealplant]

Supplying High-Quality Fish Meal Drying Machine: The Ultimate Solution for Fish Meal Processing

When it comes to fish meal production, one of the most critical stages is the drying process. Proper drying ensures that the fish meal retains its nutritional value and remains stable during storage. If you're in the market for reliable and efficient fish meal drying machine, understanding the key features and benefits of different drying systems is crucial.

Understanding Fish Meal Drying Machine

Fish meal drying machine, also known as fish meal dryers, are specialized machines designed to reduce the moisture content of fish meal. These machines play a vital role in ensuring the quality and longevity of the final product. Properly dried fish meal not only has a longer shelf life but also retains a higher level of essential nutrients like proteins and oils.

Why High-Quality Fish Meal Dryers are Essential

Optimized Moisture Reduction: The primary function of fish meal dryers is to reduce the moisture content to an optimal level. This prevents spoilage and degradation of the fish meal, ensuring it remains fresh and nutritionally valuable for longer periods.

Energy Efficiency: Modern fish meal drying equipment is designed with energy efficiency in mind. This not only reduces operational costs but also minimizes the environmental impact of the production process.

Consistent Quality: High-quality fish meal dryers provide consistent drying results. This consistency is critical for maintaining the quality of fish meal, particularly in large-scale production environments where uniformity is essential.

Durability and Longevity: Investing in durable fish meal drying equipment is crucial for long-term operation. High-quality machines are built to withstand the harsh conditions of fish meal production, ensuring they remain operational for many years.

Key Features of Our Fish Meal Drying Machine

Our fish meal dryers come equipped with features that cater to various production needs:

High Drying Capacity: Designed to handle large volumes of fish meal, our dryers ensure efficient processing even in demanding production environments.

Advanced Control Systems: Our equipment includes advanced control systems that allow operators to precisely manage the drying process, ensuring optimal results every time.

Corrosion Resistance: Given the harsh working conditions, our dryers are constructed with corrosion-resistant materials, ensuring longevity and minimal maintenance requirements.

Safety Features: Safety is a top priority in our equipment design. Our dryers include multiple safety features to protect both operators and the equipment itself.

Applications of Fish Meal Drying Machine

Our fish meal drying machine is suitable for various applications within the fish meal production industry. Whether you're processing small batches or large-scale production, our dryers can be customized to meet your specific needs. From small-scale fish meal producers to large industrial plants, our dryers are an essential component of efficient fish meal production.

Supplying high-quality fish meal drying machine is essential for any business involved in fish meal production. Whether you're looking to improve the efficiency of your current production line or are setting up a new facility, investing in reliable and efficient fish meal dryers is key to success. Our equipment ensures that your fish meal is dried to perfection, retaining its nutritional value and extending its shelf life.

By choosing our fish meal dryers, you're not only optimizing your production process but also ensuring that your final product meets the highest standards of quality. For all your fish meal drying needs, our equipment provides the perfect solution.

[farmerstrend]

Seaweed Farming in Kenya: A Sustainable Economic and Environmental Boon

Seaweed farming, an age-old practice in parts of Asia, is making waves in Kenya as a sustainable and lucrative economic activity. This nascent industry is transforming the coastal communities of Kenya by offering new economic opportunities, promoting environmental conservation, and contributing to the global demand for seaweed-based products. Photo Credit: Catherine Nduati Seaweeds are a group of…

[avalon-stegodeus]

2005, North America, a man grows up an only child in the suburbs, he gets a cubicle job, he marries his highschool sweetheart, he dies leaving his regrets of a quiet life behind, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

1096, Jerusalem, a man is raised as a devout Christian, he is taught of sins ancient and unforgivable, because of a disagreement between people that he will never see, he is sent into a war for a land not his own, he dies in battle, praying to a God that will never answer, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

2,000,000 BCE, Eurasia, a neanderthal is hunting with his tribe, he maims a young mammoth, taking a mortal wound in the process, his tribe finishes the mammoth off as he bleeds out, he dies surrounded by his kin, knowing that his actions will feed them for days, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

65,000,000 years, continent of Laramidia, a mother Tyrannosaurus and her brood watch the sky turn red with fire, through random chance and blind luck, a disaster far beyond their comprehension ends all life larger than a common rabbit, their skin chars to glass within seconds, without them even knowing they were dying, they rot, and return unto the earth.

273 Million years ago, landmasses are unrecognizable, an amphibian lives its entire life in one pond, a many year long drought has dried it to a puddle, the amphibian looks beyond its shrinking home turned prison, to see nothing but the desert, it dies without finding a mate, never straying far from home even in death, it rots, and returns unto the earth.

400 Million years ago, plants have only just moved on to land, a primitive lobe finned fish stares at an early rooted plant from the shoreline, young and not affixed to the soil yet, the fish defies what it knows, what it has always known, and heaves itself onto dry land, and having consumed the sprout, it returns to the water, having experienced something no other lifeform has ever experienced before, it dies soon after mating, having unknowingly sown the way forward for all life to come, it rots, and returns unto the earth.

500 Million years ago, compound eyes have only just developed, a small trilobite coasts along the sand, searching for edible debris, as it has done for its entire life, a large ratiodont swims by, abducting the trilobite and snapping its exoskeleton open, as the ratiodont consumes its flesh, the trilobites last thoughts are of the shallow nursery it hatched in, and the warm rays of the sun, bringing nutrients of detritus down with it, it rots, and returns unto the earth, as the very detritus it once sought out.

[hyperfixatinator]

Where is the line?

In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.

Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:

What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?

Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.

Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.

The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.

Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.

What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."

The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.

Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.

This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.

In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.

Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.

Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.

But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.

However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."

For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.

Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.

Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?

Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.

Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.

In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.

It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:

Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?

From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.

After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.

But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?

Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.

In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.

Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?

Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.

Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.

In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."

Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?

Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.

What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?

We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.

We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.

Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.

Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.

I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.

Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?

We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.

So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.

Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.

Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.

This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:

"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.

The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!

It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.

Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.

Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.

Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?

That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.

Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.

If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?

You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.

So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!

In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."

Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?

Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?

What changed?!

Where does Tim draw the line?

I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.

Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.

That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!

In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.

It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.

"I believe in every choice I make!"

Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.

Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!

Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?

[blaire-apricity]

Rainy Encounters

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

The rain wasn't heavy, but the light drizzle was enough to make you seek shelter under the awning of a nearby café. You mentally kicked yourself for not bringing an umbrella, though you considered making a run for it.

"Y/N," a familiar voice called out. You instantly recognized the gentle, comforting tone and turned to see Xavier approaching.

"Xav, I didn’t know you were around," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

"I was by the bus terminal," he replied, gesturing towards the waiting shed. "Then I saw you."

You realized he had moved just to be by your side, even though he already had shelter. His quiet dedication always amazed you.

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"No," he answered, seemingly unconcerned about being stuck in the rain with you.

You chuckled, typical Xavier—content as long as he was with you.

"Look, the bus is arriving," he said, cutting your laugh short. Before you could suggest waiting for the next one, he removed his jacket, revealing a black turtleneck underneath.

Draping his jacket over your head, he gently took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he led you towards the bus.

Your footsteps echoed softly on the wet concrete, and though his hair and clothes grew damp, he remained unfazed.

His priority was your comfort and protection, always putting you first above everything else.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

As the rain caught up to you on your way home, you were surprised to see Zayne's car parked outside, waiting for you.

He knew you were too stubborn to bring an umbrella, despite his warnings about the weather forecast.

His gaze swept over your slightly soaked appearance with a slight frown. Holding an umbrella over your head, he guided you to the passenger seat.

"You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here. Let’s get you somewhere dry and warm. I’m not letting you get sick on my watch." His concern was genuine, though expressed pragmatically.

"I thought you were working," you said, raising an eyebrow as you settled into the car.

"And I thought I told you to bring an umbrella," he retorted, stowing the umbrella behind the seat.

"I thought the weather forecast was overreacting," you admitted sheepishly. "It wasn’t in my plan."

"I suppose getting drenched was part of your plan for today? Next time, maybe consider an umbrella."

"I will," you laughed. "But I’m fine, I promise."

He gave a small hum and nod, then turned to you with a hand towel, gently drying your hair with a delicate touch.

His words might have sounded stern, but you knew he was just looking out for you, he always had been.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

With an umbrella barely shielding you from the rain, you stood outside the art studio, waiting for Rafayel. You probably could’ve intruded but you didn't want to interrupt his creative process.

"You look like a fish out of water," a familiar voice remarked, making you turn around to see Rafayel approaching.

"Enjoying the weather or waiting for me?" he teased, his bratty attitude shining through.

"I’m enjoying the weather," you retorted, matching his tone with a playful huff.

"A child could lie better," he smirked, leaning in to examine you closely. "You could have called me. I wouldn’t have known you were here."

"It’s fine, I didn’t want to bother you," you replied. "Besides, I wanted to have dinner with you."

He flashed a small, almost smug smile and took the umbrella from your hand, holding it for both of you. "Let’s get out of the rain before you catch a cold."

He raised his elbow, and you wrapped your arm around it as you walked together.

The umbrella barely covered the two of you, but he made sure you got most of the space, not caring if some raindrops fell on his shoulder.

He could have grabbed another umbrella from the studio, but missing out on having you close?

No way. Not even the rain could keep you apart.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

You glanced outside, seeing the rain pelting the association’s glass panes. You texted Sylus about rescheduling your plans due to the weather but received no response. You assumed he was busy with his own agenda.

However, as you walked outside the association, you spotted him leaning against his motorcycle, fixing his gloves, completely unfazed by the danger of being near the association that wanted him.

You hurried to his side, whispering, "What are you doing here?" while looking around nervously.

"Is fetching you wrong now?" he scoffed, his arrogance once infuriating but now oddly captivating.

"No, but—" You were too busy scanning around to notice he used his Evol. Suddenly, you found yourself mounted on his motorcycle, red mist swirling around you.

Sylus wasn't worried at all. He glanced at you, gently placing a helmet on your head, his eyes reveling in the thrill of the situation.

"I don’t want to wait," he said firmly, his voice commanding. He removed his leather jacket and wrapped it around your petite form, the large garment enveloping you.

He was most definitely impatient, but when it came to you, he'd always make time.

Not even the weather would ruin your date.

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑢𝑝 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠. (𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒 :<)

𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜 𝑠𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑀𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦~ 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

[andy-15-07]

Everything Felt Right

request sent by @lloydmustache: Pedro Pascal x reader, dating for a few months reader finally decided to introduce her kids to Pedro. (Older around 10/11, and a little girl around 2). The reader is nervous to bring Pedro in her kids's life, he's her first relationship since her divorce.Pedro is nervous to meet the kids too. The older one knows Pedro has The Mandalorian but the little girl has no clue who he is.

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1160| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The soft hum of your car’s engine filled the silence as you drove toward your house, glancing at Pedro sitting in the passenger seat. His fingers drummed nervously on his knee, a staccato rhythm against the quiet hum of the car. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a mixture of amusement and affection swirling within you.

“You okay over there?” you asked, reaching over and squeezing his thigh gently. His leg was tense beneath your touch.

Pedro chuckled, a dry, raspy sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed to betray his inner turmoil. “I’m about to meet your kids. It’s a big deal. I feel like I’m going for an audition for the most important role of my life.”

Your heart swelled at his words. It had been a few months since you started dating, a whirlwind of shared laughter and quiet moments of connection. This was the first serious relationship you’d had since your divorce, and introducing Pedro to your kids felt like a monumental step—one that both excited and terrified you in equal measure. You understood his nervousness.

“They’re gonna love you,” you assured him softly, hoping the confidence in your voice was contagious. “Liam’s been curious ever since he figured out you’re The Mandalorian. He’s seen every episode at least three times. And Emma… well, she’s two. She’ll probably just want to know if you can play with her blocks. Or if you have snacks.”

Pedro laughed, a genuine, warm sound this time, and some of the tension visibly eased from his shoulders. “I can handle blocks. And I always carry snacks. It’s the older one I’m worried about. Ten is a tough age.”

You pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the thump-thump of your own heart. You sat in the quiet for a moment, gathering your courage. “We’ll take it slow. No pressure. If it feels like too much, we can always step back. We can just have pizza and watch a movie. No big deal.”

Pedro reached over, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, reassuring. “I want this. I want them to know me. I want to know them.”

With a deep breath, you both stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. The moment you opened it, Liam’s voice rang out from the living room.

“Mom! You’re back!”

Your ten-year-old rounded the corner, a blur of energy, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Pedro standing beside you. His eyes widened, flicking from you to Pedro and back again, like he was watching a tennis match.

“Hey, Liam,” you greeted, ruffling his hair. “This is Pedro.”

Liam’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, no words coming out. He just stared.

“Hey Liam,” Pedro said, crouching down to Liam’s level, a warm, genuine smile on his face. “I’m Pedro.”

Liam blinked, still processing. Then, the question that had clearly been burning in his mind burst out. “You’re… you’re The Mandalorian.”

Pedro chuckled. “I am. But you can just call me Pedro. Unless you want to call me Mando. I answer to both.”

Liam’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Do you have the helmet?”

Pedro laughed. “Not with me, buddy. It’s a bit cumbersome to carry around. But maybe I can show you some cool behind-the-scenes stuff sometime. I’ve got some pictures and videos I could share.”

Liam’s jaw dropped. “That would be awesome!”

Just then, Emma toddled in, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny, a fluffy, one-eared creature named Mr. Snuggles. She looked up at Pedro with big, curious eyes, then at you, her brow furrowed in a cute little frown.

“Mama, who dat?” she asked, pointing a tiny finger at Pedro.

You crouched beside her. “This is Mommy’s friend, Pedro. Can you say hi?”

Emma stared for a moment longer, assessing the newcomer, before shyly hiding her face in your leg.

Pedro smiled, slowly settling onto the floor at her level. “Hey there, Emma. That’s a cute bunny you’ve got. What’s his name?”

Emma peeked out from behind your leg, still a little wary. After a few more moments of observation, she toddled over and thrust Mr. Snuggles into Pedro’s hands.

“You hold,” she said simply, her voice barely a whisper.

Your heart melted at the sight of Pedro gently cradling the stuffed animal, his eyes soft with affection. He looked at Emma with such tenderness.

“Thank you, pequeña,” he whispered, using a Spanish endearment that made your heart flutter.

The evening unfolded naturally after that, a comfortable rhythm settling in. Pedro and Liam bonded over video games, their laughter echoing through the house. Pedro patiently answered Liam’s rapid-fire questions about Star Wars, even indulging him in a detailed explanation of the Darksaber. Emma, meanwhile, decided Pedro was her new best friend and insisted he help her build a block tower—which promptly collapsed, sending her into a fit of giggles.

After dinner, Pedro helped Liam with his homework, patiently explaining complex math problems and cheering him on when he finally got the answers right. Emma clung to Pedro’s leg as they moved around the house, giggling every time he made funny faces at her.

As bedtime approached, you watched Pedro carry Emma up the stairs, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. He settled her into bed, reading her favorite bedtime story, a whimsical tale about a princess and a dragon, with a soft, soothing voice. When he finished, Emma sleepily pressed a kiss to his cheek before snuggling into her blanket.

Meanwhile, Liam, emboldened by the evening’s camaraderie, pulled Pedro into his room, eager to show off his collection of Star Wars posters and action figures. They spent a few minutes arranging them on his shelves, debating the merits of different characters. Just before turning off the lights, Liam, his voice suddenly shy, whispered, “I’m glad you’re here, Pedro.”

Pedro ruffled his hair, his voice thick with emotion. “Me too, buddy.”

Later that night, after the kids were asleep, you and Pedro sat on the couch, his arm draped around your shoulders. The house was quiet, filled with a peaceful contentment.

“They’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself,” you whispered back, leaning into him.

Pedro turned to face you, his eyes filled with warmth and something deeper—something that felt like home.

“I’m in this for the long haul,” he said softly, his gaze locking with yours. “With you. With them.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t try to stop them. They were tears of happiness, of relief, of hope. You just leaned in, pressing your lips to his, feeling the promise of a beautiful future in his kiss.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. It felt like the beginning of something truly special.

[whereubeenloca]

Grilled Cheese

Part 8 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: You and Carmy have dinner together.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: Slow burn, Awkward

Word Count: 1592

Wanna be added to the tag list? Comment/ MSG me!

Tag List: 

@criesinlies @marchsfreakshow @leminjelly @amberpanda99 @johnmurphys-sass @j23r23 @areyoutheregoditsmecelia @nicksolemnlyswears @saik-k

It happened once.

And then, it happened again. 

And again, and again. 

Before you knew it, Carmy was coming over once a week for dinner. He usually took the lead, bringing fancy ingredients from the farmer’s market and doing preparation methods that involved equipment that looked like it belonged in a lab rather than a kitchen. Tonight, however, was your night. Tonight’s menu: Salmon, rice, and mixed veggies, simple enough. 

Carmy arrived early, a bottle of red wine in hand. He goes to help, but you quickly usher him to the table in the center of your small kitchen. 

He uncorks the wine while the food cooks. You sit next to Carmy, he presents the label to you before pouring a small amount into your glasses. 

“You know how to taste it?” Carmy asks. You try not to be insulted. 

“You swallow it…?” You ask back, inspecting the glass. He rolls his eyes.

“Har, har, you’re hilarious. There’s like- a process to it.” He picks up his glass and tilts it forward.

“First, you have to look at it. Make sure there’s nothing in it.” He explains. 

You copy the motion and look into your glass. He didn’t pour a lot, a small spot of red swirls at the bottom as you tilt the glass forward. The red liquid pools at the sides, a deep crimson in the center that becomes more translucent as it radiates towards the edges. It looks brighter than other wines you’ve had. 

“What, like poison?” 

“Like cork, Jesus Christ.” He laughs, lips quirked up into a smile. “Next step, swirl.” 

He gently swirls his glass, you do the same. 

“What does this do?” 

“Aerates it- wakes everything up. Then you smell…” He explains, bringing the glass to his nose. 

You copy, making a face at him from across the table. The kitchen is filled with the scent of lemon and garlic from the salmon, you tilt the glass forward and inhale. The wine smells sweeter than you expected, notes of cherry and raspberry sit at the top. You breathe in deeply as the warm undertones of clove shine through. 

“Finally, you sip and swish.” Carmy finishes, taking a small sip and swishing the wine in his mouth. 

You take a moment before humoring him, taking a small sip and sloshing it around your mouth. You squint your eyes and nod. The wine feels thick between your teeth as you swish. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it smells. Instead, it leads with a pleasant, earthy kick. Not too dry but not too sweet, the perfect wine to pair with a meal. 

“Yeah, that’s wine.” You say, finally. 

“You just don’t appreciate fine dining.” He smiles. 

“I just don’t appreciate bullshit.” You quip back before taking another sip. “What is this anyway?”

“Pinot noir, 2020, from France- none of that California shit.” He rattles off. You hum, nodding along. 

“I thought you drank white wine with fish.” You ask, topping off your glass. He shrugs. 

“You can. Salmon is a little different, though. It works with red or white.” He flicks the bottle, and the glass dings. “This is a really good one, though.” 

You hum in agreement, tracing your finger around the rim of the glass. You dip your finger down the side before settling onto the stem in a loose grasp. 

“You just have this sitting around?” You ask tentatively, bringing the glass to your lips.

“Like I’m gonna tell you.” He scoffs, leaning forward and picking up the bottle to refill his glass.

Your cheeks go pink at the idea of him buying wine specifically for tonight, something he thought would go with the food you made. 

“You really didn’t have to. It’s my night, you know.” You bite back a smile, tracing your index up and down the stem of the glass. 

“I can’t just show up empty-handed.” He smiles back. 

The wine warms your cheeks, or maybe it’s him- no, definitely the wine. A smile spreads across your face as your eyes roam up his arms. You look at the tattoos on his knuckles, you know he has more, you’ve seen them on his arms but you can’t help but wonder… nope not going there. Look somewhere else. Your eyes flick to his neck, then his face before you give up and decide to just look at your wine glass. 

“Still…” You trail off, pressing your lip into the rim of the glass.

He’s leaning closer now, forearms sprawled across the table. His eyes bore into yours as his fingers fiddle with the edge of the placemats in front of your seats. It’s quiet, you rack your brain for something else to say but draw a blank. His eyes bounce around your face and you feel the panic bubbling into your chest, you gulp down more wine to bide some time. The air suddenly feels thick and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. The smell of burning assaults your senses- shit, wait, burning? 

You stand suddenly, spinning around and opening the oven in one move. A plume of smoke billows out and the fire alarm follows behind. 

“Fuck-” You wince, fanning away some of the smoke and pulling out the trays. 

Carmy is on his feet, hands on your waist as he pulls you away from the oven and quickly shuts the door before turning it off. He moves through your apartment, opening the windows and fanning the alarm while you stay frozen in place. You lean over the food to inspect the damage. The veggies are burnt to a crisp and beyond unsalvageable. The salmon isn’t much better, a thick, black layer coats the top of each fillet and the inside is completely dried out. You attempt a bite, your shoulders slump at the chalky taste. Your rice cooker beeps- at least that’s okay. 

“Maybe we can still eat it?” He asks over your shoulder, picking the fork out of your hand. 

“No, no you don’t have to.” You shake your head as he pokes at the overcooked fish. 

He takes a bite and his face scrunches. You watch as he chews, brows tightly knit together as he forces it down. “It’s… good. Nice.” Carmy clears his throat before looking over to you. You smile at the gesture, shaking your head.

“Carmy, you really don’t have to. I know it tastes bad.” You sigh, slumping your shoulders and opening your fridge. 

“I don’t have a lot…” You click your tongue, scanning your fridge. He comes up behind you and peeks into the appliance. 

“Yeesh- I thought I was bad.” He sighs.

You make a face at him, and he holds up his hands. You roll your eyes and pull out a packet of Kraft singles.

—

Twenty minutes and half a bottle of wine later, dinner is finally ready. The two of you had retired to the living room, tucked into the couch as you finished your grilled cheese sandwiches. 

“I’m so sorry.” You frown, picking at the crust. 

Carmy rolls his eyes as he pours you another drink. “Stop apologizing, it happens.” 

“It was gonna be so good too.” You sigh, gulping down more wine. “I had this planned for like- a week. I grocery-shopped specifically for this.” 

“It smelled good.” He smiles, cheeks full of food. “Maybe we can give it another try next week.” 

You smile at that, electing to take another bite of your sandwich instead of talking. His knee presses into yours, and you don’t move away. It’s quiet. Things are usually quiet with Carmy. You usually hate that. 

“Maybe I’ll leave the cooking to you.” You say with your mouth full. 

You lean forward, set your empty plate onto the coffee table, and scoot closer on your way down. Carmy doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Once, when I was uh- staging, I was in charge of making family.” He starts, “The meal before service for all the staff, so the pressure was on, you know?”

You nod along, leaning into the plush of the couch. Heat radiates in the space between you, your body feels slack as the wine buzzes through your head. Carmy’s eyes bounce around as he speaks, only maintaining eye contact for a few moments before looking away. 

“And I wanted to impress these people so bad. So, I decided to do this roast thing, totally messed it up. The seasoning was bland, it was dry, texture wasn’t great- horrible first impression.” He laughs softly, shaking his head as he recounts the memory. 

Carmy’s body slots next to yours as he slings his arm over the back of the couch, an invitation to move closer. You take it. 

“What’d you do?” 

“Made an au jus, cut up some bread, and called them sandwiches.” 

His palm closes over your shoulder. He’s warm, you feel his heat seep into your arm through his chest. You hum in acknowledgement, head pressing into his shoulder. 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” You whisper. 

“Maybe. Do you feel better?” He whispers back. 

“Eh.” 

He smiles at your flat remark. Your eyes dart to his lips as they quirk up. 

“What would make you feel better?” 

He’s so close you can feel his words against your skin. You take a beat, pulling back to look at him. Despite your heart pounding in your ears, your body is calm as your hand trails up his chest. You close the gap, lips grazing against his. Maybe it’s the wine, but you swear you feel him kiss you back. 

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift [Min Yoongi x f!reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Min Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus's 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Warnings: some swearing, it'll be fluff, maybe some angst, but mostly fluff, no smut for now but still MDNI A/N: Hi there. This is my first attempt at writing some Yoongi stuff. I'm just writing this for fun, I'm learning all the fanfic lingo and I want to improve. I don't know if I'll write more but I'd like to. English is my second language, pardon any mistakes.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

You walk into your campus’s 24-hour library five minutes before eleven on Friday. Just as most leave to attend a party to celebrate the end of the week, you head into work in hopes of avoiding the craziness of it all. Admittedly, you also want to escape your best friends’ and roommates’ attempts to get you to join them. You have never envied the meticulous process of getting ready for a party. Time and again, you've seen your friends spend hours primping and prepping. Showering, shaving, moisturizing, applying makeup, blow-drying, straightening or curling their hair, and planning outfits– you can’t help but sigh at what most likely awaits you when you return home in the morning. But pretend all you want; their excitement about parties does make you crave and wish to be more like them. So, instead, you enjoy making them hangover stew and listening to whatever stories they remember from their night, watching them fondly as you live vicariously through their adventures. 

Waving to the librarian preparing to leave her shift for the day, a buzzing in your pocket startles you. After placing your bag at the main desk, you dig into your cardigan pocket and fish out your phone, grinning at the string of texts already lined up for you.

Eunji [10:58PM]: Here’s a pin to our location, ‘kay? If you don’t hear from us, send in the cavalry (salute emoji)

Hwayoung [10:58PM]: Yah! WTF. Unnie, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine, mhm? Call if you need anything~~

Eunji [10:59PM]: I’m kidding~ I’m kidding~ We’ll be safe, most likely drunk but we’ll try not to be too loud when we get home (wink emoji)

Hwayoung [11:00PM]: Sorry if one of us ends up in your bed (blushing emoji)

Snorting, you type.

You [11:02PM]: You know how to apologize to me, I’m easy. Bribes are welcomed. (wink emoji)

Sliding your phone on the desk, shaking your head at Eunji and Hwayoung’s shenanigans, you get settled for the night. Mrs. Kang leaves you a list of tasks to get done for the night, all of it achievable, and bids you goodnight, leaving you at your post. 

You suspect the library will be mostly empty, if not deserted, by midnight. Hiding your bag under the desk and grabbing your phone, you slip one wireless earbud in your ear and set off for your usual beginning-of-shift lap around the main, second, and third floors. Twenty minutes later, a dozen stray books gathered and a headcount of thirteen people total in the library, you return to your desk for the night, settling in to start writing your essay. 

As the hours begin to pass, you only ever glance up from your laptop to note when someone leaves the building. This means that at nearly 2 AM your previous count of thirteen is brought down to seven when you watch Seungmin, a regular second-year student, exit with a shy wave and bow. You push the chair back and stretch, yawning as your eyes peek at the notifications on your phone. Most are from Hwayoung, usually the least tipsy one, who sends you photos of them at the off-campus party, looking great as always and having fun. You press on the most recent photos and heart it, lips curling up softly.

Closer to 3 AM, you’re up stretching your legs and gathering some more books, placing them back on the shelves where they belong. You still have music in your ear, humming as you walk back down to the main floor. Right when your foot leaves the final step, you’re startled by a person standing at the main desk. Dashing to it, jittery hands taking your earbud out and bowing apologetically as you approach. 

“Ohh, I’m so sorry, have you been waiting long?” not giving him the time to answer, “how can I help you?”

When your eyes meet the cat-like ones of the young man in front of you, you startle a little. You’ve seen him across campus a few times, usually hanging with his group of rambunctious friends. Most of them you’ve spoken to here or there, even sharing a class with one of them, but the one standing in front of you has always been elusive. Quieter. 

“Mhm,” he nods, barely making eye contact as he slides a paper over to you. 

Looking quickly between the paper and him, you pick it up and read the name of the book. You recognize it right away. Most third-year psychology students end up at some point looking for it you find. 

“Oh,” you chew your lower lip, “second floor, back left corner near the water fountain. Here…” you grab a pen and scribble down the area for him, handing it to him. “If it’s not there, please come back, and I’ll help you find it…” 

He finally locks eyes with you for a few seconds, mumbling the quietest thank you ever heard and bowing. And just as quickly as he appeared, he is gone up the stairs. You glance over your shoulder to his retreating figure. 

While you may be immune to the desire to party, you certainly are not immune to attractive guys. He was very handsome with his slightly long black hair, bangs long enough to fall in his eyes when leaning forward. His powerful gaze is what struck you when face to face, but you were also struck by the way he nervously licked his lips when waiting for your help. He was handsome is all you can think of as you sit back down, unable to let go of the interaction.

You pick up your phone, wondering if you should ask your friends if they know his name. Eunji is the social butterfly you wish you were and seems to know everyone in Seoul, not just the school but the city as well. You decide against it; the odds of getting an answer out of her at this time are extremely low before settling back into school work with one final glance to the stairs. 

When 5 AM comes around, you’re just about done with your essay when footsteps catch your attention as your body snaps towards the stairs. You slouch back in your chair when you realize it’s the campus security guard, bowing when he passes your desk and sighing. Damn it, YN, why are you this way…Shaking your head in disappointment, you grab the sandwich you bought yourself before coming into work, snacking on that with your water while manifesting this next hour to be over and done with. 

The sound of the turnstiles is the next thing catching your attention briefly away from your food, glancing up to see a student smiling brightly at you and bowing before rushing up the stairs like a man on a mission, making you chuckle. Right as you get up from your seat, two sets of footsteps catch your attention, but you continue moving around your desk to begin your final lap to clean up before Mr. Song’s arrival. As you reach the bottom steps, you’re met with the student who just entered the library, leaving with the handsome guy from earlier, stopping to let them pass, and bowing to each other quickly. Standing still, you watch them leave the library, but not before mystery guy takes a quick peek behind him to you, prompting his friend to do the same. 

His friend begins grinning and laughing, his friend tugging him with force out of the library, which simply confuses you more. You decide not to dwell on that interaction, instead, you begin your final check and clean up before the clock finally strikes 6 AM. You hand off your list of completed tasks to Mr. Song and wish him a good day once you’ve gathered your things.

The crisp morning spring air is a welcome sensation against your face when you leave the building, yawning and walking back to your apartment. 

Entering the apartment, it’s quiet and still, making you wonder if your friends are even home yet. But one glance at the slippers still present at the entrance is enough to let you know that they haven’t returned home yet. You smile warmly, dragging your feet to your bedroom and getting changed into some pajamas, sliding into bed to get as much sleep as possible.

It’s just past noon when you hear the rousing of your friends. You’re already up, freshened up, and cooking them some hangover stew. The post-Friday night routine for all of you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot Hwayoung, followed by Eunji slowly coming to sit in the living room. 

“Food is ready~!” You sing-song, grabbing the tray of food you’ve readied and bringing it over.

You’re all happily enjoying your breakfast, listening to them share the stories of what they remember of their night. Eunji remembers dancing with a guy and nearly going home with him, while Hwayoung remembers watching some drama unfold between two girls and a guy. 

“So, you were eavesdropping?” You quirk your eyebrow. 

She grunts. “Do we call it that if I was stuck in the bathroom while they were gossiping?”

You all laugh, serving each other more food as Eunji turns to you. “How was work?” 

You still right away, pretending the question didn’t immediately bring your mind right back to handsome library guy. “It was good, quiet as usual but you guys know me, I like my boring Friday nights.”

Your friends stare at you, and you know they can tell you’re itching to say something, to share too. They wait you out as you take a few bites of food, chewing quietly before swallowing that bite. You’re silent for barely two minutes before you open your mouth, shutting it right away. You don’t know why you’re hesitating, your friends would never judge you for anything you already know that. 

“So,” you pause, watching the way their eyes are already glued to you, “do you know Kim Namjoon? We have the same Cultural Theory class?”

They both nod right away, urging you to go on. “You guys know his friends by any chance?”

They both lean back, glancing at each other for a few seconds before Hwayoung asks, “Why are you asking?” 

Your face contorts in something the girls have never seen out of you before, like it physically pains you to have to explain it to them, “Well,” you trail off, “this guy came into the library like at 3 in the frickin’ morning…and I’ve just seen him around Namjoon and his friends, I just…I never…I don’t think I’ve ever heard his name before. I was…just cu–curious, you know?” 

You shut your eyes, wincing at how awful that sounded, “Okay, I know you guys wanna freak out, can you just do it now…” you sigh, and right on cue both Hwayoung and Eunji start kicking their feet, giggling like high school girls who have just heard the juciest gossip. Then a series of questions begin overlapping at unheard speeds, you’d think they were a Formula 1 car with how fast they were going. 

It’s only five minutes later that they finally quiet as Eunji gently smacks Hwayoung on the knee, urging her to ask you the question they want an answer to: “Why are you asking?”

The silence is deafening when she’s done speaking, and you’re playing with the hem of your hoodie, “Because he was cute.”

You swear you’ve never seen your friends hold in their excitement this much before you add, “Can you just tell me if you know his friends?” You whine before letting your body fall back on the ground. 

You’re staring at the ceiling, questioning your life choices and wondering if you should have even brought this up as Hwayoung crawls closer to you, lying next to you, “Well, yes. Eunji has classes with–who is it?”

“Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Was he one of them?” Eunji asks, joining you two on the floor.

You shake your head. “Isn’t Taehyung the guy you have a crush on?” 

“No, that’s Jeon Jungkook. He’s the smart second-year who skipped a year, he has a class with Hwayoung.”

“Ah…”

Hwayoung hums, “So, not Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, or Jungkook.” She turns to Eunji, “That leaves Yoongi, Seokjin, or Hoseok.”

“What did he look like, Unnie?” Eunji asks you, intent on giving you an answer.

You go on to describe him as best as you can, until suddenly one detail pops into your head, “Oh my god, I’m an idiot. He was looking for a book, he was looking for a psychology textbook!  Do any of them major in that?” 

Hwayoung snaps her fingers, looking at Eunji, “That would be…Min Yoongi, no?” 

“Yep. Min Yoongi.” Eunji says the name, and then they both look at you. 

You’re mouthing the name softly, looking up to your expectant friends, “What…what do you guys know about him?” 

Hwayoung shrugs, “He’s nice. Quiet. Picks and chooses his people. Studies psychology. Shy. He’s not as…’out there’ as the other guys but a classmate of mine said he did a project with him their freshman year and was a hard worker, and just nice overall.” 

You listen to her, nodding along, suddenly feeling like you let the curiosity get the best of you and that you’re getting hopeful over something that hasn’t even happened. You’ve had crushes. You’ve never seriously dated anybody, but you’re still young, so no rush, right? Min Yoongi was just a cute guy you had seen at school, that’s all. 

“Mhm, he’s just cute…” You explain to no one in particular, maybe to yourself, and your best friends notice right away how you suddenly get lost in your head. “Well, thank you for clearing up that mystery.” You laugh, sitting up.

Hwayoung rubs your back from her lying position, “You know, you’re allowed to think a guy is cute and wonder who he is.”

“I know…” Sighing, you lie back down with your friends. “But I’m not you guys. I’m not the girl that attracts attention everywhere I go. I’m the quiet one. I am the one who flies under the radar. I mean, I did that to myself.” 

Eunji holds your hand, “Come on, any guy would be lucky to be with you. Rest assured, we will remind whoever you end up with of that very detail.” She says with certainty, making you giggle. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You sigh, staring at the ceiling once more. 

A few minutes of silence pass when Hwayoung speaks up, “Let’s order food, buy alcohol and snacks, and watch a bunch of rom-coms to remind us how single we all are.” 

This makes all of you burst out in laughter but also agreement. With that plan in mind, each of you do your apartment chores. And nothing heals you more than an afternoon with your best friends listening to music. You can’t deny that your thoughts sometimes veer back towards Min Yoongi. 

You were never the girl who was boy-obsessed or focused in high school. You never minded when it happened because to each their own, but you kept your crushes very close to your chest. Objectively? You can look at guys and just think they’re handsome, and could you say this about him? Of course. But he struck you differently with that tiny interaction. A crush at first sight of sorts. You tell yourself it’s more than okay to think that Min Yoongi is a good-looking guy and that you're likely going to keep thinking so. With that in mind, you make a list of movies to watch until the wee hours of the morning or until you fall asleep. Come evening, Hwayoung calls her favorite local restaurant and places an order for pickup, which has become your job to pick up.

With that in mind, you make a list of movies to watch until the wee hours of the morning or until you fall asleep. Come the evening, Hwayoung has called her favourite local restaurant and placed an order for pick up, which has become your job to pick up.

“Remind me why I’m picking this up and not you? You placed the order, no?” You ask, slipping your shoes on with a small grin. 

“Because I am very specific about what alcohol girls’ night must have, and Eunji is very specific about the kind of snacks she likes, and we both know what you like so…” she trails off, “makes sense to us to do this.” 

You playfully glare at both, placing your purse around you, “You just want to buy the fancy shit…”

Hwayoung snaps her fingers, “Ding ding! We have a winner!”

You burst out laughing. “Alright then, I’m going to pick up the food. Please, let's all get back here quick so we can start our sappy rom-com night.”

After a messy three-way high five, you manage to begin your fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant, looking down to the order confirmation Hwayoung had sent to you. Your walk goes faster than you ever expected it to go as you reach the beautiful traditional building that houses the restaurant. None of you have ever physically come here, but a pamphlet had been left at your apartment when you moved in at first. And somehow, this had become your go-to place for a treat. Except this time, instead of delivery, because of the size of your order (Hwayoung had probably gone overboard this time), you had to go pick it up. 

You open the door and announce yourself, saying hello as you walk up to the counter to the nice middle-aged woman there. You show her your phone with the order confirmation, “I am here for a pick up, here’s the reference number.” 

She looks at it and smiles, “Mhm, yes, your order is just about ready if you wouldn’t mind waiting here for a moment.” 

You nod and bow to her, waiting in the lobby as you look around the restaurant. You take your phone out to update your friends.

You [8:41PM]: Arrived! Food is ready at any moment. Will be back home soon~! How’s the booze and snack search?

“Miss, your food is ready.” You hear the owner speak, shoving your phone back in your pocket and turning to face her. She points towards the curtain that separates the front and the kitchen. “My son will have it out.”

You’re paying when she fusses over her son and how he’s trying to carry both heavy bags at once, helping him, and only when you look up do you feel your body freeze. You clock her placing the first bag on the counter in front of you, but where your focus is, is different. Your eyes are trained on her son bringing the second bag out, making eye contact with cat-like eyes when he finally lifts his head. You can’t believe your luck (or bad luck?) when you’re face to face with the owner’s son. And you can’t wait to go back and tell your friends exactly who that is. 

Min Yoongi.

post separator @hyuneskkami

[aspenmissing]

This idea has been rattling around in my brain like a pebble and you’ve become one of my fav writer as of late!

Fem!Reader and the character are in an argument/disagreement, reader is over it and just wants it to end so they just pull up their shirt and flash them (this was a tiktok trend for awhile, that’s where I got it)

I love your writing! And remember, you deserve a break too🫶🏻

ꜰʟᴀꜱʜ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 6172 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴜᴅɪᴛʏ (ʙᴏᴏʙ ꜰʟᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ), ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ/ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ&ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀʀʀʀʀ!!!! ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ! ɪ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ! (ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛʀᴇɴᴅ!!) <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

Jayce paced back and forth in the workshop, frustration evident in every movement. His thoughts were scattered, his emotions high, but Y/N... Y/N was different. She wasn’t shouting, wasn’t arguing back—she was quietly fuming, her eyes locked on him with a tension that only seemed to grow thicker. His chest tightened with irritation, and his mind scrambled to find the right words.

“Y/N, this isn’t the time to shut down!” Jayce exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “We need to work through this!”

Y/N stood perfectly still, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t even flinch as Jayce’s voice rose in pitch, each word more heated than the last. The tension in the air felt suffocating, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Her gaze never left him, unwavering and calm. She could feel Jayce’s frustration radiating like heat from a forge, but it wasn’t helping. She wasn’t angry anymore. No, she was just... tired. Tired of the constant bickering, tired of the way every little thing seemed to blow up into a mountain of problems. And now, it felt like the argument was going in circles, neither of them getting anywhere.

Jayce, oblivious to her exhaustion, took another step forward, his brows furrowed. “Why are you being so difficult? I’m trying to make things better here!”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she shifted on her feet. Her heart raced—not from anger—but from something else entirely. She was done. Done with the back and forth, done with the fight that had grown more tedious by the second. Her mind was made up.

With a sudden, almost theatrical movement, Y/N took a step toward him, causing Jayce to freeze in place. Before he could even register what was happening, she pulled her shirt up, flashing him in one swift motion.

Jayce froze in place, his mouth going dry. His brain scrambled to process the sudden shift in events. His eyes widened, his heart skipped a beat, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He couldn’t even find the words to say. He stared, completely gobsmacked, as Y/N casually let the shirt fall back into place. There was no teasing, no smirk—just a simple, almost clinical motion, as though she were dusting off the argument like it was nothing.

Y/N didn’t need to say anything—her message was clear. She was done with this. She turned on her heel, her back straight, and began to walk away without a single word. Jayce was still frozen, caught somewhere between shock and confusion, his mind struggling to comprehend the fact that she had just done that.

But then—his legs started moving. He blinked, realizing too late that Y/N was walking out, and his brain caught up with his body.

“W-Wait!” Jayce stammered, rushing forward, trying to catch up to her. His foot caught on a loose piece of equipment, and he stumbled. His hands flailed in a desperate attempt to catch his balance, but it was no use. With a yelp, Jayce tumbled forward, his body colliding with a stack of metal crates, causing a loud clatter.

Y/N, without missing a beat, glanced over her shoulder. She didn't break her stride, but there was a brief flash of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, one that she immediately hid. Jayce was sprawled on the floor now, still attempting to get up with that same frantic energy, his face beet-red.

“Damn it!” he muttered, half-laughing, half-exasperated. He quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off and looking helplessly at her retreating form. “Wait—just—just hold on!”

But Y/N didn’t wait. She walked out of the workshop without looking back, her footsteps steady and purposeful, as though the whole moment had been a dream. All Jayce could do was watch, standing there with his arms outstretched as though he could somehow will her back.

He stood frozen for a long moment, completely speechless, processing the absurdity of the situation. The argument... it seemed so small now. So insignificant. The tension that had consumed him was gone, replaced with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he couldn’t quite place.

After a beat, Jayce gave a frustrated groan. “Why is this so complicated?!” He sighed, rubbing his forehead in disbelief. “This... this is definitely not how I expected this day to go.”

VIKTOR

Viktor’s fingers drummed impatiently on the edge of his workbench, his glasses perched low on his nose as he glared at Y/N. “You’re not listening, Y/N,” he said, his voice strained with frustration. “This isn’t a matter of personal preference; it’s science.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her lips curling into a tight frown. “I am listening, Viktor. But you’re being unreasonable.”

Unreasonable? Viktor’s eye twitched. “Unreasonable? You don’t understand the implications of—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly well, Viktor!” Y/N cut him off, her voice rising. “You’re all about the science, but you never listen when it comes to us, to me.”

Viktor let out a sigh, the weight of his work pressing down on him. “I can’t just drop everything because you feel neglected. I’m on the brink of—”

“On the brink of what, Viktor? Another experiment gone awry?” Y/N snapped, rolling her eyes. “I’m so tired of your brink-of-greatness routine. We’ve been through this before!”

Viktor’s hands clenched into fists, his frustration mounting. “It’s not like I’m doing this for myself! I’m doing this for both of us—so we can have a future without the limitations of your reckless spontaneity.”

Y/N’s eyebrow arched, and she stepped forward. “Reckless? You think I’m reckless?”

“Yes!” Viktor shot back, his voice a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. “You act without thinking! This whole thing is about focus, and I’m not going to let you derail me just because you can’t wait for five minutes of my attention!”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, a sharp sting of hurt flashing in her chest. “You know what, Viktor?” she said, her tone suddenly cold. “I’m so over this.”

Viktor blinked, his posture stiffening, but before he could respond, Y/N was already crossing the room. She stopped just in front of him, her eyes flickering with mischief, and then—without warning—she pulled up her shirt in one swift motion, flashing him her chest with a playful flourish.

Viktor froze, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock, his usually sharp focus completely derailed by the sudden onslaught of skin. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn’t form a coherent thought.

Y/N, looking entirely unbothered, dropped her shirt back down as casually as if it were any other day. “There,” she said, turning away with a playful smirk. “Now you’ve got my full attention. Now, maybe you can focus on what really matters.”

Viktor’s brain scrambled to catch up as she sauntered toward the door, the playful sway of her hips adding an almost smug air to her retreat. His eyes flicked back to the workbench, and then, with an almost imperceptible grin tugging at his lips, he found his voice again.

“Well, I can’t deny that was a different approach,” he drawled, his voice oozing with confidence and a touch of his usual cocky charm. “If you keep this up, I might have to declare an emergency meeting… about the new distraction techniques.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning just enough to flash him a teasing grin. “You’re welcome,” she said, her eyes dancing with amusement. “But if you’re thinking of using that as a regular tactic… it’s not gonna work. This was a one-time offer.”

Viktor’s smirk deepened, clearly unfazed by her words. “Oh, I’m certain I can come up with more ‘offers,’” he teased, leaning back against the bench with an exaggerated sigh. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll flash you some weapons of my own next time.” His gaze flicked up to meet hers with a glint of mischievousness.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh as she crossed her arms again. “Keep dreaming, Viktor,” she said with a wink, her expression softening despite the lingering tension.

Viktor chuckled, his gaze following her toward the door. “You’re going to make it hard for me to get any work done, aren’t you?”

Y/N turned to face him one last time, her grin playful. “You’re the one who’s always too focused. Maybe a little distraction is good for you once in a while.”

“Well, if you insist…” Viktor's voice trailed off as he returned to his work, his mind racing—though it wasn’t with the calculations he had been working on earlier. The playful exchange had lightened the mood between them, and he refocused on his desk, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth that had been missing for far too long.

As for Y/N, she walked out of the workshop, but not without a sense of victory. Despite their argument, she had managed to pull him out of his tunnel vision, even if it had taken something a little… unconventional. Maybe it wasn’t the solution to all their problems, but it certainly made things a whole lot easier to handle.

JAYVIK

In the dimly lit apartment that Y/N, Viktor, and Jayce shared, the usual calm was replaced by a ridiculous energy that felt like a comedy sketch gone wrong. What had started as a simple disagreement about something trivial—whether or not to use a certain chemical in a new invention—had somehow spiraled into a full-blown ridiculous argument.

Y/N stood with her arms crossed over her chest, an exaggerated pout on her face, clearly fed up with the entire situation. Her eyes were squinted with mock offense, and her posture was almost comically defensive. "Seriously, Jayce? You think we need that much stabilization fluid? We’re not trying to build a rocket ship here!" she huffed, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Jayce, on the other hand, had his hands on his hips, pacing back and forth like an annoyed professor. “I’m just trying to make sure our projects are stable, Y/N!” He threw his arms up in the air as if explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “If you want explosions in the lab, then sure, go ahead, but I’d like to avoid that.”

Y/N scoffed dramatically, her hand coming up to her forehead as if she were fainting from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Oh yes, Jayce. Of course. Stabilization fluid. How could I forget? Because that’s clearly the most important thing we should focus on, not the fact that we have—what—three different projects on the go, and half of them are leaking.”

Jayce shot her an exaggerated glare. “They’re not leaking. That’s just... residual moisture.”

“Residual moisture? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Y/N smirked, leaning forward with a knowing look. “I thought we were going to invent something useful, not a glorified puddle.”

Viktor, who had been quietly sitting on the couch with his cane resting next to him, seemed to be watching this all unfold like it was a soap opera—though one he was clearly tired of. He rested his chin on his hand, pretending to be invested but internally wondering how long it would take for them to realize how ridiculous they were being. His eyes flicked from Y/N to Jayce, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Are we really arguing about fluid consistency?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Jayce turned to Viktor, ignoring Y/N for a moment. "See? Viktor gets it! I’m just trying to make sure we don’t blow up the lab—again!"

“Again?” Y/N interjected, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “Jayce, sweetie, the last time I checked, you were the one who forgot to put the stabilization fluid in, and I had to save the project from being a pile of ash. Let’s not pretend that’s not what happened.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but then paused. “I... may have, uh, neglected that once. But this time—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, cutting him off with a laugh. “Oh sure, this time, you’re the hero with the liquid of destiny. What will it be next time? A magic crystal?”

Viktor finally sat up a little straighter, his voice breaking the bickering like a dull thud. “Perhaps the magic crystals will help you two focus,” he said dryly, clearly done with the argument but unable to fully mask the faint amusement in his tone. He shifted his weight, leaning back slightly, watching them with an unreadable expression. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for the next ‘residual moisture’ disaster.”

Y/N turned to Viktor, giving him a playful glare. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Viktor replied with a small smirk. “I’ve learned that when it comes to this particular debate, it’s best to observe quietly.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, then took a deep breath, and just as the argument seemed to be winding down, she turned back to Jayce with a wide, exaggerated grin. “You know what, Jayce? I’m over this. Over. It.”

Jayce blinked, eyes wide, unsure of what was about to happen. “Wait, what—?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N, with a flourish of dramatic flair, lifted her shirt up over her head in one swift motion, exposing herself to both Viktor and Jayce. It was completely unexpected—comically bold, really—and the two men froze, their eyes wide with shock.

“Consider this a statement,” Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she stood there for a heartbeat, fully aware of the chaos she’d just caused. “I’m done with the ‘fluid’ argument, and this... this is my final word on the matter.”

Jayce’s jaw dropped open, his face turning beet red as he scrambled to find words but found himself utterly speechless. Viktor, equally stunned but far more composed, blinked a few times, trying to figure out if this was a new form of communication he hadn't been briefed on. Both men just stared, caught completely off guard by the sudden shift in their bickering.

Y/N, however, seemed completely unaffected by the sudden stillness in the room. She swiftly pulled her shirt back down and gave them a cool look. “There,” she said. “Now, let’s call it a draw.” Her voice was sweetly final, like she’d just wrapped up a perfectly executed prank.

“I’m done,” she repeated, her tone now softer, almost sweet as she turned on her heel. “See you guys later.”

She walked out of the room with an exaggerated sway in her hips, leaving the two men in a state of stunned silence.

Jayce blinked a few times, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what had just happened. Finally, he found his voice, though it was laced with confusion and disbelief. “What just happened?”

Viktor sighed, his gaze lingering on the door through which Y/N had exited. He shook his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I think... she’s trying to make a point,” he said, his voice deadpan but with a hint of amusement. He glanced at Jayce, who was still frozen in place, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “You’re not going to chase her, are you?”

Jayce’s eyes widened, his face flushing even more. “I... I don’t even know where to start,” he muttered, clearly unsure how to react.

Viktor’s lips twitched upward. “Probably with the fact that you two are way too invested in stabilization fluid,” he said dryly, leaning back on the couch, adjusting his cane with a nonchalant air. “This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

Jayce’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “She... flashed us,” he said, still struggling to comprehend what had just occurred. “And then... she just walked away.”

Viktor nodded, his tone unbothered but with a dry edge. “And I suspect that’s the most serious argument resolution you’ll ever get with her.”

Jayce, still staring at the door, let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “So... do we just... leave it?”

Viktor let out a soft sigh, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding. He raised an eyebrow, giving Jayce a pointed look. “She’s made her point. Let it go.”

For a moment, Jayce stood frozen, then suddenly, as if realizing the absurdity of the situation was too much to let slide, he snapped his gaze to Viktor. They shared a look—something unspoken passing between them—before, almost simultaneously, they both jumped to their feet, scrambling in a chaotic attempt to chase after Y/N.

Neither of them knew exactly what to say when they caught up to her, but the silence in the room before had been broken, and they both knew they couldn’t let this end without a proper... conversation.

And with that, they both rushed after her, leaving the apartment in a whirlwind of hasty steps and confusion.

VANDER

The Last Drop was packed tonight. The familiar hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses, a cacophony of voices that filled the smoky air. But at the corner of the bar, the mood was anything but light. Vander and Y/N were locked in a heated argument, their voices cutting through the noise like daggers.

"I told you, Y/N," Vander’s voice was low, measured, though it carried a weight of frustration that was unmistakable. His hands were planted firmly on the table, knuckles white, as if he were trying to steady himself. "That wasn’t the right call. You can’t keep running off like that. You’re not some stray that can just—"

"God, Vander, you don’t get it!" Y/N snapped, her eyes flashing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned in slightly, matching his intensity. "I'm not some child! I don't need you to babysit me!" She emphasized the word with a sneer, clearly irritated by the insinuation.

Vander straightened up, his muscles tensing. "I’m not babysitting you!" he shot back, voice rising ever so slightly, the frustration slipping into his tone. "I’m trying to protect you, damn it! You can’t just go off on your own and think everything’s going to be fine. You’re not invincible, Y/N!" He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, piercing through her defences. "You always think you know better—"

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head, her frustration only mounting. "I don’t always think I know better, Vander," she retorted, her voice biting, but a little hurt now too. "But I’m not some helpless fool, okay? I know how to handle myself, and I don’t need you holding my hand every damn time."

The words hung heavy in the air between them, both of them standing firm, unwilling to give an inch. But as the seconds passed, something in Y/N snapped. She was tired of the argument, tired of the endless back-and-forth that went nowhere. And in that moment, she wanted to end it, one way or another.

Before Vander could speak again, Y/N’s eyes narrowed in defiance. Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up, just enough to flash him — just enough to make him freeze in his tracks. The bare skin, the curve of her chest, was all a challenge. Her eyes never left his, and a mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

Vander was momentarily dumbfounded, his words dying on his tongue. His breath caught, his gaze glued to her for a split second, but the intensity in her eyes kept him rooted. She was playing a dangerous game, and Vander wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

Y/N quickly pulled her shirt back down, her smirk widening as she took a step back, feeling the power shift in the room. "Well, that shut you up, didn’t it?" she said, her voice laced with amusement and a touch of smugness. "I’m done with this." She turned on her heel, walking away from the argument, leaving Vander standing there, still processing what had just happened.

For a moment, Vander just stood there, his mind reeling from the boldness of her move. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, but then the weight of the situation hit him. She wasn’t going to walk away like that. Not from him.

Before Y/N could make it to the door, Vander moved. His reflexes were quick, almost too quick to register. In one swift motion, he reached out, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Vander, what the hell?!" Y/N exclaimed, half-laughing, half-protesting as she was hoisted up. She was still so caught off guard by the flash of boldness between them, and now this.

"You’ve had enough of this nonsense," Vander muttered, his voice rough, but there was a playful edge to it. "We’re not doing this here. Not in front of all these people."

Y/N's breath hitched as she squirmed slightly, her legs kicking playfully. "Oh, come on, you’re seriously carrying me off like a sack of potatoes?"

Vander’s arms were firm, his grip like iron as he maneuvered through the Last Drop with ease, ignoring the curious glances of the few patrons who happened to notice. He was focused, determined, and Y/N’s protests only made him more resolute.

"You’re not getting away this time," he grumbled, his voice a low growl that stirred something within her. "And you're damn lucky I didn’t just drag you out of here by your hair."

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh. "Are you really going to take me upstairs, like this? Is this how you solve all your problems?"

Vander smirked, his large, muscled frame moving with the ease of someone who had no intention of letting her escape his grasp. "I’m solving the problem you caused," he teased, though there was a deep, dark chuckle in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. "Now, stop squirming. We’re getting this sorted."

She looked up at him as they reached the staircase, her gaze locking onto his. "Sorted? And how exactly do you plan to sort this, Vander?" she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity and challenge.

Vander’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening as he took the stairs two at a time. "I’m going to show you why you shouldn’t mess with me when I’m like this," he murmured, the words heavy with intent.

Y/N’s heart raced as they reached the top of the stairs, her pulse quickening. She didn’t need to ask him what he meant. The tension between them, the electricity in the air, said it all. The argument was long forgotten, replaced with the kind of fire that could only be quenched in silence.

As Vander carried her into the bedroom, his movements slow and deliberate, the last remnants of their bickering melted away. Y/N didn’t fight him anymore. She let him take the lead, the heat between them rising with every step.

=

The door to the bedroom closed behind them, and the world outside seemed to fall away. The lights of the Last Drop were distant now, a memory.

Vander placed her down, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer. Y/N’s defiance turned into something more urgent, a silent agreement between them. Her lips found his, and all the words that had been thrown in anger were forgotten.

Vander’s hands were everywhere now, exploring the curve of her body with possessive intent. Y/N responded in kind, her breath shallow, a soft gasp escaping her as she pulled him closer, urging him on.

The rest of the night was just them — no more arguments, no more words. Only the heat of their bodies pressed together, and the warmth of everything they hadn’t yet said, only felt.

SILCO

The heated words in Silco’s office hung in the air, swirling with frustration and irritation. Y/N stood by the large desk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared at him. "You don't get it, Silco. I've told you a thousand times, I don't need your protection!" Her voice had an edge to it, the words sharp and punctuated with an annoyance that had been growing all evening.

Silco leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrests, his amber eyes cold and calculating. He watched her carefully, noting the anger in her posture and the defiance in her gaze. "You think I don't know what's best for you, Y/N?" he responded, his voice low and steady, but carrying an edge of frustration. "You think I don't see how dangerous it is out there? How easy it would be for someone to hurt you when you're not looking? I'm doing what I can to keep you safe, and you're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

"I don’t need you controlling everything in my life!" Y/N snapped, her voice rising, the tension crackling in the small space between them. She turned slightly, pacing in front of the desk, her boots clicking against the floor. "I can handle myself. I'm not some fragile thing you have to protect at every turn."

Silco’s eyes darkened, a rare flash of something like frustration flickering across his usually controlled features. "I’m not controlling you, Y/N. I’m keeping you alive." His voice dropped, a growl of exasperation edging into his words. "This is different. I don't have the luxury of letting you wander around without thinking about the consequences. Everything I do, I do because I care."

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists, her jaw tightening. “I don't need your care to survive, Silco," she bit out, her eyes flashing with frustration. "You don't get it. I don’t need you to watch over me like I’m some pet. I'm more than capable of making my own choices—whether you like them or not."

The silence between them stretched, thick with tension. Silco’s gaze remained unwavering, but Y/N could see the muscles in his jaw flexing. There was something in the way he looked at her, like he was calculating his next move.

But Y/N had had enough. The argument was going nowhere, and she could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. So, in a sudden, bold move, she pulled her shirt up over her head, flashing him her chest for a brief moment before quickly pulling it back down. "There," she said, her voice dripping with challenge and a teasing edge. "Is that what you wanted? Something to shut you up?"

The look on Silco’s face was one of disbelief for a moment—then something darker. His amber eyes narrowed, a possessive heat flickering in their depths. His gaze traced her for just a second longer than necessary, as if committing every detail of the moment to memory.

Before she could even turn away, Silco’s chair screeched as he shot to his feet. His movements were fluid and predatory, and in an instant, he was behind her. His hands were on her, pulling her back against him with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. One hand landed firmly on her chest, his fingers splayed across her sternum, anchoring her in place.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Silco growled, his voice a low, dangerous warning that vibrated through her. His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her firmly against him as his lips brushed against her ear. “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, the heat of his presence overwhelming her senses. She didn’t fight the grip he had on her; instead, she leaned back against him, feeling the tension in his body and the possessiveness radiating off him. "I wasn’t trying to make you forget it," she murmured, her tone softening but still laced with a playful challenge. "But if you’re going to keep being an asshole, maybe I’ll keep reminding you in my own way."

Silco let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, but it didn’t feel like laughter; it was possessiveness, a warning, and something else—something far more dangerous. His grip tightened around her, pulling her even closer to him. “You’ve got a way of getting under my skin, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice a velvet threat. “But if you want to play like that, we’ll have to establish some rules.”

Her pulse quickened at the way he spoke, at the promise of more to come. She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his over her shoulder with a challenging smirk. "I think the only rule here is you’re not allowed to keep me at arm’s length. Not anymore."

Silco exhaled sharply, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. His hand remained firmly on her chest, his thumb grazing the skin just above the swell of her breast, a touch both possessive and intimate. “And you think you’re the one calling the shots now?” His voice was rough, his words carrying an edge that sent a thrill through her.

“Maybe,” she teased, her voice light, but there was an undeniable confidence in it. She was pushing his buttons, testing the limits, but she wasn’t scared. Not of him. “But you’ll always come back to me, won’t you, Silco?”

His grip on her tightened, pulling her a fraction closer until she was pressed fully against his chest. His lips brushed against her ear, and he let out a soft growl of approval, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, anchoring her even further against him. “You’re damn right I will,” he whispered, his voice dark and thick with desire.

He kissed the nape of her neck, the gesture tender yet fierce, as if marking her as his. The tension in the room shifted, and for a moment, the argument seemed to be forgotten, replaced with the simmering, possessive energy that was always between them. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he laid another kiss against her skin, this one deeper, more possessive.

“I’ll never let you go,” Silco muttered, his lips brushing against her skin as he pulled her even closer, his hands firm on her body. "Not now, not ever."

Y/N could feel the weight of his words settle between them, and in that moment, the fight was over. They might have clashed, but there was no denying that, in the end, they would always come back to each other.

SEVIKA

In the dimly lit apartment nestled deep within the industrial heart of Zaun, Y/N and Sevika were locked in yet another heated argument. The air between them crackled with tension, the words they exchanged sharp and biting. The walls of their small living space, battered by the passing years and countless skirmishes, seemed to echo their frustration. Makeshift repairs, old scorch marks, and the remnants of past disputes decorated their surroundings, making it clear that this was a home built with love, but also with a fair share of conflict.

Y/N, standing with her arms crossed in front of her, seethed with impatience. "Seriously, Sevika? I’m tired of this! We keep going around in circles, and nothing ever changes!" She took a few steps back, her eyes narrowing, clearly losing her patience. "You always say you're trying to help, but you just end up making everything worse!"

Sevika, her posture as imposing as ever, met the criticism head-on, her fists clenched at her sides. "What the hell are you talking about? You don’t even give me a chance to—" She stopped herself, jaw tightening. "You know I’m just trying to protect you, right?"

Y/N’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt. "Protect me?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "You’re not protecting me, Sevika. You’re smothering me. I’m not some delicate little thing you need to shield from everything!"

Sevika’s nostrils flared, her face reddening as she took a step forward, almost daring Y/N to challenge her. "Oh, so now I’m smothering you? Is that how you see it?" Her voice rose, louder than before. "All I do is worry about you. I keep you safe—"

"I don’t need you to keep me safe!" Y/N snapped, cutting her off. "I can take care of myself! I know how to fight. I know how to survive in this hellhole!" Her chest rose and fell with each heated breath. "Why can’t you trust me to handle things on my own for once?"

Sevika’s face twisted with frustration. "I do trust you! But you’re always pushing me away! You don’t understand how dangerous this life is—how dangerous Zaun is. I’ve seen it all. I know what it does to people, and I don’t want it to do that to you!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "You keep acting like I’m the one who’s making everything worse, but I’m just trying to keep you alive!"

Y/N’s jaw tightened, her frustration boiling over. "I don’t need saving, Sevika! You’re not the only one who knows what it’s like out here. You think I don’t see the blood, the wreckage? But I’m not gonna hide away in some corner while you try to wrap me up in cotton wool! This is my life too!"

The words hung in the air, charged and heavy. Sevika stared at her, eyes blazing, her emotions raw. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things. Y/N’s breathing slowed, but the sting of their disagreement lingered.

"I’m not asking you to hide away," Sevika said finally, her voice quieter, though still laced with tension. "I just… I just want to know you’re safe. That’s all. I can’t lose you, Y/N."

For a moment, Y/N stood still, her heart softening at Sevika’s words, but then the sharpness of their ongoing conflict crept back in. "I’m not some fragile thing that needs constant babysitting. Just let me handle my own shit for once."

The frustration, the hurt, and the exhaustion from their endless back-and-forth were starting to make Y/N feel like she might break. And then, just as quickly as it all came crashing down, something inside her shifted. She could feel the weight of the argument pressing down on her shoulders, and the last thing she wanted was for this to drag on any longer.

With a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes, Y/N suddenly yanked her shirt up over her head, flashing Sevika her chest in one swift, surprising motion. The move caught Sevika off guard, her eyes widening as the tension in the room shifted in an entirely different direction.

Sevika froze, her expression one of complete shock, the words dying in her throat. "Wait, what?!"

Y/N smirked, her eyes gleaming with a playful defiance, and without missing a beat, she dropped her shirt back down, smoothing it out as if nothing had happened. "I’m done with this, Sevika. Let’s talk when you’re done pouting."

She turned away, starting to walk toward the bedroom with a sense of finality, her steps light and breezy, as if she hadn’t just made a bold statement. But Sevika wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Sevika stood frozen for a moment, still processing what had just happened. Her face flushed red, a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and... something else she couldn’t quite name. Then, without warning, she rushed after Y/N, calling out in a half-teasing, half-whining voice, "Hey! Don’t just walk away! I wanna see them again!"

Y/N chuckled softly to herself as she heard Sevika’s voice behind her, the frustration in her chest slowly melting away. She had no intention of letting this go so easily. But as soon as she reached the bedroom, Sevika was on her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her onto the bed with surprising strength.

Before Y/N could say anything, Sevika had climbed over her, pinning her gently to the mattress. The playful grin on her face was almost too much to resist. "You can’t just leave me hanging like that, Y/N."

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, the familiar warmth of Sevika’s presence calming her nerves. Sevika rested her head on Y/N’s chest, hands softly resting on her stomach, her face content but still pouting slightly. "You’re impossible," Y/N muttered, running her fingers through Sevika’s messy hair, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

Sevika looked up at her, her eyes wide and playful, her lips curving into a soft smile. "I know. But you love me." Her voice was almost a plea, as if she were daring Y/N to deny it.

Y/N couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips, the warmth in her chest spreading. She pulled Sevika closer, wrapping her arms around her, cradling her against her body. "Yeah, I do."

Sevika sighed contentedly, settling into Y/N’s embrace, the argument forgotten. The air around them seemed to soften, the weight of their disagreements lifting as they lay together, tangled in sheets and the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. For now, there were no more fights, no more words—just the peace of being together.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 23

(Jade and Floyd are bioluminescent in darkness, so their scales often glitter and draw in too curious fish. Floyd is an extremely skilled hunter and often uses his Leiomano to fight with larger predators in close combat because he enjoys the thrill of the hunt. Jade usually lets his bioluminescence or his brother bring in the food and is less willing to fight a predator one on one even with his Harpoon. When fighting together, Jade and Floyd are both very skilled at playing off of one another and can easily overwhelm a larger predator.)

Warnings; RSA boys vs NRC boys, photoshoot, trying to rizz the Human ending poorly, Grim is a little shit to almost everyone except for his Hooman, mention of ill-tempered dragon, intentional sabotage of rizz, yanderes vs yanderes, Design Team and Guard Team alliance against Newcomers Team, protective behavior, sweet behavior, angry birds, Harpies, Merman, Drider, Hellcat, Water Nymph, Tree Nymph, Gnoll, Werewolf, Bakeneko, Nemean Lion, Shinigami,

~~~~~~~~

"So, why do we have to go to Pomefiore for this?"

"Because, mon Trickster, it has been storming since your departure to Savanaclaw. The grounds are too wet and muddy to take photos."

You frowned, looking out at the storm that was raging as Rook walked up to the Pomefiore mirror. Some of the storm was likely Malleus' doing, but there was no way he had kept the storm going for this long, right? That would take an unnatural amount of strength and energy to keep a storm going for days on end.

"Is it just rainy weather or is there something else happening?"

"Well," Vil cut in, flanking Rook and ensuring to keep the RSA students at an arm's length, "the storm started right after you joined Leona in Savanaclaw and hasn't stopped since then. Odds are a certain Dragon is throwing a fit."

The second after Vil's words, a large bolt of lightning struck the spires of the school nearby, making even Vil ruffle his feathers up. The lightning seemed to be throwing off all the students that passed by your group, and you stared out once more. You couldn't help but notice that the lightning has a bright green tint to it.

"Will we be able to do the Spelldrive Tournament if it keeps raining?"

"I assume that Crow will make Malleus calm down or you have to spend the night prior to the Spelldrive with Diasomnia to calm him down enough so the field is dry. I don't relish playing in the mud or getting soaked to the bone in this weather."

Rook entered the mirror with you, the others following suit and it was clear the RSA students were a bit thrown off by the mirror and the lovely sunny weather awaiting them in the Pomefiore dorm. You had only been to Pomefiore a few times when you were being fitted for clothes so it was nice to be at the dorm for a different reason. The many apple trees seemed to stretch out around the large iron gates of the dorm as they slowly swung open to allow your group entry.

Any students nearby were quick to bow their heads to Vil and back away, not wanting to earn the Harpy's ire when he had been in a mildly decent mood despite his pouting earlier in the week. It was clear the lush gardens of the dorm were awaiting your group as several students milled about with copious amounts of photography equipment. From different scale cameras to various sized lenses, even to large flash bulbs for lighting, it seemed a much more involved process than you had anticipated.

Leona caught on quickly to the less than excited way you stared at the many cameras and huffed lightly. He seemed amused by your lack of enthusiasm with the pending events.

"You know, Mousey, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Yes, Leona, I do have to. The best way to combat the one negative photo would be a lot of positive photos instead. So I do have to do this. For me, for Cater, and so I can stay here at Night Raven."

The Lion hummed and frowned at the many students who had begun to race around, trying to get everything in place. You were a bit lost as to the finer details of the photoshoot but figured Vil knew what he was doing. It was then the almost sweet voice of the Harpy Neige spoke up cooing gently as his feathers fluffed.

"Wow, Vil! This is amazing. I always knew you were a high-tier Magicam model, but it is so cool to see the things you have at your disposal for it. Usually Hop or Grum take photos for my magicam. I've only seen commercials and movies with this much production."

"I wouldn't expect anything more from you. Luckily for us, I do know the best cameras for our little photoshoot. Now, hush, the professionals are working."

Ruggie was the one to help you off of the Drider's back, Grim actually jumping to his arms to avoid the many cameras now pointed in your direction. Vil frowned somewhat at the preference the Hellcat showed to the Lion's dormmates before he gently grabbed your arm, pulling you to what seemed to be the center of the setup. With a clap of his hands, several Pomefiore students began to crowd you as they tried to fix up your hair and add makeup they felt would match you best. Vil was spearheading the efforts, using his own magic to change your outfit to that of a comfortable sun dress that reminded you somewhat of the Pomefiore uniform.

"Sorry, could ya- ah, I mean, could you look up for me?"

The student standing in front of you was the same plant-looking effeminate one that had shown up with Vil and Rook at the beginning of the week. He seemed more uncomfortable than the others despite matching the general theme and vibe of the dorm better than the others. You smiled and did as asked, taking interest in the lovely plant man.

"You don't have to talk all fancy around me. I won't get mad at you for it."

"I wish but- ahem- however, Housewarden Vil said it is a rule to talk like this "

"I don't like that rule."

"Honestly? Ah don't like it much either, makes no sense ta-"

Vil sharply cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at you and the plant man in warning. The plant man sighed and almost seemed to try and straighten up despite how uncomfortable it made him seem.

"Epel, I know you would not be callous enough to revert to your 'charming' accent when I have specifically instructed everyone to be on their best behavior and mind their manners."

"Of course not, Housewarden Vil, I was just..."

Before the plant-man- Epel, according to Vil- could continue his sentence, another voice cut in. You weren't as familiar with the voice but recognized the almost too kind tone of Erikír, the Merman prince.

"Careful, plant Nymph, no need to be rude or so dreadfully 'country' in front of fairer company."

You frowned at this, glancing at the grinning Merman who seemed to have no issue judging Epel right off the bat. Something about his tone made it seem like he intended it to be light-hearted and playful, but you couldn't help but take it as rude. Sure, Vil similarly griped at Epel, but it was Vil's duty as Housewarden to scold him. It was not Erikír's duty to do the same.

"Mind yourself, Prince Erikír, I asked him to speak in a comfortable way around me. Do not presume to scold a student not your own for a request I made."

Erikír seemed surprised by your tone and how clipped it had become before he bowed his head, conceding to your wishes. He almost seemed to have a slight grimace but his expression quickly smoothed back into a pleasant smile. That small lapse in behavior had you wondering about Erikír and if he had ulterior motives behind volunteering to guard you. It made you wonder about all of the RSA students.

"My apologies, fair (Y/n). I did not intend to offend."

"It is Vil's place and duty to keep his dormmates in line with the rules of their dorm. It is not your place nor your duty to do the same."

Erikír somewhat winced at your reprimand but Vil was absolutely beaming in pride. He had a clear smirk curling the corners of his lips as he sneered at the visiting student with his crest fully raised. You had half a mind to scold Vil as well, but figured you got your point across as Epel very carefully applied eye-liner to your lower lid. If anything, Epel actually seemed amused with your quick snap at Erikír and seemed much more relaxed around you now.

"There. I'd say it looks darn good- urk-! I mean- you- it looks nice on you. I mean- you always look nice-!"

You chuckled and caught Epel's hand as he stumbled over his words, holding the rough bark-covered limb in your own. The flowers that adorned the leaves making up his hair seemed to all bloom the moment you held his hand and smiled at him. It was clear Epel couldn't find the words to say what he wanted and was rendered almost mute by your friendly behavior towards him.

"Thank you, Epel, you've done a wonderful job."

"Aw, shucks, it ain't all that big a deal... I mean-!"

"I know. I think you should let your accent shine, it is very endearing."

"Sure..."

You could have sworn the Nymph would be blushing if he didn't have bark for skin and sap for blood. Vil was quick to sweep you away from the other Pomefiore students and towards the cameras, where he gave you a thrilled smile and spun you once to get a good look at you. He seemed pleased with what he saw as he nodded to the students behind the cameras.

"Alright, don't worry too much about posing at first, this is a 'casual' and 'natural' photoshoot, so just do what feels natural to you. Feel free to pull any of us into the photos if you wish, I will do my best to compose the photos and may ask for certain poses later as we continue the shoot."

"So I can make you pose for photos too?"

"Of course. I would certainly value any prints we get of the two of us together, but you may wish to pull Rook and even Leona in for a few pictures."

You nodded at this, letting Vil move you around and somewhat pose with you for the first few photos. He genuinely seemed happy to help you into typical model poses, a look of amusement and affection for your attempts to pose with him. How he valued those little moments guiding you as you trusted him to lead you through the casual steps he had long perfected.

All too soon it was over and Vil felt a kind of burning jealousy in his throat as you turned to the others who had mostly agreed to join this little event. Vil pulled away first to allow you to move on despite how he wanted to linger. You were keen to see how the softer Harpy would handle being in the photos with you.

You didn't notice the way Vil bristled and let out a low hissing sound as you gently pulled the smaller Harpy towards you. Neige was much more relaxed with the attention than you expected as he happily posed with you and smiled to the cameras that had yet to stop clicking and flashing. He even managed to get a chuckle from you as he cooed softly and seemed to cuddle up against you.

Like Vil, he led you through the different poses easily and made you feel comfortable around him. It was when he began a small somewhat dance of poses with you that Vil almost screamed in anger, clearly upset at the idea of anyone dancing with you, let alone this feathered rat-with-wings Dove. How dare he try to do something so inherently linked with Harpies? Even if they were just poses and not technically an actual dance, it made no difference to Vil.

Thankfully, Rook managed to keep Vil from leaping at the smaller Harpy. The Drider saw how you smiled and enjoyed the little dance with the ever lovely Dove Harpy he adored, knowing Neige intended it as a friendly interaction and not the beginning of intimacy as Vil perceived it to be. What did raise Rook's suspicion was how Erikír refused to take his eyes off of you even once, his blue orbs following you closely with every move you made.

"Vil, how about you join Neige and I for these next few photos?"

"If I may," Erikír interjected, stepping forward with a hand to his heart as he smiled warmly at you, "may I cut in for a little bit? Surely the presence of several species would lend credence to these photos?"

"Alright, that makes sense."

Erikír was quick to take his place by your side, almost brushing past Neige who happily stepped aside to let the merman approach instead. The Merman gently held your hands and spun you around in his hold, letting your back press against his chest as he moved in a slow progression of poses. Most of the poses he chose involved holding you in some way or having a hand resting on your soft figure as he seemed to almost enjoy the poses a bit too much.

As he moved you to a different pose, you noticed the way he was almost insistent about placing his hands on your stomach, his entire chest pressed against your back as he held you from behind. You were becoming a bit uncomfortable and it must have showed in your expression as Leona suddenly cut in, easily shoving the prince back and away from you as the Lion mimicked the same pose from earlier, only his hands remained on your hips and not your stomach. A soft growl escaped his lips as he glared at the prince who frowned angrily in response.

"Keep your hands in respectable places, little Prince."

The word Prince was spat out and almost hissed as if in mocking to the Merman who had been somewhat monopolizing the pictures in front of the cameras. Leona's words confused you though, and you glanced back at him curiously.

"Respectable places?"

"Don't worry about it, Mousey. I know Humans considered touching stomachs to be a provocative act. I won't let this rude little fish make you uncomfortable."

"... What? You guys do know I don't consider my stomach an erogenous zone... Right?"

It was Leona's turn to be surprised as he raised a brow at you, his scar pulling taut on his skin. He seemed confused as did the others and you sighed, realizing they must have made assumptions again about Humans as a whole.

"Sure, not every Human is okay with their stomachs being touched, and some- especially pregnant women- hate when someone touches their stomach uninvited. But that is an issue with consent, not overtly considered to be sexual behavior because it is their stomach."

Still, if all of them assumed stomachs were an overly sexualized location on Humans, then that meant Erikír was trying to sexualize you. If not sexualize you, then he was attempting to be overly sexual with you. That simply would not stand, even for poses.

"That, however, does not mean it is okay for anyone to touch me without permission. Ever."

"My apologies, I didn't intend-"

"Oh? You didn't intend? If everyone of you assumes my stomach is sexual in nature, then why the hell did you feel alright touching me there?"

"I- I just-"

"You 'just' what? Thought it was okay to cross any boundary you thought existed because you felt like it?"

"No! Not at all! Please, believe me, I was not trying to make you uncomfortable or do anything inappropriate."

"I don't think you need to be in any further pictures, Erikír."

"But I-! Very well. I apologize again for any discomfort I have caused you. I merely intended to befriend you."

"Well, you aren't doing a very good job at that."

You saw the Merman visibly jolt as if he had been struck by your words. A kind of look glinted in his eyes as he seemed to anger for a moment before suddenly calming himself down. He withdrew somewhat from the others and you gave one final glare before continuing to pose with Leona now, who kept his eyes glued to the offending Merman with clear distrust.

Erikír was fuming on the inside, glaring hatefully at the Lion that had outed his more than friendly behavior towards you. If the Lion had not said a word about it, you would have clearly been unaware of the implications of the Merman. He was trying so hard to charm and woo you, yet you came to the defense of the villains every time instead of seeing him as the hero he was supposed to be.

A poisonous feeling of resentment towards the villainous students boiled in the pit of his stomach. You had allowed Neige of all students to dance with you, why was Erikír the one being shunned? He was top of his class and was clearly a physically capable mate, so why choose that obnoxiously kind Harpy and nosey Lion over him?

He would just have to try harder to prove himself a worthy mate by any means necessary.

"Hey!"

A loud and familiar childish voice cut in to the photos you were taking with Leona, glancing over to see Ortho and Idia walking up to the group. Ortho was bouncing excitedly and held out the mechanical skull you recognized as the one Kalim had affected with his magic. It seemed Idia had managed to ensure it wouldn't explode and now sought to return the Skull to you.

"Nee-san! Idi-nii and I checked over and double checked to make sure it was safe!"

The little Shinigami was quick to bolt to your side and the ever nervous Idia followed suit at a much more timid pace than the younger. Idia was visibly distressed by the new faces and seemed to shrink in on himself as Ortho happily handed over the Skull. Though it had appeared inert in his hands, it sparked to life when you touched it and a soothing melody hummed out.

The return of familiar music was incredibly soothing to you and you smiled, humming along with the music as you gently ruffled the flame-hair of the littler Shinigami. Ortho was thrilled at the gentle touch and pressed his head into your hand, his blue flames feeling like gently warmed hair beneath your fingers instead of burning you. It was an unusual feeling, but one you appreciated regardless and it told you about the general nature of Idia and Ortho's hair.

"Thank you, Ortho, Idia. I appreciate the two of you quite a bit."

Idia smiled at this, his cheeks flaming a gentle blue as his hair began to take a somewhat magenta hue. He swayed back and forth as he bit his sleeve and looked away bashfully, clearly soaking up the praise you gave him.

"You don't have to be so sweet about it. It wasn't even that big a deal or that much work. I built them myself, so of course I could tell if anything was out of place. But if you want, you could thank me by gaming with Ortho and I a bit."

"Or," you playfully interjected, "you two can join me for some pictures for my new Magicam account."

Idia visibly balked at the idea and seemed to search for an immediate escape, unable to feel as Ortho grabbed his arm.

"Of course we'll take pictures with you, Nee-san! Papa Hades is gonna love them!"

"No! Wait, wait, wait! You can't spring a raid on me like this, Ortho! I didn't even get a ready check-!"

"Let's go!"

You laughed at the brotherly behavior of the two Shinigami, continuing to hum with the music as it felt like you had been given a great gift. Perhaps you could even get Vil interested in a few of the songs you loved so much. Even Grim seemed to be enjoying the little photoshoot as he leaped out of Ruggie's arms and into your own, posing excitedly with Ortho.

Even among the renewed mirth and pulling several of the other monsters into the pictures with you, a certain darkness seemed to hover over one of the students. This monster had lived his entire life hoping he could come across some lonely and adoring Human that he could wed and keep as his own. He was not going to let these villains get in between him and his dream, even if he needed to make one of the others the monster in order to do that.

[my-anndreamer]

Optimus x Megatron son

Outwardly and partly in character, Octantis is very similar to Megatron, he can be dry and emotionless, but he also has good qualities such as compassion and kindness, but is afraid to show his good side to outsiders. Therefore, his creators and Bumblebee know who he is inside. Octi was born when the G.H.O.S.T. organization was working, he was hidden from everyone, for a little over a year he was hidden at the base, until his system could process ordinary energon without impurities, the next year Bumblebee took him to his upbringing, bringing him to the creators every few months. Octantis witnessed all of Bee's victories in the races, and together with him they explored the Earth.

Octantis loved the Earth so much that he swore that he would protect it, even if he was far from it.

He also swore to protect Bumblebee, and he keeps his oath so much that he literally almost drove Breakdown to a nervous breakdown with his pranks and threats (and he was only 3 years old ). And when his first and only niece was born, the pranks stopped, and he gave her his love and care.

Octantis has an incredible sense of justice, and believes that everyone should be given a chance, even the Decepticons (but not Breakdown, he still secretly doesn't really like him even after many years).

In battle, he shows excellent results, he didn't want to have an alt mode from the very beginning, because he didn't want to choose, but the situation changed. Octantis is excellent at using his cannon, it's the only weapon he has.

Octantis loves to swim and loves everything related to the sea, sometimes he will dive up to his neck into the sea and listen to the noise of the sea and how the fish peck at his armor in search of useful elements. He even has a small aquarium with goldfish in his room ( 😭❤), he takes care of the fish as best he can and gets very upset when one of the fish dies (at such moments he hides his face in Optimus' chest and sadly lowers his antennae). Octantis' room is almost an entire ocean, everywhere there are posters, figurines, decor of sea creatures.

His emotions can only be recognized by the antennae that he constantly unconsciously moves. He has a good relationship only with Bluesun and Sonicstep. And he is very afraid of Cura, she is probably the only bot that scares Octantis to the core.

[dogtoling]

Biology of Inkfish - Health

Notably, neocephalopods only possess an innate immune system and completely lack an adaptive immune system as seen in most fish - their immune systems are “non-learning”. This means that cephalings do not form immunities to diseases, nor do their immune systems protect them from diseases they have endured before. In comparison to organisms with an adaptive immune system, vaccines are redundant to cephalings, but on the positive side, allergies do not occur. 

Common symptoms of disease in inkfish include headaches, changes in ink consistency, ink droughts, duller tentacle colors, muscle weakness, dizziness, wobbly movements and loss of appetite. Excessive ink bleed, low body temperatures, dry skin, fatigue, loss of coordination and general tiredness are also common symptoms of various infections. Sick individuals usually naturally seek out warm or even hot environments, and may spend excessive time in hot showers, underneath heated blankets or even the oven in ill-advised lapses of judgment. Raising the body temperature helps combat infection and beat illness faster, but can exacerbate symptoms of dehydration and be potentially dangerous to the brain and organs if not controlled. 

Infections are easily transmitted through fresh ink or skin contact with other inkfish. As a result, infected inkfish are strictly banned from ink sports, as one Turf War with one infected player will almost certainly infect every player coming in contact with the ink.

Cephalings also encounter many conditions that aren’t necessarily caused by bacteria, such as cancers, muscle tears, beak chipping and growth abnormalities. Growth abnormalities may include quickly manifesting issues such as deep-sea gigantism or splitting or malformation of limbs. Abnormalities in limb growth most often occur when a limb is regenerating, but typically pose no risks.

An inkfish in poor health, mental or physical, will often have thin or droopy tentacles, reduced ink production and dull coloring. Some very common causes for these symptoms can be stress, poor mental health, very poor nutrition or disease.

[The same inkfish when healthy (A) and when sick (B) exhibiting some common symptoms of illness. The most prominent symptom of any illness is desaturation of the skin.]

Regenerative Abilities

Cephalings are somewhat famous for their regenerative abilities and overall hardiness. Their bodies are incredibly flexible, and they have no bones - making them very impact-resistant. While they often sustain scratches and wounds thanks to their relatively thin skin, their regenerative abilities make up for many of their shortcomings.

In nature, neocephalopods would often lose limbs, from tips of the limbs to entire arms ripped off. This is a type of injury they are well adapted to, to the point that crown tentacles are even routinely cut off and minced for fashion purposes in the modern day. Wounds on the limbs bleed for a short time until the regenerative process begins; in inkfish, this window is even smaller due to ink bleeding out and helping to block the site of injury. Depending on whether the cephaling is healthy and gets proper sustenance, the limb often grows back in less than a year; in smaller species, it may grow back in even just a few months. Although cephalings can regrow their limbs as many times as they have to, it is quite common for mutations to occur, and the arm may split or grow in a strange shape. 

Cephalings can regenerate a lot more than their arms - they can also regenerate parts of their organs, brains, and eyes to a lesser degree. Eyes can regenerate fully from shallow wounds, and partially from deeper wounds, to the point that an almost fully demolished eye can regenerate enough tissue to regain the ability to sense light. Minor brain- and heart injuries can also be regenerated, although with a higher margin of error with larger injuries that are still survivable. Damage to a branchial heart* is typically survivable, and the organs usually heal completely over time.

(* The branchial hearts are paired and are responsible for supplying blood to one gill each. Losing one entirely and surviving on just one gill is generally possible, although the reduced respiration poses some challenges.) Large injuries can still be lethal for cephalings. While losing one or more limbs isn’t particularly dangerous, situations where this happens as an effect of a predator attack often leave the cephaling unable to flee and thus cause them to get eaten. Injury to the systemic heart or the brain is also usually lethal within a short period of time. While they can regenerate limbs and organs, they are vulnerable to damage to the torso and mantle and are likely to perish from wounds that involve chunks being ripped off.

Common Ailments

Various ink infections. There are MANY kinds of infections that are caused when bacteria that really shouldn’t be in there get inside the ink sac. This typically causes atypical ink production and consistency, dizziness, possible body pains and ink droughts. Most ink infections are easily identified and are treated with antibiotics or gel that absorbs into the ink veins.

Ink bleed. A state in which ink bleeds out of the ink sac and the body involuntarily. It’s typically caused by the ink ducts being open involuntarily and abnormally, the body producing too much ink, the ink produced being too runny or a combination of several factors. It is usually a symptom of illness or abnormality of the ink sac.

Ink drought. The opposite of ink bleed. An ink drought is a condition where the ink sac produces much less ink than normal, or even none. It usually leads to issues with the muscles and upright posture due to low ink pressure, and usually leads to problems of the ink vein system and dry skin if left untreated.

Poisoning or Envenomation. The most common cases of poisoning are from contact with poisonous creatures, skin contact with chemicals, or from toxin accumulation in seafood. Symptoms of poisoning vary VERY widely based on the toxin, affected species and the amount of toxin absorbed, ranging from mild discomfort and lightheadedness to paralysis and rapid death.

Hypothermia. Low body temperatures are a very common problem within cephalings, especially during colder months. They can be caused by being in environments that are much too cold or consuming too much cold food or drink. Symptoms include drowsiness, shivering, weakness and lethargy. The treatment is simple and consists of warming up the patient, although this should be done gradually.

Malnutrition. Malnutrition is a bigger issue among cephalings than one would assume, and is often caused by either too little food altogether, or not enough meat being consumed. As a lot of modern street food is mostly carbohydrates and is vegetable-based, the overall consumption of meat can dip very low for some cephalings despite their carnivorous nature. Common symptoms include loss of muscle, tiredness and irritation, lightheadedness, consistent hunger, decreased ink production and stunted growth (typically in juveniles). 

Muscle weakness. Issues stemming from muscle weakness are very common in cephalings, especially inkfish, which derive a lot of their stability from ink flow. Since cephalings lack real bones, any excessive weakening of the muscles can result in rapid loss of walking and standing ability. Significant loss of muscle function may result from general long-term inactivity, illness, malnutrition, low ink pressure or low ink levels and is quite common. Even slightly extended periods of inactivity or illness sometimes require people to depend on external mobility aids afterwards, and canes especially are a widely used option for countering muscle weakness both short- and long term. Some inkfish counter significant muscle weakness by abandoning bipedalism altogether and turning to spending most of their time in swim form. Some forms of muscle weakness prevent switching between forms altogether, though this occurs mainly in people who stop switching forms for an extended amount of time.

Ink pressure issues. An inkfish’s ink system pulses ink around at a somewhat consistent rate, keeping up the natural flow. An absence or overabundance of ink, ink infections, illness, stress and anxiety as well as a myriad of other things may cause ink pressure to be higher or lower than normal. High ink pressure typically causes restlessness, stiffness and ink bleed, whereas low ink pressure causes wobbliness and unstable movement, lethargy, muscle pain and reduced stamina.

Beak issues. Cephaling beaks grow slowly but indefinitely and need to routinely be filed down if not naturally worn down. If the beak isn't used enough to naturally even out from use, one may run into beak overgrowth. For most people, mild beak overgrowth isn't an issue, and parts of the beak sticking out of the mouth is generally considered inconsequential. More advanced beak overgrowth can become problematic by digging into parts of the buccal mass and causing infections and making eating difficult. This typically occurs with individuals who have fear regarding beak procedures or healthcare. Other common issues with the beak include beak misalignment and brittleness of the beak.

Radular decay. Radular decay occurs when bits of food are stuck between or under the radular teeth, causing infection, and is more common with plant-based food sources. It is prevented by regular cleaning or brushing of the radula. Mild forms may be limited to radular pain and occasional bleeding, but severe radular decay may require the radula to be removed, which significantly limits a cephaling's diet. For perhaps obvious reasons, radular decay is not of significance for species that have no radula.

Sucker infections. Infections of the suction cups are most prevalent in squid, which have chitinous sucker rings which can trap muck, grime and other particles between the ring and fleshy tissue. Alternatively, hooks or rings can grow incorrectly or overgrow if not maintained and dig into the flesh, causing infection. They occur more commonly in people who regularly use their suckers and get them in contact with different things, but often fly under the radar for people who use their suckers for touch-based things less and thus assume that sucker care is irrelevant. Infections of the sucker usually cause pain, bleeding, dryness and potential shriveling up of the infected suckers, where severe infections can cause individual sucker necrosis and spread to the whole limb. Crown tentacle infections are particularly dangerous in that the infection can easily spread to the brain. In situations where a sucker is badly infected, it is typically precautionary to remove the sucker, a part of the limb or the whole limb, as it is often safer and more convenient to replace an inflamed sucker than it is to wait for infection to subside.

Conditions and Mutations

[Three common limb mutations, the most common types of significant mutation among cephalings. Limb mutations can occur as part of a genetic condition or by chance during regeneration of a limb. With the modern prevalence of tentacle cutting, it is said that up to 40% of limb regenerations involve some form of mutation. Pictured are A. branching, B. anemonism and C. blanking.]

White Beak. The color of the inkfish beak especially varies greatly in its ratio of black and white. While the base of the beak is always pale, ancestral squid and octopus beaks were mostly dark in the exposed area. In modern inkfish, a common mutation makes the beaks almost entirely pale, which also has the effect of them being softer in comparison. In the current day, predominantly white beaks are more common than black beaks are, although the majority of people will have some form of gradient in beak color and hardness. In a big part of the population, this comes with a larger risk factor for beak chipping and limitations for food hardness, though it also reduces the risk of beak overgrowth in comparison to black beaks. Brittle beaks are usually treated primarily with a threshold for maximum food hardness and beak polish to protect the surface of the beak, whereas beak chipping is usually handled by attaching artificial parts to the beak to shield it during regrowth or filing the rest of the beak to be level with the chipped segment. Cracks in a beak can be filled in with a hardening filler substance that conceals the crack and strengthens the beak.

Color Lock. Some cephalings are born without some of their ink sac chemicals, which limits the colors of ink they can mix - some extreme cases are limited to just one color. Aside from the inconvenience of having limited ink colors, the mutation is harmless. In some cases, people may choose to treat color lock by ingesting dyes to color their ink to whatever the situation calls for. Sometimes, color lock can be caused temporarily by a disease or underlying health condition, but permanent color lock is only genetic.

Ink Wither. A condition in which the ink sac produces very little ink, and may stop producing ink completely. It causes permanent ink drought, though ink drought on its own is usually a temporary symptom caused by a myriad of things. Although ink wither usually exists from birth due to unusual development of the ink sac or other related complications, it is sometimes caused when an ink drought caused by other triggers, such as disease, dehydration, bacterial infections or malnutrition, is prolonged and becomes chronic. It is treated mostly through artificial ink refills, ink soak therapy* and external mobility aids due to low ink levels often causing complications with stability. 

(*Ink soak therapy is a treatment in which an inkfish bathes in a shallow tub or dish of ink. Prolonged contact with large amounts of ink has been proven to stimulate the body's own ink production, so it is an effective remedy for some instances of ink drought and also helps absorb ink into the system.)

Ink Boom. An opposing condition to ink wither in which the ink sac produces excessive amounts of ink and continues to do so even when full. It usually co-occurs with chronic ink bleed. The severity of the condition determines difficulty of the treatment; in cases of slightly above-average ink production, attention to hydration and sufficient purging of ink throughout the day may be enough to manage the condition, whereas high-producing cases may require constant monitoring and frequent hospital stays. In most affected people, the severity of the condition varies on environmental or other factors and may come in episodes. Ink boom is a condition often developed by long-term ink battlers due to frequent usage of large amounts of ink, but may develop throughout childhood or in adulthood, where it most often develops from substance use or stress. Typical symptoms include comorbid chronic ink bleed, stiffness, swelling under the skin, dehydration, malnutrition and restlessness. Treatments include purging of excess ink to avoid buildup, monitoring hydration and nutrition levels, medications to relax the ink sac or, in extreme cases, removal of the ink sac, which imposes dependence on externally sourced ink but eliminates the root cause. Ink boom sometimes occurs temporarily as a comorbidity to various health complications, and is sometimes a precursor for progressing into ink wither later in life. 

Branching. Branching is a state where the limbs split and branch at the ends to form new ones continuously. Branching can be developed at birth, upon which it is typically permanent. A person with branching will typically have their limbs split into two or more growths upon the tip being cut off, or a new branch may start growing out of a non-injured limb arbitrarily. It can affect all the limbs or just some of the limbs, but an inkfish with genetic branching will always develop branches on a limb, even if cut off and regrown, although the size and position of the branching may change and vary. In individuals where only some limbs are affected, cutting off an unaffected limb will typically spread branching to that limb upon regrowth. Consequently, there are many people that are unaware of having the condition due to having no external traits until a limb is first regenerated. Some people may develop temporary branching as a result of stress, or randomly while regenerating a limb. Branches can be removed by cutting off branches and burning the root tissue to prevent regeneration, although this is done primarily for cosmetic reasons due to branching of the limbs being generally inconsequential health-wise.

Anemonism. A common genetic mutation that causes more than the usual amount of limbs to form. In most cases, it manifests in the form of additional crown tentacles, but there are sometimes extra arms or legs. The rarity goes up with the amount of extra limbs present; it is quite common for inkfish to have one or two extra crown tentacles, for example. It differs from branching in that the new limbs originate straight from the body with complete or partially complete muscle groups, rather than branching off from an existing limb. New limbs do not grow in later in life, although the onset depends on the type of anemonism; additional locomotive limbs are present from birth, whereas additional crown tentacles will grow in with the rest of the tentacle crown. Conditions where one or more of the limbs or crown tentacles are absent are considered a subset of anemonism, usually referred to as reverse anemonism.

Blanking. A somewhat rare condition which causes less or no suction cups to form, resulting in greatly reduced amounts of suckers and a signature “blank tentacles” look. It is usually present from birth, although similar effects may occur in regenerated limbs for people without the condition. It affects both the crown tentacles and the graspers; some people may only have a few suckers, some people may have none at all, and it may affect different limbs disproportionately or only affect some of the limbs. It is most noticeable in octolings, although it occurs in all sucker-bearing cephalings. In decapods, it often causes the tentacular clubs to form in unusual shapes or not form at all, and commonly results in oddly shaped or missing sucker rings. People with the condition often have comorbidities affecting the suckers, such as splitting, asymmetry, stunted development of the sucker or dulled chemoreception. For people with blanking, cutting off and regenerating limbs still produces reduced suction cup numbers, and developing other regenerative limb abnormalities is quite common. It is a condition that doesn’t require medical treatment, although people for whom it affects the graspers may benefit from specialized equipment for fingerless species. 

General Limb Abnormalities. Extra limbs, missing limbs, extra suckers or missing suckers, limbs with no hand or multiple hands per limb - the list goes on. There is a plethora of limb abnormalities within neocephalopods, and they are not actually that uncommon; roughly one in 5 inkfish has something of the sort at some point of their life. Oftentimes, extra limbs, suckers or arms are at least partially or even fully functional. Many limb abnormalities are permanent and present from birth, while the most common ones can develop at any time, usually resulting from damage to a limb. People with one type of genetic limb abnormality are also likely to have other coexisting conditions; for example, anemonism and blanking often co-occur.

Kraken Syndrome. Kraken Syndrome is a psychological condition where the Kraken response* triggers dangerously easily. This condition occurs when the body is conditioned to frequent Kraken transformations to the point where the brain becomes exponentially more receptive to triggers for Krakening and thus dramatically lowers the threshold for natural Kraken episodes to occur. When this threshold is low enough, the Kraken is triggered abnormally easily and Kraken Syndrome is diagnosed. It is treated mainly with exposure therapy, mood stabilizing medication, depressants and sedatives, and specific medications that induce fatigue or physically weaken the body enough to prevent physical Krakening. It is highly comorbid with anxiety disorders, which also often function as triggers. Kraken Syndrome became widely documented in the late 2010’s, almost uniquely among frequent users of the Kraken special weapon. It is not to be confused with the rare condition where the Kraken form is able to be triggered at will with no psychological effects; this is not a type of Kraken Syndrome as it involves a voluntary transformation as opposed to a lowered threshold for involuntary uncontrolled transformations.

(* The Kraken response occurs with the fight-of-flight response of inkfish and correlates with a threshold of emotional distress that triggers the transformation. During a Kraken transformation, the inkfish becomes aggressive and disoriented, ink production is drastically increased, ink builds in the muscles and tissues increasing the individual's size, and a deimatic display is forced, often creating a high-contrast pattern. It isn't a panic reaction in itself and not all panic reactions inherently lead to a Kraken episode, but some degree of extremely high anxiety and desperation or anger are mandatory for a Kraken to trigger. The threshold that a Kraken triggers tends to vary based on person, but it generally requires an extremely high-stress situation with imminent threat. In general circumstances, the average inkfish will probably Kraken zero to three times in their life.)

[An image detailing the differences between typical emotional agitation required to trigger the Kraken response between unaffected individuals and those with Kraken syndrome. The special charge state is considered the basic state of agitation when special weapons become usable due to increased metabolic rates and high ink production. The Kraken response is typically far above the average person's typical agitation levels and triggers only in extremely dire situations. Usage of the Kraken drug for Turf Wars artificially lowers that threshold for the transformation itself to roughly the same threshold as the special charge state. Frequent transformations under the influence of the drug do not trigger the psychological disorientation and other effects of the Kraken, but they are still generally detected by the body and brain as an emergency situation, which lowers the natural threshold for natural Krakening over a long period of transformations to compensate for frequent threats. This causes an effect where even minor agitation may trigger the brain into a full-blown Kraken transformation in response to a nonexistent threat and is the case for people with Kraken syndrome. High-strung Kraken syndrome is diagnosed when the threshold for Krakening is so low that it co-occurs with the natural special charge state of the individual or even before that emotional threshold.]

Deep-Sea Gigantism. Shortened often to DSG, deep-sea gigantism is a sudden growth spurt caused by high long-term stress levels. It is a defensive response to unfamiliar or threatening life situations, mostly fueled by hormonal changes in the body in the long term. DSG gets its common name due to its prevalence in people moving in or out of the Deepsea, in which case it is often triggered by extreme change in pressure levels, disorientation through change in environment and general stress of moving, which captures a lot of common triggers for the condition. The name isn’t to say that the underground or -water are the only conditions where it occurs; it may occur as a response to any type of long-term stress, anxiety, frequent threatening situations or even some medications. The main symptom of deep-sea gigantism is unnatural, accelerated growth that might be dismissed in the short term and only becomes apparent within the span of months where it becomes clear that the pace is abnormal, and it is common to outgrow the typical size estimates for one’s species under long-term DSG. Other symptoms include increased hunger and appetite, fatigue, rapid muscle gain, headaches and general disorientation. The condition may be self-fueling due to the body directing most of the energy into growth and thus causing potential deficiencies elsewhere. Long-term instances of DSG with significant growth may also cause issues and comorbid conditions to develop due to the growth of the body and the growth of the organs and ink sac often being disproportionate. Deep-sea gigantism differs from regular gigantism in that it is a temporary (albeit often long-lasting) condition that has external triggers as opposed to a permanent condition. It is typically treated with anti-stress medication, eliminating underlying root causes, and limiting energy intake. Short periods of DSG often go entirely unnoticed, but longer periods are highly problematic due to the increase in body size not being reversible.

Hyperchromatophorism. Casually referred to as hi-chrom, it is a type of hyperpigmentation that causes chromatophore amounts in excess and causes the skin to be abnormally brightly colored in adult individuals where chromatophores are typically sparse. It is different from late onset of mature chromatophore sparsening due to the density of chromatophores being drastically higher to begin with. Usually, hyperchromatophorism is present from birth and affects either the whole body or large areas of the body, causing vivid colors and patterns to display across the whole body or areas of the body rather than just the crown tentacles. The intensity of these colors depends on the individual, and the condition may be light and only cause slightly increased saturation in parts of the body, or it can cause the entire body to be a solid color. It is mirrored by hypochromatophorism, which is a partial or complete lack of chromatophores in an area, and is about as common as the former but less noticeable due to mainly being visible in the crown tentacles. Either condition can occur in people without the conditions in areas where skin regenerates, and is quite common with large wounds.

Chronic Ink Bleed. Chronic ink bleed is a condition where excessive amounts of ink seep through the skin and the ink ducts are permanently, or predominantly, open. It is a consistently repeating or constant presence of the ink bleed condition which varies in severity based on whether the ink ducts are permanently open or only frequently open. Chronic ink bleed almost always co-occurs with chronic dehydration, low ink levels, malfunctions of the ink sac and ink system and mobility issues stemming from ink loss. It is usually managed with means that prevent or lessen ink evaporation; absorbent body wear, lotions that clog ink ducts around the skin or other medications that force the ink ducts to close, or alternatively frequent ink refills often administered by portable machines intravenously. Inkfish with chronic ink bleed often fare poorly in areas with dry air. Significant and long-lasting ink bleed is often a symptom of illness, and it may turn chronic after severe episodes of sickness. Chronic ink bleed can be a birth condition or it may develop later in life; late onset is often seen in professional Turf War players. It may also develop as a side effect of medication, unrelated illness, high stress or anxiety levels or hormonal imbalance, although in these cases it is typically reversible. 

Color dysfunction. Color dysfunction is a condition where the color-changing skin cells aren’t under conscious control, and cycle colors randomly. It doesn’t apply to dead or inactive chromatophores as the affected cells are alive and active, but the ability to control them is absent, limited, or leads to inaccurate displays. Cephalings with the condition have highly variable skin patterns, from constantly cycling colors in no particular order, spontaneous deactivation or activation of the skin cells, or colors that somewhat correlate with emotion or activity but still have no conscious control. People with color dysfunction may have it across the entire skin, or it may be isolated to specific patches of the body while other areas have controllable pigment cells. It may also develop in areas where skin regenerates for people that do not have it as a pre-existing condition. It is most often present from birth, but sometimes develops later in life in response to stress, brain damage or psychological conditions, where it may be permanent or subside with time. Symptoms also often arise temporarily as a response to drugs, medications or high stress situations. Color dysfunction has a high occurrence rate alongside different psychological conditions and is presumed to be a mismatch of electrical signals in the brain to what is actually displayed on the skin, or overall dysfunction of the center that dictates color change.

Color stasis. Color stasis is a subtype of color dysfunction where the color-changing cells are alive but permanently deactivated involuntarily. It differs from chromatophore atrophy or chromatophore death in that cells are not dead, but deactivated. It is caused by inactivity of the brain center in charge of color change, whether that is due to an absence, partial inactivity or nerve damage to parts of the body or brain. It can be present from birth or develop later, typically due to brain damage or substance abuse. It may also extend to all skin or only be present in select areas or patches of skin. People without the pre-existing condition sometimes develop individual patches of color stasis in areas where skin regenerates.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Tension? What Tension? - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

i’m having too much fun writing about these emotionally constipated idiots

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.39k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Katniss is trying to drown Peeta again.

Not seriously. Just enough to make it theatrical.

He resurfaces with a gasp and a grin, water dripping from his hair as he yells, “That was a war crime, Everdeen!”

She just smirks and flicks water at him with the back of her hand. “Next time, I hold you under longer.”

You’re watching all this from the dock, leaning back on your hands. Your ankles are in the water, your face is half-melted from the heat, and your shirt’s already damp with sweat because of course it’s the most suffocating day of the entire damn summer so far.

Haymitch is stretched out beside you, shirt half-unbuttoned, sunglasses on, very obviously Not Participating.

“You gonna go in?” you ask, nudging his leg with your foot.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like being dry, honey. And also because the minute I set foot in that lake, one of those lunatics is going to try and baptize me with violence.”

You snort. “So dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” he says, sitting up slightly. “You’re the one who packed a towel, a snack, and an escape plan.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Because I have foresight. You, meanwhile, are going to be sweaty and miserable in five minutes and begging me for water like a sad little plant.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to argue—and then a waterlogged Peeta lunges onto the dock behind you with a war cry.

You scream. He grabs your wrist. You shriek louder.

Haymitch does nothing except sip from a bottle he definitely smuggled into your bag, “I warned you.”

Chaos. Immediate chaos.

Katniss cannonballs. Peeta’s trying to haul you into the lake. You’re clinging to Haymitch’s leg like it’s your last hope.

You’re clinging to Haymitch like he’s a damn life raft, and he’s just sitting there—laughing—while Peeta tries to pry your fingers off his leg.

“Traitor!” you shout at him, as Peeta finally hooks an arm around your waist.

“You picked your side the second you called me a sad little plant,” Haymitch says, utterly unbothered.

You try to twist away, but Peeta’s got momentum and water weight on his side. You go down like a ship in a storm—splashing into the lake with a shriek that echoes through the trees.

The water hits like a shock, cold and loud, stealing the breath from your lungs. When you come up, sputtering, hair plastered to your face, Katniss is already grinning from where she’s floating nearby.

“I didn’t even have to help this time,” she says. “Impressive, Mellark.”

Peeta bows, dramatically. “I take my work seriously.”

“You’re both monsters!” you yell, treading water furiously. “I am a delicate creature! I have rights!”

“You started this,” Haymitch calls from the dock, still lounging like he’s sunbathing royalty. “You brought chaos. Chaos came for you.”

You swim back toward the dock, slap a wave of water in his direction. “You’re not safe up there forever, old man.”

He snorts. “Try me, fish bait.”

Peeta and Katniss start splashing each other again—lighthearted but somehow already bordering on romantic duel levels of intensity. You barely have a chance to process it before Peeta swims behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She doesn’t even pretend to fight it this time. Just leans back into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Ugh,” you groan. “Can you two stop being in love for, like, one second?”

“You came to the lake with a couple,” Katniss says flatly, resting her head against Peeta’s shoulder.

“Technically, I came here with Haymitch, which was its own mistake,” you call.

Haymitch raises a brow. “Keep talking, honey. See what happens.”

“Oh no,” you mock gasp, “am I in trouble?”

“Neck deep,” he mutters, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

You kick your way back to the dock, grab onto the wood with both hands, and lean your cheek against it dramatically. Your hair drips down the side, soaking your shirt even more. “I’m gonna haunt this lake if I die from betrayal.”

Haymitch stands—finally—and peers down at you. His sunglasses slide down his nose just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You’re already haunting me,” he mutters, and your brain short-circuits on the spot.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re loud.”

“You did not say that!”

He steps around you casually. “That’s what I meant.”

You grab the dock edge and start climbing up, water streaming down your arms and legs. Haymitch turns just in time to see you crawling up like some kind of soggy vengeance demon. He does not look sorry.

“You’re gonna regret this,” you mutter, shoving your wet hair back from your face.

“I already do.”

“Oh, do you now?”

You lunge for him.

He yelps—actually yelps—and tries to dodge, but you’re fast when you’re fueled by righteous fury. You manage to get both hands on him and shove—not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to throw him off balance.

He stumbles.

You blink.

He blinks.

Then he grabs you by the waist and drags you down with him.

You crash into the water again with a full-body shriek. Somewhere behind you, Peeta’s cackling.

When you come up again, Haymitch is already bobbing to the surface, soaked and smirking like he’s proud of himself.

“Happy now?” he asks, brushing his hair back.

You squint. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“I’m already wet. Not like you can punish me worse.”

“Oh, I can try.”

“Please don’t,” Peeta yells. “Innocent bystanders present.”

Katniss looks at you two, then at Peeta, and rolls her eyes. “Let’s go walk the edge. Give the weirdos some space.”

Peeta nods solemnly and swims toward shore.

You and Haymitch watch them go.

Then you look at each other.

And immediately look away again.

He clears his throat. “They’re disgusting.”

You nod. “Horrible. Sickening, really.”

He says nothing for a moment, then adds, “I bet she kisses his nose when no one’s looking.”

“I bet he braids her hair with wildflowers when they’re alone.”

A long pause.

You say, quieter, “Must be nice, though.”

You don’t mean to look at him when you say it, but you do. And he’s already looking at you.

Something shifts. Just slightly.

Then—he flicks water at your face. “You gonna get all sappy on me now, honey?”

You flick water back. “Please. I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“Liar.”

“Grump.”

“You like it.”

You grin. “Maybe.”

He moves closer—just a bit. You’re still floating, still surrounded by water and sunlight and the aftershocks of laughter.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he mutters.

“Yours looks like seaweed.”

“You say that like it’s not a look.”

You open your mouth to fire back—but then, with absolutely zero warning, Haymitch steps forward and grabs you by the waist.

Your yelp is somewhere between startled and indignant as he pulls you toward him, steadying you effortlessly while you flail just slightly—just enough to prove a point.

“Hey!” you squawk, grabbing onto his shoulders more out of reflex than anything else. “What was that for?”

He’s got both hands on your waist and his grin is maddeningly smug.

“Seeing you try not to drown was making me tired.”

“I wasn’t drowning! I was floating!”

“You were flailing.”

You gasp. “I was elegantly drifting in a natural paradise, thank you very much.”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling despite the wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “Elegantly drifting? That what we’re calling dog-paddling now?”

You squint at him, lips twitching. “You’re lucky I’m clinging to you or I’d kick you.”

“Mm.” He glances down at your hands still hooked over his shoulders, his fingers still loose but steady around your waist. “How tragic for me.”

Your heart forgets how to beat for a second. Maybe two. It’s the water. The heat. The soft flicker of sunlight off his lashes. It’s definitely not the way his voice dipped just slightly or the fact that his thumb brushed your side like it didn’t mean anything.

You try to regain your footing, pushing gently against him to test for the bottom—and fail. Immediately. You flail again, bumping into him harder than intended, which only makes him laugh under his breath.

“See? Flailing.”

“I hate you,” you grumble.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sunburnt!”

“Sure, honey.”

Your brain short-circuits at the nickname. Again. Which is unfair because he says it all the time now and you should be used to it by now and—oh god, his hands are still on you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “You know, you didn’t have to grab me.”

“Didn’t I?”

Your stomach swoops. You forget how to be a person for approximately three seconds before you clear your throat and say, with as much sass as you can muster, “Okay, sunshine. You can let go now.”

“Right,” he says. But he doesn’t. Not right away. His grip loosens slowly, hands brushing over your sides before letting go completely.

And suddenly, the water feels colder where his hands were.

You blink at him. He grins at you.

Somewhere on shore, Peeta laughs way too loudly at something Katniss says, and you both turn—only to see her perched on a tall rock, smug as ever, as Peeta beams up at her like she put the stars in the sky.

You and Haymitch exchange a look.

Totally annoyed.

Totally not longing.

“Disgusting,” Haymitch mutters.

“Unbelievable.”

“Who gave them the right?”

He hums. “Should ban it.”

“Right? Love? In this economy?”

Haymitch starts wading toward the shore first, muttering something about “getting too old for water-based shenanigans.” You follow after him, still grinning as you slog through the shallows, water clinging to your legs like it doesn’t want to let go.

The sun’s still high, but the breeze has picked up—just enough to raise goosebumps on your arms as you step onto the warm rock near the edge and plop down beside Haymitch, who’s already collapsed onto a towel like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Dramatic Reclining Man.

“Water’s nice,” you say, wringing out the end of your shirt.

“Nice,” he mutters. “Sure. Real spa treatment. Can’t wait for the mold to set in.”

You snort, grabbing your towel and flopping it over your head. It muffles the sound of Katniss yelling something at Peeta, who’s clearly just dunked her on purpose now that they’re back in the water. You peek out from under the towel, grin at the chaos.

And then you glance down.

Your breath catches just a little—but not from shock. Just from the reminder.

The scars—thick lines that stretch from the outer sides to the tops of your thighs—always stand out more when you’re cold or wet because they turn purple of all colors. It’s not painful. It’s just… obvious.

You tilt your head at them.

Then grin, all teeth and mischief.

“Hey, look,” you say, tugging your towel off your head and gesturing to your thighs with a dramatic flair. “I’m a mood ring!”

Haymitch, mid-sip from a canteen, chokes.

You shoot him a wide, unapologetic grin. “Purple means ‘cold and full of unresolved trauma.’”

He coughs into his fist, half a laugh slipping through. “Jesus, honey.”

“What? It’s seasonal color analysis for my mental state.”

He glances down, catches the faint glint of scars against your skin, then looks back up at your face—like he’s checking.

You nudge his foot with yours. “Don’t get all soft on me, sunshine.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You looked soft.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just disgusted by your sense of humor.”

“Mm, no. I think you’re endeared.”

“You’re lucky I don’t toss you back in the lake and let you drown.”

“Admit it,” you say, smirking as you flop back onto the towel, arms spread dramatically. “You’d miss me.”

He hums again, settling back beside you, eyes flicking toward the sky. “Yeah. I would.”

You squint at the sky, pretending like your heart didn’t just trip over itself. “Careful,” you murmur. “I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Haymitch doesn’t look over. Just lets the sun spill across his face as he says, “Maybe I do.”

And that—that—short-circuits your entire brain.

You blink up at the clouds. “Well. That’s illegal.”

He smirks, barely. “Sue me.”

“I might.”

“Peeta’s got a lawyer name. Ask him for a referral.”

You snort, nudging your foot against his again. “You’re such a menace.”

“Says the girl comparing her trauma to a novelty item from hundreds of years ago.”

“Bet you owned a mood ring.”

He exhales through his nose. “Probably. Might’ve invented it.”

You gasp, scandalized. “So you are ancient.”

“I prefer ‘mysteriously timeless.’”

“You creak when you sit down.”

“Whiskey fixes that.”

You cackle, covering your face. “Oh my god. You would’ve been the kid trying to eat a mood ring just to see if your insides were sad.”

“Still am,” he mutters, cracking one eye open to look at you. “Except now I’ve got worse coping mechanisms and better whiskey.”

“Progress?”

“Debatable.”

You hum contentedly, fingers tracing lazy shapes into the towel beneath you. The sun warms your skin, the wind tugs gently at your damp clothes, and beside you, Haymitch lets out a sigh that sounds like something untangling in his chest.

“You really okay?” you ask, not teasing this time. Just soft.

He glances over at you—eyes serious for half a second. Then he nods. “Yeah. Kinda hard not to be when you’re yelling about knee cartilage and emotionally aware thighs.”

You grin, eyes closing. “That’s what I’m here for. Unhinged weather reports and deeply concerning jokes.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything for a beat.

Then, quieter. “And hand-holding. Apparently.”

Your smile turns a little shy. “Well. Only on special occasions.”

He hums again. “We’ll have to make more of those, then.”

You turn your head slightly, eyes still closed, just barely nudging your shoulder against his. “Yeah. We will.”

You’re still smiling when Peeta calls out from farther down the shore, where he and Katniss are already rolling up their towels and tossing things into their bag.

“Hey! If we don’t leave soon, we’re gonna end up hiking back in the dark!”

Katniss, with all the tenderness of a brick, adds, “Which is fine for me, but Peeta’s just gonna trip on a root and dent his prosthetic again.”

“That was once,” Peeta says indignantly.

“Was it?” Haymitch asks, loudly and very unhelpfully.

You snort and stand, brushing off some damp grass stuck to your calves. “Guess we’re calling it.”

“Tragic,” Haymitch says, standing up beside you with a grunt. “Just when I was enjoying your drowned rat aesthetic.”

“You’re just mad I didn’t actually drown.”

“Oh no. That was plan B.”

You flick water at him from the end of your towel, and he swats at you like you’re an annoying bug—which only encourages you further. Katniss shakes her head but is definitely smirking as she slings her bow over one shoulder.

You all start the short hike back, the trail still warm underfoot despite the sun starting to dip. It’s golden-hour light now—soft and low, filtering through the trees in hazy streaks. Cicadas buzz in the distance, and everything smells like summer and wet earth and warm leaves.

Peeta walks ahead with Katniss, their fingers automatically tangled together like they were built that way. At one point, she mutters something under her breath and he laughs—low and bright—and leans over to kiss her cheek without missing a step.

You don’t look at Haymitch.

He doesn’t look at you.

You both do not look at each other.

But your hands are close.

Not on purpose. Definitely not. The trail is just narrow, okay? The heat still clings to your skin, and your towel keeps slipping, and maybe you’re walking a little too close, but it’s fine.

The first brush of fingers is probably accidental.

Probably.

The second one definitely isn’t.

You glance up at him from the corner of your eye.

Haymitch is looking ahead, expression neutral. His hand swings just enough to bump yours again.

“Accidental, huh?” you murmur, lips twitching.

“I’m just walking.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re the one with twitchy hands.”

“I’m full of feelings and poor decision-making.”

He glances down at you, eyes warm in the gold light. “You say that like it’s new.”

You grin. “It’s my whole brand.”

You don’t reach for his hand.

But you don’t move yours away, either.

The third time your fingers brush, they stay there for just a second longer than they need to.

Not quite held.

Just… hovering.

Your chest feels like someone lit a match in it.

But you keep walking, keep smiling, keep your voice even despite the fact that you’re mentally screaming at the clouds.

“I like summer,” you say vaguely, because it’s the safest thing your brain can find.

Haymitch hums. “You just like being chaotic without freezing.”

“Exactly.”

He grins. It’s quick and sharp and real, and you want to bottle it.

By the time you reach the edge of the woods, the sun is kissing the horizon and the village is bathed in soft amber light, the kind that makes everything look a little more like home.

Peeta holds low hanging branches back for everyone. Katniss pretends not to smile when he bows dramatically like some overly romantic butler. Haymitch mutters something about “idiots in love,” and your heart does a weird little thing you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

You take a long shower the second you get home—long enough to scrub the lake water from your skin, long enough to make the dried grass and chaos feel like a memory instead of something still clinging to your arms.

The sun’s almost fully set by the time you towel off and throw on your softest oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Your hair’s still damp, but you don’t care. You feel clean, warm, soft.

And maybe just a little bit floaty.

You pause at your front door, hand on the knob, and let yourself breathe.

In.

Out.

Then you open the door and step back into the twilight air, your legs moving on autopilot.

Haymitch’s porch creaks when you step onto it. The windows glow faintly from inside, and something in your chest settles at the sight of it—like your bones were always meant to find their way back here.

You don’t knock.

You just swing the door open with flair and yell, “Sunshine, I’m home!”

And then your brain dies.

Because Haymitch is stretched out on his couch like some kind of vintage painting come to life—shirtless, one arm thrown over the backrest, the other resting where his scar is, fingers absently tapping. His hair’s still damp, like he just showered too, and his skin is all golden in the low lamplight, the lines of his chest and stomach defined in that effortless, unfair way.

Your mouth forgets how to form words.

Your thoughts all pile up in a traffic jam behind your eyes.

Haymitch glances up at you, completely unbothered. “You announce yourself like that every time you break into my house?”

You’re still frozen in the doorway.

“I—uh. Yep. Regularly. It’s a… tradition.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You good?”

No. No, you are not good. You are currently short-circuiting over the veins in his forearms and the way his sweatpants are sitting just low enough to trigger the spiraling part of your brain.

You clear your throat. “Fine. Totally fine. Why would I not be fine.”

His lips twitch like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You’re staring.”

You immediately look at the ceiling, and wonder, not for the first time, how the hell a man who survives on whiskey, sarcasm, and sheer spite has the audacity to look that good shirtless.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m admiring the—uh—lightbulb.”

“It’s not even on.”

“Exactly. Very energy conscious.”

He huffs a laugh and stretches a little, which is not helping, because now his scar is in plain sight and oh no—

“Do you own shirts?” you blurt.

He lifts his hand lazily to gesture toward the arm of the couch. “Took it off. It was wet.”

“From the lake?”

“From your storm spirit ambiance, actually.”

You press your palms to your cheeks. “You are the worst.”

“Flustered already, honey?”

“I will set your porch on fire.”

He smirks. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Next Part

[xichilie]

Hello, God evening, day, morning, night, whatever time you have.

I just wanted to say I love all your work, your fics, art, your ocs

Could I request Brant x female reader she gets and her best friend (you can youse one of your OCs i love them) isakaid into the game and meet brant and his crew, maybe get rescued

Thanks have a nice (whatever time you have)

Hello ♡

I'm very happy you enjoy all my work, and even happier you love my OC's ♡

Brant x (fem)reader

Into the Tides of Another World

Y/N leaned back against the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen. The latest Wuthering Waves update had just dropped, and she and Micah had been grinding for hours.

“Damn it,” Micah groaned, fingers flying across the buttons. “How is this boss so cracked? We barely dented its HP!”

Y/N laughed, adjusting her grip. “You just have to time the dodges right. Here—watch.”

Their characters darted across the battlefield, dodging devastating attacks from a towering Aberrant. The stormy environment of the oceanic region looked gorgeous, even as their characters got absolutely wrecked.

Micah groaned. “I swear, this game hates me.”

“Sounds like a skill issue,” Y/N teased.

He shot her a glare. “Oh, you’re sooo hilarious.”

But before she could land the final blow, the screen flickered.

The sound glitched.

A low hum reverberated from the TV—deep, unnatural. The room around them seemed to warp, the edges blurring like static.

Y/N’s heart skipped.

“Uh… Micah?”

He turned, eyes wide. “What the hell is—”

A blinding light swallowed them whole.

Cold.

That was the first thing Y/N registered. Bone-deep cold.

Then—

Water.

Rushing, churning, dragging her under.

She gasped, but her lungs filled with seawater instead of air. She thrashed, panic flooding her chest, but the waves were relentless, tossing her like she weighed nothing.

She barely had time to process anything before another force slammed into her.

“Y/N—!”

Micah Called out.

She turned, barely making out his form through the chaos of the storm. He was struggling, just like her, barely managing to keep his head above water.

“We have to—get to the surface—!” he choked out.

But the waves pulled them apart.

Y/N’s vision blurred, exhaustion creeping in as the cold sapped the strength from her limbs.

Was this how it ended?

Just as the darkness crept in, just as her body gave up—

Hands.

Strong, calloused hands grabbed her arm.

Then—a voice.

“Got one! Pull her up!”

A rush of air hit her lungs as she was hauled out of the water. She coughed violently, sputtering, barely able to focus as rough hands dragged her onto solid wood.

She blinked against the rain, chest heaving—

And then, through the haze, she saw him.

Brant.

But not as a character on a screen.

He was real.

Dripping wet, strands of blue and violet hair plastered against his forehead, his usually easy-going expression replaced with sharp intensity. His pink eyes—brighter than she’d ever seen in the game—locked onto hers.

“Well, well,” he mused, voice smooth despite the chaos around them. “Didn’t expect to be fishing anyone out of the sea today.”

Y/N just stared.

Micah, equally drenched and coughing, was hauled onto the deck beside her. He groaned, rolling onto his back.

“I think I’m dead,” he wheezed.

Brant’s crew chuckled. Someone tossed a dry cloak over Y/N’s shoulders, while another checked Micah for injuries.

“Not dead yet, stranger,” Brant said, crouching beside them. His smirk was unmistakable—amused, curious. “Though you do owe me an introduction.”

Y/N’s mind raced.

The storm. The game. The light.

And now—Brant, in the flesh.

She swallowed hard.

“…What the hell just happened?”

By the time ship finally docked, Y/N’s body felt like it had turned to lead.

Her limbs trembled with exhaustion, her mind was adrift in a fog of disbelief, and her soaked clothes clung to her skin like a second layer of ice. Every inch of her was numb—from the cold, from fatigue, and from the sheer impossibility of what had happened.

She wasn’t home.

She wasn’t in her world.

She and Micah had been pulled into Wuthering Waves.

That fact sat in her chest like an anchor, too heavy, too massive to fully comprehend.

A voice—smooth, lilting, carrying an edge of theatrical amusement—cut through her daze.

Y/N barely registered the sensation of being lifted until she felt warmth against her body.

Strong arms supported her with ease, cradling her against a broad chest. Her breath hitched slightly, the lingering chill from the ocean still clinging to her skin.

“Aha, what an honor,” a familiar, teasing voice murmured near her ear. “Rescuing a beautiful castaway with my own hands… truly, fate is feeling generous today.”

Y/N stiffened slightly, her dazed mind finally catching up.

Brant was carrying her.

Even in her weakened state, she could feel the lithe strength in his hold, his arms wrapped around her with a careful but undeniable confidence.

Micah, being half-dragged by one of the crew members, coughed weakly. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t drop her, Romeo.”

Brant laughed. “Perish the thought! A performer never fumbles their most precious prop.”

Y/N groaned softly, too tired to argue, too dazed to do anything but rest her head against his shoulder.

The journey to The Fools’ Elysium passed in a haze.

Even through the murmur of voices, the creak of shifting wood, and the occasional spray of salt air, Y/N found herself slipping in and out of awareness.

Only when the warmth of torchlight replaced the cold, open air did she manage to blink herself fully awake.

The sight that met her stole what little breath she had left.

A cavern stretched out before them, massive and teeming with life.

Glowing lanterns hung from wooden walkways, casting golden hues over colorful tents, scattered crates, and makeshift stages. The scent of woodsmoke and spiced food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present salt of the sea.

Despite her exhaustion, Y/N felt a flicker of wonder.

“Welcome,” Brant said, voice softer now, though still carrying its usual dramatic lilt, “to the Fools’ Elysium.”

She barely had time to process the sight before Brant effortlessly adjusted his hold on her.

“Alright, darling, as much as I’d love to carry you forever I suppose it’s time to get you somewhere warm.”

Y/N wanted to protest. She really did.

But the moment Brant set her down onto a soft cot, exhaustion finally caught up to her.

She barely registered Roccia peeking out from behind her oversized suitcase, or the sharp-eyed medic checking her for injuries.

Brant stayed close his pink eyes watching her carefully.

And for the first time since she had arrived in this strange, impossible world—

Y/N let herself rest.