#it was a lighthouse so there was probably a railing for him to hold on to but STILL

[hauntingyourself]

Based on this post by @barrel-crow-n

Highly doubt the clerk in ck was the only time he ever hurled someone from a building

[wonderjanga]

Can I Please be Your Friend?

Billy doesn’t have friends. Between being Marvel and working odd jobs, he hasn’t really had the time some. So when he got invited to join the newly formed Justice League. He was ecstatic! Sure, these people were at least a very minimum of 20 years older than him and sure they would probably talk about taxes and stuff, but superhero friends! Meanwhile, the Justice League is like, “wow this guy is so social. I like it!”

Marvel: “You have a lighthouse…?” *sounds so amazed*

Aquaman: “Yeah. My dad was a lighthouse keeper so I got it when he passed.”

Marvel: “That’s so awesome! Can I come over?”

Aquaman: “Oh, okay? Sure?” *a little surprised he asked but eh whatever*

That was how Arthur spent the day showing Cap around the lighthouse. The man was a really good listener and was surprisingly very interested in listening to Arthur talk about how to use the light. You couldn’t even ask Arthur how they both ended up jumping off the railings of the lighthouse of dive into the water. You also couldn’t ask him how they ended up having a water fight, with the Atlantean calling for some sea creatures as back up. You also also couldn’t ask him how shocked a hotdog vendor was when he saw Captain Marvel and Aquaman, both of which who are supposed to be revered heroes, soaked, looking like wet dogs, asking for a couple of hotdogs after they nearly caused a tidal wave.

They got scolded by Batman a little while later for acting like children and almost causing the previously mentioned tidal wave. It was a little funny to see Batman scolding a man a solid two feet taller than him.

Soon after that whole incident, Marvel went to befriend Martian Manhunter next.

Marvel: *staring at J’onn while holding a box of cookies*

MM: *can hear him thinking about how to approach him and looks over to Marvel*

Marvel: *thinks a little too loudly and J’onn hears a nearly deafening “FRIEND”*

MM: *flinches and clutches his head* “Captain. Is something the matter.”

Marvel: “Oh uh…” *walks over and looks between the cookies and J’onn* “I was uh- wondering if you wanted to eat these with me.”

And that’s how J’onn spent the rest of the afternoon eating cookies with Marvel. J’onn had at first thought Marvel was quiet because he was something humans called awkward. But no, every now and then, when J’onn forgot that humans preferred to keep their thoughts private, he’d hear how happy Marvel was that he accepted. He’d also heard a couple other voices which was slightly concerning. He didn’t know if that was normal for humans or not.

Then, the next was Batman. Bruce honestly didn’t even know how they had started talking about this. All he knows is that they were talking about the team’s performance in the field, then that somehow transitioned into talking about superheroes in general, which then somehow led to fictional superheroes, which led to now:

Marvel: “Oh, you like Gray Ghost?”

Batman: “I was… a fan of him when I was a child.” *doesn’t know why he’s telling Marvel this*

Marvel: “Cool! Did you see the movies?”

From there on was a forty minute yapping session about Gray Ghost, his lore, the movies, the comics, the action figures, and so on.

Marvel: “I even had his comics as a kid too.”

Batman: “Really? Reprints or originals?”

Marvel: “I wanna say originals? What do you mean by reprints though?”

Batman: “Reprinting is when they take a comic, and remake it to look a little better, such as brighter colors or slightly tweaked dialogue, so they can sell it again.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I’d say I probably have originals then.”

Batman: “Interesting. Those are collectors items now. They go for thousands.”

Marvel; “Really?!” *eyes nearly bug out of his skull* “Huh. I had no idea. Which ones did you have?”

Batman: “Mostly reprints. But I do have a couple originals on display.”

So yeah. The two were geeking out and stuff. Bruce honestly has literally no one to talk about this with so he’ll admit he was a little (a lot) happy.

We can’t forget the other JL heroes though.

Flash: “Like, he is so nice, and for what?”

GL: “I know right he let me ramble for like 45 minutes about planes! He was asking questions too!”

Supes: “And he’s always willing to help with anything. I didn’t even get to finish asking if he could cover my monitor shifts before he said yes.” *sounds slightly guiltily (he still feels bad for asking)*

In conclusion, Billy really wants to be friends with these guys, and his methods are definitely working.

[heechwe]

the start of time | 𝐩𝐣𝐬

୨୧ pairing: park (jay) jongseong x reader ୨୧ word count: 8.6k ୨୧ genre: angst, semi-fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to strangers to lovers, childhood friends, miscommunication, pet names (baby, love, etc.), unprotected sex, TRIGGERS FOR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND PARENTAL ABUSE IN THE LATTER HALF OF FIC. ୨୧ synopsis: You've lost your creative spark for the first time since moving away from Jeju Island, leaving behind your best friend in the process without an explanation. But when a work assignment sends you back to your hometown, truths come to light and perhaps lost love can come back with a little time and effort. ➸ bless @pars-ley for following this fic to the very beginning and being one of the best betas ever! this story is for you, ley, and thank you ♡ 💿Listen to the story's playlist here!

Over the thin railing that separates Jay from the cliffs below, the waves crash violently together. The weather mirrors the feelings circulating through his veins. The ripples of the seabed meeting the sand make him long for what his life could be instead of its current state. The wind whips his trenchcoat in angry thrashes against his back. His hands grip the lighthouse’s iron bars to keep his body steady. The upcoming storm was forecast last night to be one of the biggest downpours of the summer.

As the second in command of the lighthouse keeper, his father, it’s standard practice to be prepared for what’s to come. As the sea continues its visceral reaction to the weather, Jay thinks about her and what her life has become since she’s left. Is she happy? Is Seoul everything she dreamed of? Was running from Jeju without saying goodbye worth it? Or is she closer than he believes, her heart’s desire turning out to be not far from the fishing town they grew up in?

His father calls for him inside, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Probably for the better, anyway. Thinking about those chapters of his life, the book separated cleanly and harshly with a before and after, does him no good. So, like he should, he runs inside to do the next task that keeps one of the last lighthouses in Jeju working properly. Even if his heart has to be sacrificed in the process.

The subject of your next photograph takes no interest in the lens standing three feet away. Her tail wiggles rapidly as she inspects the bush in front of her with her perky, wet nose. You giggle quietly behind your camera, trying not to disturb her inspection of the roses.

Rule #1 of photography, according to your department head Sunghoon, is to make yourself nonexistent. To get the perfect shot, conceal yourself as much as possible. It’s taken many practice sessions since your first magazine catalog, the original photos coming out less than perfect. Thankfully, you’re now lead photographer thanks to Sunghoon’s tutelage and tips. After five years, you feel like you’re on stable ground.

It reminds you of Jay, the sudden memory of him being the focus of your lens many times before a punch to the gut. Your oldest friend in the world probably wonders what the reason was for your sudden departure. You couldn’t even leave him a letter to provide some semblance of an explanation, one that he definitely deserved more than anyone else.

If only you had a reason that made sense or could salvage the bond you once shared. You know now it’s been eaten away by silence, so what could be said anyhow to repair it? 

Your guilt gnaws at your empty stomach the entire way back to the headquarters of Otherworldly, the magazine you interned at and subsequently were hired to take pictures for. You greet the rest of your team when you make your way upstairs.

”Finally found some inspiration?” Sunwoo asks. Your friend tries to balance a pencil on the top of his nose.

”I’m working on it. In the meantime, I got the copies you wanted.” You give him the folder that holds your pictures for the month’s spread.

”Barely made the deadline this time, kid.” Sunghoon tuts his head at you.

“Leave her be,” Chaewon chides him, thwacking her notebook on the back of his head. It’s nice to know the writer’s room has your back when the boys decide to tease, especially in the form of Chaewon. She may be a stern leader, but she also happens to have a soft spot for you, the only female photographer.

You hear your boss, Kim Taehyung, call your name and ask you to come to his office. Your body bristles at the command, but Chaewon pats you on the shoulder. “Probably just a timesheet thing.”

Tip-toeing into Taehyung’s office, you smile at his back. Your boss is focused on a box of files on the windowsill, the outline of his button up shirt highlighted by the sun. “Please sit,” he says.

You do as he asks, putting your hands on your knees to pinch the skin, an old habit you couldn't kick. You tuck your hands under your legs to stop when Taehyung turns to you. He presses his glasses higher to the bridge of his nose, a soft smile emerging on his lips. “I wanted to say your photos from the last column were very impressive.”

”Oh!” You respond instinctively. Expecting reprimands that turned out to be compliments, you mentally take a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

"Also," he says, "I was wondering how you’d feel being sent out on an assignment. Well, you and Sunwoo, actually. Sunghoon was discussing a location-focused piece, and he recommended you for it since you may need a change of scenery for some fresh inspiration.”

You nod your head immediately. “Of course!”

Taehyung claps his hands together, clearly pleased. “Perfect. I’ve already booked you two for the next flight to Aewol in two days. It’ll probably be easy to find a place to stay, right?”

The pit in your stomach that faded immediately widens into a chasm. The sound of your hometown’s name on Taehyung’s lips could have been a figment of your imagination. A sick joke your guilt materialized to punish you further. But as you look longer at your boss, his glee transforming into hesitant confusion, you know the reality is far worse.

”The location piece is for Jeju,” you say, the realization on your lips hitting your ears like a cannon.

”Is that an issue? I can always send Jungwon with Sunwoo instead."

”No sir! Not a problem at all.” The words tumble out before you can stop them.

Jungwon, the little prick, wouldn’t get in the way of your success if you could help it. It’s bad enough that he reminds you of your creative block whenever he gets the chance. No way would he steal a cover piece from you. Particularly the one Sunghoon recommended you for and your boss expected you to complete without problems.

Despite the implications creating intense dread in every fiber of your being.

”Perfect. Get some sleep for the flight! I’ll send the piece details in an email first thing tomorrow morning.”

You walk back to your desk in a daze, unsure what to say when Sunghoon, Sunwoo, and Chaewon ask about the meeting. All your thoughts can center on is Jay, his smiling face continuously playing in your mind’s eye.

“This town is cute! A bit barren, but cute,” Sunwoo says as he exits the car parked in front of your childhood home. Your mother’s rose bushes stand tall near the mailbox, the only color in the dry grasslands surrounding your house. Aewol pales in comparison to the colors of Seoul, the city’s vibrant hues suddenly replaced with sepia tones. The only color that seems to shine through the landscape is the sea a five-minute walk away.

”Say that again, Woo, and your face won’t look so cute.” You roll your eyes and grab your luggage from the trunk.

Two weeks, only two weeks, you can survive two weeks. Your mantra on the flight to Jeju Island has been giving you some relief at the thought of going back home in half a decade. Standing in front of the brick and mortar that encapsulates your old house, you find the words to be extremely hollow.

With her uncanny senses, your mother is already out the door and greeting you and Sunwoo with hugs and kisses on the cheeks. How she could tell the two of you were barely out of the car without spying out the window, you’re unsure.

Sunwoo melts under your mother’s attention, his gummy smile and polite aura on full display. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

”Ah, my prayers were answered. Glad to see my daughter returned with a boyfriend!”

Yours and Sunwoo’s eyes grow to saucers. Your tongues are erupting with explanations at an absurdly fast speed. “No, Mom,” you shush her as Sunwoo’s blush creeps across his neck. “Woo’s my coworker. He’s here with me on an assignment.”

”Oh! Apologies.” She laughs behind one hand and pats Sunwoo on the back with the other. “Doesn’t mean one day you can’t be more than coworkers! That’s how your father and I met, remember?”

You give her a close-lipped smile and nod, the muscles in your jaw tightening.

You hadn’t thought about your father or your parents’ relationship once since you had flown out to the mainland. Admittedly, your life was all the better for it.

Feeling the air of his presence surrounding yours again twists the veins in your neck to tense knots. The ends of your hair prickle in anticipation. You make it to the front of your doorstep, wondering where he is and why he didn’t barge outside to greet you.

Like she can read your mind, your mother says, “I forgot to call and tell you, honey. Your father had an accident at the factory a month ago.” You see a tear in the corner of her eye, but you don’t address it. “So…he’s been bedridden for the past few months now.”

Sunwoo expresses his deepest sympathies. Unbeknownst to him, they deserve to go to the next beggar before him.

Like any other child, you should worry about your father’s sudden health change with a heavy heart and a frazzled mind. You should feel guilty for being away for so long, wondering how to make up for the lost time.

But you feel nothing. Not an ounce of what you should feel.

Even when you sit by your parents’ bed, his eyes lazily gazing out the window while your mother tells him in a loving voice that you’re home, your emotions are devoid of anything negative or positive. Sunwoo smiles and greets him politely. Your father says nothing. The seizure that overtook him stole his ability to enunciate coherent words.

Some moments later, when it’s just the two of you in the room together, you itch to leave. It should be a pleasure to see him. But you’re unsure to see it any other way but objectively: he’s just a body in a bed, doing nothing every day.

You hear your mother shouting in the living room. Her voice is at an abnormally high pitch to exemplify her happiness. You forgot she could achieve such a decibel when she wanted to.

”You won’t believe who’s here, Seongie!”

Seongie.

The childhood nickname Jay was blessed with by his parents, and the name stuck like a second skin. Now, it bounces off your ears and exacerbates your already conflicting emotions. Your body goes into overdrive from the sudden overstimulation, at ease from knowing Jay is close by but petrified you're seeing him after so long.

You fix your hair and take tentative steps out of your parents' room and into the hallway, hearing your mother call your name to beckon you to welcome your old friend.

When you see him, his frame filling the doorway of your childhood house, you’re transported back in time. You see yourself and Jay on a day when he could barely stand at half the wall height. You were etching pencil markings into the doorframe, the wood concealing the handwriting perfectly when the door was fully closed. A time when there were no worries or anxieties placed on you, the two of you against the world.

Looking over his face now, you realize the years have not shown physically. He still has the same angled jaw and smooth cheeks. His bottom lip remains puffy, especially when he pouts. The only thing that has changed with time is his eyes, most likely from the image before him, one he hasn’t seen in so long.

He has every right to be confused. One second, you stopped being a staple in his life. Now, you’re back in it without a warning.

You can’t deny your heart clenching. The muscle seizes when he looks over your figure, his jaw ticking when he finally meets your eyes with his own.

”You’re back,” he says finally. His first words to you in five years hold an air of uncertainty, laced with unspoken pain. He’s unsure what to do with his body, his arms pressed to his sides and his hands stuffed tightly into his pockets.

Knowing you’re the cause of it makes you want to run to Seoul all over again with your tail between your legs, hoping you can forget the misery you’ve caused. How can one apology hold enough weight to make up for what you did to one of the only people you’ve ever loved?

Sunwoo, aware of the sudden tension flooding the room, holds out a hand to your best friend. “Hi, I’m Sunwoo.”

Jay breaks eye contact with you to take Sunwoo’s palm, shaking it with a gentle but present grip. Jay gestures to your mom when he discusses yours and Sunwoo’s job at the magazine. “She’s very proud of her daughter, you know."

”Of course!” Your mother exclaims. “‘S not everyday that your child becomes some hip photographer.”

Jay inhales a heavy breath and looks down at his watch. “I have to go back to the lighthouse, but—“

”I thought your dad still ran that thing,” you cut Jay off. Aewol’s lighthouse was one of the last on the island, and the last love Jay’s father had left after his wife passed away twelve years ago. You expected it to stay in the family, but not in this way. Not when Jay has so many dreams to fulfill. Or, at least, you hope so.

Jay releases a humorless laugh, eyes falling at the corners. “Pop’s getting old. Can’t do it forever.”

He hugs your mother and gives a soft wave to Sunwoo. You feel the pit in your chest from a few days ago re-erupt when Jay looks in your direction before he departs. All you’re left with is the grim line of his mouth to haunt you for the rest of your afternoon.

The shutter of your camera makes Jay turn his head to you with a shy grin, his hair blowing in all directions from the wind. Your spot on the cliffside overlooking the sea is close enough to the lighthouse for you to see Jay’s father going in and out of the structure with supplies shipped from the mainland. Jay only runs over when his father calls for him to help, but his father hasn’t bothered to in the last hour or so.

In the downtime, the two of you have been alternating between science homework and enjoying the cool, cloudy weather. You’ve taken a number of shots of the water’s current and weeds surrounding your picnic blanket, but the majority of them were of your best friend. He pretends he’s going to smack your lens away, but he never does.

“Are you done taking candid shots of me?” Jay asks, his pencil scratching against his notebook.

“Depends. Maybe once you tell me what you’re writing,” you tease. “Because it’s definitely not a chemical equation.”

Jay chuckles and puts his notebook between the two of you. The words are jumbled in front of you until you recognize them as a recipe. “I was testing out this version of hoedeopbap last night, but I used white fish instead of salmon. It turned out really good, even Jaeyun liked it.”

You rest your head on your hand, sprawling out on the blanket to look at Jay. He always appears so animated when discussing food. You wonder when he’ll take the initiative and do something with his passion.

“What?” He asks when he catches you staring.

You grin and turn your eyes away. “You’re just a dork for food, is all.”

“Says the nerd with her camera always around her neck.”

You click your tongue at him. “I consider myself an opportunist. How else will I get good shots if I don’t have my baby with me?” You rub your camera’s body lovingly, and Jay releases a hearty laugh.

The booming sound of your father’s voice calling your name makes your entire body flinch. You swear his figure is as tall as the lighthouse as he comes towards your picnic blanket, stopping short when he sees Jay next to you.

“It’s almost dinner time. Let’s go home.” Your father says the words with a false ease; they hide his warning to follow him back to your house. Your anxiety rumbles low in your stomach, but you play it off like it’s nothing as you pack up your stuff.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jay says, his eyes hopeful for the next morning. As it is your routine for him to bike with you to school, you’re also counting the minutes until you see him again.

“See you tomorrow,” you say, your eyes soft but your stomach wrapped in knots. When you’re out of sight, and your father wraps his hand around your upper arm on your way to the car, you calculate the next seconds until you’re away from him and back in the safety of your best friend’s presence.

You and Sunwoo have been around the town square of Aewol all morning and afternoon. The crisp hour of 4 PM hits you sharply with the sound of cows and other livestock sounding off somewhere nearby. The pictures you’ve both taken of the local townspeople, random animals passing through the pale greenery, and subtle landscape have been average at best. They don’t hit you with awe or fuel any further inspiration. It’s the same cycle you’ve repeated for the past three months, trying to strike some sort of match of creativity only to come up empty.

“Let’s be honest,” Sunwoo says, looking over his own camera’s reel. “These kinda blow.”

“You don’t say?” You kick a free cobblestone off the road in front of you, lips downturned.

“The assignment is ‘Hidden Treasures’ right? Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong place.”

“Where do you think we’ll find something like that here?”

“You’re a local,” Sunwoo says in his defense. “Where did you go all the time in this backwater town?”

The beginning of your sarcastic remark dies on your lips the second you see Jay walking out of the laundromat with Heeseung, one of your old high school friends. He looks the same as Jay, still youthful but showing maturity around the edges.

Jay catches your eyes as they continue walking, his face contorting in surprise but unsure how to address it. Heeseung is the one to run towards you and pick you up in a tight hug, practically squeezing the remaining energy out of you.

“Holy shit, Jong wasn’t lying! You’re really back!” Heeseung laughs, his eyes becoming crescent moons from his happiness. You match his reaction, genuinely glad to see another familiar face.

You introduce Sunwoo to Heeseung, and Sunwoo exchanges pleasantries with Jay. Jay remains tense, the two of you conflicted about how to bridge the awkwardness that lingers.

Heeseung, like Sunwoo, is a great detective, sniffing out tension and immediately directing the conversation to your cameras. “So, Jong was saying you’re here for an assignment?”

“Yes!” Sunwoo says before you can. “We’re trying to find hidden treasures, actually. Our boss’s words, not mine.” Heeseung laughs at Sunwoo and then flicks his fingers.

“Jong could show you guys the inside of the lighthouse! Or even the view from that damn balcony would be a treasure in its own right. You can practically see the whole town from up there. Right, Jong?”

Jay rolls his eyes and rolls the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. “Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Perfect! We were dying here without any good material. No offense to you small town folk,” Sunwoo apologizes, but neither of your old friends mind. They welcome Sunwoo’s city perspective with laughter and an open hand, just like they always have with newcomers.

On your walk to the lighthouse, Heeseung and Sunwoo taking the lead, you’re left to walk alongside Jay. The tension is a tad looser than it was before, but it still pervades the space between you both.

Finally, Jay says, “I can’t believe you’re actually home, y’know.” He says the sentence more like a question, his voice unable to mask the traces of hurt that linger.

It makes your heart rip, but you avoid the workings inside your chest to keep the conversation light. "It took a long time, didn't it?”

”Yeah. It’s like you dropped off the planet.” Jay’s voice turns a degree lighter. He smiles, the crack in his solid facade giving you a way back in.

“I basically did. All I had was my camera and some clothes in my bag.”

Jay's eyes widen, startled by the thought. “You’ve never traveled light once in your entire life.”

”I know! I barely had time to grab the necessities.”

His eyes are filled with humor. “And by that, you mean…”

“Obviously my Pokémon collection, for starters. I had to start from scratch,” you joke. “Good thing I saved all of the old cards under my bed.”

”Even the one of Charmander that I dropped in Jaeyun’s homemade soju?”

You nod, laughing. “It still smells like watermelon.”

”Bullshit!”

You both fall into an easy rhythm of witty banter and taunting, recalling old memories and brushing shoulders in a mocking fashion.

By the time you’re taking photographs on the highest floor of the lighthouse, the tension has dissipated by a large portion. Your relationship with Jay may not be completely back to where it was before, but the first lighthearted smile he throws in your direction proves it’s a start.

And a start is just enough to make your heart feel a million pounds lighter.

“So Jongseong is flailing this card around, not realizing that the bowl of my signature soju punch is right there behind him…” Jake tells the story of the Charmander card with animated expressions. Heeseung and Jay roll their eyes, but Sunwoo laughs the entire time, his buzz bumping his energy to a level you had never seen before.

The bonfire Jake and Heeseung set up a walk away from the lighthouse is big enough for all five of you to sit comfortably around it. It seemed to be the only way your old friends could hang out together at this point in their adult lives. The bar that still stood in town filled with too many old people to feel like an acceptable hangout location.

“And he completely dropped not only her precious Pokémon card, but his whole fist into the punch bowl! I had to make a whole new batch without my parents knowing about it!” Jake laughs incredulously.

The memory still holds a level of insanity for him, clearly—not just at the situation but the level of teasing that you and Jay would devolve to when you were in your own little world together. You couldn’t help that you wanted to take your card from Jay’s hands, even if that meant soaking him in alcohol to get him to give it up.

You lift your beer to your lips, blushing. Jay sits beside you and notices the humor in your expression, smiling to himself too. You didn’t expect to reach this level of closeness again so soon. Who knew it would take a work project to find your way back to each other? With the week coming to a close and a good catalog of photos under your belt thanks to him, you could say the glass was looking half full.

“You guys got any more stories? This shit’s hilarious!” Sunwoo says, still laughing.

“Loads, man,” Jake responds.

“He’s got the best memory of all of us. Probably remembers all of our first naps in elementary,” Heeseung adds.

“How about we focus on the present, please? Otherwise we’ll be here until the sun comes up, Dee and Dum,” Jay says, pointing to the prime suspects with their all-knowing smirks.

“What else is there to say, Jay? Jake and I have been toiling on the dredging boats. You keep guarding that white tower and saying no to your uncle every time he asks you to work at his restaurant. Same old, same old.”

You turn your head to stare at Jay, perplexed. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

It’s always been Jay’s dream to make something of himself with his recipes. Bookmarks, sticky notes, anything with free space held an ingredient here or a step for a recipe there. It was like it was second nature, as were photographs for you.

How could he deny himself from what he wanted?

“I already have responsibilities here. I can’t drive up and down the highway to Park & Co. every day.”

“Start small, idiot.” You chide him, half-serious in your pestering. “Who said you couldn't do both? You can be a good son and still have your own dream.”

“Careful,” Jake says to you. “He might listen to you.”

“You’re the only one who gets through that cold heart of his,” Heeseung teases.

Jay gives the older boys a stern look, and they back off immediately.

On the walk back to your house, Jay’s jacket nestled around your shoulders, you grill him further on the prospect of him cooking seriously. “You should do it.”

Jay shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “And what’ll happen to the lighthouse? My dad will go back every morning on his cane and keep it working himself? No way.”

“Come on, who says you can’t do both?” You flaunt your arms in the air, emphasizing your point. “It’s not like it rains every day here.”

He looks at you with humored eyes, their shape becoming extremely thin when he smiles. “You’re even more stubborn as an adult, you know?

You poke your tongue out at him. “I could say the same about you, Seongie.”

The rain soaks your clothes when you run through Jay’s door. You shake off the droplets in your hair, most of the strands needing to be wrung out in your fist. Jay gets you a towel to dry off with, laughing at your current state of affairs.

”Don’t make fun of me. Be glad I still came, asshole,” you warn, warming yourself with the dryness of the cotton towel.

Jay raises his hands in mercy. “I told you to come earlier! Forecasts are no joke.”

”Sometimes they’re wrong,” you say. 

”Ninety-five percent of the time, they’re not. Trust the lighthouse keeper next time, maybe? I’ve been watching those skies for three years. I know if and when the weathermen are full of shit.”

You roll your eyes and shuck your shoes off, “Whatever. Any chance you have a spare pair of warm socks for me? I may get frostbite.”

”One, that involves snow,” Jay says as he walks into his small bedroom, leaving you alone for a second before coming out with what you requested. “And two, promise to bring them back. I only have so many pairs before I have to go to the city for more.”

”Scout’s honor,” you promise. You switch out your soaked socks for Jay’s, the feeling of the fabric making you immediately warmer. It could also be the fireplace that Jay put kindling in before you got there, but it’s mostly the socks. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

“I’d offer you a set of clothes too, but I’m moving a lot of my stuff from my dad’s.”

“It’s not that far away, though. You really want to live in this tiny shack?”

Jay laughs and returns to his food on the stove. “Do you think I could bring a girl home living with him? I love him, but I’m getting too old to be his roommate.”

You smile and press your arms into the kitchen counter, but you know it’s false. The thought of Jay being with someone else sprouts a gargantuan knot of jealousy in your stomach. He’s never belonged to you, not by any means. Not only that, but your illogical departure gives you no right to claim him now. And yet…

“Hey, where’d you go?” He waves a dish towel in front of your face, a smile on his lips.

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” you play off your prying thoughts.

“Obviously.” He sticks his tongue out at you and continues to stir the concoction on the stove.

“What are you making anyway?”

“Seaweed soup. I haven’t been able to make you any since…the last birthday we spent together.”

Your body warms deep down to the soles of your feet at this surprise. “My birthday was three months ago.”

He chuckles and turns his head to you, smirking. “Consider it a belated birthday gift then.” He carries on stirring, but continues talking. “Besides, you always liked my soup compared to your mom’s. Too watery, if I remember right.”

You blush and step away from the counter. “Let’s not talk about her or her food.”

Jay’s face turns puzzled. “You’ve always been so bristly when we talk about your family. Your mom is one of the sweetest ladies in town." 

“You don’t get it. You didn’t grow up with her.”

“Hey, at least you have both parents around.”

You slam your hand down on another laminate countertop, growing more frustrated the longer the topic is broached. “Jongseong, please drop it.”

“Why are you getting so upset?” He asks, puzzled and growing alarmingly quiet at your outburst.

“Because you don’t get it! And you never will, okay? So let it go!”

The kitchen suddenly feels too suffocating, the memories of the past and your argument melding together in a way that makes any hunger that you had become a full stomach stuffed with nothing but anger and fear. You run out of the house and back into the rain, knowing if you say anything more, your secrets will fall around you like pellets soaking your skin.

The lanterns fill the sky like a thousand stars, close enough for you to touch before they’re whisked away into the dark clouds above you. Even for your small town, every adult and child knows the end of summer festival is a time to make the last set of wishes and affirmations before autumn comes. If Jay’s father yearned for an easy season, he would buy a lantern to release on a night light tonight, as would your friends’ families who hoped for good health and fortune.

You smile when you manage to catch one, holding on tight despite knowing it’s against tradition. Once one is meant to float away, it was considered rude to stop it from continuing on its path upward.

Jay chuckles and grabs it from you, matching your pout in jest. “Next year, I’ll buy you your own, alright? Don’t be greedy!”

You roll your eyes and watch the lantern rise up and away from your spot on the beach. It shimmers in an amber glow until it slips away into the black sky overhead.

You turn to him, eyes lit up not just from the lantern flames. “Did you wish for anything this year?”

Jay shrugs. “I can’t really wish for anything ‘cause I didn’t get—“

“Don’t give me that! It’s symbolic, anyway. Just tell me,” you whine.

Jay only side-eyes you, a smirk playing on his lips.

You attempt to throw a bundle of sand in his direction, but he sees your upcoming attack the second you raise your arm. He takes your wrist in his hand, the clump disintegrating between your fingers. The two of you laugh as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

You’re both a tangle of limbs until he finally pins you down on the ground. He hovers above you, panting hard. “I win,” Jay replies, his breathing ragged but eyes still sparkling from a successful takedown.

“You wish.”

In the flicker of lantern lights and midnight stars overhead, Jay can’t help himself from leaning down closer until there’s barely a breath between your lips. He lets every doubt that has lingered over the past fourteen years dissipate and surrenders to the moment, feeling the softness of your mouth as he kisses you.

You could be glowing as bright as the lights still being sent off into the sky. You feel like you are, anyway.

He doesn’t go faster or push you further, the simplicity of the act making you sparkle from within with every ebb and flow of your conjoined lips. The crackle of a firework is what makes the two of you come up for air, unaware of how much time has passed.

 You let the moment hang between you the entire walk home. He holds your hand, squeezing it every now and then, the action more valuable than any words he could say right now. He holds himself back from giving you another kiss to say goodnight, knowing there’s always tomorrow.

Minutes after you make it inside, the scene in front of you turns whatever joy was left from Jay’s presence into acid.

“Can you not do anything right around here? I ask for the simplest things and even that’s too much.” Your father points to the food in his hands with an air of disgust directed at your mother.

He spits his vitriol in her face, the pattern commonplace. The behavior is nothing new, but his eyes show something worse than normal brewing beneath the surface.

“I can fix it,” your mother assures him, trying to take the bowl from him. “I’ll throw out the old batch and—“

“So now you think wasting food is the better choice? Are you stupid?”

The two of them are unaware of your presence, but even if they were, you doubt that would change the downward spiral they were heading towards.

She tries to walk away from him like she always has, diffusing the situation in the only way she knows how, but he drops the bowl on the counter and takes her by the arm.

“You’re not leaving,” he warns. The next moments pass in a blur, each one that plays out making you hover outside of your body, looking down in disbelief. Your mother’s temple hits the wood with a terrible thud. The next second, your body is pressed against your father’s to pull him away, begging, “Daddy, please stop!” 

His upper arm has enough force to jam into your chest and knock you onto the kitchen tile below. Pain reverberates up your tailbone from hitting the floor in a violent bang.

Your mother comes from the daze of her assault to cover your body with her own. It’s a pointless defense, your father’s feet slamming hard on the floor as he walks away and into the bedroom without looking back once.

She apologizes profusely, holding your head in her hands as tears stream down her face without an endpoint. You can barely form a tear yourself, still unsure the past ten minutes happened at all. An hour ago, you had your first kiss, and now…

“Your aunt lives on a coast off the mainland. I can’t let you stay here anymore, my love.”

That moment is when you feel the water form in your eyes. You couldn’t leave now, not with so much left uncertain.

“Promise me you’ll leave this place. Don’t think about this night again and find something better, please.”

That entire night, the waves knocking into each other with the same force as you had encountered hours ago, you feel your heart shatter into a multitude of pieces, each fragment tinier and more painful than the last. The thought of Jay waking up to see you in the morning only to find you erased from his life, robs any chance of you sleeping on the boat ride to Wando.

He’ll try to call and text, for sure. But what could be said that would explain the last twenty four hours without breaking your promise to your mother? How could you live with sharing such intimate details of your household, even with someone as sacred to you as Jay is?

How could you make him believe it wasn’t his fault that you fled without revealing your most vulnerable and harsh reality? After coming so close to the future you always dreamed of with him, what would he think? What would he do?

So, like any coward does, you let the phone ring until your battery dies, not bothering to charge it again until you make it to your aunt’s. You tell yourself he’ll move on and life will be better with you safe and out of the picture. Every beat of your breaking heart may call you a liar, but you’ll learn to twist it into the truth one day.

The next afternoon, sun slowly setting to meet the waves below, you walk towards the lighthouse with the courage your younger self didn’t have the night you ran away. Your heart tosses around in your mouth when you take the first step through the threshold, but now is the last time you fear the truth. If you couldn’t explain the circumstances back then, the least you could do was explain them now.

You take the trek up the steps to the top floor of the lighthouse, every step heavier than the last. Jay stands inside the lantern room cleaning the large bulb at the center of the space. He immediately tenses when you walk through the open door, but he says nothing. He only holds the same somber expression he had the first day you arrived back in Aewol. Only now, so much more rests behind his face that you cannot decipher.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. The words release something you believed couldn’t be separated from your being. Your guilt remains present, but the apology provides a long-held breath of fresh air.

He looks up to meet your gaze, eyebrows furrowing just a touch. The setting sun casts amber shadows across his face, making his confusion breathtaking. Clearly, he’s unsure what exactly you’re apologizing for.

The next words already taste like lead in your mouth, but you can’t hold the weight of them for another second.

Speaking them out loud is what will set you free.

“The night I left, my dad pushed my mom into a cabinet,” you confess. The eight words you just uttered create a well of tears in your eyes, but you keep your voice level and solid. “He had always been…harsh before, not just with her, but that was the first night I ever saw him hurt her with his hands instead of his words.

“I tried to stop it from getting worse, and I fell down—no,” you take a breath, “h-he threw—he threw me down on the floor.” You feel foolish for trying to minimize his actions, knowing there’s no reason to protect him anymore. You lower your head, ashamed. “That was when my mom called my aunt in Wando. She begged me not to say anything, so I kept it a secret. You’re the first person I’ve ever told about it… and about how much of an asshole my father really is.”

You can’t help the way your words crumble on your tongue or the low whimper that erupts from your lips. You had accepted in silence the harsh reality of your father being a violent and cruel human being, but speaking the words aloud is another beast entirely.

You go cold, your figure limp until you feel Jay’s gentle fingers under your chin. They pull your face up to meet his, catching his glassy and red eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

You sniffle. “What would you have done? We were seventeen—“

“Fuck that,” Jay seethes, his face a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I would’ve killed him then, just like I want to right now.”

You laugh and take his fingers in yours. “I made a promise.” You lock onto his gaze harder, trying to convey every ounce of regret you still feel. “I thought about calling you every day. I’d pick up the phone and didn’t know how to come up with the right words, especially after…”

Jay laughs, passing over the curve of your cheek with his thumb. It’s the rhythmic pattern of his touch that makes you come down from such heightened emotions. It’s always been his superpower, grounding you like this. “If I had known I wouldn’t see you again, I would’ve kissed you until the sun came up.”

You blush, your body flushing with heat. “Nothing’s stopping you now, Jongseong. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward, the shy boy you grew to love appearing in front of you. The last time you were this close, you both were unsure about most things in life, but not about how much you meant to him, and vice versa.

Now, the feelings he had put on hold for so long take hold of him, his heart a kaleidoscope of pent-up sensations when he finally presses his lips to yours. His mouth is ravenous, his tongue finding yours as his arms clutches onto your body with fervor.

You’re encased in him, all the lost time suddenly found in the spaces of his mouth on yours, your hands on his body, and the moans that leave your mouth. He undoes the buttons of your cardigan with quick ease, taking it off of your shoulders and somewhere in the room you don’t care to remember. You help him pull the sweater over his head to kiss the column of his throat and top of his chest, making him shudder.

You both pause to hurry down to the drawing room below, not wanting to continue on the iron floor next to the bright bulb of the lighthouse. Yes, the cot off to the side of the room is not incredibly comfortable, but you care little about its lack of comfort when Jay lays you down on your back and smothers your body in kisses. He makes a map of your skin until he meets the apex of your thighs, your body highly strung by the time he kisses the center of your legs.

You clutch his hair with both hands and hold tight in the midst of his ministrations, his whispered words of affirmation and the figure-eight patterns of his tongue saying just enough to push you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

He lifts his head from your body to crawl over you, his heart in his mouth as he says the words that have always been in his mind and heart from the second he saw you. “I love you.”

You’re unsure if it’s normal to cry at such a confession or in the midst of your current situation, but regardless, there are no tears of fear or pain. They’re ones that fill the silence between you with what he already knows to be true. But you say the words he needs to hear anyway. “I love you, too, Seongie.”

This is what it feels like to be at home. His body against yours, him sliding so easily inside of you without a word needed for the immense amounts of pleasure that already exists. It could be a handful of minutes or a span of time that carries over into the next morning. All that matters is his lips on your own and his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

And in between every movement, he has to remind you how much he loves you. His words and feelings are already embossed into your heart, but it’s nice to hear the breathless cadence of his voice. “I love you so much,” he groans, his end close with the sudden stutters of his body.

You fall off the cliffside together, your bodies in sync in the best possible way as your eyes see the stars from the very first night you kissed in the back of your eyelids. And when he has his hands in your hair, his touch lulling you to sleep, you wonder why it took you this long to come back to the one person who has always been the safest space in your world.

The two of you stay nestled in the thin blanket, Jay’s body your source of warmth in the small drawing room of the lighthouse. The cot barely holds your bodies, but with you both squeezing together and not wanting to let go, you make it work.

Jay takes stray hairs from your face to tuck behind your ears. “I can’t believe you didn’t know how bad my crush was until the festival.”

You giggle into his chest. “I wasn’t paying attention to boys back then! How would I have known?” You hold his gaze, suddenly vulnerable.

He chuckles. “I think I was pretty obvious.”

“To everyone but me, I guess,” you joke. “Besides, I think I always knew I’d end up with you, strangely.”

“That’s not strange, not at all.” He kisses you tenderly, nipping your lips until you laugh into his mouth. “Perfect. At least to me.”

“Same,” you agree. “I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m with you.”

Jay responds by holding you tighter between his arms. He kisses the top of your head before whispering, “So where do we go from here?”

The answer is simple, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face.

Jay looks deeply into your eyes and senses the words you cannot say, and the strength of his stare and his arms as your protective walls from all the harm that still exists in this world gives you the power to confront what you need to.

That afternoon, leaving Jay in the lighthouse with your heart fully in his possession, you know you have to face the demons that wait for you in your childhood home. If you are to have a future together, the first thing you have to do is make peace with the past.

A handwritten note on the fridge tells you your mother went out for groceries, giving you the perfect excuse to release the words that would end your terror once and for all.

You enter your parents’ room to see your father, unmoved from the spot you saw him in on the first day you were back home. Your mother pleaded for you to check in every now and then now that you were back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not until now.

You move the chair by his bedside out to sit down. When you finally face him again, you take note of the details you were too blinded by indifference to notice before. You observe the wrinkles on his forehead, the sunken divots under his eyes, the age lines surrounding his mouth, the frailness of his body.

The weight he’s lost since his accident makes all his features stand out more. All that he’s lost, but has also always been, is on full display now: this husk of a man without the venomous words and bravado to hide behind is truly nothing to be scared of anymore.

 “You’re so much smaller than I realized.” You say it with a breath of relief, any fear or anger that was left behind for him in your soul replaced with pity. You can walk away without regrets or words you wish you could’ve said, because you know now it’s a waste of your peace. Maybe one day, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive, even. Not today, but someday.

You walk away with no grievances left, back in the direction of the lighthouse with a new purpose and ready to take the path you were always meant to. Back to the home you’ve always had resting inside of the one you love.

Jay stands with his back facing you, staring off into the expanse of sea in front of him. His shoulders ease as you step closer.

“You’re back,” he says with saccharine happiness. He takes your hand in his and presses your fingers to his lips.

“I am,” you respond. You kiss him with your whole soul, incredibly in love and unafraid of what will come next.

“Babe! The new issue is here!”

You open your eyes to the sound of Jay’s words. You could barely doze off when he was so excited to grab the mail this morning. It was only delivered a few minutes ago, but of course he has to check for the newest spread of Otherworldly in your mailbox. To his happiness and your shy pride, your name’s plastered in almost every section of the photography credits.

Convincing your boss to let you work for the magazine from your hometown turned out to be easier than expected. With his happiness from your newfound inspiration, it seemed like you could take pictures of algae for all he cared and it would be a hit in the magazine’s eyes.

You weren’t the only one who could take credit, though. Jay’s name was also included in some of the photos, his insight into Aewol’s cuisine and new sous chef position at Park & Co providing more than enough influence for your photography. The lighthouse would always be his priority (aside from you), but his second love of food could not be kept at bay any longer.

He opens the magazine to the first page that features your photos, the centerfold being of Jay’s original recipe for hoedeopbap. “It looks even better in print,” Jay says, his face three shades brighter staring at the meal.

You giggle and wrap your arms around his middle, peeking your head out from the side of his shoulder to look at the pages. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Some of the best you’ve ever done.” He turns in your hold to press your chest to his, kissing your forehead in the process. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Actually, getting lucky is how we got this.” You take his hand and rest it on the curve of your stomach, fifteen weeks peaking out from under the midriff of your tank top.

He laughs and presses his lips to your cheek. “I love you.”

To your surprise, peace was easier to find than you had expected. Confronting what you ran away from all those years ago feels like a distant memory, the pain of the past a part of another reality. There are no monsters that creep in the shadows or secrets to keep locked behind closed doors.

All that remains is the ease that comes from a life filled with nothing but love and happiness, as weightless and freeing as a lantern floating through the sky.

“I love you too, Park Jongseong.”

@junekissed (thank for beta-ing also june!! ilysm) @yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[irreverentizzyposting]

here’s the lesbian mariadeline fan fic

Sailor!Maria, Lighthousekeeper!Adeline, non-cannon character necessary for the plot, Yuri fluff (tho it was set up to end in angst I cut it out and you can probably see where, it has little to no angst in it), mentions of blood and death, way too long.

my first ever fanfiction so I’m sorry if it sucks. How to write good fanfics no borax no glue

In a towering lighthouse on the edge of a jagged cliff, overlooking a quiet English fishing harbor, stood a Younge woman. Her rough hands moved auburn hair behind her ear as the ocean gale began to pick up. Dark eyes watched as the sea rolled in a blanket of dingy storm clouds. The woman’s father stood behind her as he worked away at the lamp. The first strike of lightning made its purchase in the distant waves, the thunder taking its time to reach the ears of the lighthouse keepers. “This one will be worse than the others this season.” Spoke the woman to her father. The father, a man named Atlas who was nearing 50, raised his head from behind the huge lantern. He squinted his wind burnt face to gaze upon the brewing storm. “Expect shipwrecks. Expect casualties.” Spoke him simply. And with that, he returned his worn hands to his work. “Aye” she replied just as simply. The night brought rain-wrapped winds and an unforgiving tide. The woman stood her ground atop the lighthouse with a telescope in hand. Monstrous waves crashed against the rocks below and drenched the poor girl. “Adeline! Come inside, lest the waves take you with them.” Beckoned the father. She only responded by a wave of her hand as she leaned further over the railing with the spyglass to her eye. It did not take very long for her father’s callused hand to grab hold of her blouse and yank her away from the railing. Adeline gave a grunt before pointing towards the churning sea, “A ship!” she yelled, “A ship in the distance!”

Atlas grunted before snatching the telescope out of his daughter’s hand. “Aye, and what of it! No use nearly falling to your death over a ship that is already doomed. You’ll join those poor sailors if you continue being a fool.” he said. A strike of lightning crashed near the base of the cliff. Adeline let out scream of surprise before grabbing her father’s arm and dragging him inside the windowed safety of the light house. Atlas hauled the huge glass door shut and let out a huff. He gave his attention to the still unlit spotlight. “Get downstairs and fetch me the matches. Best be fast lest we’re found responsible for the downfall of that ship.” He said sternly to his daughter. Adeline nodded and sprinted her way to the lower floors with a candle in hand. The flickers of candlelight illuminated the spiral stairs as thunder came nearer. Once Adeline had gotten to the bottom of the lighthouse, the thunder shook the very foundation of the tower. She stumbled about towards the table in search of matches. Before she could get her hands on the box, though, a crash shook the ground beneath her feet so violently that she was knocked onto the floor. Her candle stick fell to the ground with her and went out upon impact. After a few moments, Adeline sat up from her fall and found herself in a pitch-black room. The only thing that let her see anything was the lightning strikes that flashed from the window. She finally gathered herself and grabbed the matchbox from the table. She scrambled up the staircase like her life depended on it. Once she had made her way to the lantern room she tossed the matches to Atlas, even though he had his back turned to her. He swerved around and gave her an unamused look.

“Did you hear that thunder crash?” she yelled at him over the roaring waves, “It knocked me to the floor!” “That was no lighting, that was a ship.” Said her father. Adeline’s heart sunk and she stepped her way over to the side of the light house. She peeked through the glass and squinted through the pounding rain to lay her eyes on a ship, jagged and broken against the rocks. The sight was a horror, bodies littered against the knife- like rocks. Some impaled, some drowning. Thunder struck the lighthouse again as Adeline looked towards her father in horror. “Aren’t we to help them? They will all be dead by nights end if we don’t!” shouted Adeline over the constant barrage of rain against glass. “If you wish to die like your mother did, so be it! Go ahead and drown yourself along with them!” her father yelled at her as he struck a match. Sparks lit the disheveled man’s face as he lifted the match into the lamp of the light house. “Mind your eyes, wretch!” he said with some smile, a mixture of wonder and morbid happiness as the light house’s lens immitted a blinding beacon visible for miles. Adeline ducked into the stairwell and waited for her father to finish his work. A long night was bore as a leaking roof and shortage of lamp oil were all problems having to be endured through one of the worst storms of the year. Deep into the night, atlas found himself struck with some sickness of the gut and could only sit on the light house floor, vomiting into a bucket. Adeline was left to care for her father and tend to the lamp on her lonesome.

3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 As the night weaned from the sky, so did the storm. Atlas slept through the morning, and once Adeline found the sky clear enough to put out the flame, she made her way down the spiral and stepped out of the lighthouse. Light rain fell against her round face once she pressed bare feet against damp sand. The sea breeze was pleasant, but also brought a dank smell of mildew and death. She paced herself with reluctancy. Rounding the jagged rock, Adeline finally laid her eyes on the gnarled ship from the night prior. It sat sideways, mangled and lifeless like a beached whale. Its sails draped over the small cliff like sheets of cobwebs against some ancient crypt. Splintered oak shot out from the shore, pointed, and stained with the blood of its unfortunate crew. Seagulls had made quick work of having a meal of the cadavers. It was a gruesome sight, but one that Adeline had seen many times before. Adeline made careful motions as she lifted herself into the keel of the ship through a jag opening. She felt soft cloth beneath her feet and moved away from the entrance to let the sunrises rays in. The inside of the ship was covered in beautiful silks of every shade, more vibrant than Adeline had ever seen. She continued her steady pace further into the belly of the ship, taking in the spectacle. The more she ventured, the more the girl was astonished by the precious cargo. Silks, jewelry, and crates of spices all spilled onto the floor, making a mess of such valuable things. She kept her hands to her sides, despite how much she wanted to take something to add to her collection of treasures. It was immoral and sometimes illegal to raid shipwrecks, especially with things of

this much value. She knew the people who were to be receiving the cargo would catch news of the wreck and make hast to come and collect what is salvageable. Despite knowing all of this, Adeline stopped in her tracks when she laid her eyes on pendent that stuck out beneath a long sheet of red-stained silk. The pendent was a polished emerald, round in shape. The precious gem was secured in a golden hold that hung from a chain of silver. Adeline saw her reflection in the emerald and could not help but kneel to get a closer look. She lifted a hand and took it with utmost gentleness, but when she pulled, it gave resistance. She scrunched her brow in confusion and gave a gentle yank at the chain again, to no avail. She took the red silk in her hand and lifted it to look. To Adeline's shock and horror, beneath the stained cloth was a body. She dropped the silk and found her hand stained with the red. It took no thought to realize the silk was not dyed but soaked in the body's blood. She looked wide eyed at the silhouette that laid before her. It was a goliath of a woman, much taller than even Adeline's father. The woman had straight hair, white as seafoam and tied with a black ribbon. She bore the clothes of a sailor. A white tunic now stained red, and brown trousers. She was so very pale. Pale enough that Adeline was sure she was dead. She leaned to get a closer look at the woman's face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips parted. Adeline was taken aback when she noticed that the woman's chest was slowly rising and falling. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4

Adeline swung the door open and dragged the huge woman into the light house. "Atlas!" She cried up the stair well, "Atlas! Come quick!" Her father made haste down the stairs to meet his daughter holding an unconscious Amazonian of a woman, pale as snow and tracking a trail of messy blood behind her. His face was a mix of anger and confusion that complimented his sickly visage. "What is the meaning of this, girl!" he yelled at her with a raspy voice. He bounded down the stairs to meet his daughter's anxious eyes. "Where did you get that! You've doomed us! Take it back outside, the dead spread disease!" Atlas yelled and grabbed Adeline's arm. She shook him off and held the unconscious woman in her arms defensively, "She's alive! She breaths! I found her in the ship, she will die soon!" Shouted Adeline. Atlas put his hands on his head and gave a pained groan. He looked at his daughters pleading face. "Damned daughter of mine." He grumbled beneath his breath. Atlas grabbed the bleeding woman by the legs and helped carry her up the stairs to Adeline's room. They laid the woman on the bed. Adeline hastily tended to her wounds as Atlases face was sour with disappointment and disgust. "No wonder the bloody ship sunk, women on board's bad luck. The bastard captain should have known better." Croaked Atlas. "If she were bad luck why does her heart still beat?" Spoke Adeline in a reserved tone. "She won't for long! Look at how pale she is. She'll be dead by tomorrow." Retorted

Atlas. With that, he stood and left his daughter to tend to the survivor. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 Many days went by, Adeline spent them without leaving her room once. She had sat by her bed, watching the woman like a hawk. The mystery woman had rarely stirred, only a few movements of the head and hands. It was enough though. On the fourth day of the woman's arrival, Adeline was still sitting by her side. She had spent many nights sleepless and now found herself nodding off. She rested her head against the side of her bed as she sat on the splintered floor and rested her eyes. After a good while of sleep, Adeline awoke to the sound of cloth rustling. She lifted her head to look around and found the woman beginning to stir. Adeline jumped to her feet and looked over her guest. The woman made a small grunt and some facial expression of discomfort. Adeline frowned and pressed her hand gently against the woman's forehead to feel her temperature. Her face was much warmer than before. As Adeline felt, the woman raised her own hand to touch Adeline's. Her uncomfortable expression softened before her eyes slowly opened. Adeline stared wide eyed at the woman, and for the first time, she stared back just as

surprised. Adeline first noticed the woman's peculiar eye color. She had irises of pure crimson like nothing she had seen before. Her first thoughts should have been Demon or Possessed, but instead, it was Beautiful. "H-hello?" Adeline asked softly. The woman blinked a few times, then squinted up at her caretaker. "Have I died…" The woman asked softly. Her voice was soft and warm with a tinge of a Slavic accent. "Oh! Heavens no!" Adeline whispered with a concerned smile, "You are alive as ever." The woman stared at Adeline for a moment before attempting to sit up. She took her own hand off Adeline's and brought it to the wound on her stomach, letting out a pained groan. "No, no! Please lay back down!" Adeline cried and led the woman back to lay. "Where… where is my crew?" said the woman while breathing heavily. "You were the only survivor…" murmured Adeline. The woman frowned, but she did not cry. She glanced to Adeline. "Did you find me?" asked the woman gently. Adeline nodded with a smile. The woman took her Adeline's hand again and pressed it to her own heart. "What do I owe you? What is your name, Saint." The woman spoke sternly. Adeline raised her eyebrows and shook her head in surprise, “I am not to be owed anything, good lady! My name is Adeline, I am no saint." "Adeline…" echoed the woman. She raised Adeline's hand to her lips and gently kissed it. "My name is Maria."

Adeline could not help but blush. She had rarely been treated like this, and the only times that she was it was by the loud boys in the harbor town. A woman had never done this. "Well… Maria is a lovely name for a lovely Sailor." Adeline managed to speak through her embarrassment. "Are you hungry, do you need water?" Maria smiled, "Water would be wonderful." Adeline nodded. "I will be right back" she promised. Adeline left the room for the first time in days and returned with a glass of water in hand. When she opened the door to her room, though, she was met with the sight of Maria up on her feet. She was taking shaky steps towards Adeline with a smile with a hand on the wall for support. Adeline gasped. "What are you doing! Lay back down!" she shouted. Maria simply replied by taking the glass of water from Adeline. "Thank you" Maria said sternly. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 Adeline spent the rest of that day with Maria as she regained the strength to walk. By sundown, Adeline was leading maria down the staircase. "Our light house is not very far from the harbor. At the rate you are recovering, maybe we could go into town and buy you new clothes tomorrow." Adeline suggested. Once the two women were finally at the bottom of the stairs, Adeline let maria walk

herself into the kitchen without aid. Maria stumbled a tad and grabbed a chair for support. Adeline put her hand on Marias back with concern, but Maria looked at her with a small smile and laughed. Adeline laughed as well. As they giggled, the front door began to rattle. It swung open and let in a breeze of cold air. There, in the doorway, stood atlas with a pipe in his mouth. He looked up from the toils of rope he held in his hands and locked eyes with his daughter. Then, he met the crimson eyes of Maria. The pipe fell out of his mouth and onto the floor, a spray of tobacco and ash littering the wooden planks. He pointed at maria with a face of pure horror, but maria stared at him with a deadpan face. "She awoke this morning," Adeline smiled, "Isn't it a miracle?" "Siren!" Atlas shrieked, "Putrid Sea witch! Look at her eyes, stupid girl!" Adeline frowned; Maria's expression did not change. "What do you mean? You don't really believe that…" said Adeline sheepishly. "Look at her damned eyes! That's not…”, Atlas took a breath, "That's not normal! Demon, I tell you!" Adeline stared at her father in shock and then looked at Maria. Marias expression was near impossible to read. "Well.." she simply spoke, "If you wish to believe me as a siren, than believe me as a hospitable siren.” And with that, she turned and went to walk back up the stairs. She struggled but made good haste, leaving atlas alone with his daughter. Adeline stared at her father with disgust.

"What has come over you! She is our guest!" she protested. "That bloody woman is taller than any man I've ever met, paler than any sickly child I've seen, and has eyes red as blood! You dare act like I spoke irrationally?" he shouted. "That woman is as human as I. You saw her bleed, and a shipwreck brought her nearly to heavens gate. How dare you insist she is anything short of man! And even say it to her face. Shouted it, even!" She cried. "You've brought a demon into our home! What happens next is your fault! Don't let that wretch near me. The great ones sent her to haunt me of your mother’s death!" Atlas shrieked with his hands over his face. Adeline bore a face of utter discontent and sprinted her way up the stairs without another word. She stopped at the door of her room and knocked gently. "Maria…?" she spoke gently, "are you alright?" The door opened gently and maria gazed down at Adeline with a rather emotionless expression. "I do not suppose your father is very fond of me." Maria said very flatly. Adeline frowned and shook her head, "I'm so sorry about all of that. I don't know what came Over him." "Do not fret, I've been given this treatment for some time." Maria said with a small grin. “Have you really…?" Adeline asked gently. Maria nodded. Adeline opened her arms to offer maria a hug. She was hesitant but awkwardly bent down to hug the woman. "Thank you." Replied Maria.

3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 The next day brought cool morning air and a calm tide. Adeline had spent her rest in her cherry wood rocking chair instead of her own bed. Despite Marias retaliations, Adeline prevailed in having her guest sleep in a bed, even if it meant sacrificing her own. Adeline awoke gently to the sound of the oceans waves. She cracked an eye open to see Maria hauling herself out of bed. She took some struggle standing up, but once she did, she promptly hit her head against the ceiling. The poor lady was so frighteningly tall she could barely fit into room. Adeline suppressed a snicker to sustain the illusion of rest. Maria shifted her attention towards the “sleeping” host. Adeline shut her eyes tight as Maria knelt to her height. A good few minutes passed slowly and Adeline figured Maria had been much too quiet. She opened her eyes to see Maria merely inches away from her face. “Whatever are you doing?” inquired Adeline, her voice still dripping of sleep. “Making sure you are still alive” Answered Maria with a completely serious face. Adeline giggled, “I do not think I have heard you tell a joke yet.” “You still have not” Said maria flatly. “Oh…” Adeline blinked. She then rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shifted in her chair. “Well, I do suppose I should be taking you to get new clothes today, hm?” Maria looked down at her torn and blood-stained clothes and frowned. “Are you sure? I think my clothes are perfectly functional.” Maria said, still completely serious. Adeline looked Maria up and down. “I’m sure your real concern would be going out in that just to purchase new clothes.”

“Well, I’ve nothing else to wear. I’m positive your clothes would not fit me.” Maria retorted. “Hmm… I’ve got an idea,” said Adeline. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 The two ladies made their way through the quiet harbor town with their arms intertwined. The shorter one wore a skirt without a petticoat, a blouse, and a furred cover up. The taller wore the latter’s father’s clothes, they were just a bit too small for her. The sight was nothing short of ridiculous, but it would have to do. “This is humiliating” whispered Maria to Adeline as the towns people stared bewildered from their quaint shops. “Its necessary, unless you prefer the bloodied tunic?” said Adeline with a smile. “I think I would.” Maria returned the smile. “Ah! There was your first joke!” Adeline beamed. “Afraid not.” Said maria flatly. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 The two women spent a few hours in a boutique. Maria spent a good long while in the dressing room. She spent most of that time calculating prices in her head to combat the guilt she had of Adeline spending money on her. Finally, Maria immerged from the room in a linen shirt and pants set for cheap and a corduroy coat that went down to about her calves. Adeline had been sitting in a chair waiting for her. Once she laid her eyes on Maria,

she could not help but smile. "My! You look much better out of those clothes." Adeline said without thinking. "Oh?” Maria raised an eyebrow, "Do I now?" Adeline covered her mouth in utter embarrassment. “Oh! Oh, heavens no not like that!” Maria chuckled and patted the poor girl’s shoulder, “Do not fret, I know what you meant.” Adeline refused to look maria in the eyes. Maria took her chin to make her look her in the eye. “I assure you; I am in no way offended.” Maria said smoothly. Adeline stared without words for a moment. She soon cleared her throat. ‘W-well I… I assume I am to pay for these clothes now.” Adeline stuttered. Maria smiled, “I assume so.” 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 After the transaction was made, Maria and Adeline sat facing each other in a small restaurant on the bay. The food wasn't the best, especially the coffee, but the view of the ocean was nice. As Adeline sipped her mediocre brew, she looked out towards the barges sailing into the harbor. The grey sky was now beginning to clear itself and let the sunshine through onto the water. It glimmered like diamonds and reminded Adeline of the abandoned treasures piled within the shipwreck.

Adeline finally turned her head towards Maria, whom had been staring at her the whole time. Adeline raised her eyebrows, "Ah! Hello there." She giggled. Maria didn't answer but simply sipped her coffee. She sat it down with a face of mild disgust. "It tastes of shit, hm?" Adeline joked. Maria went a bit wide eyed, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" She said, mouth agape. "Mmh, well.." Adeline spoke as she swished her coffee around, "She isn't exactly alive any longer." "Oh… my condolences." Maria said in an apologetic tone.I did not mean to bring it up." "Do not worry! I've grown used to it. My father on the other hand, is still plagued by it.” Adeline said. "That makes sense. He surely acts like it" Maria cringed as she watched loose grounds pool at the top of her coffe. Adeline sighed and took both of their coffee cups and dumped it into the ocean, "I'm sorry about him. My mother passed away during a storm like the one that made you crash here. Ever since Atlas has just been a tad bit…" "Mad?" Maria finished Adeline's thought. "Yes… that's the word." Adeline said as she sat the coffee cups back down. "He's always believed in sirens and sea spirits of the like but since her death he's been much more paranoid of them. I assume once he saw you're eyes it triggered that paranoia."

"I see," Spoke Maria, "I assure you; I was born like this. But I cannot say your father is the first person to accuse me of something paranormal. The crew I sailed with nearly threw me off board a week in." Maria chuckled but Adeline stared horrified. “That’s horrible…” Adeline said. “Oh! Do not worry yourself. It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to.” Maria said with her forced smile painted across her pale face. Adeline rested her hand on Maria’s and looked inter her ruby eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’ve find you quite beautiful.” Spoke Adeline gently. Maria sunk into her shoulders and held onto Adeline’s hand. She stared with a look in her eyes like she had never been offered such kind words before. “Thank you, Adeline…” she whispered. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 The two arrived back late and went straight to bed. The sleeping arraignment was the same as the night prior. Adeline slept soundly in her rocking chair like a child till well into the night. She did not stir until she felt the feeling of a hand gently shaking her. “Adeline! Adeline, wake up!” half-whispered Maria. “Mmgh,” Grunted Adeline, “What! What is the meaning of this.” She barely opened her weary eyes to look. “Up, up! I’ve something to show you.” Maria urged as she took Adeline’s arm and brought her to her feet.

“I am! Where are you taking me!” Adeline spoke with a hint of fear in her voice. “You’ll see, just trust me.” Maria insisted as she led Adeline down the stairs and through the door. The night air was cool and pleasant. The pair walked towards the rocky edge that lead to the sea. “Is it a beached whale?” Asked Adeline with a tinge of hope. “No, no of course not. Who in their right minds would get this excited over a dead whale…” Maria mumbled down to Adeline. “Me!” Adeline protested. “Well, it’s not a dead whale. I would not get up this late to go look at a whale.” Maria grumbled. They rounded the rocky cliff onto shore. “Than what is…it…” Adeline murmured in awe. She laid her eyes on the ocean now with her mouth agape. There, as the sea gently churned, the waves seemed to glow a magnificent blue. It was like nothing Adeline had ever seen before. “What is that… is it an ocean spirit? Is the sea enchanted?”, Adeline questioned Maria In disbelief. “I’m not sure what it is. But, if knowing takes the magic out of it, don’t you suppose it better to be ignorant?” Maria smiled down at Adeline. Adeline returned the smile and approached the water. She gently stuck one of her feet in. As her foot disturbed the water, It glowed an even more brilliant blue.

“My goodness…” muttered Adeline as she waded deeper into the shallow. She beckoned Maria to follow, and she obliged. Maria waded in and watched the water change all sorts of shades of teal. She kicked up a bit of water to watch the glow, but she unintentionally splashed the salty water onto Adeline. She did not get to utter an apology before a torrent of blue water was sent into her face. Adeline let out a giggle at Marias soggy state. Maria did not take this as a defeat, though, and Adeline soon found herself knocked onto her behind and into the water. Maria chuckled and knelt down to Adeline. “I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away.” Said Maria as she tucked Adeline’s wet hair behind her ear. Adeline didn’t respond but gently put her hand over Maria’s. They both watched one another intently. Marias hand slid down to rest against Adeline Cheek and before either of them had known what had happened, soft lips were pressing against each other. The kiss did not last long, Maria was the one to pull away first. “Did… did you mean that?” She asked Adeline in disbelief. Adeline nodded fast and Maria opened her arms and wrapped Adeline in a tight embrace. 3⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄43⁄4 Maria and Adeline spent the rest of their night on the shore in each other’s company. They spoke until the wee hours. Adeline spoke of her past and how being couped up in a lighthouse her whole life led to a lack of friends. Maria was really the first person she had felt

a connection with. Maria also felt Adeline was the first person to really know her, but for a much different reason. Maria talked about how the condition she was born with hindered anyone to be able to look past it. They spoke of joys and sorrows in each others arms until they hadn’t any energy to speak of anything else. Once the women noticed the sun peeking over the horizon, they figured it was well in good time to end their conversation and head back to the light house. Their spirits were high, and their hearts swelled with newfound love. But once they creaked the lighthouse door open, Atlas sat by the fire waiting for them.

[aerodaltonimperial]

(@whysamwhy123 requested the Hook and Jack flashback party scene from that spooky lighthouse AU and Sam is amazing SO HERE YOU GO, SAM ❤️❤️❤️ i am supposed to be writing other things but my grandfather is not doing great and is being moved to hospice so i am sort of just choosing some joy today)

Honestly, as far as house parties go, it's got to be one of the best Jack has ever been to. It's hard to beat a mom's vacation home purchased solely with the money won in the divorce because dad was caught cheating; making the best of a situation like that and outfitting it with a hillside infinity pool and a sprawling patio around it? Amazing. And letting your college kid throw a rager there while you vacation in Naples with your new surgeon boyfriend? Well. Jack’s a big fan of that lady already.

He's also a biiiig fan of whoever decided that kegs were for losers and set up the full bar out near the fire pit. They hired an actual bartender. He's standing next to the professional DJ. Fuck, Jack loves college.

He does not, however, love that his roommate is here, too, only because they've been trying to get a room switch for months and the RA is dragging his feet so bad. Hook is moody and scowly and speaks in monosyllables at all times, and Jack just doesn't have time for this. Random room match-ups should be illegal.

Jack takes another swig of his drink. He doesn't even know what it is, since he stopped asking three glasses ago, but it's delicious and goes down without burning, and ah shit, there's Hook: leaning over the rail of the patio with all the sparkling Bay lights beyond. Jack's just drunk enough not to turn away.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, and Hook startles, surprise flashing before his face settles into annoyance.

"Go away," Hook says.

"Ooh, two words. That's double your usual; well done."

It seems like Hook has also had enough of the extremely well-made drinks to finally start down this path they’ve been trying to avoid since the start of term to prevent casualties, because he shifts to face Jack. He's got that face on, the one Jack already knows means he is sinking his heels down to ready for battle. "Maybe I just don't want to talk to you, so I don't."

"This is a rare miracle," Jack says. His blood is singing. "So many words at one time! Are you exhausted now? Do you need to lay down?"

"You know what? Fuck you."

"Are you offering?" Jack asks, because he can't help it.

Hook leans in, all flushed cheeks and tangled hair desperately in need of a brush, and his stupid fucking rabbit teeth are very white when he grins. "Would you like that, then?"

"I might," Jack says, and oh. Okay. Fuck. He didn't mean to say that. He probably needs to make a joke, walk that back, not tell his roommate that he hates things that he's been keeping close for years and years. "I'm not really sure, you know, it's kind of one of those things..."

Double fuck. Triple fuck. Why is his mouth still moving. What did the bartender put in this drink?

He expects Hook to either laugh or punch him, honestly, and he's very, very surprised when Hook does neither. Instead, his face opens up a little bit, features going slack.

"Something to use against me, right?" Jack says, jittery and anxious. "Just so you can—"

"Wait," Hook says. He holds a hand up, swaying ever so slightly from side to side as he shakes his head. "No. I mean, yes. Uh...me, too."

"You too, what?"

"Um, the whole...maybe...thing."

Jack blinks. "Oh. Really? You're not just fucking with me right now?"

"Uh, no?"

Huh. That's...unexpected, in a way. Jack feels significantly less alone all of a sudden, and it helps a lot that Hook now appears uncomfortably vulnerable. It's not an expression Jack has seen on the other much. "Maybe, huh?"

"Well, it's hard to..." Hook shrugs. Definitely uncomfortable. His hands are shoved so far down in his pockets Jack thinks he might pull his jeans clear off. "...find an opportunity to figure it out."

"Yeah, right? How do you just ask someone that?"

They fall into silence. Someone on the other side of the pool starts up a chant for shots, and the crowd around the bar grows; there are enough people, all in various states of inebriation, that no one is paying attention to the two of them standing off by the railing.

Finally, just as Jack gathers the remnants of his courage and focus and begins, "Do you think we—?" and at the same time Hook sort of shudders and starts, "Could we maybe—?"

They both stop, mid-sentence. Then Jack sets his drink on the railing. "Yeah."

"Okay," Hook agrees.

They meet in the middle. Jack's angle isn't great, but, like, it's not terrible, either. It's kind of a hesitant, fumbling thing at first, and Jack closes his eyes because it's definitely different with Hook's stubble, the squareness of his jaw. It's...it's not bad. He likes the way he can smell Hook's stupidly expensive aftershave, likes when he sinks his fingers into Hook's hair and it's all short in the back. Actually, this...yeah, this works. Hook kisses with the same almost-arrogant confidence he carries around with him all the time, and when he tugs Jack forward, Jack sees no problem with complying. It's not really that much different, kissing a guy, except that it is, and Jack thinks it might be an internal thing tallying all the differences up. Hook parts his lips, and Jack sweeps his tongue in, and they sort of stay like that, in an unexpected sort of exploration, for a minute or two.

Then they break apart. Jack runs his tongue along his own mouth, tasting the remnants of whatever Hook is drinking. They are both quiet.

"But maybe not you," Hook says.

"Oh thank god," Jack replies. "Yes, exactly."

"The rest of it though..." Hook pauses. "Yeah, this...this is a thing."

"Do you think we have to go buy pride flags now?"

Hook considers this. "Surely there's, like, a grace period before you have to do that, right?"

"God, I hope so," Jack says. "You wanna go back home? I feel like I've just had some kind of exhausting emotional revelation and the last half hour of songs have really sucked."

Hook whips his phone out, tapping wildly. "Yeah, let's grab an Uber. I'll order one. You wanna watch a movie or something? Get some take-out?"

"I would kill for fries right now."

++

They run into their RA the next week in the hall, holding a clipboard and a bunch of papers. He holds the pile up. "I got your roommate change approved, finally. You wanna sign now?"

"What?" Jack asks. "Oh, no, man, we don't need that anymore."

The RA's eyes look like they're going to pop out of his head. "What do you mean you don't need it anymore? You sent me 37 emails about it."

"Well, that was before."

"In a week."

Jack turns to Hook, who shrugs his backpack on. "Can you imagine dealing with a new roommate right now?"

"Nightmare material," Hook says. "Let's go, lunch gets crowded at the Union and I've got Econ at 1."

"Cool, I'm ready."

They leave the RA in the hall having some sort of nervous breakdown, but that seems like a him problem, really.

[outpost51]

Tiny Scene Sunday

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Murky Water

Tooth and nail, tooth and nail.

It wasn’t pretty work, what we did.

You’d think living in a lighthouse would be like cottagecore by the ocean, but the crystal blue waters I’d been sailing on when this whole mess was foisted upon me were nothing but a foggy dream now. The choppy waves that battered the island were as dark as they were deep; stained a mucky red-black by vessel after vessel they drove into the rocks.

Like the eggs Xoctosz was currently making for breakfast. Their hulls cracked as easily as eggshell, spilling their contents into the waiting sea. The awful things that churned up the surface devoured anything and everything they were given. I couldn’t call them fish. I couldn’t call them anything, really, out of fear they might turn their many eyes and teeth on me.

But did it matter?

Xoctosz continued his evasiveness on the subject any time I brought it up, often turning the question back on me.

I slipped out to the balcony and looked over the rail. It was a long drop. I lifted one foot onto the bottom rail, then the other. The water wasn’t any calmer than usual, but at least the wind had stilled long enough for me to make the decision on my own.

I was never any good at math or measuring distance by sight alone. What I did know, however, was that hitting the water from this height would feel much like falling onto concrete. Would I suffer? Could I suffer? I climbed onto the top rail, shuffling my bare feet beneath me so I could hold on with both my hands and toes. It was probably the second dumbest idea I’d ever had in my life. Un-life. Whatever.

My lungs burned.

If I was going to do it, I sure as hell wasn’t about to go face-first into the water again. With trembling limbs, I slowly turned around on the rail.

Xoctosz was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Scared yourself, didn’t you?”

“No,” I spat. The tremor had made it to my voice, though, calling my bluff before he ever had a chance.

He made no move to snatch me off the rail. Quite the opposite, actually; he made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Well, go on,” he chuffed. “Find those answers you want s’damn bad.”

Grinding my teeth, I stood on wobbly legs and resisted the urge to look behind me as I took a breath.

“Wait!”

I dropped back into my squat, grabbing the rail. I knew he wouldn’t—

The sneer that split his maw was very much not the changed-heart concern I expected. “Do a flip.”

I flipped him off as I pushed off the rail. In the few seconds I fell, everything slowed down, and I understood why people liked cliffjumping. The rush was unforgettable. And the landing?

Yeah, it felt like hitting fucking concrete. Zero out of ten, would not recommend. At least it faded soon enough, and in the peaceful silence before my world faded to black, I smiled.

“Y’know, I thought you’d at least try to hit the water feet-first,” a familiar, unwelcome voice chuckled in my head. “Sounded like a goddamn gunshot. Rise n’ shine, Keeper.”

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but teeth.

Shorts and Oneshots Taglist: @sparatus @starknstarwars @asher-orion-writes @tabswrites @thetrashbagswasteland

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

[naranjapetrificada]

As the "dealing with grief and other big feelings dredged up by the 🌟Gay Pirate Show🌟" thing appears to be sticking around I thought it was time for a master post about my new favorite thing:

Healing thru fanfic!

I should say up top that a) I usually prefer fic that's canon-compliant or only slightly canon-divergent, especially for healing purposes because I think it helps with immersion and b) the list is short right now but it's definitely gonna grow as time moves on. Anyway, recs beyond the cut:

Fallow Land & Bigger Sky: I've already mentioned before how reading (and sitting with and processing) Fallow Land & Bigger Sky was so incredibly healing but here I am, doing it again! And even if the emotional appeal doesn't get you to read it, you should try it for the beautiful imagery, poetic writing, and carefully and lovingly crafted (and canon-compliant) character study of one Edward Teach.

It's the kind of writing that makes contemplative manual labor, stunning vistas, a mischievous nun, a cute little black lamb, and gallons of homebrewed wine all feel as essential to the fandom experience as any other way we spend time with our blorbos. I literally cannot believe how beautiful and well-executed this story is sometimes.

Brace Yourself and Nestle into Me: I literally just read this one this morning, and it's actually what inspired me to make this post. The premise is that Ed and Stede figure out that they're into each other around episode 7, and they're deliriously happy to know that they feel the same way about each other. But Stede has some (understandable) sexual dysfunction around being queer thanks to the horrible society that he grew up in. Ed is a darling trying to help him through it all, and along the way he realizes he also has some of his own hangups he needs to work through together.

I appreciate that this one doesn't treat healing like a straight line because it never is, and emphasizes that trust can't just be implicit, you really have to talk it through as a crew, even if it's just a crew of two broken middle-aged men who are desperately in love with each other. It also gets into some of the stuff I've been talking about on here about grieving your former selves and the selves you never got to be, which was validating as hell. That sounds heavy and there are concepts that are literally part of modern therapy modalities woven into the story, but there are also warm and loving and hilarious moments too, including this gem:

“Also can you just imagine how proud little horny baby gay Stede would be know you would be to know that whatever he went through, today you’ve got your own ship and are getting completely railed by Blackbeard? I mean, just absolutely dicked down by the most famous pirate in history? He would lose his mind.”

To paraphrase the author notes, the "Healing Power of Gay Sex"  won't fix everything, but I put it to you as a reader that reading and thinking about it also helps. And sometimes it can shake something loose you didn't know you were holding onto! Which is great!

Adrift Between the Dreaming Seas: Based on my usual filtering on ao3 I probably never, ever would have come across this fic if it weren't for a recommendation someone posted on this hellsite. It's got fantasy elements, allegory, metaphors stacked on metaphors, talking animals, and so many other things that would have kept me from ever discovering it on my own. My life would be poorer for it.

Basically Stede is cursed to be a lighthouse keeper on an island that seems to move around the world. Animals show up and the ones who talk to him are members of the crew, and Ed is an actual kraken. It's all this symbolism about monstrosity and trauma and maladaptive coping and the messiness that is Stede's kindness scraping against his self loathing. I shed tears of many kinds along the way, and it made me think hard about community and recovery and the things we do to and for ourselves and others.

It's just a lovely little gem of a story that made me feel so much so deeply while also making me laugh much more than I was anticipating. I'm so glad I gave it a chance.

[that's it for now, more as I keep up my deep dive into the ao3 archives]

[highlordofkrypton]

the lighthouse, an au fanfic where orm is raised alongside arthur on the surface

This chapter (and probably the next one) has a cameo from the Wayne family!

Chapter 5

“Be careful, Arthur!”

“Okay!”

“And stop kissing Orm so much, you’ll give him a rash!”

“Okay, papa!”

One at a time, one at a time—Arthur takes the steps one at a time. This time, he carries a chunky baby in his arms, blonde and red cheeked, who clings onto him happily. They’ve both grown in the past weeks; Arthur feels strong and he feels responsible enough to watch over his brother. It will be the first time he takes Orm to the beach. They’re all going as a family, but their mama and papa are taking too long to get ready. 

Arthur plants a big sloppy kiss on Orm’s round cheek. He loves his baby brother so much!

“Don’t go too far!” Tom calls down. He keeps remembering instructions, and honestly, he’s just shy of telling Arthur to sit and wait for them. 

The beach is home. Arthur never needed permission to go play in the sand or splash in the water. It’s a part of their home and their land, just like how any other house in town has a backyard. Well, this is his playground. A long metal railing provides support from the top of the lighthouse’s hill all the way down to the beach. Arthur’s Atlantean heritage means that he has no problem carrying his baby brother, even with all his cute little cinnamon rolls. In turn, Orm’s Atleantean heritage means that he bounces when dropped. Not that he’s been dropped. No one talks about that, shhhh.

The tide moves with a hush. The sound of it catches Orm’s attention who lifts his head from listening to Arthur’s breath and heartbeat to look around. He wiggles in his brother’s arms, growing more and more excited to be in the water. The closer they get, the more Orm babbles. He reaches out with his little hands, trying to grab the sea, even if it’s still far. 

“We’re gonna be there soon!” Arthur announces, picking up speed down the hill, like he does so well. Tom had made sure to wrap a sling around his chest as a double precaution. One hand holds the railing and the other secures the wriggling Orm against him.

The ocean calls to him, too, ever since he was born. When his mother left him to return to Atlantis, Arthur’s tears were interminable. He would wail, a siren song to call Atlanna home. Only when his father would take him to the shore, let him stand and stomp his uncoordinated little feet, did Arthur ever stop crying. It made him feel closer to her ; it made him feel like he belonged. He loves the lighthouse, he really does, but it is a place apart from those who live on land and those who live beneath the sea.

“We’re here!” Arthur cheers and sits in the sand. He slowly starts unwrapping the sling, then lets it lay on the beach. They don’t need it now and he’ll pick it up later. He does put a rock on it in case the wind tries to steal it away from them.

With that, he carries his little brother over to the tide pools. Tom never lets him swim alone, so he knows that Orm won’t be allowed either. It’s okay, though, because he has lots and lots of friends here. There’s Gary the Snail (from SpongeBob, he came to visit all the way from Bikini Bottom— look, Orm, look) and Pokey the sea urchin. He names every little fish in the tide pool, and teaches Orm the English words for the various creatures. It’s hard to speak Atlantean over the water and Uncle Noody only taught him a few words. Fighting, for some reason, always seemed more important.

As soon as Orm touches the water, he blooms. Like bioluminescent algae and plankton, his skin becomes fuller with colour and his eyes shine brighter. He splishes and splashes, trying to grab everything within reach like all curious children and Arthur has to teach him to be gentle. 

Maybe Orm doesn’t understand fish the same way Arthur does? It’s alright because Arthur is here to translate.

In the end, he gives Orm a rock who’s surface has been softened by seaweed growing on it. His brother is happy to play in the water, and keeps trying to put his head under. Arthur understands the concept of drowning, only in the sense that it can happen to others, but not to him. He’s different. Is Orm different too?

He moves Orm to a tide pool that’s a little deeper and a little closer to the edge where shallows meet vast sea. At its deepest, this pool comes up to Arthur’s waist when he stands. He sets Orm on a rock shelf, a little higher than the sandy bottom he stands on. Little fishies swim around and capture both their attention. Arthur places his face under the water, pointing out different flora and fauna. Orm copies him, too, and makes happy little sounds that just make sense to him more than the gargling did above water.

Arthur laughs, grinning and fully submerges himself to talk more about his tide pool friends.

It’s Orm’s screech of fear that has Arthur tearing himself from the water. His brother’s cry has turned into screaming as a strange woman takes him from the tide pools and grabs Arthur too.

“Leave my brother alone!”

“Irresponsible!” The woman shrieks. “Parents letting children play alone, you could drown! I am calling child services.”

Orm’s cries are so loud, they make Arthur’s ears hurt. He can barely focus on this stranger who is screaming at him. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and even though Uncle Noody taught him to fight, his father always taught him to settle his fights with words, not his fists. He yanks his arm out of her grasp and glares at her.

“Put. My. Brother. Down.” His small body trembles with the weight of the threat. There, he said his words.

From inside, Atlanna’s head snaps up. It had taken all of her to muster the strength to sit up, but hearing her son’s cry sends lightning down her spine. They’ve come. She doesn’t wait, not when Tom reaches for her and tries to soothe her.

“A cry doesn’t always mean an attack!” He has tried to explain time and time again, but her experience trumps his comforts. “Take the stairs! If you reveal yourself, it won’t be safe here anymore!”

The fear of jeopardizing Tom and Arthur’s safety is the only thing that stops her from crashing through the upstairs window and down onto the ground below. Atlanna races down the stairs, grabbing an antique harpoon Tom keeps on display on her way out. 

Tom’s only relief is that he can follow her, if she’s using the stairs.

***

Amnesty Bay. What a strange choice for vacationing. When the whole world is their oyster, they could have been anywhere, and yet this small family of four finds themselves on a nowhere beach. It’s perfect, if you ask him. Thomas Wayne sits beneath his parasol content to be exactly no one other than a very boring old man sitting on a very plain beach chair reading the morning paper. Turns out, Amnesty Bay’s local paper doesn’t even have the stock exchange and its finance section is about a local family chain branching out of their small town.

He wrinkles his nose, toying with the sensation of his growing moustache. Due for a trim, he reminds himself to remind Alfred later. They’re on vacation, he’s allowed to let himself go for a couple of days.

He’d been watching them for a while now, out of the corner of his eye. Concern hasn’t quite reached his heart yet. Every now and then, between glancing at Martha and Bruce in the water and pretending to read, his attention would wander back to the two boys playing alone. 

It’s strange—the moment one realizes the world isn’t at all what it seemed.

It’s strange, realizing that he is even more out of touch than his wealth made him seem.

He’d heard of the stories, most of them old, but still prevalent in the small community of Amnesty Bay. The tales speak of old gods and of blessed things that keep watch over these shores. Much of the ocean's power is attributed to Kanaloa in these parts, but the stories don’t line up. The ghosts that rise out of the waters and protect the bay sound much more like sea-bound archangels with their mighty spears and ornate armour. It just doesn’t make sense.

And it’s definitely not the reason why he’s chosen this place of all places to take his family. If Martha asks, he stands by the need for anonymity when he’s trying to relax. Plus, it’s good to boost the local economy whenever he can; he makes sure to look at opportunities to make up for any imprint he makes as a tourist.

“You’re staring, sir,” Alfred drones, an amused glint in his eyes betraying the feigned boredom in his tone. He leans over, holding out a fun little summer drink he’d made up. He is also on vacation which means that he is not beholden to the Wayne’s orders, and so they are now test subjects in his culinary explorations. (That said, nothing will stop him from caring for his family when they need it, but laundry and dry cleaning is left up to chance.)

“Eyes are meant for seeing, Al.”

Thomas sets his paper down and plucks the drink out of Alfred’s hands. Their fingers brush and a knowing glance is exchanged. He offers a sly smile, then sips at the pink-and-orange cocktail. “I like it. Too sour for Martha, though.”

“And that is why I offered it to you.”

“Mhm, smart ass,” he grins and has a little more.

Alfred had been the one to find the first… Hm, Thomas has yet to find a word to ascribe to the people who are different. Anomaly sounds cruel, like a condamnation for something these people have no control over. It is a circumstance of their birth, or an accident, or something else that has changed them. He would like to practice the art of minding his own business, but he is a scientist at heart, and a man who took an oath to respect knowledge and healing. If the world cannot accept what is different, then this world is wounded.

Alfred had met the family on a farm while driving Bruce home from a Wayne Enterprise event. He was still a young boy, and too tired to tag along on these public facing events. The car had broken down just outside a corn field where the Kents lived. Perhaps it is Alfred that should learn to mind his own business, instead of questioning the origins of an infant. The child was about the age of the smaller boy at the tide pools, and yet again, the stories weren’t lining up. Alfred’s training tipped him in on the lies, which is fair enough. That’s why Thomas hired the man, an ex-SOE operative who cooks one hell of a meal. 

It’s not Alfred’s fault Thomas can’t mind his own business.

“Tommy, are you coming in?” Martha waves at him.

“Yeah, dad! Hurry up, you’re wasting daylight!”

Thomas grins at his own adage thrown back at him. It was his father’s and he has clearly managed to pass it down to his own son. He sets his drink down on their portable tray and gets up.

“Care to join us?”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on our things.”

“Things can be replaced, Al. Memories can’t.” 

Thomas thinks to say something else, but the sound of a child screaming demands his attention. His head whips towards the two boys. One of the few other tourists seems to have decided on their behalf as to whether or not they should be allowed alone on the beach. From here, he can clearly hear the woman screaming about drowning and calling the police on irresponsible parents.

“Thomas!”

“Stay there. Bruce, you too.”

He exchanges a glance with Alfred and bolts across the sand to intervene.

***

Faster. I need to go faster.

The surface weighs her down. Atlanna will never be able to run as fast as she can swim, and the sand only serves to slow her momentum. She can feel Tom right behind her, shouting at her to calm down and let him handle this. If it was Atlantis, the children would be gone by now! It is nothing more than human stupidity, he’d said, but none of his platitudes calm her hammering heart.

She’s so scared.

She wants to throw up.

She cannot live like this.

There are more men running towards her children and she decides to launch herself down the hill in one leap. She lands on the beach with murder in her eyes. All she sees are strangers—dangers towards her sons—and so, she must eliminate them.

“Don’t hurt them!” Tom shouts, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s listening.

One of the men takes her sons, and she decides there and now to raise her harpoon. The one who has her children turns towards her, and though there is a tension of fear lining his every movement, he brings the boys to her while his partner speaks to the shrieking woman (who is now filming him).

“Go, go to your mama,” the man says, setting them down on the chore. It’s a strategic call, forcing the archangel to set down her weapon or ignore her children.

Atlanna weighs her options, then decides to abandon her harpoon in the sand. She drops to her knees, hugging both Arthur and Orm. Her cries are silent as her body tries to regulate itself from the fear that swept her up.

“Are you safe? Are you well? Did they harm you?”

Arthur shakes his head, his shoulder-length waves bouncing with the motion. “No, mama. They helped.” He points to the men, but Atlanna has no interest in surface dwellers.

Gratitude is only ever expressed when Tom catches up to them.

“Thank,” he exhales, breathing heavily. “Thank you for helping my sons.”

“It’s our pleasure. Hope we didn’t scare you too much,” Thomas says, glancing at the woman in the sand.

“Just a little, but we’ll be alright. If there’s anything I can do to thank you,” Tom trails, unsure how to proceed in situations like this. “I’d be happy to make you lunch. My home is right up there.”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself. Just make sure your kids aren’t too shaken up.” The conversation seems to lull, but then Thomas speaks again. “Actually, we were just about to have a picnic on the beach. We haven’t decided what we are going to get, but if you’d like to join us?” He motions to his wife and son who are staring at them with worried expressions. “You could buy Alfred a drink. He’s going to need one.”

Really, it’s a wonder how Alfred keeps his calm while being yelled at for so long and for no good reason.

Tom glances back at his family, unsure. “Let me have a word with them and see if they’re up for it. If not, I’ll just meet you for drinks a little later in the day. I’m Tom, by the way.” He extends a hand, friendly as ever.

The other man grins. “It must be kismet. I’m Thomas.” He grasps Tom’s hand and the two of them share a laugh. Two fathers named Tom ? Nothing in the world could be more perfect, especially after such chaos. 

They exchange numbers, just in case, and Tom kneels beside Atlanna, making sure she’s okay.

[cognitosclowns]

Yo hold on I'd like to see some nsfw Brett x male reader headcanons 👀👀

*waddles over like an old british lighthouse keeper* good morning all, here’s the daily shipment of cock SMDNSD

(ALSO @thekraziesreside BC I OWE YOU BRETT SMUT FOR THE MISCOMMUNICATION BEFORE SNDBNSD /j)

MINORS DNI

EHEHEHE these are mostly gonna be just a bunch of Misc Stuff!!

So he’s submissive right?

Not even just in a Kink way - if the option is presented to him to not be the one making choices he will TAKE IT

theres something so comforting about not having to be the guy in charge smdnsmd he cracks so easily under pressure.

exceptionally touch starved - doesn’t have a lot of people who are affectionate with him, and even then he barely even gets platonic touches. A few well-placed kisses and he’s absolute putty in your hands.

He wants you as close as possible. Full skin-to-skin contact, curled up close until your hearts are beating in time.

He doesn’t swear often but you’d better believe he’s cursing out God like she owes him money when if suck him off. Nothing too explicit but lots of like,, ‘god jesus fuck’ and the like!!

words

-

BUT WHAT IF HE WASNT

If you’re a little less on the experienced side? Expect to be absolutely lavished.

Just,, the slowest, most detailed experience? He takes literally every delicacy to drag things out because

He’s touch starved as hell

He loves you very much <3 and he wants to prolong it as much as possible <3

probably cupping your face!! He wants to make sure he can see you <3 watching your eyes go unfocused and happy while you two have sex is his greatest joy smndd.

His hands?? soothing down your side?? like just these long calming strokes in time with each thrust? a bunch of soft kisses on your cheek and jaw?? Telling you how good you’re doing?? Hearing his voice get all needy and uncertain?

I am gay

-

praise kink 

If you sneak a little ‘you did a really good job on xyz’ into convo with him? He’s ruined. The mental picture of you praising him is gonna be playing in his head until he gets home <3

BONUS : his legs turn into absolute jelly when he’s worked up, so expect to see them shake and his knees absolutely cave when you stroke <3

He will do practically anything for praise!! Do with that what you will 

Constantly asking asking if he’s doing well, if he’s sucking properly, too much teeth, etc. Silence makes him nervous sdmsd

-

Cock I mean Cock I mean Cock I mean-

His mouth just goes when he’s being railed tbh. The filter his brain puts up to be sure that he’s Nice and Polite and Making Everyone Happy fizzles out. The only word he knows is Please

Probably gonna ramble about how much he loves you <3 because you’re taking the time to make him feel good and that just <3 <3 <3 his heart is imploding ALONG WITH his dick smdnsd.

He likes positions where he can hide his face!! he gets shy about making noise bc,, he worries he’s being greedy if he enjoys it too much :/

Even with all the prep, he prefers taking over giving? Topping feels like a lot of pressure aljdks

also he secretly wants to be the one getting taken care of for once, but he’d never admit that lmao 

lmk if you had smth in mind!! <3 I LOVE THIS MALEWIFE SM!! I really wanted to cover all bases lmao

[ragingbookdragon]

Hi, this is a continuation of this fic. Enjoy!

**********************************************************************

Of all the bad decisions she’d ever made, this was probably the worst, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and ride out every emotion that was coming onto her like a maelstrom. Every bad date, every failed notion of love just kept washing over her, but this one seemed like the nail in the coffin. She drove aimlessly for hours before she realized it was seven o’clock; a quick stop at her apartment and she fed her cat, also wiping the makeup and tear tracks off her skin before she wandered on foot with the direction of anywhere and nowhere.

***

Collapsing onto one of the benches that sat at the pier of Gotham Bay, she sighed heavily and gazed out at the water. It was calm compared to the storm inside and she propped her elbow on the railing, fist against her cheek, sighing again.

There was no way she could go to work and act like everything was okay. Kelly-Anne was going to drill her all about her “date” and she didn’t even go on one. She groaned. I never should’ve told her that I was going to ask Jason out. That’s going to be more embarrassing than being rejected by him. Another groan escaped her and she bent forward, burying her face in the floral dress pattern. I even wore a stupid dress and heels. Going slack, she let her feelings wash over her.

Something grabbed her shoulder. “Hey.”

“AHHHHH!” She yanked away, shooting up to see one of the masked vigilantes of Gotham city before her.

“Woah, woah!” they calmed, hands outstretched nonthreateningly. “I’m not gonna hurt you!”

She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief, reclining on the bench as she heaved, “Oh my God, I thought—I don’t know what I thought you were.” A flighty laugh passed her lips. “You scared the hell out of me, Nightwing.”

He smiled and laughed. “Sorry. I saw you over here and thought I was going to find a new reason to call GCPD.”

“No, no,” she affirmed. “Just…dealing with things.”

Taking a seat beside her, he crossed his ankles and leant back on the bench. “By groaning beside Gotham Bay at nine o’clock?”

She shot him a heatless glare. “It was that or drown myself in cheap wine and Lewis Capaldi.”

He seemed to know what she was talking about, surmising, “Heartache?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she muttered, lolling her head back on the bench, trying to ignore his steady gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).” She grinned. “What’s yours?”

Nightwing chuckled. “Afraid I can’t give that out or I’ll be in with the Big-Bat.” She giggled and he followed with, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

(Y/N) pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nah…you’ve got better things to do than help a girl nurse a broken heart.”

“Sometimes the better thing to do is talk with someone.” When she met his eyes, he smiled wholeheartedly. “Try me. I’m a good listener.”

Something ached in her chest and after a moment of staring at him, she swallowed thickly and sighed. “There’s this guy I’ve been friends with for a few months now. And he’s really kind and intelligent and super good looking and I—” she shrugged. “I fell in love with him. I mean, it was hard not too with how amazing of a man he is.”

Nightwing nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Jason Todd,” she said, and she couldn’t help the smile that came across her lips. “One of the first times we were hanging out, I told him that his first name meant healer in Greek…but he didn’t seem too keen on that definition.”

“How come?” he inquired, and she shrugged again.

“I don’t really know…Jason’s never been all that open about his past.” (Y/N) looked at him. “I think some bad things happened to him when he was younger and he just…doesn’t let people in easily.” She managed a smile. “I feel like all the times he did tell me about his life, it made me feel special, you know? Knowing he trusted me enough to tell me.”

“You really seem to love him,” Nightwing noted and she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in her eyes.

“I do…Jason’s the first guy that’s ever seen me for me.” (Y/N) pursed her lips. “I’m weird. I work in a library and books are my life and I can talk your ear off about how Raymond Carver single handedly saved the short story genre.” she sighed. “And I’ve always been the nerdy girl in the friend groups who watched everyone else fall in love while she pined from a distance.” She huffed a pitiful laugh that made even his heart tighten. “I mean, I even went to prom alone.”

Her eyes found his. “But Jason made me feel special. He listened and didn’t get upset when I apologized for talking so much. He just smiled and asked me to keep going.” (Y/N) wiped at her eyes. “I thought that we were getting closer, but God I saw all the signs of him being a good friend as romantic.” She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “And it’s so embarrassing to admit that I’m so starved of love that I saw them as loving gestures.” Another groan escaped her. “And then I asked him out today and got rejected.”

He blinked in shock, wondering why his brother would let this girl go. Obviously, they were perfect for each other. He didn’t tell her that though, instead asking, “What happened?”

(Y/N) moaned. “I showed up at his house with flowers and a book he’d been talking about.” She smushed her cheeks and glared out at the water. “And he was really nice about letting me down easy and I wish I could be upset about that, but I can’t because he was respectful.”

She sat back up on the bench and they both gazed at the stars. “Please tell me that even cute superheroes like you have romantic problems.”

Nightwing chuckled and nodded. “Oh, you’d be totally surprised.”

“Yeah?” (Y/N) giggled and he hummed.

“Two of my exes are superheroines and they’re really good friends.”

She blinked at him. “Okay, yeah, you win, Nightwing.”

He chuckled and turned his neck, falling silent a moment to gaze at her. “…It does get better, (Y/N).”

Her lips pursed. “I know…I just have to wait it out.” She stared into his eyes. “But I don’t think anyone will ever be as great as Jason is.” Her eyes fell to the water and she sighed, “Is it too much to ask though…that I find someone to hold my hand and love me?”

Nightwing took her hand and laced their fingers. “I can’t do the second thing, but I can do the first for a while…if you want?”

(Y/N)’s eyes watered, and she squeezed his hand. “Yeah…I’d like that.” She propped her head on his shoulder, feeling his cheek press against the top of her head.

“Tell me what your favorite poem is, (Y/N).”

“I’ll bore you to death, Nightwing. And I apologize…a lot.”

“Someone tell you that no one cares when you were younger?”

“More than I’m comfortable admitting,” she sniffed. “From a lot of people I respected too.”

Nightwing hummed. “Well…I’m not them. And I care about what your favorite poem is.” He thumbed the back of her hand. “Please tell me.”

She sighed heavily and murmured, “I will hold you with harbor arms. The lighthouse finding a ship against the lonely sea. A shelter as your legs give out under torrential rain. What I’m trying to tell you is, you are safe here.”

He was silent for a minute, then he whispered, “That’s beautiful, (Y/N).”

“I think about it a lot…about it and Jason,” she replied quietly. “I think he’s afraid of love—of loving someone. I’d give anything to let him know that I’m not afraid of whatever skeletons he’s got in his closet…that…that I’m not afraid of him or what he’s afraid he is.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and she turned her head, quietly sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I shouldn’t be—I shouldn’t—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, pulling his hand away from hers to curl around her shoulders, giving her a hug. “Let it out. I’m not here to judge you.” He wrapped his other arm around her, resting his chin on her head. “Let it all go, (Y/N).”

And she did. Every rejection throughout her life, from elementary school to high school to every college bar, she let out. Every “You’re not my type” and “I don’t date X girls” she let go of with every heart wrenching sob that tore her throat.

***

She didn’t know how long she cried, but when she was gone, Nightwing’s shoulder was completely soaked and (Y/N) had a raging headache to go with her heartache.

“Feel better?” he questioned when her sobs had subsided into sniffles every minute or two.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “A lot.”

Nightwing smiled. “Sometimes a good cry is all we need.”

“Mhm,” she agreed. “It’s cathartic.”

“Alright, Aristotle,” he chuckled and to her surprise, she found herself laughing. “And there’s the smile!” he cheered, letting her pull away to wipe her face.

“Sorry for boohooing on your shoulder,” (Y/N) apologized and he merely shook his head.

“Nah, don’t mention it.” He brushed off. “I hope someone like you would do the same for me if I needed it.”

She giggled. “Then we’ll meet here when we need good cries, huh, Nightwing?”

He held out his hand, watching her shake it. “Sounds like a good plan, (Y/N).” A siren went off in the distance and his face shifted instantaneously as he rose to his feet. “Rain check on the cry days.”

(Y/N) waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, go save the city.” As he started off, she called out, “Nightwing!”

He spun just for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“Anytime, (Y/N),” he winked and turned, sprinting off.

“Be careful!” she yelled and laughed when he waved a hand in the distance.

[adorehs]

wipeout

Hi the beginning of this story was stuck in my brain for a while… so here it is lol. Got lazy at the end and this really isn’t all that good to begin with.

Summary: Surfer!Harry meets Lifeguard!Y/N after a tragic fall. (6.4k words)

Warnings: unprotected smut, kinda cringey as fuck at the end

Harry was trying to decide how harsh the waves would be by looking at the sky. It was a difficult task but proved to be more accurate then looking at the ocean, so he opted to stare at the sky like a lunatic for a few minutes before each surf.

“What's the consensus?” Louis asks, slapping two hands on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry shot his coach, Louis, a pointed glare, “Probably a bit heavier than usual but it’ll be doable.”

Louis, only a two years senior of twenty four year old Harry, had a spine fracture, resulting in the stiffness of his lower back. It wasn’t an uncommon injury, but it was a bad one. He found himself unable to surf for almost a year so he began coaching other athletes in the meantime. Meeting Harry at twenty two was one of the best things he could’ve done for himself.

Harry was a natural athlete, meaning he learned quickly and took direction well. He was self taught and was unable to do more than a few basic skills when Louis met him. Originally, Louis wanted nothing to do with Harry but he heard some scouts were onto him so he introduced himself and taught the twenty year old how to do a floater- riding the breaking lip of a wave.

He was impressed with the speed Harry picked up the skill so he returned the following day and taught him another skill and cleaned up some of his older ones. They both returned again and again for weeks until one day Louis asked him if he was looking for a sponsor. Harry agreed, and not only did Louis' life turn around as a coach but his companies profits broke records in the industry.

And Harry’s life changed for the better too. His body changed rapidly as he learned more and he was soon able to do almost all skills thrown in a pro competition, though some were sloppy. Louis began enrolling him in surf competitions so he could get some experience and visuals of the skillset of other surfers. In a matter of a year, Harry was surfing in the men’s qualifier for the championship tour to come the following year. At twenty four Harry’s name was racing to the top of the men’s surfing leader board.

Harry stood next to the bed of Louis’ truck, deciding which board he would ride with for the first round. There were three that laid flat, bound together with a cord taught against the rails. Louis always told Harry to pick the one he practices with, but Harry theorizes that each board puts him in a different mood and helps with different aspects of surfing. He would have to do a test run before he decides.

He unwound the cord and pulled out his practice board, making Louis smile in victory. “Don’t get too excited,” Harry mumbles, “Gonna decide later.”

Louis nodded in response and rounded the car to get Harry’s all black wetsuit for the competition. “Bathrooms round the corner,” he pointed at a large tent, “I’ll sign ya in and get your board.”

//

Harry took approximately five minutes in the ocean before paddling back and telling Louis which board he wanted to use (to which Louis rolled his eyes before getting him the white board with black accents). The wind was becoming increasingly heavy and the lifeguards called out everyone who was not in the competition from the area.

Harry squinted as he watched the sun reappear from a sliver between a few clouds, before lining up behind the surfers who stood before him in the queue. There were four competitors before his turn and he was watching as other athletes shook their knees in an effort to stay steady on their board.

“Remember, keep your body forward and don’t take off your leg rope,” Louis scolded him from his right.

Harry had a habit of removing his leg rope before getting up on the board- he says he can’t get a steady stance and he feels restricted. Louis, on the other hand, always butts heads with Harry on that point, claiming taking it off can get him disqualified in some competitions so keeping it on always will help him adapt. Harry never listened until he had to.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious, but rather too carefree. He wasn’t one to watch for form and technique unless he had to. He enjoyed the addictive serotonin he seemed to gain from surfing more than anything else.

The queue moved steadily forward and Harry found himself gripping onto his board and digging his toes into the sand as he felt the cool air nip at his exposed feet, “Double pump around, stay tight,” he mumbles his maneuvers to himself. It was only a matter of minutes before it would be his turn to find a wave. The forty-eight seconds allotted to each surfer seemed so short until they were in the ocean.

Harry gets waved in by a judge and he nods kindly before jogging towards the ocean. His hair was beginning to whip around his neck so once he got a bit further in, he sat on his board and tied it up into a bun before continuing forward in search of a wave.

//

You watched as Harry Styles was announced from your spot on the jet ski you were stationed at. You were listening to the live radio broadcast of his turn from your post, the jet ski shaking smoothly and jumping over small waves as the surfers got weaker and weaker from the unpredictable weather.

“Styles starts the final pulling into the pin nice and easy… a clean entrance,” you listen as the wave covers Harry’s body entirely before he reappears on the other side, falling onto the backside of the wave in celebration. You hum in acceptance of the man as he climbs back onto his board, fiddling with his foot rope.

He pauses as he sees another wave approaching and he paddles to the top so he can drop in. “Setting it up clean from the back, Styles is going in with a calm top turn wrap,” you watch as Harry gracefully maneuvers his body along the back of the wave, turning up the back and onto the side, hardly backtracking towards the rush of water.

“Right there! A lay back dagger under the lip. Very smooth, nice and high up on the wave… look at that wave crash too! Good momentum,” the announcer rambles about Harry’s next turn. You cheer silently at his success as his head bops out from under the wave.

“Deep off the bottom, crushing the finish! Another big hack he lets go of!” You watch Harry’s body twist, slightly uncomfortable, through the harsh wave. The water higher than you’ve seen it before, nearly covering your view from the lighthouse on the other side of the beach.

Harry groans at the sight of another good wave- hardly having recovered from the last. His knees were weak and his back was growing stiff at the unearthly winds that whipped harsh water onto his wetsuit like a slap on the back.

He drops in, “Big whip on the oncoming section, holds the rail into a huge top turn wrap and he’s pulling back into the pin,” and Harry’s hand comes in contact with the water once again, making him pull his hand back harshly.

He panics at the feeling and shakes his hand vigorously, slowing down the direction of his surfing. He steps backwards slightly, shaking wildly at the wind hitting his unstable board. Within moments, the board flies out from beneath his feet and hits him square on the head.

Harry’s body falls flat onto the water as his leg lets off the loosened rope and his board comes up without him.

“Styles seems to have taken a trip under for a moment,” the announcer continues, “He has one wave left until competitor Horan makes start.”

Your eyes watch with shock as you wait for Harry to rise from the water- to see his mop of hair or the electric blue of his wet suit. Thirty, thirty one, thirty two, you counted in a rhythm. At forty, you were required to begin your ride towards the athlete.

“Y/N,” you hear on the radio channel, “Head out!”

That was all the invitation you needed as you stood up slightly, grasping onto a ring buoy with an extended cord and tying it to the base of your jet ski. You remained standing as you raced towards the waves, the wind almost knocking you over multiple times as you looked through the water for any indication of Harry.

Your heart drops as you hear the radio go silent with a short static ring and the ocean water grows darker as the sun falls behind a group of clouds. A clap of thunder startles you as you see other lifeguards arriving to take the other surfers back to shore.

You swam in large circles around the area for what felt like a few minutes, but in reality only lasted another thirty seconds.

Out of the blue, you see a small wave crash over Harry’s board and his head makes a light appearance.

Fighting to get his side as quickly as possible, you drag him up onto the buoy you held and tied it to the back of your jet ski. He lays flat on the floating donut, face up, as you wave your arms wildly to indicate you need help.

//

Harry was lying limp against your back as you rode back steadily, the weight of his buff body heavy on yours as you tried to keep the two of you steady without dropping him or falling over.

Coming to an abrupt stop, three men race towards you, “Jesus Harry,” you hear one curse. You look up and make eye contact with the man who is staring at the boy on your back, “Told you keep you fuckin’ leg rope on,” he continues. You conclude the man must be Harry’s coach.

The two other men help him off of you and you curse as you temporarily beach your jet ski. The men had grabbed Harry by the arms and were dragging him onto the ground to see if he needed CPR. “He has a pulse,” one mentions, “But he doesn’t seem to be breathing properly.”

You curse under your breath, “Move,” you mutter, leaning above Harry. Your hands meet his chest as you do a routine of thirty chest compressions and two rescue breaths, “Call first aid,” you scold.

Your mouth meets Harry’s for a second time and you feel his lips twitch under yours. You gasp and sit up, beginning chest compressions again so you don't get water in your own mouth when he starts breathing again.

Sure enough, Harry lets out a dramatic gasp and begins coughing up a bit of water. You lean back before he can project any of the salty water onto your body and continue doing chest compressions until you can feel him breathing normally again.

“You good?” You ask as his coach brings him a towel, “Fall seemed pretty harsh but your run was good.”

“Thanks,” he glanced at you dismissively. “Lou, do you know if I can get my time back?”

“Probably not,” ‘Lou’ replies, “They already started with Horan so I doubt they’d put you back in for just one run.”

Harry nods sadly at his coach and looks back at you, “Do you know where I can get some warmth?” he asks.

Your mouth opens then closes a bit, “Uh- not exactly?”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he counters.

“Yes,” you pause, “But I don’t know if I can take you there.”

He glares at you, “Well can you find out,” his teeth are chattering from the cold air and strong winds blowing his hair entirely to one side.

“Uh.. yeah,” you reply, “I’ll be back.” You walk out of earshot from Harry and his coach and find your dad, the head of the competition.

“Hey- uh Dad?” you ask, tapping on his shoulder. He is speaking to a group of coordinators for the event, moving his hands animatedly.

He turned with a large smile, “Hey honey,” he eyes your wet body, “Everyone good?”

You nod, “Yeah I- uh,” you hesitate, “I wanted to know if I could bring Harry to the lighthouse?”

“Harry Styles?” he asks with a grin, “He’s a great kid, how’s he doin’?”

“He’s alright now, he wanted to get some warmth. I just pulled him from the water.”

Your dad’s eyes widen, “Yeah.. take the bike and be safe.”

You nod a quick thanks before throwing an “I love you,” over your shoulder and finding your duffel bag with the keys and a spare change of clothes.

You present yourself in front of Harry once again, holding onto your duffel and spinning your motorbike keys around your finger, “Come on, gotta get there quick, hm?”

He looks at his coach and nods back at you, “Okay, let’s go.” He stands up and follows you as you lead the way to your motorbike.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly have a warm car,” you say, straddling the bike and kicking the stand up, steadying it with your legs. “Hop on, though, we’ll be there in a few minutes,” you tap the seat behind you, turning forward and holding your helmet back so Harry could use it.

“You should use it,” he comments, pushing your hand slightly back towards your body.

“I know how to be safe, you use it,” you counter, handing the helmet back. He takes a long look at your unwavering stare and sighs as he pushes the helmet onto the mop of curls that are slowly drying off the top of his head.

Once you are sure he is secure, you check around your shoulder before speeding out of the parking lot.

It was mildly uncomfortable- Harry in a skin tight wetsuit and you in an awkwardly fitting one piece. You were both extremely cold and Harry found himself wrapping his arms around you as best as he could to preserve any bit of warmth from both of your bodies as he could.

You sighed in content as you see the lighthouse approaching ahead of you. You slow the motorbike down and park it right before the miniature entrance to the large building, kicking the stand down and locking the bike.

“There are lots of stairs but the place is pretty modern,” you shrug. Between each loop of the spiral staircase there was a different room- a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, a study, and an observatory.

“You can stay down here, I have to turn the heater up,” you begin walking up the stairs before turning to look at him, who’s looking around the kitchen with wide eyes, “Do you want any clothes?”

“Umm,” Harry looks down at his current outfit, “Yes please.”

You nod, going up to the bedroom which was the next floor up. The thermostat dial makes a clicking noise as you increase the temperature in the building, the vents exhausting as air begins flowing. You then changed out of your wet bathing suit into a large sweater and some shorts before finding some of your dad’s clothes of a similar nature before going back down and handing them to Harry.

“They should fit, you can go up and change. I’ll make some food,” you point upstairs without looking at Harry, making your way up to make do with what was remaining in the lighthouse food storage.

You look through what your dad called the freezer- in reality, you thought it was more of a poor excuse of a fridge- and find the stash of frozen meals your family tends to keep there in case of emergencies. “Chicken parm,” you mumble aloud, turning the box over in your hands multiple times in an effort to find and read the expiration date. “Next week… guess I have no choice.”

You turn on the toaster oven that was hidden inside a cabinet and wait for it to heat up. You hear Harry’s heavy footing coming down the wooden paneling of the stairs and you glance at him as he walks over and opens a cupboard.

“Thanks for the clothes,” he mentions, hardly sparing you a glance. “Is there anything edible we can have with that?”

You shrug, “Feel free to look. I have a feeling everything else is just as bad as this.”

He nods, rummaging through the cardboard boxes and plastic containers that were half full from your quick meals. “Ah-ha!” he manages out- head buried deep into the cupboard. “Cocoa powder,” he grins childishly.

You let out a soft chuckle under your breath, “Be my guest,” you gesture towards the stove tops with a set of pants sitting on top of them.

He happily makes his way over, cracking open the box in the process. “Need to boil some water,” he mentions, looking at you.

You find a bottle on the table that hadn’t been opened and hand it to him. He pours the water into the pan and allows it to sit and boil as he watches you carefully reach your hand into the oven and check if the chicken parmesan was at the right temperature.

“Can you even tell like that?” he asks, back leaning against a counter and arms crossed over his chest, making him look even more buff.

“Kind of,” you shrug, glancing over your shoulder, “I bet it’ll need another minute in there before the inside actually warms up,” you conclude, pulling your hand from the oven and closing the door to it.

The water begins to boil in the pan and Harry brings the heat down to a simmer, adding the cocoa, sugar, and a pinch of salt that he found in the same cupboard. He hums in approval as he pours the hot chocolate into two mugs, adding the milk he heated up in another pan into each and mixing them until he is satisfied with the new consistency of the drink.

“Perfect for a rainy day!” he smacks his lips obnoxiously after taking a sip.

“This is definitely the weirdest food combo I’ve ever had,” you pull the chicken parmesan out of the oven.

Harry chuckles, using two forks to move the bulk of chicken onto a plate impatiently. “I’ve had worse. Eaten bugs and s’mores.”

“See, but at least that makes sense. I can guess you’ve had that when camping… this just seems odd.”

He shrugs, “I guess,” he takes a bite out of the chicken. “Why is this really good?” his eyes widened.

You let out a hearty laugh, “Because I cooked it fully and made sure it wasn’t expired?” you explain in a ‘duh’ tone.

Harry rolls his eyes, “Where’d all this sass come from? You were so shy twenty minutes ago.”

“You were a lot meaner twenty minutes ago,” you counter. Your eyes dart towards your phone when you hear it begin to vibrate abruptly.

“Hey dad,” you pick up.

“Hey hon, you guys being safe? Don’t think the storm’s gonna let up anytime soon, so if Harry’s gotta be somewhere he’s gotta go now,” your father's voice comes blaring through the speaker of your phone.

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks at the comment, you wanted to seem independent, “Yeah, we’re safe. I’ll ask him. You good? Need any help down there? I beached my ski by the way, not sure if you saw…” you rambled.

“No, just stay there hon. We got your ski docked and we’ll take care of everything. Check with Harry and don’t go out unless you absolutely need to!”

You hum a response of understanding and bid farewell before hanging up. “Do you need to go somewhere? Or are you staying here?”

“Am I allowed to stay?” he counters.

“If you don’t need to leave tonight then sure. There’s room,” you shrug, picking up your now completed dish and placing it in the sink to wash later.

“I’ll stay,” he confirms, getting up and placing his dish in the sink too before soaking them with water to get the grease off easier.

You nod and look out the small window in front of the sink. The wind was making boats rock and you could see a tree branch fly in front of the window, likely meaning the storm was going to turn into a full fledged hurricane.

You hear the water running smoothly as Harry scrubs each dish and sets them out to dry on the counter, “So what happened?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“Like, when you were surfing. How’d ya fall? You don’t seem like the type,” you shrug, turning to face him.

He glances at you before sitting back down at the dining table, “Lots a things… took off my leg rope, fucked up my footing, hit my head with my board… the list goes on.”

You squint at the man before nodding in disbelief, “Okay. What got you into surfing?”

“Thought it looked cool and I had moved to Malibu. Just rented a board and learned how to stand in a few days. Figured someone could show me the basics and then I met my coach Louis and he signed me,” Harry explains dismissively, “Why’re you a lifeguard? And how’d you get in here?”

“My dad owns this building and he’s the coordinator of the surfing events. Says he knows you but I don’t believe him-” you were cut off.

“No way! Your dad is Mr. Y/L/N? He’s so cool,” Harry gushes. “Paid for my first board and got me a waiver for my first competition out here.”

You let out a laugh, “Yeah, I told him to do that.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his eyes pleaded to know why you would ask for such a thing for an inexperienced surfer. “I was following Louis before his injury and I knew he wouldn’t put on a bad athlete. Started following you once you got signed,” you continued.

“Did you think I was good?” He asks after absorbing what you had said. You noticed he’s not particularly keen on talking about himself.

“At first I thought you sucked,” you chuckled, sitting down with him at the table, “But the more I watched of you the more drastically you improved. By 2018 I think I was sold completely on you as an athlete. Listened to most of your runs by radio.”

“Only took you two years?” Harry asked, surprised, “Most people are hardly starting with me. Just got my first offer to switch sponsors last week.”

“Always rooting for the underdog a bit, I guess,” you giggle. Though you’ve been sitting with Harry for quite some time now, you are just now realizing the gravity of the situation- you are sitting with an athlete you had admired for years. “I always knew you had potential, though. Went from mediocre to average in just a few months. Impressive,” you smile at him.

“Ah so you were a fan from the start,” Harry teases, “Attracted to my ambition and drive, I bet,” he continued on.

“Don’t let me inflate your head too much, but yes,” you laugh, “You could call me a fan.”

“Now are you a fan of me or a fan of my talent?” he asks.

“Hmmm...” you hum teasingly, “Both?”

“I’m a fan of you too,” Harry smiles. You thought he had some narcissistic qualities to him but he earned them from being so talented.

You step closer to him with a childish grin of your own, “Just me? Or do you like that I saved you?”

His eyes darken to a deeper sea green color at the thought of you, “I like you. And your actions,” he pauses in what seems to be appreciation, “And how fucking sick it is that you drive a motorcycle,” he adds thoughtfully.

You let out a laugh and a quick thanks, smiling at him widely. You didn’t realize you were staring until you heard him clear a hack from his throat, “So what now?”

“Umm,” you hesitate before carefully choosing your words, “You can kiss me?” you ask.

Harry pauses, eyes wide. You knew you made a mistake with that and you quickly tried to retract your previous question, “I- uh- sorry,” you apologize bashfully, “I definitely read the room wrong. I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfort-”

You were cut off by Harry taking an impulsive step forward, his left hand finding your waist and his right meeting your jaw. His lips met yours with such great force, you didn’t think moving your mouth against his would end well with all the pressure his mouth forced upon yours.

He pulls away from you slowly, letting the feeling of his lips linger on yours, “Read the room perfectly fine, love,” he comments before reattaching your lips.

This time, the kiss was filled with lust and executed more passion than the previous. You smile and let out a breathy gasp when Harry's fingers squeeze your waist where you find yourself very ticklish. He smiles back against your mouth and slides his hand under your sweatshirt, working it up towards your breast.

“Fuck,” you moan into his mouth as he begins to knead your breast with precise movements. His hand covered the majority of your breast, his palm directly on your hard nipple. He grunts as your hand lowers on his body, cupping his cock through the shorts you gave him.

“God, baby,” he moans as you start palming him through his shorts. Your treatment excites him and he starts rolling your hardened nipples between his index finger and thumb, switching breasts every few minutes so keep the pleasure ongoing.

You let out a whine as he pulls back, “Bedroom,” he pants.

You nod hastily, his hand meeting your lower back as he helps you walk the swirling steps that cover the perimeter of the room. You throw your body onto the bed that is laid in the middle of the room, shoving your shorts and panties off and flinging them to the foot of the bed. You do the same with your sweatshirt and Harry follows in suit, falling on top of you when he’s done.

Once again, his mouth finds yours, this time his hands making their way down to your dripping cunt. You let out an exaggerated, “Fuck,” when his cold finger makes contact with your swollen clit.

His legs are straddling your body, hand rubbing quick circles on your clit, and yours finds its way to his hardened cock.

It sat stiff against his stomach, begging to be teased so you obliged. You reach down and take his cock into your hand, squeezing it softly eliciting a loud moan from Harry’s pink lips. He moves his lips down to your neck, burying his head into the crook before sucking harshly, sure to leave you purple.

Your head rolls back and to the side giving him more access to your neck and you quicken your hand movements on his cock, sliding your hand up and down quickly, your thumb swiping on his opening and using precum as a lubricant.

You let out a wrangled moan as his fingers trail down to your hot cunt, sliding in fully, his finger gaining warmth quickly from your core, “Feels so good,” you let out.

He hums into your neck, sitting up and kissing you full on the lips. He lays down and finds himself leaving wet, hot kisses across your skin from your ankle up to your inner thigh. His teeth find a home on the soft flesh of your inner thigh and leave a dark mark on your skin, making you moan at the sight.

As his lips travel towards your clit, you find yourself unable to breathe, constantly gasping for air. Your heart is beating out of your chest as he lays his tongue flat on your core, licking you from the bottom to the top repeatedly.

Your hands find their way into his hair as you tug him closer to your body. He lets out a soft giggle at the motion and kisses your clit in appreciation. He begins his assault on your clit, nibbling it softly and moving it around his tongue as your gasp for air beneath him.

You begin tugging on his hair, begging for more. You needed to feel him fully. He understands your inverbal signal, standing up properly from his place, a bit of cum glistening on his chin. As if he senses your eyes on his chin, he uses his thumb to swipe the cum off, sucking his thumb clean.

You groan at the sight of him teasing you, using your hands to pull him on top of you again, “Please,” you beg.

He smirks at your desperation and lets out a simple, one word question, “Condom?”

You shake your head vigorously. No time for that, you thought. “Wanna feel you,” you tell him, “Is that okay?”

He lets out a laugh, “Yes, what kind of question is that?”

His cock finds its way into your hand again, you lining it up with your slick entrance. Slowly, you push your bodies together, letting them mold together perfectly. You gasp immediately at the feeling of him inside you. You understood his size, but when he was on top of you, you found he was much larger than you first anticipated.

You push him away once he gets halfway through, “Hold on,” you grunt, adjusting your position on your bed. He hums in acceptance, catching his breath as well.

He sighs in relief as you grant him permission to push further, both of you moaning in unison. Him at the tightness and you at the stretch. You both found immediate pleasure within each other without much else needed.

“Fuck,” you groan into his ear as he starts quickening his pace. His both moved in quick, deep strokes as your lips met over and over, making the room sound exclusively of your skin touching and breathy moans.

He slows down a bit, his strokes becoming a bit more sloppy, as he feels you begin to twitch beneath him. “Harry,” you plead.

He smiles, still working you up slowly, “Yes?”

“Fuck me please,” you beg, you head jerking back as he quickens his pace once more.

He increases speed and you shift your body to the side a bit to feel him deeper than before. You were nearing your orgasm and Harry could feel it too. That’s why he’s fucking with you, you tell yourself.

“I’m about to come,” he warns, pulling out of you completely. You whine at the loss, your hand reaching towards his again. “No,” he whispers, his hand swatting your hand away and meeting your clit once more. His fingers work fast, teasing you with soft touches, and soon enough you have come all over his fingers.

“Fuck,” you comment one last time.

//

You and Harry sat on the bed, him holding you close to him from behind, as you watched a film. As engrossed as you were with The Princess Bride, Harry could not relate. He had seen the film multiple times before- a result of growing up with an older sister- and could practically quote it with his eyes closed.

Harry was bored, to say the least.

At first, he tried to make you pay attention to him, but it didn’t work. This was one of your all time favorite movies, after all.

He tried to squeeze you closer to him, play with your hair, even tickle you. Nothing was working. You were zoned into the film, watching as Westley chants ‘As you wish!” as he tumbles from the hilltops, Buttercup quickly realizing her mistake and tumbling down after him.

Harry sighed in frustration. He was needy and horny. He wanted your attention.

His hand trailed down from where it sat on your waist to your legs, spreading them apart as he pleased. You hardly gave the action a second though, spreading your legs at his will and leaning further into his back.

Harry smirked, his hand rubbing up and down your bare thigh, making you shiver at his touch. He understood the effect he had on girls but you weren’t just a girl- you were a woman. A beautiful, sexy, kind woman.

He teased you for a bit, still attempting to get your attention. His goal was an utter failure, though. All he got was a few laughs caused by the film and some slight squirming- not what he expected.

You gasped loudly as Harry’s hand moved its way down towards your core for a second time that night, moving your panties to the side as his index finger met your clit.

He began slowly, rubbing soft, slow circles, “Keep watching,” he’d remind you.

You would let a weak nod through your poker face, trying to diverge your thoughts to the couple portrayed on the screen in front of you, but it was impossible. Harry was all consuming.

The soft and slow circles abruptly became quick, and the one finger became three. His hand laid flat against you, occasionally slipping down into your dripping cunt. You gasped every few moments at a new sensation you felt along your body, whether that be his lips on your ear or his other hand on your breast.

Your leg moves farther from your center, finding a new home propped up on Harry’s bent knee. He pushed your leg up when he brought his knee closer to his chest and rubbed you from what seemed to be the best angle yet, beckoning a, “Right there, fuck,” from your swollen lips.

“Feels good, hm?” Harry asks, his lips right on your ear. You feel your face begin to heat up as pleasure seems to overwhelm your body from the past days events.

“So good, don’t stop,” you edge on.

Harry obediently continues his assault on your clit- fingers moving quickly as your back arches against him in a continuous rhythm, your head thrashing back and forth in harmony, and it was safe to assume that the movie is long forgotten now.

You let out a loud moan, your body beginning to shake with pleasure, as Harry’s other hand found its way to your dripping core. He continued rubbing whilst also penetrating you slowly and teasingly with his fingers.

Within the next minute you came, the room filled with your screams and breathy moans and Harry’s smug laugh. You decided he enjoyed watching you struggle under his hands.

//

It was a longstanding tradition of yours to have tea at the observatory the night after a big storm. You felt it was nice to assess the damage from the one place it could look beautiful.

You woke up to the sound of seagulls pecking at a lighthouse window as they usually the night after a storm. It was theorized that they were on the hunt for food. You turned to look towards Harry, hoping they wouldn’t wake him up. He laid next to you, arm sprawled out and over your shoulder and you were forced to chuckle at the sight because you hadn't seen someone look so good while asleep in a while.

You carefully untangled yourself from his hold and walked downstairs to the kitchen in hopes of making some tea.

You went through the grueling ten minute process of boiling a pot of water on a gas stove before transferring the water into a mug and adding a green tea bag into it, making sure to add a note stating you would be on the top floor just in case Harry woke up before you were back.

The stairs took far too long then necessary to climb but they were long and drawn out, hardly stairs at the point. You reached the top deck with a significantly cooler mug but you didn’t mind. Part of the tradition.

You looked out over the beach- trash littered over the bleachers they didn’t have time to put away, tree branches all over the ground, the sand looking darker than usual- likely drenched from the previous night's rain.

It was an odd sensation- to see birds flying in circles looking for the food and their old homes.

“Well fuck,” you mutter, taking in what you would be cleaning up for the next few days with your dad.

“Woah it looks rough out here,” you hear Harry’s deep and groggy morning voice. You turned to look at him, his eyes hardly open as he stretched his arms out behind him, his torso out on display.

“Yeah, gotta clean it up soon,” you speak softly. Even through the darkest storms, the water stays relatively calm. The waves crashed just as intensely as before, claiming the sand as their own as you watched from a birds eye view.

“Need any help?” he offers.

You smile and shake your head before turning back towards the ocean, “No, that’s fine. You should probably train some more anyway.”

“It’s nice to take a break sometimes too,” he tells you, stepping forward so he is standing directly to your right.

“I guess,” you shrug, “Wasn’t last night a good enough break?”

“Definitely not,” Harry shakes his head.

You shoot him a glare, about to give him a piece of your mind before he continues, “Nowhere near long enough.”

“Well, how long would you like this break to be?” you ask him, turning so your chest is practically touching his.

“Like,” he pauses teasingly, “Like a long time,” he decides.

“Is this your corrupt way of asking me out?” you ask with a smile spread across your lips. Harry nods in response, making you squeal with happiness.

Your arms find their way around his broad shoulders as he hugs you, lifting you up and off the ground slightly.

“So that means you’ll help me clean right?” you ask Harry, making him groan. “I’m just kidding, you can stay here in this lighthouse with me,” you seal your promise with a deep kiss on his lips.

“Hmm, sit in this lighthouse with you all night, surf all day. Sounds like a dream,” Harry comments, his arms finding their way around your body, holding you close to him. Your chests heaved in unison as you found your heartbeat rising.

“You’re a dream.”

[sketch--booked]

It's 6am, I just woke up from another dream--

--about Echo returning.

And it's another island adventure dream but FAR MORE OOOHHH OKAY THAN OWWIE OH NO. It had the same energy as Nya trying to figure out who Samurai X was. And Echo was not a villain this time.

Actually the dream had the S14 guy as the villain, the one with the mask, spoilers.

It started with a fight between masked man, who's name I neglect to remember, and the ninja. They barely even get a chance to fight him before someone in a hodded cape swoops in and kicks him clean off his thone/podeum. They guy lands poorly and his leg gets messed up but continues fighting while the ninja just s t a r e at them.

The ninja only make a real reaction when they see the mystery man use the element of wind, and they're all utterly bewildered.

The mystery man can't hold them all off and is knocked far into the forest, presumably dead considering how far he went, and the rest of the ninja are separated into groups (Kai and Cole, Nya and Zane, Jay and Lloyd with Wu and Misako).

It followed Kai and Cole mostly, just discussing the possibility of two elemental masters of wind (they recalled Krux and Acronix) and that this guy could be dangerous. While they're talking, they bump into the motionless body of that cloaked person and Kai literally nearly pukes. Cole manages to get close to the guy and with prompting from Kai, pulls back the hood to see, not a man, but a nindroid! And a nindroid that looked eerily like Zane.

.

That's when it cut to Lloyd and Jay, they're talking with Wu and Misako about the mystery man, and this is where Wu info dumps that, after an elemental master passes without any heirs, the elements will take an unknown amount of time to present itself in a new host. It depends on that persons destiny and whether or not they're fit to use it and yada yada.

Lloyd understands that this would mean morro would no longer be the elemental master of wind, since after the DotD, he legit died and is gone for good. Which resulted in the element passing on. Wu comments that this is the fastest he'd seen an element passing on and presenting itself, and says that whoever this person is, must have been picked for a very good reason.

Jay then starts making a ridiculous list of people that he thinks could be the new master of wind, despite Wu telling him the probability of Jay knowing this master, is near impossible (Jay gets a kick outta this r e a l soon).

.

Then we hop back to Cole and Kai, who are freaking out over the rusty version of their friend who somehow has elemental powers too??

Kai says they should leave him here, saying it could be an evil nindroid, since they were also based off of Zane's prints. Cole argues and says they should take him back for questioning, and that Cole would be very happy to carry him.

While they're arguing, the fake Zane starts to wake up, and in a comedic way, screams at Cole and Kai, who in turn also start screaming. The mystery nindroid awkwardly chuckles and remarks that this was not particularly how he wanted to introduce himself, but anything works...

Kai and Cole begin questioning him and he answers their questions, starting with his name, telling them his name was Zane, but upon seeing their reactions, he says they can call him Echo.

Echo tells them they need to get into shelter, since at night, the island becomes unbearable and deadly. Kai and Cole reluctantly follow, continuing to ask questions while the three of them walk away, Echo limping from his earlier fight.

.

"Why are you on a random island?" Kai asked

"My raft washed up in a lightning storm." Echo replied.

"So did Julien build you too?" Cole continued.

"Yes, I would reluctantly say he is, in essence, my Father"

"Reluctantly?"

Echo did not answer.

Cole broke the silence "Where did you come from?"

"There is a lighthouse, in the-"

"-middle of the ocean between ninjago and the dark islands. You were there?" Kai interrupts.

"You know of the lighthouse? You were there?" Echo wondered "How come you did not know of my presence?"

"Your father never said anything, neither did Zane." Cole answered his question, giving the earth ninja even more of his own.

"Oh, no. My brother would not know of me, I was built in the lighthouse, not--wherever he was built" Echo confirmed "How did you get past the leviathan?"

"Zane swam to the chains and broke them with those star thingys" kai shivered, recalling those star shaped demons--

"Oh, you mean the Starteeth!" Echo begins laughing lightly "You know, one time, a bunch of them washed up and ate through the window in the basement. The basement was flodded and made me all rusty. I couldn't move for a week!" He walked slightly ahead while laughing hard.

He suddenly stopped laughing and looked serious "Looking back on it now, it was probably not funny."

Kai and Cole shared a look before Cole jumped up, realising something, and whispered close to Kai.

"Hold on a second, we completely forgot about his powers!"

"Oohhh, you're right! Hold on, I'll ask 'em."

Cole was going to pull him back to explain how shouldn't just--ask--but Kai had already begun running to catch up.

"So how did you end up an elemental master?"

"An ele-mento-who-what?" Echo fumbled his words.

"An elemental master? Y'know, with the crazy wind powers."

Cole was ready to punch Kai out, the man couldn't be subtle to save his life, which it just might right now.

"Oh! Honestly, Red, I have no idea." Echo had called Kai, Red, as the other two masters had not given their names. "I just remember the lighthouse getting nearly blown into the sea after weeks of strong winds. I had not realised the strong winds were the cause of my emotions. It was--new and scary. Gizmo was there to help me."

"The little cleaning robot? You brought that little guy with you too?" Cole caught up with Kai and the second wind master.

"Of course, he is my only friend! I would not abandon him the way I was. That is too cruel of a punishment for any being, organic or metallic." Echo yelled, a breeze shook the trees. Cole stayed quiet, but silently apologised to the nindroid.

Their questions were ended as they came across a half-cave-half-hut-like shelter. Where the settled and only prayed for their respective brothers.

.

There was a lot more small talk in the dream but I cut it down to the funnier and more important parts.

The next bits of the dream is fuzzy, but I know it revolves around the ninja reuniting and accepting the mystery person into their group while they defeat the evil and escape the island.

Kai and Cole agree to Echo's pleas to not tell Zane for the time being, as he doesn't want Zane to see his brother for the first time looking like--how he looks.

Each of them get some interactions with Echo, with his identity hidden, remaining mute as to not throw them off with his voice. He even has an interaction with Zane where Zane politely asks Echo not to keep staring at him, as he's been doing that since they came together. Zane pegs his curiosity to "he's never seen a nindroid before" and Echo confirms that for him. (unknowing the truuuuth aaaaa)

I'll write Jay's interaction with Echo another time maybe, and how he figures it out, since hoooo boy it hurt. Echo didn't remember Skybound so Jay's just mentally torturing himself for the rest of the journey.

The ninja that find out its Echo is Nya, Jay, Cole and Kai.

.

I'm gonna jump to the end, because my dream also jumped to the end? Rip. But the end what what gave me the Nya and new Samurai X vibes, but less fighting and more chill chat.

.

.

He was on a real boat. Not a makeshift raft constructed out of his father's old bed, table, chairs and shelves, not pushed forward by his newly explained "elemental powers". A real boat, one that would take him away from tiny islands that kept him prisoner, away from the existential dread of loneliness. He'd be free. Free from fearing his last day would be solitary and sad. In one day alone, he'd made a literal boat load of friends. They wouldn't abandon him, not as his father once did.

He was happy, he felt really, truly happy. But he didn't smile. Yes he had friends, but what he wanted more than anything else, was his brother. He was right here on the boat, but Echo's own worries about how his brother would perceive him, how his brother would react to seeing him in such a state (Upon first meeting too! Talk about first impressions), persuaded him to otherwise say nothing.

Deep down, Echo knew he had nothing to fear, he'd heard stories from his father, before he'd locked him away, about Zane and about what it was like--just the two of them. Happy. And from what Echo had seen, Zane was more that strong. Not just physically, nindroid and all, but mentally and emotionally. Echo only wished he had that confidence, the ability to say nothing but be so loud at the same time.

It would make talking to him a lot easier, if he had to say so himself.

Echo, however, had his thoughts interrupted by the sound of footsteps he hadn't even registered, and a soft, yet firm, hand on his shoulder. He tensed just slightly, preparing himself to pull his hood down further.

"It's nice, is it not?" That voice, it was Echo's voice. No, Echo had his voice. His brother was standing right next to him. So close and yet so far, just one swipe of his hood would bring them together, finally. But he resigned himself to simply nod in response. He hadn't come this far to give up now.

A comfortable silence covered the two like a thin layer of snow, fitting considering who was standing next to him. It would almost make him laugh.

"You fought well, out there," Zane started, Echo had thought he was done and nodded again, a small smile forming on his face. Zane may not have known who he was complimenting, but Echo took every moment of it with pride. But then his world span at Zane's continuation.

"For a nindroid."

Zane looked down with a small smirk. Like he'd told the best joke in history. Echo tightened his grip on the wooden railing of the bounty, crushing the paint under his permanently short nails. Zane must've noticed, but didn't say anything. Either in respect for his privacy or because he wanted to hear the confession himself.

In Echo's mind, he was obviously panicking. He didn't want his brother, someone who he'd heard stories from his father, the bot he was built off of, his singular role-model, to find out who he was, like this?

Despite the fear in his ticking heart, he did something probably really stupid and something that would likely result in his downfall. He thanked him.

"Thank you... How- how did you know?" Though, he lowered the pitch oh his voice. It would not be difficult for Zane, or anyone really, to rase the pitch and find out who he was, it still calmed him down just a bit.

"A nindroid knows a nindroid. A brother knows a brother."

Oh I'm f*ucked...

There was only panic, in his systems. The ticking of his clockwork had never sounded louder in his ears. It'd drowned out the sounds of water, the automatic breathing he for some reason had, the cracking of wood underneath his palms was the only sign that ticking was not the lone sound in the world.

He fell out of his anxious trance when the hand left his shoulder and those footsteps came back. No. They were moving away. Echo looked back, moving his fingers to clutch his hood tight against the unintentional winds that now followed him and his emotions. He could see Zane walking towards the steps of the bounty, but halted at the top of them, his hand instead lazily laying on the banister.

"Don't worry, I won't tell them-" He called, just loud enough for Echo to hear over the breeze.

-about what? That he knows who I am? That he'd practically lied to them? That he knew everything all along, because of course he knew, this was Zane, how could he not know, he-

"-Cryptor."

Echo ceased all thoughts from his head. Cryptor? What was that? Was that some kind of fruit? Or a vegetable?

Echo turned his body in the direction of his brother to ask him or at least say goodbye, but he was gone. He'd walked off and down the stairs. Leaving behind not so much as a sheet of frost.

The clockwork child stayed standing there, pure surprise, fear, relief, confusion--actually a lof of emotions he didn't know how to process--flooding his brain. If it weren't for the distant voice of Nya yelling about the sudden gusts of wind changing their direction, he would likely not have moved from that position until they landed.

Cryptor. He thought, it must be a nickname. There was no way he couldn't have figured out Echo was his sibling. He'd said, "a brother knows a brother", they didn't have any other siblings. Right? No. It was just them, just the two of them. The only two nindroids in Ninjago.

His father had said so himself. Although, his father had also buried him under scrap metal and kept him hidden from his family.

Anything could be truth now.

Although Zane had left, and there was no one to hear him, he still felt it necessary to acknowledge what happened. Quietly and sadly, he spoke with a smile.

"Good guess, brother."

.

.

.

.

SO Uhh I'm gonna assume this was because i watched DotD last night,,, and so both Cryptor, and Morro were on my brain hense wind and Cryptor calling Zane "brother", but I always have Echo on the brain man,,, so uhh. Echo for the new master of wind? Anyone? I think it's cute,,,

I probably missed something, other than writing Jay and Echo's interaction, Jay was so sad throughout the rest of the dream, man. And Echo didn't even know why, it was heartbreaking---but it was also a dream and like all my dreams, they never get made into real things.

But I did like the Zane and Echo bit at the end though. There was a second ending, but it relied on the reveal of echo to the audience at the e n d of the dream. Zane still says Cryptor and Echo turns with the camera getting close to him. And as he turns his head to the camera, you see its Echo and then he says "good guess, brother" BUT NGL I THINK IT HURS MORE WHEN WE KNOW FROM THE BEGINNING SOOO.

My dreams are whack dudes,,,

Also this took nearly 3 hours to write its actually 8:50 now Soooo ilya

[ephemerlskies]

the lighthouse | jjk

⇢ pairing: reader x jungkook

⇢ genre: one shot, fluff (what's new), strangers to "lovers", mutual pining, so much sap you're gonna have to shower after reading this, ANGST, jungkook is a literary scholar (?) of sorts

⇢ word count: 12k

⇢ warnings: as stated before, it's Cheesy with a capital C, lots of introspection, brief mentions of death, explicit language, mommy issues, (((major plot twist)))

⇢ summary: you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled. was this going to be another disappointing chapter in the book of unattainable desires or could your encounter with the mysterious man who lived in the lighthouse lead to something much more?

a/n: i'm super proud of how this turned out even though it ripped my heart out of my chest... this was probably my favorite fic to write and ahh im so happy to release it!!!! i hope you lovely little angels enjoy!! :) <3

What makes us human? This question posed by your philosophy teacher had been stalking your thoughts hours after class had ended. As the rain padded against your umbrella, you piled in a few answers to this question. 

What makes us human? A question that would seemingly have a clear cut answer, but when you got down to it, there was no distinct characteristic that differentiates humans from other animals. It was easy to say something such as how we have complex linguistics or industrialized civilization, but that is to discredit how the packs of wolves howl to each other, the birds sing from tree to tree, the beavers diligently construct their dams, or the dirt cities in which ants build their own societies not much different than humans. 

You pondered the idea that we love so deeply, even when it is often unreturned, but there is no denying the way a mother bear strikes down any and all enemies to protect her baby cub is anything other than true love.

So, what makes us human? You sat on a bench placed on the sidelines where you could witness small scenes of the lives of passing strangers. This sonder might be what makes us human. The knowledge that each person lives and loves and cries and fears and speaks and dies in ways with which you will never begin to familiarize. Life continues on around you despite how unimportant it may seem to the rest. 

Does a lion waste any moment of his time wondering how the deer had found its way to the shallow pond, whilst preparing to strike? Of course not. 

You watched a couple clinging onto each other and wondered where they met. You then were captured in the peace of an old woman prodding around in the grass with her golden retriever; perhaps it was her last companion. Then, your eyes drifted towards the two boys pushing each other over but with the gentleness one could only assume that was out of friendship or perhaps brotherhood.

And then you saw him. 

Gentle fingers tracing the stacks of magazines lined in a perfect column; an arm that disappeared into the sleeve of his dark, wool coat. A tweed newsboy hat sheltering his eyes, and deep chestnut Oxford shoes stepping lightly, nearing a tiptoe, between the cracks of each cement plate, weathered by the infinite other shoes that tread on those very grounds. A body so magnetizing and moving as if it were a secret, and you couldn’t imagine why no one else had been ingested by the enigma that is this man. You longed for him to reveal these secrets that hid underneath his hat and coat, though if he wouldn’t, which he most likely wouldn’t, you had no problem with seeking them out yourself.

In a city filled with young souls draped in modern streetwear, jeans, bright colors, and converse or Dr. Martens or perhaps high heels, catching this needle in the haystack plugged into every synapse of wonderment. The muted tones of his clothing gleamed the brightest out of the sea of strangers.

This is what made you human. Your desire to know everything that lies barely beyond your wingspan. Everything you could hold was close to nothing in meaning, and everything your arms could not reach was always all you could ever want. The rise of your legs, the way you replicated his every movement, running your fingers along the stack of magazines, fastidious prancing in the spaces between the cracks, and your subtle pursuit of the man just out of reach was what made you human. 

Bodies bustling through your path failed to untether you from this chase. It felt far beyond your power to stop yourself from the rising excitement and allure in your chest that pulled you towards him. The man was quick and swift to dodge oncoming bystanders, however your eyes became a missile fixed on a target. 

The unexpected turn he took had you floundering for you had been trapped behind an older lady and a couple walking side by side. Sadly, your memorization of the streets and landmarks had been admisal, so you found yourself in uncharted territory. Each road sign and corner store had been displayed like a foreign language, and you mentally cursed yourself for letting your silly lust for learning what shouldn’t be learned lead you into this difficult position.  

You stood defeated, the man had evaded your fragile trail behind him with ease. You lost him, or maybe he got away.

It was still midday, prompting you to make an end of this means. Your eyes discovered the coast set along the edge of the town, and though this was the furthest you had ever gone, you dared to go further. This mishap of yours granted you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the shore, and the waves have always delighted your interest. So, you found it just to walk down to the sand. The sound of the water pressing into the wet sand was calming; it was something you could find yourself getting used to. Luck presented itself kindly, giving you a moment unencumbered by the rain that had ceased not long after you stepped foot on the beach. 

You took this time to be with yourself and sort out all the problems that have been worrying your mind these past few weeks. Your best friend, Chaeyoung, had an upcoming birthday that had snuck up on you before you had the chance to even think about getting her a card, let alone a gift or celebration. And you would be disappointed with yourself if you failed to outdo last year’s efforts. There was also the test in your Chemistry class scheduled only a day after her birthday, curtailing your plans of staying out late because there was no way you would allow for anything less than your very most on this exam. Then, there was the essay on what makes us human that you denied any chance of regaining priority to your list of worries, knowing it would gnaw at your mind until you forcibly shut it out.

And the man that willed you to seek him out, and that wore the title of his stories as if he intentionally wished to spark your wonder to learn them.

That should have been the last of your worries. It should have been. 

The day began to fade into a warm, orange dusk. Skies once gloomy and grey now covered in blankets of clouds reflecting the sun’s gentle rays and you found yourself reunited with the calming feeling similar to when you first stepped on the beach. 

Not long after registering how far you had traveled along the shore, you noticed a quaint lighthouse with a house-like structure at the base. The off-white stones cemented up until a red paneled roof covered it, tempting you to know what lies behind those walls.

It looked like it was about to rain again.

Are lighthouses closed off from the public? 

There’s a house, there must be someone inside that could help me find my way home. 

All these comments to yourself made to premise the conclusion of entrance into this lighthouse. As you approached the door, framed in oak lining and painted red, the clouds appeared heavy once again. A few drops of condensation was enough persuasion that what was about to be done was for the good of your well being. You pushed it open and a creak echoed around the room inside. 

The walls were covered with stone bricks and there was one table in the center of the room. Other than that, this house was barren and if it weren’t for the second door that you guessed led to the lighthouse you would have called a car to take you home. 

Your walk was pensive and mouse-like; there was some quality about this structure that made you feel like you weren’t alone and sudden movements would disrupt an established peace. Your hand turned the cold, gold-plated handle and pulled open the door, soon being met with a warm gust of air that engulfed you into the lighthouse. 

This part of the building was exponentially more decorated than the room that preceded it. A staircase cemented into the sides of the lighthouse plastered with shelves upon shelves of books spiraled along the cylindrical walls, paired with dull lanterns that illuminated each level of railing had you drawn into its magnificence.

You stared up to what looked like a platform that held a place in which one would rest and look out into the ocean. There was no one in sight, and you assumed permission to climb up the staircase. Your eyes scanned each spine, creased and slightly warped from the moisture of the air, like they had been read over and over again. Your breath became heavy and your stare was focused on the books to ignore the dizziness settling in.

Reaching the top of the staircase came as a blessing, your lungs were close to catching fire. There were two armchairs, side by side, one fashioned a knitted blanket and the other was used as a table for five to seven or so novels, and the walls behind buried in high stacks of more books. There had to be at least seventy in the first half of piles you accounted for, and before you had the chance to snoop around the rest of the room you heard a voice coated with alarm behind you.

“What are you doing in here?” Your breath halted as you turned around, about to explain why you had let yourself into this building, however no amount of words could fully justify this invasive act. 

You recognized the wool coat and the tweed hat now resting in his hand instead of on his head. His eyes were shrouded in a youthful innocence despite his attire that implied he was a sophisticate of some sort. 

“Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the police?” The boom of his voice was chilling, sending shivers along your neck and chest. 

“Sorry, I’m-” How could you possibly defend your intrusion without sounding juvenile or absolutely insane? “I was… It was raining and I just was walking on the beach so-”

“So, you decided breaking and entering was better than getting a little wet?” His barbed responses hurdled how you plaintively stuttered around excuses. Despite his efforts to seem menacing, you couldn't let go of his boyish facial features. It was absolutely astonishing to you that someone who looked young enough to attend your own college and handsome enough to garner quite a bit of attention had anything to do with this dingy, aged lighthouse.

“No, I was going to come in here to ask for directions. I’m lost.” The pitiful temperament of this comment was not intentional, but the man who now stood in front of you felt itched by it. He couldn't ignore how your legs trembled, partly from the cold but also because of his raised voice directed at you, and how that admittedly aroused some guilt.

“It’s fine. Just-” He sighed deeply, placing his hat on the side table adjacent to the left armchair, “You can just wait here until the rain stops. Though, I have to say it looks unrelenting at the moment.” The man’s attention was captured by how the heavy rain seemed to wage war against the raging tides. You caught a glimpse of a smile. The slightest upturn of the corner of his lips almost compelling you to reveal you had spotted him in the town earlier today, and that you found yourself enamoured with his every movement, and he was ironically the reason you were stuck here.

“Are you sure? I can go, I shouldn't have been here in the first place.” The words escaped from your mouth quickly as if they were trying to race each other to be spoken.

“No, I said it’s fine.” The suddenness of this offer hushed you. He then removed his wool coat, unveiling the clothes he wore beneath it. The burgundy crew neck sweater layered tastefully over a collared shirt was just as old fashioned as every other article of clothing he sported. How intriguing.

“I'm sorry.” Your muscles grew sore from suppressing how aggressively you would have been shaking from the cold. “Thank you.” Him granting you shelter gave you motive to keep the umbrella that would suffice to protect you from the rain under wraps. The option he presented was far more favorable.

“Sit down. Please, use this blanket.” He gestured towards the throw draped over the right armchair. His eyes avoided you as much as he could manage though you had this glow emulating from your wanting eyes and soft looking skin that crept to the corner of his vision too brightly to ignore. Consequently, this comment soothed both your body and mind for he unguarded a kindness that was hidden when he first spoke to you. 

“My name is ___.” He was facing the window that displayed the sea, now thrashing and falling into itself, and without moving his head, his eyes drifted towards you.

“I know who you are.”

“Wh- How?” Maybe accepting an invite in a secluded lighthouse on the beach wasn’t the safest thing you could be doing on a Friday afternoon. Anxiety pioneered a place in your breathing, turning it rushed and choked.

Before your mind could theorize all the ways in which you could make an escape from this room or how quickly you could use your hidden umbrella as a weapon he said, “I noticed you following me in the town’s square earlier today.” You sighed, releasing the terror that pricked your lungs. If anything, it was he who should be afraid of you.

“I’m not a stalker!” That weak defense was all you could push from your throat before any well constructed explanations could be put forth. 

His laugh, along with his cryptic gaze towards the waves, made you feel even worse about your actions.

“You were just so stunning and I wanted to know what kind of person still wears a newsboy hat without trying to make a statement.” Your lower lip tucked between your teeth stopped the nervous laugh about to spill and expressed worry that the more you tried to explain yourself, the more this man believed you should be charged for stalking not to mention trespassing.

“Stunning?”

“I mean, like, someone I’d want to meet.”

“What were you planning on doing once I stopped somewhere, or noticed you?” He questioned you only because he relished how you were scrambling to a proper defense. He knew you weren’t any threat to him, not many people were, however he enjoyed your chatter more than the silence that would have taken its place.

“I don't know, maybe just… introduce myself?” This sheepish, yet honest, reply had you drowning in humiliation, while the man before you seemed as if he were floating effortlessly along the surface. 

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” Relief replaced the worry that he would turn you away, leaving you to the hands of the storm outside. The fact that any other person would have done so led you to believe Jungkook held a lot more compassion than he let on. You held your hand to greet him, finding it only polite to execute this formality. His, however, remained folded behind his back, notably denting your ego as you retracted your hand quicker than you extended it.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself in slight embarrassment from this trivial rejection. “So, do you live here or something?” Your question was first replied to with a breath of annoyance. Jungkook was kind enough to allow you a sanctuary from the rain, exemption from the intrusion and stalking, and now he found himself having to entertain you.

“Yeah, something like that.” All this disinterested answer did was persist your attempts to break his catatonic gaze. However, his reserve had been solidified steadily over the years, so this venture was going to be tough.

“I didn’t know you could live in a lighthouse?” Your inquiry was spoken with the hopes this would ignite a lasting conversation. 

“It’s not a lighthouse, technically.” Jungkook’s affirmative tone flew right over your head, conjuring even more annoyance that oddly enticed him to continue responding to your dense questions.

“Well, it looks like a lighthouse. It’s shaped like a lighthouse. It’s on the beach, just like a lighthouse.” A chuckle joined the sigh of his breath and his head that shook at your shallow observations. Jungkook eventually turned around and made his way towards the stacks of books, trying to preoccupy himself from whatever this exchange was. “All signs point to this being a lighthouse.”

“Well, it’s not. Lighthouses are meant to send signals to the ships out at sea. This doesn't,” His curt response tickled your amusement, only encouraging you to further aggravate him. “Therefore, not a lighthouse.”

“Okay,” You sounded agreeable, but this was soon followed by a doubtful comment whispered just loud enough for Jungkook’s ear to catch it, “It’s a lighthouse.” He found his stoicism melting away due to your spiteful attitude and conniving giggle in the face of his frustration. You wanted to get a rise out of him, and he knew this, and you were doing a fine job at it.

“It’s not-” His voice elevated with excitement, but he soon tamed the defensiveness threatening to spill from his lips, “Do you want to go back out into the rain?” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Though, you sounded all but remorseful. The sly smirk resting on your face matched Jungkook’s satisfied expression, despite these smiles surfacing for different reasons. You couldn’t deny how humorous it was to distemper this man. How all the worries you laid out like the pebbles and seashells on this beach were washed away by the tides. Meanwhile, his grin provided little contribution in masking his enjoyment of your company and relentless curiosity.

You now sat in the right armchair, bundled in the blanket. It was not necessarily a thick blanket, but the chills once disturbing you had dwindled almost immediately. You were still entranced by Jungkook's movements. His hands were now occupied with a book from one of the stacks he’d been eyeing; the way he cradled the book like it was a newborn baby further revealed he had a somewhat protective attitude towards them. 

“What are you reading?” His eyes remained between the pages and lines of the book, but his focus was yet again thieved by your incessant curiosity. Jungkook thought it irritating similarly to how one would find a cat disrupting their owner from work, annoying yet ever so endearing, and adorably distracting.

“I’m not reading, I’m being bothered by you.” His snark was meant to damage your brazen pestering, but unknown to him it merely fueled it.

“Boohoo.” No matter how elementary that retort was, you still managed to fever him and hold hostage his attention.

“I’m reading The Odyssey.” Jungkook surrendered to you, placing the book on his lap that was now sitting in the armchair next to yours. “Why do you ask so many questions?” His eyes laid on you the same way they laid on the sea, filled to the brim with fascination. 

“I just wanted to know what you were reading.” Even when he expressed a clear indication that he was past your nonsense, it went unnoticed like the particles of dust flitting around the darkened room. This oblivion of yours prompted your next question. “Could you read it to me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at this request. Jungkook had already found himself exhausted by your persistence, and predicted ‘no’ would not be accepted as a viable answer. He just sighed and began to read aloud.

His soft voice somehow drowned out the sea’s commotion. The words flowed off his tongue as if he wrote the book himself; such poise for a young man lured you to immerse yourself in his narration and time grew more and more abstract. 

After a bit, Jungkook paused to examine how you'd received his reading and he was pleased to find your chin resting in your palm and your eyes and ears fixed onto him as if he were reading the gospel. This made it difficult, impossible, to deny entry for the subtle blush working its way on his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied?” He closed the book, peering out of the window to check if the weather had eased since you arrived. Though the intensity of the storm hadn’t lightened in the slightest, there was a new tranquility adopted by the drizzling sky waters that sank and fed into the waves.

“Never.” You replied with a hungered conviction twisted into your words, “What happens next?”

Jungkook laughed in shock of how eager you were to hear more of this story. It was unlike someone who wasn’t well versed in literature to genuinely enjoy listening to this archaic novel. 

“Why are you laughing? Read more!” Your whine came off a bit childlike, but succeeded in its goal. 

“It’s getting late.” He commented with a gentle sternness, though he proceeded to reopen the book. Your peculiar attention naturally drew him to oblige your desires. Even in the midst of a storm, even as the hours slipped by and the evening had been born, he continued to read.

You settled back into your chair in rejoice that you’d get to spend a bit more time with Jungkook. He was practically a stranger, and still there was a climate of comfort and intimacy that took the place of the crisp, winter air when he read from his book. He felt it too, and that was reason enough to allow you this company.

Throughout the chapter he had been working to finish, he snuck glances to find your eyes growing heavy with sleep as each page turned. Jungkook halted from reading and was trapped in the flush of your cheeks and lips and how your mouth hung slightly ajar as you inhaled the cold, wet air of the lighthouse. The puffs of breath that billowed from your lips had him yearning to know a warmth so full with life and curiosity.

“Are-” Jungkook tensed at the idea of disturbing your sleep, as if you hadn’t barged into his life without a hint of permission. “Are you asleep?”

Your head lifted slowly, then held stiff to maintain consciousness, “I was just resting my eyes. I’m not tired, I want you to read more.” You said this in spite of knowing you would drift asleep if he did.

“I think we are done reading for now.” The book closed for the last time, his hands pressing against the cover to seal his assurance. “You should head home.”

“But, I don’t know how the book ends.” This weak argument came from a place of jaded desperation. Regardless, he almost fell victim to your subdued urgency but any sensibility he could garner warned him not to allow this. You were quite obviously tired and he prefered you be safe in your own bed before the night advanced.

“Well, that’s because I only just started this book and it is very, very long.” Jungkook hoped this would usher you out even if that meant the return of loneliness would seep between the pillows of the right armchair after you left him with his solitude. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get these questions out of my mind unless I finish the book.” Another weak argument drained from your inventory of excuses. Maybe a change of subject would present an opportunity to linger in his company. “Also, why do you live here all alone?”

“I just do. I feel like I don’t have to explain this to you.” Jungkook was bewildered at his admission to give you, an unannounced and uninvited visitor, any explanations and still he was close to doing exactly that. “You’re quite invested in my personal life.” As much as that was true, his withdrawal from your curiosity wasn't all that effortful. Living in secrecy and desolation had the feeling of companionship nearly vanishing from his memory and you reunited him with  that warmth. And, he had not realized how it had nearly been forgotten or how much he missed it until he finally felt it again. 

“You seem like someone who has better things to attend to.” The lament that stained his words bore such heartache that was soon displaced in your chest. 

“No, no. My life is boring, and I don’t know. What person wouldn’t be interested in the personal life of a hermit who lives in a lighthouse?” You stood and paced around the platform towering over the swirling bookshelves below, towering over what felt like the entire world with Jungkook. The end of the blanket trailed your footstep as your drooping eyes skimmed the multicolored novels which were remarkably arranged alphabetically by author. How he had the time or patience to organize the hundreds of books he owned was beyond your comprehension. Every detail you acquired from Jungkook was stored in a compartment of your heart, almost as if it were assigned by fate. They were told in riddles and secrets and everything else meant to be deciphered.

“Not a hermit, and not a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine someone like you being bored with your life.” His voice had become welcoming, with a hint of genuine interest, and this transition felt imminent ever since you first introduced yourself. The tilt of your head signified your agreement with his last statement and implied there was something that bothered you about this truth.

“Someone like me?”

“Someone like you. Curious, young with your whole life ahead of you. It's hard to believe you should be bored with that.”

“You say that as if you aren't the same age as me.” Jungkook shrugged lazily and scuffed his shoes against the rug as he now stood against the window sill, observing your interest of his books.

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, and yet I am all those things. Bored, curious, and I’m here talking to a complete stranger that totally has the capability to murder me like in those movies instead of going back home.” Your comment that snuck out had wrested a soft chuckle from Jungkook. They were absentmindedly thrown into the air that filled the space between you and him, nurturing his reciprocated fascination with you. Your diligent grazing of each book had distracted how the weight of your eyelids heavied by the minute.

“It’s not like I don’t have great people in my life or a quality education that takes up most of my time, I just,” Your brief pause was to turn your attention over to Jungkook, who did not hide how he was listening intently to these confessions, alleviating from a place in need of emptying. His eyebrow was arched in a manner that jolted you back to your senses. You’d revealed one too many privacies to someone who you had been acquainted with only hours ago. Mortification would have bathed your body if not for the way Jungkook seemed to strongly engage with your openness.

“You just?” He staged his interest overtly to correct the imbalance of how your genuinity left you hanging lower than him on the emotional scale. Jungkook believed that was the least he could do to mitigate the embarrassment about to silence you. 

“Uh, I just never seem to be satisfied with what I have. And that makes me seem like a greedy, spoiled child which makes me even more frustrated with myself.” You admitted, pulling the blanket over your shoulders tighter as if that would shield you from the compromising guilt slithering out of your body. “And that’s how I see myself. Ungrateful and spoiled.” This certainly scraped the barrel of your deep rooted disgust with yourself.

“Not spoiled, just lost.” His response felt like a soft and thoughtful embrace, granted that this was meant to ease the tinge of reproach in your heart. The words he spoke caressed your cheeks and told you that every horrid thing you thought of yourself was flawed.

“I’ve certainly been in your position.” He euphemized what he really wanted to say to you, that he saw himself in you. Even though you spoke very little on this, he felt himself living every experience you alluded to as if he had been right beside you your whole life. Or rather that you had witnessed his life and suffered identical desires and grievances and adversities and were simply retelling his story down to the most intricate detail; and somehow you made it sound brand new and a thousand times more aching. He was stranded in a state of amazement, ambushed by your pain and how even in moments of emotional destitution, you were unquestionably beautiful.  

Likewise, this stranger, who was no longer estranged, and his kind words nearly compensated for the billions of people you could never meet, all the dreams you wanted but could never alter into incarnation, and all the disappointments that plagued your heart.

And you felt held by his words, his voice, him.

“You’ve been in my position?” You requested confirmation.

“I was. Certainly.” And he confirmed.

“Where are you now?” In turn, you wanted this to suggest, ‘where can I find you?’

This question carried profound sentiment on both the giving and receiving end of it. To you, this yearned for advice. Any piece of wisdom would gladly, gratefully be accepted to ease this rampage of constant dissatisfaction. To him, it resurfaced a series of speculations long undisturbed until you had asked this question; a place intentionally void of all attention because it was sometimes too grim to remember. A haze of difficulty crowded a definite answer, though he knew there was one. He couldn’t place his finger on a fitting response and found himself next to you in search of the answer.

Where are you now?

This haunted his mind for a bit, leaving him speechless and albeit impressed, for once, by your curiosity. 

“It’s hard to say. Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Whatever meaning this carried did not resonate as sound to you. The mere idea of being on the end of perpetual longing, waiting for a clear path to the end that promised fulfillment, made it implausible to settle on being somewhere in between the two. Again, you were left unsatisfied and feeling a burden placing itself on your shoulders and wallowing a fit of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook noticed how your eyes fell from his, down to the maroon accents of the rug, and felt out of place. Out of place, in his own lighthouse, all because your gaze and attention he’d grown used to in this short time wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s the kind of ambiguity that leaves me so hungry.” He nodded in agreeance with the twisted cruelty of his response you had pointed out. Jungkook didn’t know how or why he’d come to turn every corner and check each crevasse to find what could settle your appetite. This whole time, though, he sailed through this painstaking search without a trace of uncertainty. His illusion of disinterest and annoyance soon dissolved into the floor that your eyes hadn’t strayed from. 

“Maybe if I lived in a quaint, not-lighthouse I would be satisfied with that answer, but I don’t. I live a normal, normal, normal life.” The repetition of your words stressed your fatigue of this dullness, your desire for everything just inches away from your fingertips.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a normal life. I think it’s wrong that we have put the idea of drama and excitement on a pedestal.” This outlook, unlike the last, did gain traction in stripping the thick ambiguity around Jungkook’s mind. To your surprise, you could be satisfied with the small pieces of this man’s mystery being chipped bit by bit. 

He was well aware of his deep rooted appreciation that accompanied your eyes as it moved towards him once again. There was some sense of purposefulness in this glance that demoted his callousness to tender captivation.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I have a hard time believing you only have one more question.” His doubtfulness didn’t seem to discourage you, or him.

“For real! Only one more, it’s important.” The only way to prove whether or not this question was truly important was for you to ask it. His head nodded his approval.

“What do you think makes us human?” Before he could answer, a swell of perplexity had overtaken his thoughts on this. You could tell, out of everyone, Jungkook would have a profound answer that could save you hours of contemplation over your philosophy essay’s prompt. 

“That’s an interesting question.”

“An interesting question in need of an answer.” You prodded him for his response, though this was pointless if there was no response that could possibly be constructed. Not a response of reason that you seemed to require, but of feeling. Like an instinct, and that in itself made it inapplicable to this question.

“Ask me again some other time. I don’t know if the answer is that simple.”

But, of course, it was. The answer, in his eyes, was blindingly clear.

“I’ll hold you to that!” He gladly took accountability for that commitment. An unfamiliar contentment with the unknown had lodged in your chest when the promise of spending time together emerged through the once conditional circumstances. The promise that transformed those conditional circumstances to voluntary acts.

This humbling discovery left a wide grin on your face, beaming directly towards Jungkook. 

Jungkook peered over to the antique clock placed on a shelf next to the window. The aversion of his eyes was to save face from how your soft smile that projected praise and attachment had effectively unnerved him; he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his fingers that twitched out of pure elation. 

The hour hand stationed on the twelve carved in roman numerals verified how his company had erased any discern for the hours that passed. They had floated away so silently, slowly that you could have sworn time froze altogether. 

“Oh shit, it’s midnight? Fuck me.” The decibels of your voice boomed against the walls, it could have shaken the stacks of books down to a pile of mess. “I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t even realize it was so late.” You unraveled yourself from the blanket and collected your belongings in a bit of a frenzy. 

“It’s alright. I, um, I had a nice time.” He distanced himself from you swiftly as you dashed across the room to the edge of the stairs. Even in a hurried state, you still looked back to him and offered a smile, unsure if that was enough to suffice for a proper gesture of gratitude. 

“Me too.” The words were close to inaudible, but you knew he heard them loud and clear, along with the string of implications that were laced in them. 

“Oh and by the way, make good use of that umbrella. It looks like it could start raining again.” Your ears felt engorged with flames when he’d revealed his knowledge of your little secret. It was foolish of you to believe you could outsmart Jungkook because what you thought obscure was well within his range of astuteness and the umbrella, still damp from the rain, was apparent from the beginning.

You didn’t catch how he’d been smiling when you turned away bashfully, strutting down the stairs in an attempt to portray false confidence. But if you did, you would have picked up on his mutual indulgence in your visit, the absolute bliss laden in his eyes. You grasped tightly to the joy evoked from the thought of seeing him again, however your nerves held a tighter grasp that did not allow you to express this to him. Perhaps your giggles of excitement, surely heard by Jungkook, spilling from your throat as you rushed out the empty room or the way you clutched your umbrella to your chest in admittance you had purposefully kept that fact from him would give Jungkook a clue of how thankful you were to meet him. And even more so to be able to see him again.

As you parted from the lighthouse that was not a lighthouse, something in between, you felt that the comfort you once had taper off with the growing distance from the not-lighthouse. You were fraught with a gentle yearning to turn back, run up the spiraling stairs, settle yourself back into the right armchair, and ask humbly to stay a while longer.

Little did you know, Jungkook’s hopes coincided with yours like two concentric circles. 

(One week later)

If it wasn’t the question left unanswered that motivated you, it was the fact that you missed the view of the beach from the window. Or maybe it was the countless supply of book titles that you didn’t get to finish inspecting. Perhaps it was that you missed how the soft blanket complimented the feathery cushion of the right armchair. 

Any of these excuses could be suited to explain how you rushed through the town, determined, goal-oriented and passing down streets now ingrained in your memory, with a destination clear in mind.

But it definitely couldn't be how dearly you missed the sound of his voice when he read to you or his smile or the way he studied the waves with gentle affection. No, it couldn't be that.

Either way, you arrived at the base of the lighthouse. It had been a week since your first visit and you hoped that the invitation still stood for your return. Making your way through the empty room felt quick since you hadn't wasted time to notice how the table now had a vase of flowers in the center. Nor did you notice the new mat placed in front of the interior doorway to the lighthouse.

Your heart dropped from your chest when you reached over to the door knob only to find it was locked. You turned the handle back and forth as if that would miraculously function as a key to unlock the door. After a bit of knob fiddling had proven itself useless, you turned away with a huff of air releasing your frustration. 

The click and turn of the handle had you twirling around optimistically and seeing him made all that disappointment dissolve. 

“You’re back again.” He was smiling at you, then cocked his head to say come in. The moment you stepped into the lighthouse, its lackluster disappeared as if by magic. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t magic at all; it was the person that hid their umbrella, and asked him to read and promised to return as much as he promised to let you return.

“I believe you promised to keep reading to me.” 

“Did I?” The reasons for your return weren’t all that important to discuss, both you and him were just glad to make your way up the stairs to the two armchairs once more, hearts both racing not because of the physical exertion from the stairs but from the excitement rasping through yours and his bodies.

“Yes, but this time I won’t fall asleep.” 

“We’ll see about that.” There was no question that your intense focus wasn’t because you cared about the book he had been reading. In all honesty, you would not be able to summarize any bit of the plot if someone asked. You probably would have a hard time even naming the author of the book because what sank you into the words on the pages wasn’t the story itself, but the voice that read them. Jungkook made those languid paragraphs sound like the first words ever to be spoken; he reinvented the English language through his unique dialect, inflections and phrasing that had the words of Homer dancing off the pages. So, of course there was no question that you wouldn’t be able to name any of the characters or recognize the writing style of Homer because those details faded away, leaving only the memory of his voice with you.

This time, Jungkook didn’t have to offer you a seat. He made it clear that this spot had been reserved and waiting for you by the way the blanket had been folded and worn by the arm of the chair and the new pillow resting at the base of the chair’s backrest. You planted yourself on the cushion that felt more plump than the last time you sat in it and faced towards the large window that showcased the ocean’s energetic swaying.

“I would never get tired of this view.” You commented while Jungkook pulled back the curtains further to widen the seascape. He too was drawn to the deep blue waters making their way to and from the shore. 

“I usually don’t leave the windows this open, but my love for the scenery of the ocean has rekindled.” When he said this, your eyes hadn’t budged from the window unlike Jungkook’s that peered over to you. You pretended not to notice that or the way your heartbeat had taken a quickness that had your skin growing warmer. 

“How could it leave in the first place?”

“It is well known, especially by you, that having an abundance of something lessens your appreciation for it.” A corner of your lips lifted at this, knowing exactly what he had been referring to. Each wave passed by and in a comatose-like state, you wondered where on the shore it would land.

“No need to call me out already, Jungkook.” He had left the window and retrieved The Odyssey that hadn’t left the side table since the night he read it to you. This broke your trance, and you shifted to face the left armchair.

“You made it too easy, ___.”

“Okay, Hermit.” Your smile did wonders to ease the irritation in Jungkook’s chest to tenderness. Though he refused to admit it, this otherwise taunting nickname sounded affectionate coming from you.

“Technically a hermit is-”

“Technically, I don’t care about your technicalities. No amount of facts will persuade me that you aren’t a Hermit.” Jungkook dug his tongue into the side of his cheek to resist from joining in with your laughter. He’d been fidgeting with the book that was waiting to be read, but neither of you seemed to mind putting that off.

“Ho- How was your day?” You shouldn’t have felt as proud as you did for making a man who could read aloud for hours stutter over his own words, and nonetheless you were extremely flattered by this.

“It was good.” Good never really meant good, and Jungkook knew this.

“And what’s the truth?” Your playing field had once again been unleveled, the advantage returned into the palm of Jungkook’s hand in the blink of an eye. His perceptiveness had been bordering on annoying but still remained on the side of impressive.

“Well,” You bunched the blanket in your fists as an expression of worry, “My mom called today.” Anyone who could hear would be able to tell you sounded unhappy about that.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jungkook articulated his question to get the answer he’d been looking for, finding the hostility in your voice far more interesting than the actual conversation between you and your mom.

“You don’t know my mom, but she projects her over achieving personality onto almost everyone she meets, but most of it goes onto me.” Your back had straightened when mentioning your mom, almost as if it were a reflex, like Pavlov’s dog, that you were conditioned to be on guard at the thought of her. “I don’t know why I get so mad at her when she does that because I know it comes from a place of love.”

Jungkook hummed softly, granting you space to continue talking. 

“Yeah, it probably comes from a place of love but part of me doesn’t believe that. Part of me thinks every time she calls to check on me it’s really just a ploy for her to nag me on what I could be doing better.” You scoffed as the conversation from earlier in the morning played out in your head again. Envisioning the back and forth between you and your mother only fueled your frustration but you couldn’t help yourself. There was no stifling the seething anger imploding before Jungkook’s eyes. “She always says stuff like, ‘Maybe if you applied yourself more you would be doing better than this.’ or ‘I told you that you should have done this or that and now it’s too late’ or the infamous ‘Do you not care about your future?’ lecture that just gets under my skin. She’s so good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I don’t know how she does it but she always manages to rub dirt in the wound.” 

“So, she’s never satisfied with you?” Jungkook observed.

“No, never! And you’d think a mother would be supportive or happy with all the things her child had already accomplished but somehow it’s never enough. And she knows what she’s doing. That makes it worse. She knows how she weaponizes my guilt against me.” You held your tongue from the much longer rant about to digress, feeling a sudden discomfort in the way you’d been complaining to Jungkook. You couldn’t understand why it was all too easy to talk of these kinds of things to him, why he looked so interested in what you were saying even when anyone else would have grown tired of you by now, why you found in him a warm confidant much more comforting than you’d expected, yet there was no way to dismiss this reality.

Jungkook did not offer advice, or tell you that you should be thankful or that maybe you were handling these situations poorly. He did none of that. His silence was more thoughtful than any number of things he could have said. He simply listened. 

You rose from the chair to get a closer view of the sea. Past your reflection in the glass, the consecutive tides seemed to grapple over the next and the next; the previous wave always just short of reach to tackle the immediate wave. He had followed you without a word, living up to your desire to have him at your side. There was no need for mindless comments or condolences to fill the silence, only mindful amity, at your side, because watching the ocean with you was enough.

“So, that was my day.” It was the first thing spoken after a period of quiet, perfectly timed and delivered for it to bear a dry humor in its intention. Jungkook and you laughed, finding this the long needed release of tension in your head. 

“Is this going to become a habitual thing?”

“What’s that?” 

“Me complaining to you about my personal struggles that would have gone in my journal or somewhere far more private than this.” All said while your and Jungkook’s gazes didn’t wander from the view of the window. “Me inviting myself into your lighthouse, or not-lighthouse, whatever.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Two heads turned towards each other almost as if it were on que.

The way your pupils dilated and softened conveyed every bit of thanks you held in your heart but couldn’t muster the courage to voice. Jungkook’s doe-eyed smile thanked you likewise and confessed the gratitude for how you had rescued him from yet another lonesome afternoon with a curtained window, an unused blanket, an empty chair, and a melancholic silence as he read his one of thousands of books. Not including The Odyssey, that was for your ears only.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.” His tease succeeded to provoke that smile of yours. And even though that was a favor on his end, he was the one that felt graced by it. Realistically, a smile costs nothing yet there grew an enormous debt in his heart; and even though he couldn’t afford it, all he could do was bask in every detail your smile, of the crease of your eyes, and of the way your cheeks took the form of a sweet Spring Peach, and the scrunch of your nose and brows. Before he sank himself deeper in debt, Jungkook beckoned for the two of you to return to your seats and read all your worries away.

---

Who would have guessed that The Odyssey, of all things, would be the thing that would occupy most of your Fridays through the rest of the winter? Sometimes you visited a Sunday, and other times you’d find yourself needing to hear The Odyssey on a Wednesday evening or a Monday morning. The days on which you swung by the now familiar lighthouse would vary, but they remained a weekly occurrence. 

Jungkook had grown comfortable with this routine, reading to you while you watched him and the waves, but mostly him. Occasionally, his reading would cease to an interruption of his own doing to ask how your day was in a very specific way that only Jungkook seemed to exhibit. He’d ask you say anything but ‘good’ or ‘boring’ and he’d clarify that he wanted you to not leave out any details. 

“Why?” You would ask. And he’d look at you as if you set yourself on fire.

“It’s important to me.” He’d reply as if it were that simple, or the answer you were looking for. Still, if it was important to him you didn’t need any more persuading.

Like when you told him you stopped by a coffee shop, he’d tell you to specify which drink you ordered and how it tasted. 

“Cinnamon.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No, I prefer peppermint but sometimes I combine those flavors and that becomes my other favorite.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“It makes my insides feel like Christmas.”

“Is Christmas a feeling?”

“It is to me!” He smiled at your childlike enthusiasm because it made life seem a lot more appealing than he’d ever believed. Before you, the world was a little greyer. After you, suddenly full of vibrance, saturated to the grandest extents.

Or the time you brought a candle to fill the air with something a bit more pleasant than the smell of the old, wet stones of the lighthouse.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a candle, vanilla and patchouli.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. I just found it in my house and thought this place needed something sweet.”

“But you’re here.” Your teeth bit down on your tongue when he said this. You almost fallen trapped in figuring out what motivated him to say this, but the flattery of his comment was all too pleasing to ignore.

“But I don’t smell like vanilla and patchouli.” You said, only to save face from the fact that you suddenly felt like a deer in headlights when he looked at you, bracing for when he would crash into you and hoping to god you can absorb the exhilaration of souls colliding; and hoping to god he would crash into you.

“Could you light it, then?”

“Of course.”

And the room filled with a sweetness that complimented your company finely. Now, whenever he would smell the scents of vanilla and patchouli he would think of you, and you of him.

He would continue asking these simple questions, and so on.

Why he thought it was essential for you to relay these almost invaluable intricacies was beyond you, but it did make you feel heard; it made you feel held as it always did. It made the value of your life gone without the need to be earned or proven, the value of the smaller moments that fell between bigger moments. 

It made it all okay that you felt like you stripped the clothes from your whole life off for him to revere and that he’d rarely ever display such emotional nudity for you; you were okay with lying bare before his eyes, vulnerable and pliant to his every whim. Even when you wanted to know all of these things about Jungkook and he’d hold them captive or he’d only offer half sufficient answers, you collected as many bits of the puzzle as possible to try and piece together his story.

“How are your parents, Jungkook?”

“Long gone.”

“Oh, Jungkook… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I watched them grow old and content and that softened the blow.” 

“Are you lonely?”

Yes, it’s excruciating when you are not here. I am tormented in your absence and all too plagued with despondency and I wish you knew that.

“I’ve grown used to it.”

“So you have.”

“So I have.”

You did not want him to be lonely; you didn’t want him to ever be sad but you wanted him to be able to say that he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you he was lonely; you wanted him to want you to know his heart. You wanted him to feel as naked as you felt. Vagueness was all you could ever manage to arrest from his gated mind. 

And for once, the little he had given was more than you could ever ask for.

Sunday mornings with Jungkook were your favorite. The ocean was tame during this time on Sundays specifically and sailed you into its calmness; you were half asleep, resting on the sill running along the base of the window panes. Spring had been approaching which meant there were radiant glimmers of the early sun that reflected and glided along the ripples of the waves. Jungkook once said that every time he looked at these little pieces of diamond rays, he believed the sun and the sea performed in devotion for you and him alone. 

“I love that.” And indeed you did. The idea that no one else witnessed this ocean, not this one, not the way you and Jungkook had, was a greedy disposition but felt so true.

“Would you like me to read?” He said in place of, Is my voice properly fitting for something as lovely as this moment?

“I want you to talk, but not of books.” You blinked slowly at Jungkook, “Could you tell me about yourself? Just one thing, anything you choose.” He saw those specks of diamonds glimmering in your irises. He felt so close to you, sitting on the other end of the window, and close enough to finally surrender a bit of his gated mind.

“When I was a child, I knew my days were numbered. The details of why aren’t important, but I digress.” You stuffed a scoff down your throat at the assertion that the details weren’t important. Him, of all people, claiming the details were unimportant had you whirling in a paradox. “With this in mind, I did my best to fulfill everything any child would have wanted. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because that list of desires was never ending.” 

Was this what he meant when he said he was in my position once? You wondered.

“I spent all my time looking for the next best thing I could achieve, because the best things that I had was, as you know, never enough. One week, the best thing would be finding a four leaf clover to give to my mother. The next, it was being the first in line for the new, long awaited comic book. Or, it was the time my father took me fishing on the lake, and then seconds after it was the first fish I caught and threw back into the water, and that best thing was soon replaced by my father’s proud smile.”

Your throat tightened as you visualized a young Jungkook sitting on the dock with his father, full of youth and excitement, and how nostalgia had ripened into your heart even though you had no place in this memory of his. This dream-like sequence had compelled a few tears to fill your eyes, fogging your vision of the older Jungkook that sat before you. 

“When I grew older, in my adolescent and teenage years, the next best thing was fulfilling a newfound passion. It prompted me to buy out almost the entire library and major in World Literature. I spent the rest of my days from then on immersed in reading, as you can see. It was the only place I felt like I was achieving the next best thing, and it was cruel when I came to realize there was no way in hell I could finish all the books I’d collected in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time... for the next best thing to come along, I guess.” This answer appeared fabricated, but was subtle enough to pass through your mind without a second thought. 

“And did it? Did it come along?”

It would have made no difference if your question had been asked to a brick wall because Jungkook brushed it off as he did every other question that would have given you another piece of his puzzle. He took precautions to avoid a defeat to your pouting by walking over to the left armchair and burying his face in the book’s fortitude. Before you had the chance to reiterate your question, Jungkook began to read, making it all too clear he was evading.

“Jungkook?” You whined to which he paid no mind by continuing to read.

“Is he being serious right now?” Again, you might as well have been talking to an inanimate object. There was nothing to be done when he lodged his restraint other than joining him in your armchair, quietly, permissively.

Every day, like this one, spent with him had you convinced it couldn’t be surpassed in enjoyment. And every day, your expectations had been exceeded. That was something you’d never think could happen. Soon, the cares and worries of this Winter melted as the avenue of Spring had unfolded before you. A long path, surrounded with flower blossoms and diamond coated seas, or in other words, the unfathomable had fallen into your hands.

The remainder of this pleasant Sunday had been consumed by The Odyssey and Jungkook’s voice singing its words as smoothly as the waves surrounding the lighthouse and small conversations during the pauses of his reading. One struck you into reminiscence of the first night you met.

“You never answered my question.” He paused, flipping through the many unanswered questions he’d left with you. Jungkook raised his brow to order specification of which one you referred to.

“What makes us human?” The due date of your essay passed over two months ago, however this didn’t diminish your curiosity to know his answer.

“In all honesty,” He paused and looked to assure you would believe his answer would be honest, or honest enough to cater your satisfaction. “I think it’s our desire to achieve the last best thing.”

Every fiber in you compiled its own list of questions in regards to his yet again ambiguous answer, though you had grown to accept that as a part of Jungkook. And you sure as hell accepted Jungkook, ambiguity and all.

“Hm.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know you had theorized any and all connotations branching off from his answer and he didn’t mind that you could be lost in search of whatever the actual meaning of it was. 

The moon was in its fullest bloom tonight, and tomorrow, it would begin to wane into a crescent then into nothing but an empty space full of new and perhaps fortunate opportunities. Jungkook found the romance of this lunar phase well equipped for the dusty instrument he discovered in the base of the lighthouse. 

“I found something that I think you’d like.” Your ears perked like a dog when it’d been presented with treats. “But you have to go get it. It’s in the other room.”

Whatever this surprise was, it had excited you enough to ignore how you’d have to descend and re-ascend the many stairs that would surely tire you. Your eager legs would have jumped right from the platform to the bottom of the lighthouse if the reality didn’t result in broken bones. As you rushed to the door to the other room, you pushed through and discovered a telescope standing in the corner of the otherwise empty space. A few moments later you were hustling back up the stairs, the telescope making the re-ascension of the stairs ten times as strenuous. All the while, Jungkook just stared in amusement at the way you struggled your way to the platform.

“No, I don’t want any help, thank you!” You said sarcastically through grunts of exertion before positioning the instrument in front of the window.

“Well, I didn’t offer you any, so, you’re very welcome.” He stood on the other side of the telescope, admiring the way you fell so easily in love with it, hands scaling the length of the scope.

“Do I just?” You pointed to the eyepiece at the end of the rod and he nodded. You brought your eye to the magnifying glass which was flooded with the enchanting glow of the stars. You’d never seen them this close, but this little gift of Jungkook’s had catapulted you into the illuminated abyss of the night sky. A measly woah was all that squeaked from your voice, because all the other words were stolen by the stars.

“Can you find any constellations?” He’d seen all the stars in the galaxy; that he was sure of. But none had shone brighter than the person he couldn’t tear his eyes from. Three o’clock had crept onto the antique clock, this late hour had worn down Jungkook’s walls completely as the soft glow of adornment laminated his eyes. 

“I think I see ORion's belt. That’s the only one I know other than the Big Dipper.” You laughed at your own lack of knowledge of the stars. Knowledge didn’t seem to matter though, the beauty of the stardusted sky had taken care of that deficiency. You lifted yourself away from the telescope, allowing Jungkook a turn to stargaze.

“Have you heard of the Astral Plane?” Jungkook asking you something other than, ‘how was your day’, was a rare occurrence which most likely meant this was of some importance.

“I’ve heard of it, but I think I’ll need you to refresh my memory.” You really did need clarification on what exactly the Astral Plane entailed, though you mainly just wanted to hear him explain it. 

“Some say it lies in the fourth dimension. It isn’t tangible or something that can be touched. It lies between everything, every atom, every cell, every city and forest and mountain and even between the crevasses of one’s own mind and soul. A place like this is full of divinity and complete attainment and the way it is reached has been theorized by many.” Jungkook’s meticulous readjustments of the telescope had you wondering which constellations he was searching for, or maybe he’d been looking for Venus or Mars or the Moon. “Some say you arrive there in your dreams, or when you reach enlightenment, or when death draws its curtain on you…  I-I don't know why but I’ve always thought that it was stitched into the sky. Far beyond our galaxy, maybe the Astral Plane has situated itself in between each star, just like it does our souls, and exists as the vastness of outer space.” It turned out he wasn't looking for any of those things, he was looking for the Astral Plane.

Could the heat rising throughout your body be merely adoration, or was it something along the lines of a forlorn longing? When he spoke, you felt this sensation growing dense in your bones; you felt a gravitation towards him.

“Seems about right to me.” Fondness had stained your tone which filled some void in Jungkook’s hungry heart, and he’d failed to predict you were the one that would be able to settle it. “Maybe we’ll never reach the Astral Plane, but at least I’m here with you.”

When you said this, the hairs on his arms pointed towards the ceiling. For once in a very, very long time, Jungkook felt a euphoric resurgence striking through the catacombs of his soul and hot tears dripping down the expanse of his cheeks, to the tip of his chin, and onto the glass scope that was shielding this sudden emotional combustion. He blinked away the tears to the best of his abilities and turned away from you and the telescope and the sky. Jungkook felt the push of air from your movement towards him, but he shifted further away. 

“Are yo-”

“I found a cluster of stardust, go look.” He averted you from him and you always fell victim to every trick in his book. 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” The grip you had on the telescope was firm, like you were trying to hold onto the stars themselves.

“Amazing.” He said. This reiteration wasn’t for the stars, however. He wondered if you knew that. He wondered if you could feel how consumed he was by your magnificence under the full moon that reigned with gentleness over the waves. The once wild tides, now moving with the same serenity and romance embedded into Jungkook and this lighthouse. He wondered if you could see he had been emotionally disrobed and bearing all his affection for you. And he wondered how he was so okay with that.

Six o’clock didn’t feel like six o’clock. Your eyes that struggled to keep open told you otherwise, so again you and him were parting ways as the sun had begun dawning over the horizon and there were no more stars to fill the hours slipping away. Jungkook did all he could to compose himself. He’d offered to walk you out; you reached the door that led to the dewy, Spring air awaiting your departure from the lighthouse.

“Wait, ___!” This exclamation echoed louder than the beating of his crimson heart. After stepping through the threshold, you turned to meet his gaze, teary-eyed from what you guessed was from lack of sleep. Teary-eyed from what he knew was because of another egregious goodbye. “Thank you.”

This moment seemed fitting to test the theory that actions speak louder than words. This moment called for the lapse of courage in need to act, not speak. This moment was the moment when you finally expressed the thankfulness that, to you, seemed to outweigh his by pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It was much colder than your lips and the docile warmth of the morning, but once you pulled away the warmth had stained his cheek. 

Jungkook felt like every cell in his body was evaporating into the space around him. Like the way a fire would extend its heat into the air or the way Spring melted away the frost ridden Winter, your act had covered him in a blanket of love and refuge from the loneliness once vaulting his heart. And it certainly spoke louder than words; all the words in every book Jungkook had ever read and the words left unsaid and the words passing between everyone in the universe.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Hermit! You helped me see Orion’s Belt up close and personal!” You called as your strides began a slow fleet from a laughing Jungkook. You waved, now standing a generous distance from him, and he found this gave him the space needed to finally let his tears fall. 

“I love you.” He whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to your ears and heart.

A revelation had overcome him, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe the tears away, they’d be instantly replenished like a stream of water rushing from a conquered dam, spilling over endlessly, with all control suspended in the air around him.

Was it finally here? The last, best thing?

---

A week after the stargazing, your mind had mapped out the stars as you too searched for that Astral Plane. To you, Jungkook’s proposition of it being strewn in the night sky was the only theoretical that made sense. You wanted to flaunt your newfound passion for this concept he’d introduced, and admittedly - and more importantly - you wanted to kiss him again, leading to yet another blissful walk down the seashore to the lighthouse. The air was warm but not humid, carrying a breeze that evened out the sun’s heat nicely. A few pillows of clouds were cascading through the sky, never staying in one spot for too long; you’d come to appreciate each one’s temporary presence and when they passed, you grew to appreciate that as well. The gaze once fixed on the sand had now traveled to the waves of much gentler motion than ever before. 

This walk, unlike the dozens of others, felt different. The streets looked lovely and the air felt clean in your chest, giving you a pleasant journey far more intimate than the last. Then you realized, it felt like you were walking back home.

When you grew closer to the lighthouse, you noticed the curtains had been drawn which was strikingly unusual for a sunny day such as this one. This was a passing observation as you made your way to the base of the lighthouse. 

Through the door to the room before the lighthouse, you were taken aback to find your armchair sitting in front of the table. you walked up to discover a single, folded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp labeled with your name along the top of the paper.

This felt eerie, for some reason, and you called out his name only to be met with silence, before sitting yourself down and unsealing the note.

It read in his voice:

My Dearest, ___

I wrote this to relay a lot of things left unsaid. The first being goodbye. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, though no amount of remorse could possibly appease my actions.

Your heartbeat had grown rampant, until your eyes read those words. It was then when it stopped altogether. Still, you continued to read.

I kept things from you like the fact that our encounter in the town’s square was all but coincidental. The truth is scary, and my truth would have turned you away from the beginning. It was selfish, I admit, but I do not think I could have endured such a loss. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark all this time, but I am beyond gratified for what you granted me in spite of that.

Maybe it might seem cruel. You are not alone in feeling that — never alone. But, we were never meant to spend every Sunday morning, or Friday evening, or Wednesday afternoon together to watch the waves float along with the hours lost reading to you; I knew this was not the end of your story, just mine. 

The books I have read over and over have imprisoned me in search of the “next best thing”. To my dismay, I thought I had run out of time to find it. But then you came along. You helped set me free by allowing me to live out a few more “best things” through the way you shared your life with me, unselfishly, warmly, kindly— You helped me move on.

I know you too will move on from this. I hope I could at least leave you with the tools and courage to find each “next best thing” in store. If not that, then this lighthouse, open to you and only you, and a myriad of good memories to ease our parting. I know in my heart you deserve nothing less.

I hope you find contentment somewhere in the sea or on the sand or in the stars, or perhaps somewhere in between.

Once you do, we will meet again within the Astral Plane, my love. I swear it. And if you miss me, just look through the telescope and find me woven in the spaces amidst Orion’s Belt.

Thank you. Again and again I thank you and it is still not enough. Thank you for you, for your warmth, for your salvation, for your smile, for your endless questions, for re-introducing me to the aroma of vanilla and patchouli but it was not as sweet as your companionship, for putting good use of the right armchair and the view from our window, for making the odyssey a little less lonely to read, and thank you for stepping into my lighthouse and my life.

Don't you see, it was you. You were my last, best thing.

with love and sorrow,

Jeon Jungkook

Before you got to the end of the letter, you were racing up the spiraling stairs, ignoring the burn in your tightened chest, how the air in the lighthouse had suffocated your lungs. The dizziness that blurred your eyes had not slowed your climb up the stairs, and the wetness of your tears now seeping into his letter.

You reached the top, The Odyssey greeting you on the chair Jungkook would have been seated in. Your breaths were staggered and warm, filling the mournful emptiness of the lighthouse. 

“Jungkook.” You whispered. You begged for a reply. The curtains were drawn over the window, like never before, and exposed a bronze plaque peeking out from the end of the fabric. You pushed the drapes aside to read what was engraved into the metal plate and the first page of The Odyssey that hung below it.

In loving memory of our beloved son, Jeon Jungkook. May he rest in peace. 1918-1942.

The note below read: 

The Odyssey

Jeon and ___ Lighthouse.

You pieced the puzzle together, finally. And with that, came the final picture, so beautiful and mesmerizing and everything you could have ever hoped for, and more.

“Jungkook.” You repeated as a bid of farewell, with a heart full of satisfaction and content, and Jungkook. You pressed the letter to your chest in hopes his words would mend your aching heart. 

And it was true, he was not your last best thing, only one of them. 

But he was undoubtedly your most cherished and beloved best thing.

[rudysrings]

Twin Pogues of the OBX - 5

A/N: See? I promise I’m back lol...let me know what you think of this one...appreciate it.

Warnings: Cursing, Marijuana, Mentions of sex, Slow burn, Abandonment issues, snakes, etc.

Word Count: 3150

Masterlist

ON WITH IT!

John B’s van rolled up to where you and JJ were smoking at the side of his house. John B gestured with his fingers for you guys to get in and you snuffed out the joint, JJ readjusting his shorts as he walked up to the van. “Let’s ride.”

On the way to pick up Pope and Kiara at the Wreck, John B filled you in on what happened after you guys had fled. John B had been chased by square groupers and ultimately had to hand over the compass to Sheriff Peterkin. You honestly didn’t care given the fatal history that seemed to follow the compass.

John B stopped the van in front of the Wreck and Pope came out, his hands in the air. Leaning over the railing, he said, “She said she’s not coming.”

You wrinkled your nose, turning to your brother. “What did you do to her John B?”

John B leaned over the steering wheel, hissing. “Shiit. Hang on, I’ll deal with it.” He slammed the door and walked into the Wreck.

Pope climbed in and you questioned him. “Why isn’t she coming?”

Pope shrugged. “I’m not sure, but we got split up along the way and I think something happened between Kie and John B.”

Your arm out the window, you slapped the side of the van in frustration. “Fucking John B…doesn’t make a move when he’s supposed to and ruins everything with his goddamn timing.”

John B and Kiara came out within a minute, seemingly cool with each other.

The sun went down on your way to God knows wherever John B was taking you guys. You all had eventually stopped questioning him, hoping your presence on this adventure would bring him out of his delusions.

Once again, JJ and you were rolling blunts in the back of the van. “You mind if I just relax on this one?” JJ didn’t look away from his roll. “It’s been a long day.” He held it up to his mouth to give it a slick lick and seal it. “A lot of weird stuff’s gone down. I’m just going to lay low.”

Pope looked at JJ with exasperation, to which he offered his joint. “Oh, did you want a hit of this?”

Pope whacked JJ’s wrist away. “I-keep the signal clear,” Pope asserted.

JJ rolled his eyes. “Dude, okay. Do you understand that your problem is that you don’t get creative? If you got creative, then—”

John B interrupted, saying, “Look, I—I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, alright?” He looked down. “And pretty much wrong about everything else going on…But I-I was right about one thing!”

You ruffled your brother’s hair from behind his seat. “And what’s that John B?”

He took his hand out of your hair and gave it a sharp squeeze. “Dad’s trying to tell us something.”

You rolled your eyes, all of you sharing skeptical looks.

It looked like John B had brought you guys to a graveyard, quickly walking in a familiar direction.

Kiara spoke up. “This place is scary. John B, what are we doing?”

John B rudely shushed her. “Shut up. You know how you are trying to remember a song, but you can’t remember who sings it?”

You took note of the gravestone you were approaching and gasped slightly, taking hold of Pope’s arm, apologizing, and letting him go immediately. He nodded at you, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“Redfield isn’t a place, it’s a person…” John B trailed off, raising his lantern to illuminate the concrete lettering of the words Redfield.

John B looked over at you. “It’s our great-great grandmother…Olivia Redfield. Redfield was her maiden name.”

There was a concrete door underneath the letters, but even with all your combined strengths, it wouldn’t budged. As you guys were pushing, you noticed movement in the corner of your eye and heard an ominous hiss.

You all jumped back as a large snake with raven scales exited through a small hole in the corner of the door, slithering away.

“Yep, that’s a moccasin alright!” JJ yelped. He started barking at it, which caused you all to panic.

Kiara whisper shouted at him, “JJ! JJ Shut UP!

“You’re gonna wake the freaking dead, man!” Pope shoved JJ.

JJ shrugged. “What? They’re afraid of dogs…everybody knows that.”

Pope looked to John B. “Look, we’re not going to get in there. It’s not budging.” He nodded at the door which you guys had all been pushing at. “We should probably just go.”

Kiara had her flashlight pointed at a medium sized hole at the top of the door. You looked at it, estimating the size before saying, “I can get through.”

“What?” John B looked at you looking at the hole. “No, no, no. You think you’re going to fit through the hole?”

JJ’s hand gripped your upper arm as he shot you a look of disapproval. You turned to John B. “Look, this is about Dad.” Shaking your head, you said, “And honestly, I really don’t believe in it, but you deserve to know the truth. I’ll do it. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

John B’s shoulders sagged with guilt, but you saw his eyes light up with hope. You wordlessly brushed JJ’s hand off your arm and walked closer to the door.

The rest of the pogues moved the branches out of the way and JJ ran a hand through his hair before taking a knee. He had his palms up on one knee, indicating for you to step on it.

“Ok, I’m going to boost you. I’ve seen it in the movies several times. Ready?” You stepped into his hands, using one of his shoulders and the concrete door for support. “On three, alright?” JJ asked.

You nodded, but in a rush of adrenaline, you pushed yourself up as JJ said “One.”

“Alright, just forget about three,” he said, breathing heavily.

You pulled yourself through the door and gathered your bearings. “Flashlight?” You asked into the pitch-black opening.

Pope handed it to you and you turned it on, getting up and heading deeper into the canal that you saw.

Worriedly, John B asked, “You alive?”

JJ added, “You got like a heartbeat and everything?”

Smiling softly to yourself at their concern, you continued on. “So far.”

You realized you needed more light and asked your brother for the other lantern.

You noticed something innately synthetic sticking out of the rocks in the walls. “Oh my God,” you breathed.

You reached in and pulled it out. It was a FedEx envelope…addressed For Bird & Starfish.

You handed it, along with the lantern to John B, who took them from your hands. He stepped away as JJ neared the hole, reaching his arms up to help you out. You swung your legs out, now sitting in the ledge. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you let JJ’s arms grip your waist bringing you down gently. He let out a breath and nodded at you, making sure you were alright. You patted his cheek and gave him a tight-lipped smile to ensure him that you were and walked away.

Just then, headlights flooded the graveyard and JJ hissed. “Code red. Code red. Square groupers. Square groupers!”

You all shuffled behind the side of the grave, crouching down and turning off your flashlights. Only, John B wasn’t able to turn off his lantern, instead struggling to muffle the light under his clothes.

You giggled slightly at the absurdity of it all, earning you weird looks from your friends. You laughed, simply standing up and pulling Kiara’s hand. “Screw this!” You whispered before taking off in a run with her.

Her eyes widened as you dragged her along, but her legs quickly started moving, as did the other pogues as they followed the two of you.

The large front gates were blocking you guys from the van. You helped Kiara up, giving her a boost over the gates. You were almost up, your abdomen hanging over the top of the gates when you felt a shove at your behind and turned to see JJ helping you over. You almost slapped his hands away from your lower half and watched as he giggled, mumbling something about ‘not minding his hands on your ass.’

As you got over, you watched as John B and JJ cleared it easily. Before you guys could run to the van, you noticed Pope struggling, his shorts having gotten caught on the gates. The men were closing in on him. You saw JJ instinctively grab for his gun and John B dived on him, the two of them getting into it with each other as John B tried to prevent a shoot-out. You and Kiara pulled Pope, who moaned that his shorts were going to tear.

Sure enough, as you got him down, his shorts tore off, remaining on the iron gates as Pope was left in his boxers. You all laughed as you climbed into the van, shutting the doors and driving away as fast as you could.

John B patted your knee, quirking an eyebrow at you, “You sure you’re alright? No snake bites or anything?”

You crossed your arms. “I think you would know if I had been bitten by a snake, John B.”

“It’s too bad really, a snake bite would have been badass…” JJ pretended to drool at the thought and Kiara slapped him over the head playfully.

You were all quiet, probably wondering what was in the package when JJ broke the silence. “Honestly, guys, I think the real question here is how Big John managed to squeeze his way through that rat hole in the door to put the thing there in the first place!”

You all broke into laughter at the thought of your dad trying to get his larger than life body through the hole you had barely fit in.

Back at the Chateau, John B was sat at the dining table, you behind him, your hands holding on to the back of his chair as you leaned over him to see the package.

JJ was trying to eat some sort of moldy bread, which you all wrinkled your noses at.

Kiara and Pope were on either side of John B as JJ walked over, just as your brother was opening the seal.

He overturned the package, dumping the contents. John B unfolded a map, laying it out on the table.

The first thing you noticed was a prominent swirl, a hurricane. Agatha. Then you saw the X. Holy shit.

“X marks the spot.” Pope pointed at the map and John B nodded, whispering to himself. “Longitude…Latitude.”

Then he felt something under the map. Your brother reached under and pulled out an object. A tape recorder.

He pressed play and instantly, the rustled, tobacco filled voice of your father rang out in the Chateau. “Dear Bird and Starfish…”

“Who are they?” asked JJ.

You touched your pendant, which JJ noticed. “It’s what our dad used to call us,” John B explained.

“Bird, I hate to say ‘I told you so,” but I told you so. And you doubted your old man.”

You remembered the fight the day your dad vanished. It had been awful. John B had cried the entire night afterward.

“I suspect right at this moment, you’re filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight,” your Dad predicted. John B’s shoulders sagged slightly as he buried his head in his hands. “But don’t kill yourself yet, kid.” You heard a tearful laugh sound from your brother’s crouched figure.

“I didn’t expect to find the merchant either.” At this, John B raised his head and all of you leaned in closer to the tape recorder, listening intently.

“You were right to call me out. Wasn’t exactly father of the decade,” Your dad admitted.

You tried to control the shaky breath that you released, but you knew that a squeak had made its way out of your throat.

“What can I say, kids? I could smell the barn…And hopefully, we’re listening to this in our brand-new sugar shack down in Costa-Rica, livin’ off passive investments and pulling on permits.”

You snorted inwardly at the idea.

“If not, and if you find this for less than optimal reasons, well, that’s what the map is for.” All of your eyes turned to the X. “There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If somethin’ happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kids.”

John B picked up the tape recorder, as if he could feel it coming to an end. “I love you guys. Even if I didn’t always act like it.”

Your hands shook with tremors and you gripped the chair harder, your knuckles white.

“I’ll see you on the other side.” That’s what broke John B. He got up, heading to the door and leaning on the side of the front entrance.

JJ looked over the map one more time and exclaimed, “Holy shit, he did it! Big John—He—He found the Merchant!”

You heard the muffled cries of your brother from the front entrance to the Chateau. Kiara approached him, glaring at JJ, “Can you…Can you, please just?”

JJ closed his mouth, mumbling an apology. You watched as Kiara wrapped her arms around your brother, shushing him as he processed his grief. He had been guilty for so long, carrying the weight that your dad had left because of him. Now, John B knew that your dad would have left no matter what.

You felt hands come over your own and turned to see JJ laying his palms over your hands, which were still gripping the chair with an intensity that should have splintered the wood.

“Sorry,” you whispered, letting the chair go. But your hands still tremored. It was like hearing a ghost.

JJ grabbed your hands in his own, nodding at you. Pope walked over and put his arm around your shoulders and you couldn’t say a word. It was taking all your energy just to swallow back the cries.

You shook your head and didn’t stop, refusing something invisible. Worried, JJ grabbed your chin, keeping you still. “What is it, Y/N?”

Your eyes wide, you whispered, “I forgot what he sounded like.”

Your friends headed to the docks, deciding to hang out there for a while to get some fresh air. John B told them to go ahead, walking towards where you were still standing in the same spot near the chair.

“You alright, Star?” He asked once everyone left. You flinched at the sound of your nickname.

You didn’t move, not even looking at him. He touched your shoulder, forcing you to turn towards him.

You looked up at your brother, his eyes still red and swollen from crying.

“He was gonna leave us no matter what, wasn’t he?” Your voice cracked.

John B’s jaw clenched, and he simply wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead. You pushed him away after a moment. “I’m sorry, just-just go with the others. I need some time.”

John B nodded, giving your hand a squeeze, and leaving.

Releasing a breath, you felt your knees shake, no longer able to support your weight and you gingerly sat down, bringing them to your chest. That’s when you finally let the tears that had welled up in your eyes fall, using your hands to muffle the cries that threatened to escape your mouth…listening to Kiara’s ukulele and the excited laughs of your friends.

You were lost…so much so that you didn’t hear when someone entered and sat down next to you.

JJ didn’t look at you, somehow knowing that eye contact would make you feel too weak…to exposed right now. He always knew. You lay your head on your shoulder, your bottom lip quivering visibly.

JJ held your head to his shoulder as your hand took hold of his shirt, bunching it up in a fist. You turned your face into him, shutting your eyes tightly, unable to prevent the tears from resurfacing no matter how much you tried.

“I-I miss him…so much,” You finally admitted, sobbing even harder at the confession.

He only held you tighter, letting you use him as a literal shoulder to cry on. As you quieted, your sobs becoming cries becoming hiccups becoming sniffles, you turned your chin upwards. You were looking at his jaw, which was set in a manner that looked uncomfortable. He looked angry, or maybe…sad.

“It’s not fair,” said JJ. “It’s not fair, and I wish there was something we could do but we just—can’t.”

“I know I said I didn’t, but I have to believe he’s alive, JJ.”

JJ nodded, finally meeting your eyes. “I hope for the sake of you and John B that you’re right.”

You finally began to straighten, pulling yourself together.

“Parents are good at disappointing us, aren’t they.” He said it like a statement, like a truth of the universe that couldn’t be denied.

You chuckled, your throat still stuck, wet with tears. You echoed his words back to him. “At least…At least you’ve still got us, right?”

A beautiful grin spread across JJ’s face, making you smile as his crooked teeth showed.

You flicked his nose. “You’re such a mama bear, JJ.”

His nose wrinkled. “Excuse you?”

You smiled. “The way you’re so quick to get defensive? And rarely self-defensive…it’s always someone making fun of Pope or someone treating Kie wrong…you’re runnin’ at em’ guns-a-blazin’…literally.”

JJ reached his hands behind him, placing his palms on the floor of the Chateau and leaning back. He stared at the ceiling. “You do the same thing.”

You snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. I’m just mental. I go looking for fights. It’s not normal; it’s not out of the goodness of my heart. It’s-It’s borderline self-destructive is what it is.”

JJ pushed your shoulder. “At least she’s aware.” He straightened up, leaning closer to you. “Trouble is what you are.”

You nodded. “Does that scare you?”

JJ shrugged. “A little. Don’t want you getting into trouble that you can’t get out of is all. You wouldn’t do that, though, right?”

You had a feeling he was thinking about your earlier conversation about drugs. You winked. “No promises, Bear.”

JJ laughed in disbelief, eventually just lying down on the floor and closing his eyes.

He opened his eyes a minute later and you cleared your throat, looking away to make it less obvious that you had clearly been admiring him.

You could see his smirk in the corner of your eyes but choose to ignore it.

He stood up, pulling you up with him and leading you outside. “Come on, Trouble, our friends are waiting.”

You had the sinking feeling that if he took your hand like that, you’d let him lead you anywhere. Now that…that scared you.

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Masterlist

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Stay safe and stay healthy!

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN,  A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

[norafike]

Bonjour amigo

Could you pls bless us all and give us some Lem with his sniper?

Literally that is all I want, pls just gimme a fic that contains both Lem and a sniper🥺👉👈

Of course I can bby, this is for you. I love you <3

Also, I will be taking another photo of Lem with a sniper... tomorrow

Knows his way around a rolling block

AO3 link here

To see Nora running through Van Horn, completely outnumbered with a few weapons and not that many bullets significantly worried Lem. She could handle herself in a fight that he knew far too well but the more he watched her from the safety of the lighthouse the more he could see the odds not shifting in her favour. It scared him, the uncertainty.

Nora’s brothers, greatly injured and feeling sorry for themselves, looked on with an equal amount of worry in their eyes although Lem wasn’t sure if that was due to the grave amount of danger Nora was in or if it was due to their own injuries. Lem looked to Harry specifically, noticing his rolling block and that was when he realised he could in fact help Nora out.

“Harold,” Lem said, “give me your sniper.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no time, just hand me your rolling block… please,” He held his arm out and although he was hesitant, Harry did end up passing the gun over. He didn’t like the thought of Lem with potentially his most precious possession, but he felt far too weak to argue.

Lem looked the gun over before standing as close to the railing as possible, focusing on calming his breathing for a moment before he looked down the scope. When the sights were lined up he pulled the trigger and his target collapsed to the ground immediately. Then he aimed again, glad he still knew his way around a sniper after years of not being able to.

He would miss a few shots here and there but after some time he was growing better and that easily meant that the favour began to shift and Nora was winning, that made him relieved to see she wasn’t cornered at any opportunity now. Briefly Nora turned back towards the lighthouse, just to see who was helping her at the moment and was surprised to find Lem there with a sniper in hand, but it made her smile no less, oddly excited by this information.

Of course, when things begin to look good it could never last too long and then he saw Nora fall back. Lem’s breath got caught in his throat and everything around him seemed to slow down, all he could think of at that moment was her. He couldn’t even see if she was alive or not from where he stood and that stressed him out further.

Dropping the rolling block, Lem ran for the door. He almost fell a few times as he climbed down the lighthouse but he needed to get to Nora, needed to see if she was alright.

His leg hurt as he pushed himself to sprint to her location and he practically collapsed when he found her, but it didn’t matter at all. No, to Lem only Nora mattered.

“Come on, Eleanora,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into cover.

“I’m fine,” she groaned and to hear her talking made him sigh in relief. Disconfirming his worries at that very moment.

He could stand for much longer, not with his leg, and fell to the floor next to her. Lem’s lungs burned as he struggled for breath but he didn’t care about that, not when he noticed the slight crimson on her shirt. She was bleeding.

“Nora,” he sighed when he looked it over. She only gave him a small smile, letting him pull up her shirt to inspect whatever wound she may have.

“I don’t feel it,” she chuckled, giving him a small smile.

He looked it over, it wasn’t that bad of a wound from the looks of it, probably just a graze, he couldn’t tell, but she was still bleeding a lot. “Come on,” he sighed before tearing some of the fabric off of his shirt, covering the wound with it before applying as much pressure as possible, “let’s get you out of here, Nor.”

“If you say so.”

...

He sighed to himself, looking at the blood on his hands and sleeves from walking Nora back to the moonshine shack. He wasn’t sure how long they had even been back now but the longer he waited the more worried he became, still hearing nothing from Marcel or even Cripps about her.

Harry and James were Ok, for the most part. Shaken up but their bruises would heal in no time and for once they willingly sat and talked with Lem to pass time while they waited for an update on Nora.

They all simultaneously stood up when they heard the door open. Marcel had this sullen expression and to see it stressed them all out. What was the news about Nora and why was Marcel being silent?

Lem was impatient, refusing to wait around and so he shoved past Marcel to enter the moonshine shack. Cripps gave him a small smile, a bottle of beer in hand before he pointed towards Maggie’s room where Nora was. He threw open that door and winced when he saw Nora’s face twist before she slowly opened her eyes, disturbed from sleeping, it appeared.

“Be quieter next time,” Maggie sighed as she slowly stood from the chair. She gave Lem a gentle pat on his shoulder before closing the door behind her and now that they were both alone he rushed to her side, holding her hand as firmly as possible.

“You’re actin’ like I was killed,” she chuckled before pushing herself to sit properly. Giving him a small pat on the shoulder, “I’m fine.”

“We were out there for ages,” he told her, “began to worry about you, honey.”

“The majority of it was Cripps and Marcel arguing about nothin’, Maggie wanted me to rest a little before she called you in though… guess that didn’t happen.”

"I am sorry about that," he sighed. Nora shook her head and gently cupped his cheek with her and, leaning closer toward him despite the pain flaring up in her side.

"I thought it was real sweet of you too," she told him, "besides I'd rather be in your company than anything else."

Her hands slowly went from holding his face to wrapping around his neck before she began to slowly fall back against the bed, taking Lem with her. He was careful with what he did, climbing over her before leaning forward to give her a gentle kiss. When they pulled away Nora leant forward, "I also didn't know how good with a sniper you was… that was rather, exciting to find out."

"Plenty more surprises where that came from, honey," he leaned forward for one last kiss. Her expression shifted and he knew very well what that look meant, but he wasn't prepared to do anything intimate with her, not with her injured and everyone next door, "but unfortunately you're gonna have to wait for that."