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Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 2

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: blood, death threats, more head injury (yay), swearing, storms (idk)

Notes: sorry for the late update T.T I had to go for a two week long workshop and I didn’t get any time to write but i hope you like this chapter :>

Playlist : the emptiness machine by linkin park | smells like teen spirit by nirvana | thunder by imagine dragons

Series Masterlist | Episode 3 | Episode 1

The next morning was bright and full of promise, but you surely weren’t. You woke up aching despite the surprisingly comfortable bed. The throbbing in your head had returned, though not as intense as before, and you groaned as you sat up, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the dull pain. “What will it take for me to relax for once?” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you.

You dragged yourself to the small basin in the corner of the room, splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. As the water trickled down your skin, you couldn’t help but yearn for the simple comforts of a home—a soft bed, a toothbrush, clean clothes that weren’t scavenged from a pirate’s stash, it had been way too long to say that you could remember what it all felt like. The ship’s water was salty, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth as you rinsed, and it made you miss the fresh, clean water you’d taken for granted.

Just as you were wiping your face dry, a knock echoed from the door, followed by the sound of the lock clicking open. You tensed, still not accustomed to the idea that you were on a pirate ship with little to no privacy. You walked over cautiously and opened the door, revealing the burly looking man from the previous night.

Now that you could see him clearly in the bright morning light, you noticed things you hadn’t before. His face, though rough around the edges, had a certain charm to it—too nice for a pirate, you thought, especially with the way his face stretched wide into a cutesy, dimpled smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, disappearing into crescents as he grinned down at you. If he weren’t a pirate, you would’ve been tempted to pinch his cheeks and call him cute.

“Good morning, Ms. Navigator,” he greeted cheerfully, his smooth voice carrying an unexpected warmth. “Here’s some clothes for you—a sort of gift of welcome you may say, they’re sent by our captain. Get dressed; he wants to see you in his room.”

Before you could ask anything, he turned on his heel and started walking away, his movements smooth and almost silent, like a cat. You called after him, your voice trailing off awkwardly. “Thank you, but…I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking, the only sound being the soft padding of his boots against the wooden floor. You watched him disappear around the corner, wondering how someone so large could move so quietly. It was a little creepy, to say the least.

Sighing, you closed the door and latched it from the inside, turning your attention to the bundle of clothes he’d handed you. They were surprisingly nice—an off-white shirt, brown leather pants, and a loose navy cardigan. The simplicity of the outfit was appealing, yet the stitching and the quality of the fabric hinted at something much more expensive than you’d expected from pirates. The clothes looked almost brand new, and you couldn’t help but wonder how and where they had gotten women’s clothes that fit so perfectly. You wondered if the previous owner had died at their hands or something.

Despite your unease, you put the clothes on, surprised once again at how well they fit. The shirt was soft against your skin, and the leather pants hugged your legs comfortably without being too tight. The cardigan was a nice touch, and clearly whoever chose it had a good sense of fashion. You had to admit, you were impressed, but that only made you more suspicious. There was no way this was a coincidence.

Dressed and somewhat ready, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in the captain’s quarters. The memory of casual way he’d spoken about tossing you into the ocean still lingered in your mind, making your heart race with anxiety. You knew you had to be on your guard, but you also knew that you had to play along if you wanted to survive.

With a final glance at your reflection in the small cracked mirror by the bed, you straighten your posture and braced yourself for what was to come. The captain wanted to see you, and you had no choice but to face him—whatever that might entail.

You walked out and saw the tall man waiting for you outside. He reminded you of a beanpole at first but seeing him now made your heart flutter for a moment. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up to the sky as if savouring the warmth of the sun. The golden light fell on his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his nose and the soft shape of his lips. It struck you as odd—how all these pirates were so handsome, each one with features that seemed better suited to a noble’s court than a pirate ship. His relaxed demeanour and perpetual smile made you wonder what had him so amused all the time, and how he managed to maintain such a cheerful facade in a life filled with such horrors and chaos.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence, and awkwardly muttered, “Uh..morning.”

Without opening his eyes, he responded in his usual bright tone, “Ah, I see you haven’t tried to kill yourself yet.”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but reply with a hint of sarcasm. “Even if I did, your captain would probably force me back to life just so he could kill me himself.”

He chuckled at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to fill the corridor with warmth. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned to face you, his expression softening with amusement. With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed deeply. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm with an air of mock chivalry.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his arm away, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite your best efforts to remain serious. “Lead the way,” you said, shaking your head at his antics.

He straightened up, still grinning, and turned to lead you down the corridor. As you followed him, you noticed that his cheerful demeanour didn’t seem forced; it was as if he genuinely found joy in every little thing, a trait you couldn’t quite understand. Life on a pirate ship didn’t exactly lend itself to happiness, yet here he was, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. You had decided, this man was definitely a puppy in his past life, perhaps a golden retriever.

As you walked, the sounds of the ship began to filter through the wooden walls—the creaking of the hull, the distant shouts of men working above deck, the rhythmic slapping of waves against the hull. You tried to keep your thoughts focused on the task at hand, but the more you walked, the more your mind wandered back to the captain. There was something that seemed off about him, and those stupid sunglasses he wore even in the darkest of rooms annoyed you. You weren’t sure what kind of man you were dealing with, and that uncertainty tormented you.

Your guide, seemingly sensing your tension, kept up a steady stream of chatter as you walked. “You know, the captain’s not so bad once you get to know him,” he said, glancing back at you with a wink. “Sure, he’s a bit…intense, but he’s fair. He doesn’t waste good talent, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got plenty of that.”

You scoffed lightly. “I’m a navigator, not a pirate, and where could you have possibly heard about me, for all you know I might be lying.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a grin, completely ignoring the second part. “On this ship, we’re all pirates. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of the crew now. But don’t worry,” he added quickly, seeing the flash of alarm on your face. “We’re not all bad. Some of us are even quite charming, wouldn’t you say?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Is that your way of telling me to trust you?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Trust is earned, not given. But I like to think I’m off to a good start.”

Before you could respond, he stopped in front of a familiar door—the one you recognized as the captain’s quarters. The cheery man turned to you, his playful expression softening slightly. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “The captain might be intimidating, but he’s not unreasonable. Just don’t lie…he doesn’t like that.”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding in your chest. The man knocked on the door, then opened it, gesturing for you to step inside. You took a deep breath, composing yourself, and walked through the doorway, feeling the shroud of the heavy atmosphere settle around you. As the door closed behind you, you were once again alone with the captain, who stood by the large window, the morning sun casting long shadows across the room. It must be his respawn point, you thought to yourself.

He turned slowly, that same unsettling smile pulling at his lips, and you felt an involuntary shiver run down your spine. “Good morning, navigator,” he said, his voice feeling sickly sweet at that moment. “Let’s see what you’re really made of, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Come with me. We must make haste; there’s no time to waste. We need to reach the Northern Aurora Islands within the next three days.”

His sudden urgency surprised you. He walked to the door, pausing just before opening it. “I hope you realise,” he said, his tone low and threatening, “that your position here is as good as temporary. If you put me or my crew in unwarranted danger, you will find yourself meeting your maker sooner than expected.” He let the threat linger in the air for a moment before adding, “And of course, any information we discuss in private stays between us. If I hear a word of it from anyone not involved…” He trailed off, the unspoken consequences clear in his dark look .

He opened the door and gestured for you to go ahead, his eyebrow arched in expectation. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the corridor, feeling his gaze burn into your back as he followed. The two of you made your way up onto the main deck, the bright sunlight forcing you to squint. You noticed that the captain had never once removed his sunglasses. You were tempted to ask about them but thought better of it when you saw the serious, impatient look on his face. Instead, you asked the more pressing question. “Where exactly are we now?”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “You were taken from the slaver ship three days ago, near the Light Marshes. We’re nearing the Dark Marshes now.”

His words made your stomach drop. “I was out for two days?” you exclaimed, horrified.

He chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Yes, we reckoned you might not wake up at all.”

You looked at him, mortified by how casually he joked about your near-death experience. But before you could say anything else, you reached a large door at the end of a corridor. The captain pushed it open, revealing a spacious room that seemed to be some sort of meeting chamber. A large table occupied the centre, its surface scattered with maps, compasses, and various instruments—some of which you had never seen before. Your curiosity piqued instantly, your fingers itching to touch the cool metal and figure out the purpose of each tool.

But before you could act on your impulses, the captain’s hand gripped your shoulders roughly, steering you toward the table. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. You obeyed, trying to calm the sudden rush of panic that surged through you when he walked back to the door, closing and locking it with a decisive click. Your flight or fight, mostly flight, instincts were thundering. The sound echoed in the room, setting your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. But your mind was racing with questions—the highlighted question among them being the identity of these men. “Excuse me,” you stuttered, your voice trembling slightly. “May I at least know who you are?”

The captain turned back toward you, his usual grin spreading across his face as he walked closer. “Are you familiar with the name ATEEZ?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

The name sent a cold chill down your spine. Of course, you knew of them. ATEEZ is infamous, a name that struck fear into the hearts of the most seasoned of sailors and even the marines.They had surfaced around six years ago and quickly built up a reputation as the most feared and ruthless pirates in all the seas. The tales of their exploits were legendary—and terrifying. Your eyes widened in horror as you processed the realisation, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to confirm, “Is that really you?”

The captain laughed aloud filling the room. “Yes, indeed,” he said, performing a mocking bow. “Captain Kim Hongjoong, at your service.”

You stared at him, your mouth hanging open in shock, unable to form any coherent response. The horror on your face seemed to amuse him even more, and he was about to say something else when another voice suddenly cut through the tension.

“I’m Yunho!” The cheerful voice was jarring, completely out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the room. You turned toward the sound, your eyes landing on the tall man who had been with you earlier. He was standing in the corner of the room, a wide grin on his face, hands on his hips as he proudly declared, “Jeong Yunho, ship’s engineer!”, he had apparently materialised out of nowhere.

You blinked slowly, your brain struggling to keep up with the situation. Before you could fully process what was happening, you let out a scream, which was quickly muffled by Hongjoong’s hand clamping down over your mouth. “Shh,” he hissed, his face dangerously close to yours. “Calm down, or people might get the wrong idea.”

You nodded frantically, and he slowly removed his hand. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you turned your wide-eyed gaze back to Yunho. “Where the hell did you come from?” you whisper-yelled, your voice shaking.

Yunho chuckled, completely unfazed. “Oh, I was always here. You just didn’t notice me. I was fixing up some tools and stuff. Like I said, I’m the engineer.”

You looked at him in disbelief, finally noticing the welding goggles perched atop his head and the smears of grease and paint on his cheeks. “You could have at least told me you were there!” you snapped. “Made your presence known, maybe?”

He just laughed again, the sound light and carefree, as if you weren’t in the middle of the most terrifying situation of your life. Before you could say anything else, Hongjoong cleared his throat impatiently, cutting off Yunho’s laughter and drawing your attention back to him. His expression was serious once more, and the playful banter evaporated from the room.

“Let’s move on now, shall we?” he said, his tone sharp, silencing the room as you steered yourself towards whatever task awaited you.

He crossed his arms, his sunglasses reflecting the faint light filtering through the room’s small window. “As I said, the Northern Aurora Islands are where we must be in the next three days. There is a man I need to see regarding certain… business. Your task right now is to find the safest and quickest route. Even a day late, and I might miss the deadline.” His voice was low, you could barely catch the latter of what he said.

Your expression grew serious as you switched to professional mode. “The Swartz Peninsula could pose a problem around this time,” you began, examining the maps before you. “The marines usually like to patrol that area, especially with the merchant ships docked for the off-season. We need to find a better way out.” You paused, debating whether to ask the next question or not, but decided to take a chance. “May I ask who this man you’re meeting is? And what’s the deal with the deadline?”

Hongjoong’s pointed gaze flicked to you, his expression hardening. “Those details do not concern you… yet.” The emphasis on the word ‘yet’ was a clear warning. You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it, realising it wasn’t worth agitating him.

He nodded slightly, acknowledging your silence. “You’re correct about the peninsula, but that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To solve these kinds of issues.” There was a rising edge to his voice, a simmering anger just beneath the surface. He didn’t have much in the patience department you figured.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get to work right away,” you replied quickly, sensing the urgency.

“Alright then. I’ll leave you to it,” he said, turning towards the door. “We’ll meet again in the evening. If I don’t see significant progress… well, you already know what could happen.” His words were threateningly calm. He glanced over at Yunho. “Yunho, you’re to assist her today since you have nothing better to do anyway.”

Yunho groaned loudly. “Wait a minute! Who said I didn’t? Hyung, you can’t leave me here with her,” his previously cheerful demeanour shifted into frustration. It was the first time you had seen him express an emotion that wasn’t sheer happiness, and you had to be the reason for it.

But Hongjoong ignored his protests and continued toward the door. Yunho followed behind like a lost puppy, his face pleading. Before Yunho could argue further, the captain quickly opened the door and then slammed it shut in Yunho's face, leaving no space for negotiation.

Yunho sighed dramatically, dragging his long legs and pulling up a chair beside you. He plopped down with a loud huff, his shoulders slumping forward as he grabbed a random map from the table and started unfurling and furling it with clear boredom.

“What is wrong with working with me?” you asked, slightly offended by his clear reluctance. “I’m such a nice person. You should be honoured if anything.”

Yunho turned to you with a deadpan look. “Let’s just get this over with. Studying maps isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my day today,” he muttered, tossing the map he had been playing with back onto the table and leaning over your shoulder to see what you were doing.

You scoffed, deciding to be the bigger person and ignore his comment. You grabbed a pencil and began making notes along the margins of the map, your mind already mulling over the possible routes, calculating distances, and marking areas of potential dangers. The hum of the ship’s machinery and the distant calls of seagulls filled the silence between you.

Yunho shifted in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor, very clearly uncomfortable with the silence. He watched you for a moment, his head tilted to the side, before speaking up. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?” His tone was almost begrudgingly impressed.

You didn’t look up from your work. “Of course. I’ve been doing this a long time. And besides, if I don’t do a good job, your dear captain might just make me fish fodder, and it's too bright of a day to swim with the sharks.”

Yunho chuckled softly, his expressions lightening up a little. “Yeah, he’s not big on second chances,” he admitted. Then, leaning closer, he whispered conspiratorially, “But between you and me, you’ve got a better chance than most. He wouldn’t have spared you for even a second if he didn’t think you were useful.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips. There was something about Yunho’s casual attitude that was oddly comforting. “Alright, if you’re so bored, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me an estimate on the weather conditions?” you suggested, gesturing to a stack of weather charts on the side of the table. “We need to know if we’re going to have to face any storms or unfavourable winds.”

Yunho’s face lit up slightly at the idea of having something to do, even if it was not ideal. “Aye, aye, navigator,” he said with a mock salute, grabbing the charts and flipping through them.

As you continued to study the maps, making annotations and considering various routes, you found yourself feeling a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be as unbearable as you thought.

Hours passed as you meticulously combed through various maps and charts. The sun was already making its way towards the west, casting streams of golden light across the room. You remained focused on your task, occasionally glancing up as Yunho wandered around, fiddling with various instruments, and scribbling random notes on rough paper. Despite his earlier complaints, he would sometimes offer surprisingly useful snippets of information about the ship’s capabilities — like its 54-knot speed and the height of its masts and stuff related to air pressure.

But soon, his restlessness began to influence your own mind. You could feel the fatigue weighing down your eyelids, words had started to swim in front of your eyes. At least you had managed to outline a few potential routes. All that remained was the daunting task of presenting your findings to the captain. Hongjoong still unnerved you, but you were becoming used to his constant threats.

Deciding to rest a bit, you leaned back in your chair, glancing over at Yunho, who seemed deeply engrossed in dismantling a peculiar-looking box. He probably wouldn’t mind if you closed your eyes for a moment. You leaned your head back, let your eyelids flutter shut, and welcomed the warm blanket settling over your thoughts.

Just as sleep was about to sweep you away, a loud bang jolted you awake. The door to the room had been flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall, rebounding with a sharp creak, causing you to startle and lose your balance. You fell from your chair, landing hard on your side with a groan. Blinking in surprise, you looked up to see a man standing in the doorway, his appearance dishevelled, his hair blown out at odd angles, and parts of his clothing drenched in seawater.

It was the same man who had suggested selling you off the night before. A flash of anger surged through you as you side-eyed him furiously, but he seemed completely oblivious to your presence. He turned his attention straight to Yunho, his voice urgent and strained.

“Storm flashes,” he panted, catching his breath and putting his hands on his knees. “They shouldn’t be happening right now, but Captain wants you and the navigator. We need to secure the ship. The waters are unpredictable, and we haven’t even hit the big one yet. The lower masts are already wavering,” he pointed behind him.

Your anger melded into confusion and then horror. You had read about storm flashes — violent bursts of wind and icy rain, accompanied by deafening thunder and blinding lightning. The rain felt like tiny blades cutting open your skin, and the wind could be so strong that it could pick people up and blow them away. Though you had never experienced one firsthand, the descriptions you had read were enough to fill you with a sense of dread.

Yunho's face had lost its usual playful expression, replaced with one of concern. He shot up from his place on the floor and nodded sharply. "We don’t have much time,” he muttered before glancing back at you. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

You scrambled to your feet, you were afraid, you couldn’t just die after enduring so much pain and not finishing what was started. You were on a pirate ship in the middle of dangerous waters, and now you were about to face a deadly storm, surely you would make it, just like the other times. Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on your fears. You nodded, brushing off your clothes, and hurrying after Yunho.

The man at the door, who seemed to have been partially soaked by the storm’s initial onslaught, looked back at you with a calculative gaze, as if he was checking how useful you’d be, before moving out of your way. “Stay close and follow instructions,” he snapped, his voice hard. “We can’t afford mistakes right now.”

You followed Yunho up to the main deck, your heart racing with every step. The wind outside had already begun to pick up, the pressure dropping, and the skies were a deep, foreboding grey. The ship creaked and groaned under the strain of the rising waves, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and you could almost taste the electricity in the air.

Crew members moved frantically around the deck, securing ropes, fastening cargo, and shouting instructions to each other over the deafening roar of the wind. You could see Captain Hongjoong standing near the helm, his face calm but focused, barking orders at his crew.

“Get those sails down! Prepare for the storm flashes!” he yelled. His voice, though firm, seemed almost calm in the face of the chaos, as if he’d done this all before, which he probably must have. He turned his head, spotting you and Yunho. “Navigator, up here!” he called, waving you over to the helm.

You made your way toward him, gripping the railings tightly to keep from being blown off balance by the gusts of wind. Yunho was right behind you, still keeping his eye on parts of the ship that might need securing.

When you reached Hongjoong, he didn’t waste a second. “We need to find shelter, fast. The storm flashes are already upon us, and we haven’t even touched the big one yet. Can we make it past the Swartz Peninsula, or do we need to find another way?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind.

You glanced at the map you had been holding tightly in your hand. Your mind raced as you quickly calculated distances and potential obstacles. “We can try to cut around the peninsula, but it’ll be risky,” you shouted back. “If we can’t make it past before the storm intensifies, we’ll be caught in the worst of it.”

Hongjoong nodded, considering your words carefully. “Then we have no choice but to risk it. Yunho, get down to the engine room and make sure everything is secured. If the engines fail, we’re as good as dead, and raise the reinforcements.”

Yunho nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving you a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ll get through this.”

You nodded back, gripping the edge of the helm as the first flashes of lightning illuminated the darkened skies. The ship lurched forward, fighting the rising waves, and your mind raced through every bit of knowledge you had about this treacherous part of the sea. You closed your eyes, mind going faster than light, trying to figure out something- anything that could help. Then it clicked, your eyes shot open.

There was a little passage along the peninsula that most sailors didn’t know about — but you did. Your teacher had spoken of it with a certain fondness, referring to it as one of "her places." She had told you about several of these spots, hidden pathways and secret routes that she seemed to treasure. You never quite understood why she called them hers; she didn’t own them, and it wasn’t as if she had discovered them, but there was always a special gleam in her eyes when she spoke of them.

After she passed, these places remained a mystery, an unfinished guide left behind for you to complete. When you started taking odd jobs as a navigator for small merchant ships, you began to test her secrets. You soon realised that no one seemed to know of these pathways — they weren’t on any maps, and even the most seasoned sailors seemed oblivious to their existence. They were often the easiest routes, bypassing dangerous reefs or cutting through the most anarchic parts of the sea. You kept this knowledge to yourself, claiming that you had stumbled upon them by accident, and surprisingly, no one ever questioned it. Over time, they forgot about these secret ways altogether. But you hadn’t.

And now, one of those secret routes could save all of your lives. This passage was exactly what you needed: a sea cave that ran beneath the peninsula from one end to the other. The best part was its entrance — a narrow opening concealed by a wall of sea stumps, jagged rocks that jutted out from the water and looked like an extension of the land itself. From a distance, it seemed like an impassable barrier, and most sailors wouldn’t even think to venture closer. The only way to reach the cave's entrance was through a slim strip of water, just wide enough for a single ship to slip through. You had only passed through it once before, on a much smaller vessel, and even then, it had been tight.

You glanced back at Hongjoong, who was gripping the wheel with focused determination. The wind whipped his hair around his face, and his eyes, still hidden behind those dark sunglasses, seemed to pierce through the storm ahead. "There might be another way," you yelled, trying to make your voice heard over the howling wind. "There's a passage, a sea cave that cuts right through the peninsula. If we can find the entrance, we can make it through to the other side."

Hongjoong looked at you, his expression incredulous. "A sea cave?" he repeated, his voice half-drowned by the noise of the storm. "And you’re sure it’s real? Not just some sailor’s tale?"

“It’s real,” you insisted. “My teacher told me about it. I’ve used it before. But it’s tricky — the entrance is hidden, and the waters around it are narrow. We have to be precise.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. “Show me where,” he ordered. You quickly unfurled the map, your fingers tracing along the contours of the peninsula, then pointing to a spot where the line of the land met the sea.

“Here,” you said. “It’s hidden by sea stumps, but there’s a passage through them. If we keep our heading slightly to the east, we should see them soon. The opening will be small, but we have to get through before the storm closes in completely.”

Hongjoong nodded sharply, his jaw tight. “Alright,” he called out to the crew, “adjust the sails! Bring us slightly eastward — keep a sharp eye out for jutting rocks.”

The crew moved quickly to follow his orders, and the ship began to veer slightly to the right. You could feel the sparks in the air, and tension thicker than the storm clouds above. The wind howled louder, and the first drops of rain began to fall, cold and sharp against your skin. You felt sharp crystals of ice scratch your skin. You winced, touching your cheek and feeling the smallest droplets of blood.

Yunho returned from below deck, his face serious. "Engines are secure, but we’re running hot," he reported to Hongjoong. “We don’t have much time.”

“We don’t need time,” Hongjoong shot back, his eyes fixed ahead, for the second time you saw his sunglasses off of his face, and the grey of his eyes fought against the stormy clouds with equal persistence. “We just need luck.”

You leaned forward, squinting through the rain, searching for any sign of the sea stumps. The waves were growing more violent, the ship pitching up and down with increasing force. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the water for a brief moment. And then, you saw them — dark shapes protruding from the sea, just where you expected them to be.

“There!” you shouted, pointing. “There’s the entrance!”

Hongjoong steered the ship toward the stumps, navigating carefully through the narrow waters. The crew held their breath as the ship drew closer to the hidden opening. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers gripping the edge of the helm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The ship inched forward, titling dangerously and straightening back up, the waves slapping against the hull with a deafening roar. You looked at Hongjoong, veins in his neck protruding from the strain of it all. The narrow strip of water seemed impossibly tight, but the ship kept moving, squeezing through with painstaking slowness. You held your breath, praying silently that you had made the right call, that the cave was deep enough for a ship this size.

And then, with a final heave, the ship slipped through the opening and into the mouth of the sea cave. The walls of the cave rose up around you, sheltering you from the wind and rain. The noise of the storm outside seemed to soften, though the roar of the water echoed loudly against the stone.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the creak of the ship, and the steady drip of water from the cave ceiling. You had made it — for now, at least.

Hongjoong turned to you, a rare grin breaking across his face. "Not bad," he said, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "Now let’s see if we can get through the rest of it alive."

Without missing a beat, he raised his voice to command the crew. “Wooyoung, assess overall damage while we still have light!” he yelled at the man stationed at the lookout post. “Yunho, get on with the minor fixes. Take Mingi and San if you need help.”

You wondered briefly, who the other men were, breaking from your thoughts on hearing a chorus of “Aye, Captain!” behind you. The deck was suddenly alive with a flurry of movement, ropes being secured, and tools being fetched.

"Move aside, miss," a soft voice spoke over your shoulder, startling you. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man who looked like he had been resurrected from a shipwreck — dark circles under his eyes and a pallor that suggested he hadn’t slept in days.

"Ahh, who the fuck are you?" you exclaimed impulsively, unable to mask your surprise.

The man remained unfazed. "Park Seonghwa," he replied evenly. "Quartermaster and occasional helmsman, which is what I must do right now if you’d so kindly give me some space."

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his calm manner, before stepping back to allow him access to the helm. He slid smoothly into position beside the captain, his hands deftly taking control of the wheel. Hongjoong moved away, satisfied, and motioned for you to follow him.

You broke away from the spot where you were frozen in place, trailing behind him as he made his way to a small covered area behind the main mast. The rain was still pounding down outside the cave, but inside, it felt almost eerily calm.

"You have proved your worth, Miss Navigator," Hongjoong began, his voice low and thoughtful. "I’d like to keep you around since you are of use. Not that you have a choice, of course." He paused, looking you over with that keen gaze of his. "This is not where our journey ends. According to you, our estimated time of arrival should be…?”

You thought for a moment, running the calculations quickly in your head. “Approximately nine hours until we leave the cave, and then another day or so to reach the eastern port towns of the Northern Aurora Islands.”

He nodded, seeming pleased with your response. “Yes, that’s good. We’re much ahead of schedule, which I must say I appreciate. It means we have time to do just one more thing, which I will brief you on once we’re on the other side. Until then, you can rest or do whatever you need — maybe get your head bandaged again; it seems like the wound has reopened.”

His fingers lightly touched your chin, tilting your face so he could inspect the injury. For a brief second, the world seemed to narrow down to the space between you and him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing the edge of the bandage. The moment felt oddly intimate, a flicker of something almost like concern crossing his eyes before he released you.

The second his fingers left your skin, the throbbing in your head returned wanting nothing but revenge. You winced, realising he was right — the wound had indeed reopened. You sighed, resigned to another trip to see the doctor. At least, you thought, the prospect of visiting the surprisingly gentle physician wasn’t so bad. It even made you feel a tiny bit happier.

You nodded at Hongjoong, bidding him a quiet goodnight. “I’ll get it checked out,” you promised, relieved to have some time to rest before he decided to thrust another herculean task upon you.

Hongjoong gave a small, satisfied nod. "Good. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made it to the other side," he said, his expression returning to its usual seriousness. "Rest while you can."

As you made your way below deck, the noise of the crew bustling around, repairing the minor damages and securing the ship, faded into the background. You felt a strange mix of exhaustion and relief settling in.

You found your way back to the makeshift infirmary, knocking lightly before entering. The familiar sight of the doctor — with his soft, steady hands and kind eyes — was a pleasant sight after what you just went through.

"Back again so soon?" he asked with a gentle smile, not phased by the events that transpired outside, his eyes flicking to the reopened wound on your head.

You managed a tired smile in return. "Seems like I just can’t stay out of trouble," you replied.

He chuckled softly, motioning for you to sit down. "Let’s get you patched up again, shall we? I’m starting to think you might be enjoying my company a little too much."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, finally allowing yourself to loosen up for the first time in hours. “Of course, you’re currently my favourite person—apart from the part where you agreed to throw me off the ship. That was not cool."

He pouted in defence, looking genuinely affronted. “Hey! I never said that. I just said I didn’t revive you just for you to get killed anyway. It took a lot of work, you know!”

You laughed harder at his expression, amused at how his serious attitude melted into a childish pout. "Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide,” you teased, only to yelp softly when he lightly smacked your shoulder. “Sit still and let me work,” he scolded, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice that made it hard to take him seriously.

You apologised, still trying to stifle your laughter, and as the conversation fizzled out into a comfortable silence, you felt the tension ebb away out of your body. His hands were steady, the familiar scent of herbs and clean linen filling the air as he patched you up again. You closed your eyes, the soreness slowly slipped away, as his magic worked wonders on your injury. By the time he finished, the pain had pretty much vanished.

"Thanks," you mumbled, your voice heavy with the sleep that was already threatening to pull you under. A yawn escaped before you could hold it back, and when you blinked your eyes open again, you found Yeosang staring at you intently, a strange emotion flickering in his dark eyes—something that you couldn’t understand yet.

He quickly blinked and turned away, busying himself with packing up his supplies. When he helped you stand, there was a soft smile on his lips, though his eyes avoided yours. Without a word, he walked you to the door. “Goodnight,” he said gently as you stepped out, his voice as soft as the smile still lingering on his face.

But just before he could close the door, you hesitated. "Wait," you called, making him pause. He raised an eyebrow at you. "You never told me your name."

His eyes widened slightly as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Then, his expression softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips stretched into a smile. "Kang Yeosang," he replied, his voice gentle. “How very nice to meet you.”

You smiled back, the name rolling around in your head. “Hmm… Yeosang,” you tested, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “A pretty name fit for a pretty boy.”

For a moment, Yeosang stood frozen, eyes wide as if he didn’t quite process what you’d said. “Y-you think I’m pretty?” he stammered, his cool, calm facade cracking.

The realisation of what you’d just said hit you like a tidal wave, and your cheeks immediately flushed crimson. "Goodnight!" you blurted in a panic, not waiting for his response as you quickly turned on your heel and rushed down the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest.

Behind you, you could hear Yeosang chuckle softly at your antics, but you didn’t dare look back. You practically ran into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Pressing your cold hands against your burning cheeks, you tried to calm yourself down, heart still racing. Had you really just called a pirate—*that* pirate—pretty? What was wrong with you?

You flopped onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief as the events of the day replayed in your mind. You had somehow managed to make it through a storm, navigated through a secret passage, and now… you’d gone and flirted with the ship’s doctor. Just amazing.

Despite your embarrassment, a small smile tugged at your lips as you thought of Yeosang's flustered reaction, it was kind of cute. You still slapped your cheeks to remove these thoughts from your brain.

Slowly, exhaustion caught up to you, and your racing thoughts began to fade. You drifted off to sleep, your heart finally calming.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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[python333]

since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems. 

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times. 

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh. 

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected. 

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking. 

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance. 

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine. 

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets. 

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up. 

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk. 

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine. 

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf. 

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away. 

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move. 

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster. 

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring. 

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight. 

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it. 

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them. 

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—” 

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades. 

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard. 

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle. 

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades. 

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process. 

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you. 

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers. 

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine. 

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened. 

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?” 

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings. 

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words. 

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned. 

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?” 

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs. 

“Who?” 

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent. 

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you. 

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do. 

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare. 

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these. 

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?” 

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.” 

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

 You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him. 

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent. 

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours. 

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in. 

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher. 

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you. 

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.” 

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s. 

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest. 

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open. 

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance. 

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again. 

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force. 

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

[celestiaonlyknows]

Kinktober Day 10: Albedo- Sex Machine

R18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Read on Ao3. <- Day 9 Day 11 ->

“One, ah, thank you. Two, uhmah… thank you.” You moan out as you feel the invention piston the dildo in and out of you at a blinding speed. 

When you agreed to test out the new machine Albedo had created for an experiment you had no idea it would be like this. Now you were face down on an exam table with your ass up in the air and arms pinned behind your back. The machine worked at an even pace as it moved the toy in and out of you. It had you panting and dripping all over the table while it continued to pleasure you with no need for respite. 

Albedo sat and observed you with a cold look in his teal eyes while noting something on his chart. He sits in the wooden chair with his legs crossed, though you have a feeling it's to hide the obvious arousal he had at the current situation. Still, watching him observe you in such an even and calculated manner excites you more. 

“Keep counting,” Albedo instructed as you forgot to announce your third orgasm. “I can’t accurately note the effectiveness of this machine if you don’t tell me how many times it makes you climax.” 

“Three, sorry,” you apologize with a small whine as you feel another beginning to build. 

“No need, though a thank you would be nice,” Albedo said with a mischievous smirk that told you all you needed to about how much he was enjoying this. It was always the quiet ones like him that no one suspected, after all. 

“Thank you, ah, four thank you,” you manage in quick succession. 

“Very good,” Albedo says before standing–his hard-on obvious now through his shorts as he moves to turn off the machine when you slur something along the lines of five and thank you. “Five in such a short amount of time. Quiet fascinating indeed.” 

He makes the note in his chart before unfastening you and giving your forehead a quick kiss. It made you feel warm as he held you, even in the cold of his lab in Dragonspine. 

“Shall we move to the manual part of the experiment? Or would you prefer to rest first?” Albedo asked as he bundled you up in a blanket and pulled you into his lap. 

“Sleep,” you murmur and he chuckles before kissing your head. 

“Of course, whatever you want,” he agrees before humming a song as you drift off to sleep. 

[elbiotipo]

completely random question, i was scrolling through the notes of a post about silly ttrpg stats (gumption, chutzpah, moxie, etc) for fun, which you reblogged about a year ago. you added a tag that said "there's an indie funk rpg set in the disco scene of the 60-70s that has these stats. one of the stats is just 'funk'". i am very curious about what rpg this is, because i googled around and couldn't find anything. if you happen to remember, i would love to know!

Oh, this ask took me on a trip!

I found it on 1d4chan, the wiki for 4chan's /tg/ board, the traditional RPG board. Which was rather more palatable than the rest of 4chan, and incredibly fun, with lots of homebrew settings. Unfortunately, it's defunct.

I thought it was lost forever, but it was saved in the Internet Archive!

It's called Joints and Jivers and it's based on 60s-70s funk, disco and martial arts B-movies. Disco kings and queens, kung-fu masters, hippies and bikers are all playable classes. Stats include hair (if you're bald, a moustache can count), boogie, and funk, in the words of the manual:

You can probably make ABBA or the Village People with the stats provided, as well as any kung-fu or action movie from the 70s-80s. It also came bundled with Modempunk, which is a short phreaking (phone hacking) RPG based on 80s movies like Hackers.

1d4chan had a lot of cool stuff, I need to do some digging and rescue stuff out from it.

[joels-darlin]

Monday Morning - The Rescue

Chapter 1 can be found here - Ch 1: Monday Moring - The Situation

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ only. kidnapping/hostage situation, violence, angst, hurt, allusions to rape, mentions of weapons, restraints/being tied up, mentions of blood and injuries. (I think that's all sorry if I missed any)

Summary: A standard Monday morning commute to the DEA office takes a harrowing turn of events. Now Javi and Steve are here to rescue you.

Word count: 2469

Author Note: Apologies this took so long to get out but have been hit with huge writers block recently and finally got through it!! I am debating (being a strong word here) wrapping this all up with a Chapter 3, so if you want it please let me know! Any feedback is appreciated, thanks all ♥️

Special thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for your help/support on this and providing your amazing Beta reading services which I am forever grateful for ♥️ AO3 Link

Javier was losing his mind, anxiety bubbling in his chest an unusual feeling for him. Taking another glance around, his eyes landed on the clock that hung on the yellowing walls of the office.10:43am, and you still hadn’t stepped through those heavy brown doors. He knew you liked to be in earlier than the rest, taking the first couple of hours of peace to catch up with any leftover paperwork and enjoy the coffee you grabbed from near the markets on your short commute in.

His fingers drummed against the solid oak desk, shifting to grab another file from the growing pile of paperwork next to him. Having only drained his coffee cup a mere five minutes ago, file still in his hand closed, Javi pondered for a second thoughts of you filling his mind. 

“Fuck this!” he thought shoving the chair back with force and standing to his feet. Snatching the cup from the desk he stalked to the kitchen; he needed a distraction, and fast.

In the kitchen was where he ran into Steve who seemed to have a similar need for a caffeine fix. Javi made himself busy washing and drying his cup before leaving it next to the coffee machine, signaling he was next in the queue.

“You heard from her?” Steve spoke first, breaking the unusual silence between the pair.

“Nothing, she must be on holiday or sick?”

“I spoke to the front desk earlier, but no phone calls or requests have come in,” Steve responded in a flat tone.

As far as they were concerned this was unusual behavior, and something felt really wrong. You had never missed a day's work, always opting to call in at the earliest convenience if you were sick or unable to come in. After Steve left, Javi busied himself again now that the coffee machine was free, retreating back to his desk shortly after. A sigh left his lips on approach as he spotted the paperwork pile which he swore had increased since he had stepped away.

The day dragged on like any other; go through the never-ending paperwork, look at leads on Escobar, review new (but also useless) intelligence. It was the conversation between some other colleagues that caught his attention on his seventh visit to the kitchen for a refill.

“Did you hear about the trouble this morning? At the markets, I heard some young woman was bundled into the back of a car. They must be in trouble with Escobar and his cronies” he overheard. 

Javi’s ears pricked up at this, craning his neck towards the conversation happening in the other room. Paper thin walls meant no secrets were safe in this office. His mind suddenly went into overdrive. The markets? Wasn’t that near where you usually frequented for your coffee? Shoving his cup in the sink, not even bothering to clean it this time, he rushed back to his desk.

“Steve…can we talk…in private?” he asked. He leant over the desks, getting as close to his partner as possible trying to avoid causing any commotion. Moving his head to gesture at the storage cupboard across the other side of the room. Steve nodded, rising from his desk before following, closing the door behind.

”This better be good, I have a pile of paperwork to-” he began. 

“I was just in the kitchen…overheard a conversation about someone getting kidnapped by possibly Escobar’s men near the markets early this morning…you think it could be her?”. It had been radio silence all day, still not hearing anything from you, definitely a cause for concern.

“Wow, you really like her don’t you?” his partner chuckled. Steve knew Javi had a slight infatuation for his female partner but didn’t think it ran this deep. It was obvious sometimes though, the extra glances across the office towards your desk whilst working or the way his partners eyes lit up upon you entering the room.

“Steve…not now…seriously…could it be her?”

“What makes you think it could be? These things happen on the streets pretty much every day!”. Javi sighed, lifting his hand to card his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling and it won’t go away…”. 

What Steve failed to mention was also the sinking feeling in his stomach that had been churning around for most of the day; in his eyes you were a friend and even he was starting to get concerned. 

“I guess it won’t hurt to go ask around” he said. 

~~~

Absolutely useless, the pair might as well have stayed in the office, having not gotten a single lead on your whereabouts. With the endless shaking of heads and “No’s” they were met with, the frustration was grating. Not a single person had recognised your face in the picture they were showing around, but there had to be someone here. 

From the corner of his eye, Javi spotted it; the coffee cart. Still manned, an old looking bloke who must have been late sixties maybe. In all of ten minutes the man in question had identified you, and even made note of the number plate of the vehicle he saw you being carted into; it was like some sort of miracle. Javi and Steve left not long after, graciously thanking the man for his information, even grabbing a quick coffee whilst there as a token gesture. 

He might have just saved your life.

~~~

It took less than an hour for them to find the location once back at the office. A small group of the team pulled off their current assignments, their new focus now being tracking the whereabouts of the black SUV they now knew you had been taken in. It wasn’t long before they got a hit. The vehicle was last spotted in a location known to Escobar - owning establishments up and down the country.

As soon as the approval was given they were out of the office and into the car, the location being a disused house just a few miles from the market. It was a huge risk just two of them versus however many of Escobar’s men were guarding you. But Javi had to get you out if it was the last thing he ever did.

Under the cover of darkness they parked just up the road from the house, in the hopes to not raise any suspicions. Slipping out into the warm air, both quietly approaching the two doors on the building, splitting them evenly. Luckily, for once, there were only two men inside; taking one each the bodies dropped to the ground in the blink of an eye. The partners opted for a quick scan of the premises for any further Sicarios before giving the all clear.

“Cariño” Javi’s voice came out barely a whisper, catching sight of you from through the doorway. Eyes scanning your frame he could see you were stripped to just your underwear. Beaten, bruised, blindfolded and currently slumped over in a rusty metal chair. It wasn’t hard for him to miss your chest heaving with sobs. His heart sank, stomach twisting and turning in a sickly way - the bile starting rising in his throat. Then came the wave of rage. How could someone do this to you, a small, fragile but beautiful human being?.

Checking his surroundings again before holstering his gun he approached you cautiously, your head lifting slightly at the sounds of footsteps in the room.

“Please ...no…not again…please” you begged, screamed in fact. Evidently choking on a fresh set of tears. Javi stood frozen for a second a million thoughts whizzing around his head; what the fuck had they done to you?

“It’s Javi…sweetheart…you’re okay, Steve is outside the door…you-you’re safe now” he said, his own voice stammering as he processed the sight of you, the sickening feeling in his stomach not having passed yet as his mind ran with thoughts of what had happened to you in this room. 

“J-J-Javi….H-H-How?” you croaked. 

“Shhh now, it’s okay. I’m going to undo the ropes and blindfold for you. But it’s just me; I won’t hurt you” he said. 

Javi waited and the small nod of approval was enough for him to step closer. Approaching the back of the chair his eyes fell to your hands bound together with an old dirty rope. Releasing the knot took him longer than expected and he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing it hit the floor - not missing the angry bleeding marks which embellished the soft skin there.

Circling back around Javi wasn’t prepared for the sight he lay his eyes on; breaking his heart into pieces. The mixture of pain and blind rage bubbling up in his chest; insistent that he was going to make every single one of them pay. Fighting with his demons he wanted nothing more than to pull you into an embrace. Now was not the time for that though, as he was unsure how much physical damage you had endured, and wanted to get you straight to the hospital to be checked over.

“Hey…” a soft voice made you lift your head, eyes locking for a brief moment with those brown orbs, it being hard to miss the sadness and guilt swimming in them “…think you can stand?” Javi asked. 

You nodded, taking a minute for a deep breath in and out before shakily standing from the chair - feeling his eyes watching intently, ready to intercept at any moment. It wasn’t long before your shaking legs gave out, landing on the cold hard floor with a thump. At this point what was just another bruise for the ever growing collection.

“Okay cariño I’m going to carry you, alright? If you get uncomfortable at any point tell me, okay?”. Javi waited for your approval and after another slight nod he approached slowly, sliding one arm under the back of your knees and the other around your back, lifting your frame from the floor to carry you bridal style. Ever so careful with hand placement.

Cradled against his chest it was hard not to close your eyes, the sheer warmth radiating from his skin, your head nestled in the crook of his neck; forehead brushing against the exposed skin there. The smell of Javi filled your nose as you tried to control your breathing - a mix of leather, tobacco and coffee.

“You good, hermosa?” he asked. No words came out, just the nod of approval again to signal that you were okay. Making sure he moved slowly out of the house, he carefully bundled you into the backseat of the car.

“Is she alright?” the familiar voice cut through the darkness, and it took a second to realise that it was in fact Steve. You don’t remember much after that; the world plunged into darkness.

~~~

Coming to your senses, you slowly started blinking, desperately trying to open my eyes and see what’s around. The blinding light slowly subsided as you craned to take in the surroundings. Okay so this was a hospital, you knew that for certain, obvious by the pristine white walls and that goddamn awful bleach smell that made your nose crinkle in disgust. It was the soft voice from the right which caught your attention more though.

“Cariño…”. Turning your head, you saw him. There was Javi, sat in the sickly green looking hospital chair, standing the second your eyes locked. “…it’s okay we got you, you are safe now”.

A heavy sigh left your lips, the events of the morning playing vividly in your head. “I mean…I th-think so” your voice was hoarse and weak.

“I’ll go tell them you are awake” he smiled and reached out a soft warm hand, taking yours and giving it a quick squeeze before heading towards the door. 

Taking in the surroundings, you quickly noticed it was dark outside from the slight crack in the blinds over the window. How long had you been out? Looking down at your body, the tangle of wires and IV’s all connected into your skin causing a shudder to run up your spine. Not failing to notice that you were still just in your underwear, the scratchy feeling of the hospital blanket against your skin was uncomfortable, but at least it was covering you from the chest down. The door creaked open again, in strolling Javi moving to stand next to you.

Your skin was a mass of purple bruises and luckily only a few superficial cuts which were taken care of whilst you were out, your face being the part that had taken the brunt of the beating. They had left you with a hefty black eye, split lip, and fractured cheekbone. Javi was seething hearing the damage they had inflicted. But there was one thing he couldn’t get off his mind, the thought plaguing him for the many hours he had spent sitting in that goddamn chair.

“Sweetheart…I need to know…did-did…they touch you?” he stuttered, locking eyes with yours again, emphasis on the word he needed to get across so you understood what he was asking. Taking a moment to answer, you were obviously reliving the previous trauma and he could see it behind your eyes, tears just starting to collect at the lash line.

Gaze drawn back down to your lap all you could do was nod, not baring to look at him again knowing the tears will spill over. He had an idea but wanted it to come from you and the non-verbal response was enough. It took a lot for Javi to show his emotions but that was when he broke.

It was only when a nurse entered the room, fresh hospital gown in hand, that he turned away. More so to give you privacy whilst she helped you into the clothing, he let a single tear slip down his face whilst his back was turned, wiping it away with the heel of his hand. Gods above, he was going through it right now, unable to comprehend how someone could even do that to you. The feeling in his chest was insufferable, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces again. He couldn’t even imagine the pain you must be feeling right now. 

It was only when he caught sight of the nurse leaving that he turned back around. Glancing over at the bed, you looked so small…so frightened. Javi wanted nothing more than to scoop you up into his arms and make the pain go away. But right now, that wouldn’t achieve anything, for as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to be so careful with you for a long, long while.

This was going to take time, but he swore then and there to be by your side every step of the way.

[imaginatorcreates]

Commission for Kewkies (@xxxkewkiesxxx)

Kewkies here asked me to write a little scene about her Welcome Home OC, Sabrina Spool, and the neighborhood's famous painter, Wally Darling. There weren't a lot of requirements nor requests for this piece by Kewkies, and the idea and general plot came to me when out and about.

Enjoy this written piece!

Stitch Some Time For Yourself

14 May 2024 — 29 May 2024

Summary: Sabrina, the neighborhood's resident seamstress, suddenly finds herself under a time crunch to make costumes for Sally's upcoming play. How does she deal with the pressure?

Word Count: ~3.1k words

TW: None

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.

Sabrina Spool was Home’s resident tailor. Seamstress sounded more elegant to her, but she wasn’t fussy over the details of her job’s name. No, her fussiness instead came over the details of her job. What was it that carpenters said?

Measure twice, cut once.

For Sabrina, not only did she measure twice — sometimes thrice — and cut once, she stretched sheets of fabric between her hands and made calculations in her head. Would this fabric stretch enough to accommodate her customer’s body type, or would she have to allot extra fabric to make up for it? What type of fabric would the customer want; cotton for comfort and breathability, or perhaps silk for the texture and smooth feel?

And don’t get started with her about colors!

While she preferred darker shades herself, she knew that everyone had their favorite colors and patterns to wear. The colors and patterns, when stitched together in just the right size and paired with the right clothes, made the ideal outfit.

Yes, that was what she was fussy over.

Sabrina loved her job, now don’t get her wrong. Nothing can really quite match the exhilaration that she got when someone’s eyes lit up after seeing her work, nor the warmth that filled her body from words of praise once her customer tried on the article of clothing she made for them.

Well, there were quite a few things, she supposed. A good hug or a gift as her payment, for one thing. A large, sweet watermelon or a tart green apple. Her morning ritual with Llyod, as annoying as he was.

And a certain, little puppet of the neighborhood: Wally Darling. He loved apples with just as much — quite possibly more — gusto as she does. His half-lidded eyes and blue, swirled pompadour were part of the charm that drew so many towards him, Sabrina included. From his hands burst painted portraits of still life and of his neighbors that he loved so dearly. And when he pressed those hands against his mouth? A blown kiss with a monotonous “Mwah!”

Oh, even now Sabrina wondered how the two of them managed to get together! It was all so new, like an apple that just ripened to optimal sweetness. If she thought about it too hard, she may accidentally poke herself while sewing.

What have they done already?

They’ve held hands — Wally’s small gasp of “Oh! You’re holding my hand!” made her grin to no end when her mind wandered to it. They’ve certainly spent time together, enough to consider them dates (to her).

But what else can they do?

Knocks on the front door beckoned her out of her thoughts. She turned away from her sewing machine and paused. “Llyod, I swear if you locked yourself out again — !”

“Mailman! Eddie Dear here!”

At the kind southern accent, the vampiric seamstress turned off her sewing machine and hurried to the front door. She turned the doorknob, then opened the door so only a slender crack was visible. Bright sunlight poured through and she squinted outside with a small wince. Beyond flashes of color and small floaters in her vision, she could catch glimpses of the portly mailman waiting for her with bundles of wrapped packages in his arms.

After a few minutes of acclimating herself to the sunlight, she fully opened the door. “‘Ello Eddie,” she greeted him.

“Howdy Miss Spool.”

“Please, call me Sabrina.”

Eddie sputtered. “Sabrina! Apologies Miss Sp– Sabrina.”

Sabrina chuckled and lightly shook her head. All predictable Eddie. “Do you have any mail for me?”

“Ah, well…” Eddie jutted his chin towards the bundles in his arms. “Cloth orders for ya. Howdy was particular ‘bout these gettin’ to ya in one piece.” He shifted the packages and Sabrina took the cue to take them in her arms.

She knew what was inside: lengths of dark cloth, a few dozen sewing needles for her machine and for her hands, and several spools of thread. Still, her eyes widened and she mumbled “Huh” as she took the wrapped packages. They were heavier than she expected.

“Oh, ‘n Sally wanted to give this to ya,” Eddie said as he placed an envelope on top of the packages. “She said it was important, ‘n to read it ‘a-sap’. Whatever that means?”

Sabrina blinked a few times at the envelope, and at Eddie’s words. “I will do that Eddie. Thank you.”

Eddie tipped his hat and took a few steps backwards before he turned on the balls of his feet to head off towards his next delivery.

Sabrina would’ve waved goodbye to him, but her hands were full.

She closed the front door with a bump of her hip and maneuvered back to her room with the caution and grace of a dancer who was paired with someone who never danced before. Her feet knew where to step in her dim house, and she could nudge open doors with ease. But the packages in her arms caused her center of gravity to be located somewhere else, so her elegant movements were hindered. Twice, she dangerously tipped too far and nearly caused any number of packages to slide out of her grip and onto the floor.

In the comfort of her workroom, she ditched her ungraceful packages gently onto the floor and shook out her arms. She shut her door and lowered the lights down, letting the dimness of the room calm her senses once again. She knew that most of the neighborhood preferred a warm sunny day for one reason or another: Frank found sunny days to be optimal for insect observations, while Julie enjoyed making games that made everyone scratch their heads at the rules but at least no furniture would be broken by the end of it.

Sabrina, on the other hand, preferred the night and overcast waking hours. She was aware that this might feed into the fact that she — and Llyod, but this wasn’t about him — were more vampiric than their neighbors, but no one commented much about it nowadays, so she assumed that no one really cared anymore.

She unwrapped her packages and placed the contents where they belonged, taking extra care to not misplace her new batch of needles. She already lost too many to the cracks of her house and carpet. Even when she does her customary sweep of her workroom with a magnet (also from Howdy’s), at least one needle would surprise her when walking barefoot.

Then again, sometimes they would surprise Llyod.

But she couldn’t have any stray needles surprise any of her customers. That would lower her customer service for sure.

Sabrina’s eyes glanced over the letter Sally wrote for her. The playwright’s circular handwriting on the envelope said “To: Sabirella”, and underneath it said “Read ASAP” almost as if Sally didn’t trust Eddie to remember to tell Sabrina to do so.

Sabrina’s nose wrinkled at the elongated version of her name, but she’s long gotten used to the fallen star’s quirks. “Please, it’s Sabrina,” she murmured to herself as she opened the envelope and read the letter inside. For everything that Sally was, at least she was trying to understand what did and didn’t work when trying to communicate with Sabrina. The star’s bright aura — literally and figuratively — drained Sabrina’s energy quicker than she could drain fruit of its juice.

Dearest Sabirella,

I’m sure that you remember my request for your work last month. I remember it like it was yesterday: I, Sally Starlet, gracing you with my presence to craft costumes for my upcoming petrifying play. I can still see your eyes squinting and widening as I slipped you the list of costumes I required.

Now, I know that I said that I’d give you as much time as possible.

Darling, that’s changed.

I need what you have as best as you can by the end of this week. It’s a shame, but I will settle for simplified designs if that is what will work. Your payment will still be front row seats to the play where I’ll be featuring your costumes.

I’ll be expecting the gothic garbs soon.

Sincerely,

Sally

Sabrina paused. She read the letter again. Once more for good measure.

The letter’s edges started to crumple as the seamstress’s fingers gripped the paper with more force than necessary. “A week?” she whispered. “I thought I had two weeks. You– Sally!”

Almost as if the star herself was here instead of the letter in her place, flourishing her hands and beaming from her rays, the vampire felt her energy drain. Her pep and love towards her work left her and was replaced with only a burning annoyance.

“By the end of this week? And simplified?” she hissed. “When I had plenty of plans to give only the best?” She slammed the letter down onto her work desk, causing the items on top to rattle and move slightly from the force. “Do you know how difficult it is to have to rework this?”

Sabrina huffed and pulled out her sketches. She viciously grabbed a pencil and was ready to violently scribble out the costumes she had yet to start. She could already feel the lead of the pencil tear through the paper, tearing her plans into nothing but black graphite and ripped paper.

She paused.

She breathed in, and out.

She let out a sharp sigh and threw the pencil down onto her table. “Simplified. End of this week.” She snapped her mouth shut and went about her work.

The days ticked down. Sabrina spent them all in her dim workroom with only the rhythmic whirr and hum of her sewing machine filling the silence. Multiple times, she poked herself with the needles, but not once did those pokes lead way to any larger injuries.

Lloyd quickly learned to not walk in without knocking, or to not even bother trying at all. The first time he had tried, Sabrina had abruptly stood up and slammed the door on him. His fingers had gotten caught in between the door and the frame.

In hindsight, she was sorry. She would’ve apologized if she had enough time, but that was what she was low on. She was low on time and patience, and she let everyone who interacted with her know.

She got her work done though. She projected as much mercy as she could towards her work, but even those couldn’t escape her wrath when the stitches couldn’t work just the way she wanted them to, or when the colors were just a little bit off. She probably sounded like a madwoman, yelling at the clothes to just fit together better. Several times, she threw the shabbiest of her works onto the floor and stared at them with a look that could kill.

She got her work done. That was what was important.

She got her work done. It was simplified and not as fancy as she imagined, but she got her work done.

Still, she yearned to add some of the additions that she had imagined. The fluffy flowers and the drapes on the shoulders. The cape and ruffles.

On the night before Sally was supposed to pick up the costumes, Sabrina was certain that she hadn’t left the house in forever. She could hear her sewing machine in her sleep, even though she was certain that she turned it off and unplugged it. She could feel the fabrics underneath her fingers and she could feel every stitch that she was certain was misplaced.

She was proud of her work, but at the same time, she wanted to take them all and rip them apart. Start over again. Do it better. Make what she imagined in her head come to life in front of her.

A knock on her door.

She didn’t have the energy to answer it.

Her door creaked open. “Sabrina,” Lloyd called. “Your aim better be good so you don’t hit your actual guest.”

Sabrina opened her mouth to retort, but words had been failing her lately. Still, a whole different reason as to why she said nothing was revealed to her as the guest turned out to not be Llyod but instead — 

“Hello Sabrina,” a quiet, monotonous voice said. It echoed throughout the vampire’s workroom and cut through the sewing machine’s constant noise.

She looked up from her work, but she didn’t turn around. Oh, just when she was almost done, she was hallucinating.

Quietly, two sets of footsteps entered. Several thumps as multiple objects were placed on a free portion of her work desk, then one set of footsteps left. The one that left was heavier and larger, less graceful.

The one that stayed was smaller and quieter. There was a certain way that this one walked.

Sabrina turned off her sewing machine.

“Hello Sabrina,” Wally said. “I got you some fruit from Howdy’s. Llyod was also there, and he helped me carry the watermelon back.”

Watermelon. The vampire had cut herself off from her favorite fruit halfway through her work last week, before she even got Sally’s letter. Convinced herself that she would get it when she was done, as a treat.

“And I carried the apples.” Sabrina heard Wally shuffle closer to her work desk, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him poke a finger at one of the green apples. He hummed and added, “I don’t understand why you like green apples. Red ones are better to me. But you like apples, so I think the color doesn’t matter too much.” He turned his head to look at her as he nudged one of the apples closer.

Sabrina took one of the green apples in her hand. It was unblemished and smelled perfectly ripe. Howdy’s bodega only contained things that he deemed were of a certain quality to sell. So obviously this fruit was perfect.

It was even more perfect as she pushed her chair away from her work desk, brought it up to her mouth, and sank her fangs into the fruit. She easily pierced through the skin and flesh of the apple, and the juice was sweet and tart.

She almost forgot that there was a watermelon there as she dove after all the apples gifted to her, drinking all the juice until the fruit was nothing more than dried skin and disgusting flesh. Then Wally nudged the large green and striped fruit towards her and she dove after that as well.

Sabrina was a clean drinker when she fed from fruit. She performed the actions with a lady-like poise and prevented as much juice from spilling as possible.

But after she’s deprived herself of her favorite fruits for a while? Add on top of that how she had been stressed from the moon and back, and she threw her finesse out the window. Juice spilled from her mouth and onto her skirt, but she didn’t pay any attention to it until the watermelon was a water-less-melon.

“Sabrina,” Wally said as Sabrina wiped her mouth. “I haven’t seen you for over a week.” He tilted his head and blinked once. He never really blinked much when around his neighbors, and much less around his close friends. He seldom blinked around Sabrina, as if each blink was a full day away from the vampire.

Sabrina looked away. She could’ve pulled her chair forwards and continue working. But her hands were a bit sticky from apple and watermelon juice, and she would hate to ruin the clothes. So she avoided his gaze and fiddled with her fingers.

“Sabrina,” Wally repeated. “I heard from Sally that her play will be tomorrow instead. I know that you’re making her costumes. Have you been taking breaks?” He leaned against her and breathed out a little “Oh!” when she wrapped an arm around him. He went limp and hummed, content with the touch.

“I have to finish this.” Sabrina’s voice came out softer than she expected, with more force than she expected. Talking had become difficult the closer the deadline was, until she could no longer bear to. “I have to finish this.”

“You look almost done.”

“But — ”

“I think Sally would not mind if you gave her something simple.”

“I would mind.”

Wally hummed. “I think your work always looks nice. Something simple made from your hands is always nice. It also feels nice to wear. I like wearing the cardigan you made for me, and I think it makes me look handsome.”

Sabrina chuckled and softly shook her head. “You’re always handsome, my candy apple.” When he laughed that soft, monotonous laugh that Sabrina loved so dearly, she gently squeezed him and leaned over to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

Wally’s semi-permanent smile widened, causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle. “Oh! You are very sweet Sabrina.” He reached towards her face and brushed a thumb against her cheek, his dark eyes looking deeply into her own. “You’re very, very sweet,” he whispered.

One moment, the two of them were staring into each other’s eyes. The next moment, in Sabrina’s opinion, was very sweet and very soft.

She realized, only then, that she forgot one thing when trying to remember what the two have done already since becoming an official couple. Maybe because it was a bit unorthodox, seeing how it was only brought up once then never again. She had made hints towards it, but he never picked up on them. It was only when she had asked him directly did he realize what she was asking. No wonder he didn’t pick up on it; he thought she was being friendly still, just in a different manner.

So when the two parted, it was soft and sweet. Sabrina lightly pinched his cheeks and cooed about how lovely it was. Wally leaned into the touch and softly shut his eyes.

That was the longest break Sabrina took where she wasn’t sleeping or eating. The two simply lingered in each other’s presence, asking about the day and the week. The dried fruit was discarded and Sabrina’s hands were cleaned of the spilled juice.

Wally stayed for a little longer while she worked. He was hypnotized by the sewing machine and his hands stroked some of the fabric as Sabrina fed it into the machine.

All the fuzz in her mind cleared and her work became less muddled and misshapen. They were already good.

And the next evening, when she sat in the front row to Sally’s gloomy gothic play and watched the actors glide upon the stage with her garbs on display, it didn’t really matter how much the play went sideways.

She was just glad that she could do what she enjoys.

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[skyauroka]

🌼lurky??? lurky have fears???

Everyone does,,,,,so duh

• Describe one of your OC's worst nightmares.

Describe?? Oh I will describe even better

I WILL WRITE !!!!!! I HAD SURGE OF MOTIVATION!!! I COULD HAVE NOT JUST DESCRIBED IT WITH SIMPLE WORDS!!! I NEEDED ACTION!!!!! not drawing shit this time tho

Tw: Blood,,,gore ? I mean head went cut off that counts at the end tho

She's back again.

The ground below her is cold, it's winter. Days become shorter and night soon dawns.

In her horrible, putrid shared body she scratches at her skin, feeling the outside layer moving along with her dark substance that's keeping them both alive. Her hands eventually reach her neck and she shivers slightly as she remembers that she needs to breathe.

A voice calls out to her, a name that isn't hers. Yet a name that she found so right when it came to her voice.

Once the girl comes close, she smiles and laughs at her. Telling her that she wore way too light clothing for this kind of weather.

She almost felt offended, as the clothes she wore were her own personal choice after the girl in front of her begged her to wear something new. But noted that the people from this area seemed to wear heavier clothing when it snowed heavily.

Smoke came out of the girl's mouth when she breathed out. And when she tried to do the same, only a faint sound came out.

Another flaw of her body. She sighed, she should probably avoid this winter season. But the girl in front of her laughed once again, and teased her for it.

This was their routine. And Lurker liked it.

So how did it end up like this?

Her body trembles like a machine.

A useless bloodied head is on the ground, staining the grass and what's left of the snow with it's blood.

The girl has always known what she was, why was she still trying to hide after all this time?

The girl.

The girl that she saw each day grabbed her horrible, horrible hands that were threatening to turn into daggers.

"Please." she begged in a broken, low voice.

"I'm sick of this, I know you can!"

She kept staring at her hands. Two lifeless purple eyes that once showed no emotion were now wide open, and Lurker thinks it's fear.

"I've done enough research, I know who made you like this, I know how you were made like this!" She moved Lurker's hands right to her chest. The trembling visibly moving to her arms once her palms were pressed onto her body.

Her hands were melting, they were getting attached to the girl's clothes.

"Wouldn't it be better if I just never aged? This way we'll always be together. We- we won't have to always find each other again!"

Her name no longer felt right. it stung. It stung, it stung and she didn't know how she felt that.

she's not supposed to feel.

"Didn't you wish we could be friends forever?"

She finally looked up, and regretted it soon after, recoiling almost instantly the moment she saw the girls face.

"I'm sick of my life, Lurker.. I'm sick of having to be reborn everytime"

"No..no. That's not how it works- its-"

"You won't disappoint me, right?"

The girl's hand pressed Lurker's own into her chest more. it was merging. Lines of darkness that resembled a bundle of veins slowly started making its way all around the girl.

"You wouldn't dare to make your only friend sad, would you Lurker?"

It continued further.

it was reaching her neck.

it was engulfing her.

"Let me become one of you."

Her free arm turned liquid for a split second to quickly morph into a blade and in one swift motion she cut her head off.

As the body fell, she made way to the girl's decapitated head and stabbed it, again. again. and again.

She kept on stabbing it until she could only see the dark blood on her whole face.

Until she couldn't see her eyes.

Until she could no longer recognize the skin of the bloody piece of flesh that sat on the ground in front of her feet.

Her arm slowly morphed back into normal, the remaining blood getting wiped off instantly.

The ground was warm. Winter ended. Days were no longer gonna be shorter and the sun would've been the first one to see her work of art.

And she was sure she felt fear, because she knew she'd see the girl again in a few years.

Freaks of nature always seem to levitate to one another like magnets, after all.

[scribbliff]

Oh, Gaspard

Just a little something I wrote for someone's carrd a little while back!

To be born into and to live among the noble houses of Ishgard is a polarising life for some, and in most, gives rise to an overwhelming desire to compete against one’s peers, in an effort make a name for oneself: to propagate the ever-turning wheel of house politics by way of participation. A rare few, however, seek no such glories, and instead wish to live a life free of the cutthroat machinations of in-house rivalries, to cast their sight beyond the confines of their noble birthright and into the world at large, yet to do so is no easy feat. In Gaspard’s case, he was brought into this world as the runt of an already overflowing and ruthless litter, but within himself, whether there from birth or nestled there by his frequent accompaniment of his mother, was a spark of curiosity and wonder.

He would grasp gently the stems of imported flowers, and ask their diligent growers questions of their origins; he’d partake of weird and strange foods from different and distant lands, and inquire about their exotic ingredients; and he’d pay coin from his own pocket to buy retellings of adventures caravan guards had on their journeys up to Ishgard, no detail spared. If he were a goblet, and the knowledge that nourished his eager mind was wine, he would be veritably bottomless. Everything he’d learned, every glimpse of the world beyond was noted down in his journal to refer back to, should new information make mention of them… However, as the end of his childhood came into sight, he caught notice of the sharp sideways glances of his siblings, especially his older brothers: he had painted a target on his own back by simply pursuing his hobbies, and he was well aware of what the consequences of such would be.

And so, for the first time, he donned the foppish mask of a dim-witted, highborn noble son, of which there were multitudes milling around Ishgard - Moronic individuals indulging in care-free lives, their sins absolved by paternal connections and, if such was insufficient, the resounding slap of a heavy coinpurse dropped into an eager, open palm. He played the usual games, he drank himself almost stupid, cavorted around pursuing whatever flight of fancy he’d deemed the most ridiculous, and watched as the gazes of those around him softened. He was but a fool to them, after all, to be mocked and laughed at, his follies spoken in hushed whispers by those who deemed his senses too dulled by both drink and vice to notice.

But notice he did, though these slights did him no harm: they were insulting and mocking a man that, by most counts, did not truly exist… In the Ishgardian zeitgeist he was no longer a piece on the politicking chessboard, now free to do as he wished, his eccentricities and curiosity now bundled negligently under the broad canvas of his perceived idiocy and apparent inattentive disposition. Consequently, this metaphorical canvas was frequently assailed by those who felt there was something behind the facade, and though many came very close, the depth and truth of the ruse has never been fully grasped. The single attempt that’d come the closest to revealing the truth had been when Gaspard’s mother, Octavia, had summoned him to the family study one fateful winter’s eve: she piled up his old journals, the sketches he’d scribbled in them laid bare, and did her best to remind him of the boy he once was, and the potential he was squandering.

Though his decision balanced upon a knife’s edge, Gaspard felt he had no choice - He was once more being made to decide whether he wished to follow his dream or be forever a slave to the machinations of Ishgardian nobility, and so he did what he needed to do - He acted with feigned ignorance and spat flimsy justifications, and whether she believed him or not was never established, but the grievous he’d done to their relationship, however, was plain to see. Yet this in itself would later prove useful, as despite the pain it caused him in the moment, when he’d later ask for her blessing to depart Ishgard, she gave it without hesitation.

[silverhallow]

8.."What do you mean?"

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett

summary: Baby Violet's birth... the moments where it all goes wrong. Modern Au but the photo fit with the story!

warnings: childbirth, mentions of blood, c-sections

word count 534 words

author's note: this isn't that long but it was hard enough to write something about childbirth but this was what my muse gave me! i hope you enjoy it anyway!

Benedict was frantic, there were nurses and doctors talking, someone was saying to prepare the emergency operating room. “The baby is stuck, if we don’t perform an emergency c-section we’re going to lose them both” he heard coming from the chief midwife.

“What… what do you mean? Lose them both???” Benedict squeaked, he turned to look at Sophie, the love of his life, she was pale, paler than he’d ever seen, she looked like she was moments from death, like she was trying to cling on for dear life to bring their little girl into the world.

38 hours they’d been here already, Sophie had been screaming in pain for most of that time, it had been the longest and worst day of his life. The entire pregnancy had been horrific and now this…

He just stood there in complete shock as he looked around the room nurses preparing Sophie for the c-section, a doctor handing him a bundle of scrubs “change… if you want to be there you need to get change, you’ve got 5 minutes, hands washed in the room next door, be ready”

Benedict just nodded, Sophie stirred feebly “Ben…?”

“I’m here, i’m right here my love” he said rushing over to her.

“I’m so tired… everything… everything hurts” she whimpered

“I know baby, they’re going to help, just a little longer”

“Just… save… save her… save Violet… not me… if you… if you have to chose” she said, her breathing getting more shallow.

“We’re losing more blood!” came a yell from a doctor and Benedict was moved out of the way, Sophie’s hand reached out for him and he watched her be wheeled away and he grabbed his scrubs, and got himself changed as quickly as he could, rushing out behind them.

He was not going to lose them, he couldn’t make that decision to save his little girl over his wife. He did not want to be the husband who had to choose. 

He believed in the doctors, he believed that the fates would save them both.

He stayed by Sophie as the doctors worked and performed the C-Section.

Sophie’s heart rate was getting lower, the machine’s beeps were getting further and further away, then he heard the wail.

“She’s here… she’s here Soph, everything is okay, everything is going… Soph??” he said as he looked away from the bundle the doctors were now checking over and he saw the last colour in Sophie’s face drain away, “GET THE OR PREPPED! She’s losing more blood, we need to operate immediately, someone get him and the baby out of here!”

Benedict was given the bundle, a tiny no longer crying baby girl in his arms as he watched in horror as his wife was wheeled out of the delivery room and down to an operating room, “she’s going to be okay, mummy is going to be okay… she’s got to be” he said to his little girl, clinging to her, holding her close, using her to cling to the present. 

He had to stay sane for his wife, for his baby girl, for his boys who were with his mother…

Sophie was going to be okay…

She had to be.

[jeonginssa]

I Swear I’ll Never Leave Again | W.JH

Part Two - “Was it you?”

Author’s note: this was kind of intense 🙈

Word count: 1k(ish)

Content/genre: nonidol jun, jun x reader, lisa (blackpink) is bestie goals, fluff, heavy angst, office romance

Trigger/content warnings: alcohol consumption, sexual threat, reader is drugged in the club (it doesn’t go further than this), mention of nausea, brief hospital mention, swearing, story will involve domestic abuse down the line (reader’s ex is abusive not jun), not proofread

Taglist: open

@fairygirl18

You hadn’t drank in a while and it wasn’t long before you’d lost track of Lisa, the room was spinning with a hand on your leg. You tried to make out the face belonging to the hand but you were seeing double.

“Shall we go back to my place?” The blurry figure queried in a low ominous voice. You wanted to talk, to say no, to find Lisa but nothing seemed to be working. You just sat there trying not to fall off your stool until the blurry man picked you up and dragged you outside. The motion made you feel sick.

You were starting to lose consciousness completely when a second blur snatched you away from the man and bundled you into his car. Everything went black.

*****

A repetitive beep from a machine and some low voices woke you from your sleep. You could faintly make out two people talking. For a second you could have sworn it was Junhui but before you could even make out who the man was, he was gone. Groggily you sat up and your eyes came into focus.

“Ah good, you’re awake. I’m Dr. Kim, I’ve been treating you overnight, I’m sure you have lots of questions.”

“What happened to me?”

“It seems you were drugged when you were out last night, luckily someone was driving past and noticed something was wrong and brought you to us.”

“Will I be okay?”

“Yes, luckily the passer-by acted quickly and we were able to hydrate you and help flush the toxins from your system. You may feel a little under the weather for a day or so but you’re safe to go home.”

“How much is the hospital bill?”

“It’s been paid for.”

“What, by who?”

“The good samaritan who brought you in, they asked to remain anonymous so I must respect their wishes.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

*****

“Oh my god! Where were you?! I turned around for a second and then you were gone and you didn’t answer my calls, I was so worried!” Lisa bombarded you as soon as you walked into the office. Your head was pounding.

“Ugh, it’s a long story, can I tell you later?”

“As long as you’re okay,” she looked unconvinced.

“Hey, where’d this come from?” You noticed a to go coffee cup on your desk. Lisa shrugged.

“I don't know, it was there when I got here.”

You lifted it and saw a little note underneath it, “come to my office please - wen junhui”. Shit, how do I go to his office without making Lisa think something weird is going on.

“I need to go and ask the boss man something, wish me luck.”

“Hwaiting!”

Shakily you raised your hand to Junhui’s office door and knocked less confidently than you would have liked.

“Come in.”

God, when did he get so attractive.

“You wanted to see me?” You looked up from your feet which you’d be unintentionally staring at and he cleared his throat.

“How are you?” I mean, how are you finding things here?”

“Oh um, they’re good thank you. I’ve finished the subtitles for the film and I’ve made a start on the series.”

“That’s good but I mean,” he paused, “how are you, you know emotionally?”

“I know it was you.”

“What?”

“At the hospital. I saw you and I don’t know why you don’t want me to know it was you but thank you. I never go out and I don’t even want to think what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ordinarily you would have never spoken to your boss this way but your boss was Junhui and you may not have seen him in a long time but you still knew damn well when he was lying.

“Yes, you do.”

“Yn, you do realise you’re speaking to your boss?”

“I do and respectfully, I’m just trying to thank you for saving me from god knows what so I’m not sure why you’re not being honest with me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Was it you?”

“Are you okay?”

“Was it you?”

“Are you okay?”

“Junnie… was it you?”

“What did you just call me?” Fuck.

“I mean…l…”

“You remember me.”

“You remember me?!”

“Of course I remember you.”

“Then why did you pretend you didn’t?”

“Why did you?”

“Wen Junhui if you do not stop double talking me, I’m going to walk out of this office and go back to work and we will never discuss this again.”

“Your hands are shaking so I’m going to ask you again, are you okay?” Your eyes filled with tears.

“Jun, please, I can’t do this right now.” He stood up and took a step towards you.

“I’m sorry.” He held you in his arms and you burst into tears. You wanted to ask him why he pretended not to remember you when he clearly did, why he didn’t want you to know he saved you, why he saved you, when he moved back to Korea but you couldn’t all you could do is sob onto his suit jacket and wonder if he’d always been this warm.

When you managed to ease your sobs he pulled away enough to look at you. “Would you be willing to come with me?” You could only nod. “Good, okay, I’m going to get your bag and tell Lisa I need you for an appointment, while I’m doing that you walk to the elevator and wait for me. Can you do that?” You nodded.

“Good, let’s go.”

[katerinateller]

Note to Self: DON'T USE UNITY ENGINE

Take FEE from Developers for Every copy for every game installed.

FREE GAMES the fees still apply estimate more than $25,000,000

Declare bankruptcy to the bank, loaner's and users. (??? Does Unity apply the same charges to Casino machines,slot websites, jackpot party, it's legally a gaming ain't it?)

I get FREE GAME, while DEVELOPER is CHARGED for that MY FREE COPY

So if I a Gamer become a Developer will be CHARGED for FREE GAMES even by multiple copies from one user

" That's bad " I feel bad for studio's situation :(

*Edit UPDATES (September 13 2023)

- Unity "regrouped" and now says ONLY the initial installation of a game triggers a fee (0.20$ per install){I hope there no glitches concerning installation}

- Demos mostly won't trigger fees (Keyword: MOSTLY what does that mean)

- Devs not charged fee for Game Pass, Thank God for the Indie Developers

- Charity games/bundles exempted from fees

Xbox is on the hook, for Gamepass?

*Edit Updates (September 13 2023)

Unity:

-Who is impacted by this price increase: The price increase is very targeted. In fact, more than 90% of our customers will not be affected by this change. Customers who will be impacted are generally those who have found a substantial scale in downloads and revenue and have reached both our install and revenue thresholds. This means a low (or no) fee for creators who have not found scale success yet and a modest one-time fee for those who have. (How big of scale of success before your charged?)

-Fee on new installs only: Once you meet the two install and revenue thresholds, you only pay the runtime fee on new installs after Jan 1, 2024. It’s not perpetual: You only pay once for an install, not an ongoing perpetual license royalty like a revenue share model. (???)(How do they know that from device)

-How we define and count installs: Assuming the install and revenue thresholds are met, we will only count net new installs on any device starting Jan 1, 2024. Additionally, developers are not responsible for paying a runtime fee on: • Re-install charges - we are not going to charge a fee for re-installs. •Fraudulent installs charges - we are not going to charge a fee for fraudulent installs. We will work directly with you on cases where fraud or botnets are suspected of malicious intent.

- Trials, partial play demos, & automation installs (devops) charges - we are not going to count these toward your install count. Early access games are not considered demos.

- Web and streaming games - we are not going to count web and streaming games toward your install count either.

- Charity-related installs - the pricing change and install count will not be applied to your charity bundles/initiatives.(Good)

•If I make a expansion pack does count as install, what if I made sequel?

•Fee apply to$200,000 USD (How does work for other countries)

So I charge $60 per ONE Videogame I will be charged fees once I sell about 3400 copies ($204000)

I then sell say 10,000copies(New Sequels as well)

(If I download game onto my computer twice they get charged 0.20, how ever if I redownload onto another device say Xbox, would they get charged again, charges may vary depending on how many games.)

OVERALL

Seems to force companies to charge customers higher prices on videogames to avoid a loss of profit.

*Edit Updates as of (September 22.2023)

- Your Game is made using a Unity Pro or Unity Enterprise plan.

- Your Game is created or will be upgraded to the next major Unity version releasing in 2024.

- Your Game meets BOTH thresholds of $1,000,000 (USD) gross revenue (GROSS= Before Deductions & Taxes) on a trailing 12 month basis(?) AND 1,000,000 *lifetime initial engagements.

As for counting the number of *initial engagements, it will depend on your game and distribution platforms.

Some example metrics that we recommend are number of units sold or first-time user downloads.

This list is not comprehensive, but you can submit an estimate based on these metrics. Hope this helps! You can also find more information here: https://unity.com/pricing-updates

I'm sorry, Did that User say runtime fee is still tied to the number of installations (WTF Runtime Fee)

•Qualify(Ew) for the run-time fee:

1) are on Pro and Enterprise plans

2) have upgraded to the Long Term Support (LTS) version releasing in 2024 (or later)

3) You have crossed the $1,000,000 (USD) in gross revenue (GROSS= Before Deductions & Taxes)(trailing 12 months)

4) 1,000,000 initial engagements

( I noticed that it doesn't seem to mention International Revenue. Only the USD)

•Delete Unity

•Deletes Game before they make million

•Make $900,000 then make Game Free

•Make Game Free and implore people for their generosity

•Change Game Engine

Too tired to do the math...

[dsn-001]

[This time, a shrine offering for classic Moon herself] Her kindness is a perplexing thing. Verse holds one of a thousand identical cranes in his gloved hand. Turns it over, as though its shape will reveal some new insight. A revelation hidden in the crook of its wings, or the weight of the paper. Always giving. Always caring. The OVER never understood it. Gesture after selfless gesture for those around her-- those she hardly knew, but still carried deep in her chest. Attachment. Is it a burden to feel such things? To forever orbit machines like him with so little compassion? With so little time for anything but their own purpose?

Does she know what he does? Has she too, counted every second spent on the lives of others? Painstakingly folding paper cranes. Working to perfect each dish alone in the kitchen. Shopping every window for the gift, just to see a fleeting smile. Every holiday, festival, reaching for a connection. Sharing what she loves in the hopes that someone else will finally reflect her? Was that your wish? Is that what it means to embody the Moon? To be ever stranded on the periphery? He supposed it would be cruel, for someone who feels so much, to be so far away.

This is a small gesture, perhaps not even that appropriate in the face of such musings. There is little else Verse can offer. He cannot comfort her. Cannot feel what she feels.

He can follow directions, he can make exact measurements. A basket with a simple note:

'They are called "pirozhki" or пирожки́.' This act too, is perplexing.

If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?

It was quiet at home again, not unusually so. With most of her siblings out and about on their jobs while she was left to filter through their ever constant streams of data, it left the Song estate.. empty. Moon did her best to aid in the upkeep of her family's abode; the windows were cleaned, the floors swept, the tables and shelves tidied. It wasn't like her current duty required her to do anything physical, so it wasn't a problem.

But after that, there was... nothing to do, really. She cooked dinner (it would be just her and her mother tonight. Moon still found herself making more food than necessary anyway), put away the dishes while her mother returned to her laboratory work, and then there was...

More nothing.

Sunrise, sunset, the rhythm of every day was the same.

The monotony of her life at home didn't make it any less beautiful, though. Sometimes she'd see cranes in the garden, or pheasants, or go to pick wild fruits in the summer time; she could sometimes even say hello to the newborn lambs that belonged to the uncle that lived in the valley of the mountains.

It was peaceful, really. Moon could find comfort in the tranquility of their paradisaical home.

Tonight, there was something she was looking forward to in particular, though. After several days of cloudy skies and rain, the sky was supposed to be clear; with luck, she could maybe use her mother's observatory. Dr. Song rarely used it anymore, not since Moon had taken to spending her extensive spare time in there -- she'd even said it was Moon's now, and she was free to use it as she pleased, but Moon still found it hard to call the building her own.

She wasn't expecting the basket waiting for her, set just so that it'd be the first thing in the moonlight her eyes landed on.

Her core started to race, picking up along with her pace as she hurried over to get a better look.

How very odd -- there was absolutely no sign that anyone had been here recently at all, and yet the buns sitting bundled in the basket were still steaming slightly, as if fresh out of the oven.

Moon's core thrummed harder as she knelt by the basket, picking up the note.

'They are called "pirozhki" or пирожки́.'

She traced over the neat, perfectly written letters with a finger, mouthing the shape of the word as she searched for its proper pronunciation, whispering the name afterwards.

"Pirozhki."

The hushed word was almost awestruck, reverent.

The baked bun was picked up and observed carefully. There was not much fanfare to its presentation, but it was shiny and golden brown; egg glazed, she guessed, just before being baked. The others were similarly made, almost identical in shape and size. Moon took a careful bite.

It was sweet.

The pirozhki was baked to perfection, still crisp and soft, the insides filling her mouth with the flavor of cherry and a soft cheese she'd never tasted before.

Moon sniffled, raising a hand to wipe at her eyes as she chewed. And even when her tears began to flow stronger, plopping into her lap or splashing against her armor, she did not stop until she'd finished the bun, reached for another, and finished that one too.

"Mei?"

The sudden voice at the entrance to the observatory startled Moon into whipping her head around, hastily wiping at her eyes once more. Nezha was home.

"I-I thought you were--"

"Came home early," the other Songbot shrugged dismissively, "the Doctor told me I might find you here." He paused, then, regarding her warily. Moon could recognize the hesitant concern in the squint of his eyes. "...You're crying. What happened."

"I... I'm okay," Moon reassured the younger machine, her face finally breaking into a watery smile as she rubbed her face once more. "I'm just... really, really happy."

Nezha's lips pursed in a slight, uncertain frown. "If you're sure." He only lingered a moment longer, eyes flicking down to the basket before he turned to leave, mumbling some sort of goodbye.

Moon stayed in the observatory a while longer, eating one more pirozhki. There was no way she'd be able to finish all of these; when she was done, the rest would be individually wrapped to preserve as much of their freshness as possible and stored until tomorrow, when she'd give them away to the people she knew, just as she's always done.

The note, though simple, would be kept in a drawer in her room, along with other things she'd gathered or been given over the years. She couldn't throw out a note from.. a friend? Could she even consider him that? Perhaps not aloud, not yet. Maybe one day she could.

She hoped so.