#obviously not really but like. they have cliffs there at my possible future workplace

[fingertipsmp3]

Sentence that just left my mouth: “he’s married?!?! WHO GETS MARRIED”

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 7

AO3

Beta read by @thesnadger who does a great job

Tim and Martin sit out the nausea.

Martin talks to himself.

“You sure you don’t want to head home for the day?” Tim asked, picking at the grass beside him. He and Martin sat with their backs pressed against the cliff railing, facing away from the steep drop. The lighthouse loomed in front of them, barely casting a shadow as morning ticked closer to noon.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Martin replied. He rested his arms on his knees, his chin buried into the fabric of his coat sleeves. “I don’t really feel like walking down the hill yet? I’ll at least wait for the others to get back.”

“Well, they should be here soon, unless the place Simon pointed us toward is yet another weird building that makes you feel like you’re falling into a big hole.” Tim squinted up at the sky and immediately seemed to regret it, leaning forward to drop his face between his knees. “Ugh, the Fairchild place was almost as bad as here. I’m surprised we survived the walk back down. If we didn’t have someone leading us out, we’d probably be swallowed up by the carpet! Sorry to say, but I think your whole town is fucked. Or any place owned by the weird old guy club, I guess.”

Martin grimaced. “I don’t get how Jon and Sasha seem so unbothered by it. If it were just me, I’d chalk it up to stress or something, but, well.”

Tim nodded in solemn understanding. “‘But, well’.’” He lifted his head and squinted in the sunlight. “It could be they’re faking it and I’m the only one willing to ‘fess up. If that’s the case, they’ve been really good at pretending their stomachs haven’t been dropping straight into the sea all weekend. But, between you and me, Jon can’t act for shit.”

Martin’s shoulders bobbed with silent laughter. “He seems very easy to read, yeah.”

“Oh yeah, I don’t think he’s ever successfully lied in his life, unless you count avoiding a subject altogether.” Tim smiled and leaned back against the railing, brushing a hand over his hair. “Glad you two are getting on, by the way. I’m sure Sasha already talked to you about it, but the turnaround really was impressive. I was concerned he’d just be pissy this whole week over some spilt tea.”

Martin buried the bottom of his face a degree further into his coat. “Please don’t remind me. Anyway, I’m sure having something weird to chase after helped. Means this place wasn’t a total waste of time for you.”

“Hey, it wasn’t gonna be a total waste. I can’t speak for him, but I for one love to make new connections.” He waggled his eyebrow, making Martin snort and turn a brighter shade of red. “Really, though, you’ve been a lot of help. If the walk home is that bad, you should just stay up where the sun actually hits for a while. None of us will mind if you hang around, and I need someone here to prove that my dizzy spells aren’t just me being ridiculous.”

Martin’s mouth sunk into a frown. “No, once they get back I’ll head home. Lunch won’t make itself.”

“What, don’t want to grab something with us nerds?” Tim asked, smiling broadly.

“N-No, I just, y’know, I bought groceries yesterday, and if I eat out too much, I’ll end up wasting some of it, and-” Martin searched for more excuses that wouldn’t bring his mother into the picture and failed.

Tim scrunched his eyebrows together in thought, then took out his phone and asked, “What’s your number?”

“What?”

“Your mobile? In case we need to reach you. And so I can send you dumb shit in my down time that I’ve already sent to Sasha.”

For a moment, Martin sat in stunned silence. “Um. Okay?” He said, his voice cracking in the most embarrassing way possible. Then, slowly, he took an old phone out of his coat pocket, technically a smart phone but just barely. They exchanged numbers, and Martin stared at the new contact before slipping the phone back into place.

“There, now you’re stuck with me. I’ll keep you updated if Sasha and Jon do in fact decide to do something stupid that gets us all disappeared. Speaking of,” Tim said, shading his eyes with a hand. “Here they come now, and Jon looks especially irritated.” They both stood up, grasping at the railing and sharing a weary look.

“Come on, guys,” Sasha yelled from the bottom of the steps. “Break time’s over.”

Back inside, the four of them sat around the table. From the looks on their faces, Jon and Sasha had been disappointed by their short venture. “So, how are you two doing?” Sasha asked. “How’s the nausea?

“Oh, just fine. We can almost get up without losing breakfast.” Tim said. “How was the place?”

Jon crossed his arms. “Unsurprisingly, Simon Fairchild sent us to an inaccessible piece of private property owned by the Lukas family. We couldn’t even get anyone to come to the door. For now, it may be a dead end.”

“I could try to get Peter to let us in?” Martin suggested with little enthusiasm.

Sasha looked at his obviously pained expression and shook her head. “No, bad idea. Simon was pretty clear on Peter not knowing we went to his home. I’d guess that extends to any of us going into this other place. If what you said happened back at the house is true, I don’t want that kind of risk. We’ll have to try it later and hope for an answer.”

Martin let out a relieved sigh and stood. “Good, good idea. I’ll be going then. I guess if you need me for… questions? Updates? Tim has my number.”

Sasha raised her eyebrows at Tim in amusement, while Jon rolled his eyes and scowled. With a lopsided smile, Tim shrugged and said, “What? The guy lives at the bottom of the world. We can’t drag him up and down that hill all day.”

Perhaps quicker than necessary, Martin excused himself and walked out of the building. The last bit of conversation he heard was Jon complaining about a lack of workplace professionalism, followed by Tim making a mocking comment that Martin couldn’t quite hear.

Once he had walked a little ways away, he relaxed. They really did balance each other out, the three of them. He could imagine Sasha breaking them apart in a little while, then getting them on task like before.

His hand brushed against the phone in his pocket, and he felt a little pang in his throat. He pushed the sensation down. Chances were, they wouldn’t need to call him, and it would be best to pay as little attention to his phone as he always had.

--

After the usual walk home, Martin approached his mother in front of the television. There was one of her Christian programs playing, the kind with the television preacher. “Hi, Mum.”

“You took much longer than usual,” she said stiffly. He could see her attempting to swallow and went toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, work ran long today. I’ll get lunch going.” He began to look through the fridge, considering his options.

“I’m not hungry. Just want a glass of water,” she said, her voice hoarse. Martin winced.

“One second.” He quickly filled a glass from the tap and brought it to her. “You will need to eat something to get your medication down. I’ll make something for both of us and we’ll see how you’re feeling then.”

She huffed in response, taking a sip of water and clearing her throat. Once food was ready, she did eat enough for her medication and then some, setting Martin at ease.

“It’s sunny today, if you’d like to sit out front,” he suggested after cleaning up the tray in front of her. She sniffed and otherwise stayed silent. “Okay… let me know if you change your mind. The fog even cleared out a bit-”

“I am not going outside today.”

“Okay.”

Martin left her alone and went back to the kitchen and set some chicken in the fridge to defrost. His future self would thank him later, he thought, and he went upstairs to figure out the rest of his Sunday.

The first order of business was to lay down and sleep for a while. Two busy mornings in a row and he was exhausted, the muscles in his legs finally catching up to all of the extra walking. As he lay down, he thanked his walls, bed, and windows for staying in place and gently drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later, Martin woke to find the sun had retreated back behind clouds and a familiar layer of fog. He reached for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. 4:30 pm. It was almost time to get dinner started, but before he could move to set the phone down, he saw there was text notification. Without his glasses, he had to squint and hold the phone close to his face. The brightness stung his eyes. The messages were from about fifteen minutes ago.

Tim: hey Tim: what do these weird knobs and buttons do anyway

Attached was a distorted photo, apparently of the upstairs console in the lighthouse.

“Shit,” Martin mumbled, tapping out an answer.

Martin: dont know, peter never told me. work the lighthouse i guess, make sure the big light is running. Martin: also what does all the static mean

Almost immediately, he got a response.

Tim: is that how lighthouses work? Tim: means its weird shit. weird shit hates digital

Martin: its the only lighthouse ive ever worked in, your guess is as good as mine Martin: oh good

No response came for a bit, and Martin took the pause to get out of bed. Halfway down the stairs, his phone buzzed.

Tim: update, stairs still bad Tim: arseholes who don’t get spooky vertigo club

Attached was another photo, still fuzzy, this time of Jon and Sasha walking ahead with Tim’s hand just barely in frame, clutching the rail. Jon was looking at the camera with a stern expression, his mouth open in the middle of saying something. Martin laughed quietly and continued walking.

In the time it took to prepare the chicken for baking, his phone vibrated in his pocket a few times. With his hands coated, there was no way to check until he slid the chicken into the oven twenty minutes later.

Tim: dont think anything stupid will happen tonight Tim: no one’s gotten too desperate yet but tomorrow is a new day Tim: will let you know if we end up getting arrested in the middle of the night for trespassing tho

Martin: haha, very funny

Tim: give it until tuesday

Martin’s eyebrow twitched, unsure of how seriously to respond.

Martin: please dont get me fired?

Tim: no promises! ;)

It felt like a lighthearted enough response to put Martin at ease. Tim liked joking. Martin knew that by now. If Tim was saying it, then it was a joke. Plus, it was clear Sasha and Jon were very by-the-books. If Jon would lecture Tim about texting, he certainly wasn’t the type to do anything illegal.

Still, the number of times Tim had joked about it made Martin irrationally nervous. That and Simon being cryptic and threatening. And the buildings trying to make him sick. And Jon-

Sliding his phone into his back pocket, Martin distracted himself with preparing the rest of their dinner. It wasn’t the time to spiral. He had chicken in the oven and vegetables to steam.

Dinner was made and eaten within the hour, and Martin’s phone stayed silent for the duration. When his mother asked to go outside after dinner, he did his best not to be outwardly irritated at her change of mind and did as she requested, covering his face to protect himself against the night wind.

It wasn’t until later when he had just about settled down for bed that Martin checked his phone, under the pretense that he was setting his alarm for the morning. There were no unread messages, so he set his phone down onto the side table to charge.

The fog rolled outside his window, illuminated by the weak light of the front porch. When sleep eventually took him, he dreamed of nothing.

--

When 6 am came, Martin found himself in an empty lighthouse. Under his arm was the expected box of documents he was to work with for the week, which he set on his desk. He then dragged his chair back over from the folding table, which was still littered with loose papers and three used mugs.

“Right, right. Library day. They could’ve at least remembered to clean up a bit.” Martin brought the dirty dishware to the kitchen and placed them in the sink to soak, then looked around for something clean to use for himself. He managed to find a kitschy one he’d always liked, with a tiny, smiling whale on the side.

“Looks like it’s just you and me.”

His voice echoed through the building, the final ‘me’ stretching on much too long.

Martin glared out into the main room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alone, laugh it up.”

Again, the last ‘up’ lingered and drifted up the stairs, and he wanted to slap himself for walking right into that one. There was no point in talking back to a possibly haunted building.

He settled on silently making himself some tea, then dove into the week’s work. It was mind-numbing, as expected, but after a while it grew to be calming and familiar. The weird ache in his chest gave way to distraction, and hours ticked by without interruption. Martin began to feel normal, or his version of normal before things started to be poked and prodded. Before he knew it, he had eaten lunch and was on his way to the second half of his shift.

“...up.”

Martin jumped, almost knocking over his tea. That had been his voice. Just a single noise that hung in the air with no echo to be heard. No, he thought, no, no, no, he was not going to take any bait in this place. He righted himself in his chair and reached for the pen he had dropped.

“Me. Up.” Even with his original tone resting in those syllables, the new sense of urgency was unmistakable.

Against every part of his brain screaming at him, he took a step toward the stairs. Before he could go any further the front door swung open.

“Hey, Martin, we’re back,” Sasha said, carrying a file folder. “We- woah, are you okay?”

Martin stopped and stared at her, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. “Um. Define okay.”

The three researchers stopped and shared a concerned look. Sasha walked over to set her things on the table. “Okay, okay, clearly something happened.”

“What’s going on?” Jon asked, looking around warily.

Before Martin could open his mouth, his voice came from above. “Up.”

Everyone froze, holding their breath for a moment. Jon was first to break the silence, his voice filled with disdain. “Good. It can record us now.”

“Up. Now.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Tim gripped Jon’s shoulder and gestured insistently to the front door. They all vacated the building and stopped on the front steps, finally letting out a collective breath.

“Have you all, um, dealt with ghosts? Directly?” Martin sat on the bottom step, rubbing his hands over each other. “Ones that take the last word you said?”

“We don’t know if it’s a ghost, but no, not personally,” Jon replied, sitting a few steps up and typing on his laptop. “Can’t say I really believe in them, either.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, sure, definitely not a ghost in there.”

“I’m inclined to suspect something more concrete. Somehow, the lighthouse was trapping the sound of our voices. According to Martin it only used the last words he uttered, and the same happened with me. With only a few things to work with, it wouldn’t be hard to-”

“To accidentally order us up the creepy staircase of the creepy lighthouse.” Tim stood, hands in his pockets.

“If it’s using ‘me’, ‘up’, and ‘now’, what else could it say? Otherwise, there was just ‘back’ and okay’ as far as I can tell.”

They continued to go back and forth, Jon being much more stubborn about the whole thing than Martin would’ve expected from a paranormal researcher. Maybe ghosts were an especially contended subject? It didn’t seem like it from Tim and Sasha’s reactions, but Martin was out of his depth. People turning into seals was a far cry from specters and mind-bending architecture.

Still, it being a ghost sounded right. There were meaning and intent behind the words repeated back to him, he was certain of it. If that was the case, maybe there was someone or something in this place trying to talk to him. That’s what ghosts did, right? Reach out to the living?

“Then we’ll just have Martin stay outside for a bit,” Jon said, closing his laptop decisively.

Martin found himself back in the conversation. “What?”

“We’re going to try the place Simon pointed us toward again. Hopefully, we’ll be let in this time and get some answers. The library didn’t have much in terms of useful information, I’m afraid.”

Sputtering, Martin replied, “So, what, I’m just going to wait out here? I still have work to do!”

Jon stared at him and sighed. “Bring it outside then. It shouldn’t rain today, and we don’t want to risk anything now that we know something is… active. You’re sure nothing like this has ever happened?”

“No, this is... new.”

“Then the safest thing is to avoid whatever is going on. It’s for your own well-being, and since we’re probably the cause of it, I don’t want to be in the business of putting people in danger.” Jon said. Martin was at a loss for arguments and nodded. “Good. If our luck hasn’t changed, we’ll be back soon. Otherwise, I suppose Tim will text you the good news.” There was a slight, acidic turn to Jon’s voice near the end that Martin couldn’t place.

Martin pushed himself onto his feet. “Okay… good luck? I guess? I’ll go get my work, then.”

Apparently satisfied, Jon placed his laptop into its case and motioned for the other two to follow him. As they left, Tim shot Martin a worried thumbs up.

When Martin walked back inside, he stopped halfway to the desk, eyes glued to the staircase. He had told Jon he would get his things and go outside.

“Hello?” Martin waited and got no response. “If you’re a ghost, now’s the time to say so.” Still nothing. He let out a noise of frustration. “Say something? Please?”

“Hello? Up. Please?”

Taking a glance back at his desk, Martin bit his tongue and internally berated himself. No use giving the place a name to call him. He really was an idiot, he thought, creeping up the staircase as if the ghost might hear his footfalls. Why had he taught it to be polite?

[onenightandgone]

Gone: Chapter One

New home, new family, New York. What else is new?

Reader x Sehun Angst/Fluff

Moving in with Joanie was one of the best decisions you ever made.

Joanie was sweet and caring, but not the overbearing mother type. You didn’t need a parent. The three-bedroom apartment that you split with her was everything that you could want. Joanie and you collaborated to make the extra bedroom into a studio, and you combined your paycheques to buy all the equipment you needed to produce your own music at home.

Your job at the production company had a steep learning curve, but with all your experience, you were up to the task. Your three-month review consisted of your supervisors singing your praises and looking expectantly into the future to see where you would end up.

You still picked up your guitar regularly and worked out new arrangements, some of which turned into songs. The inspiration you needed was built into the skyscrapers and subway cars and the multicoloured fabric that was New York City all around you. The city was good to you, good for you.

As roommates and friends, you and Joanie grew close. She had been living in New York for a few years before you and had her own established social groups. You were lucky though, and hit it off with her friends, who were now your friends. They were all a few years older than you, but no one noticed or cared. They treated you like you were your own person, a thing you valued, and avoided treating you like you were Heather’s little sister and nothing more.

The musician set within the group became your second family, and they visited your apartment studio regularly, not without complaints from your neighbours living downstairs. With time and practice, your band Audiowish was born. Cliff banged it out on the drums with Paul playing a mean electric guitar. Joanie played the keyboard and was in charge of any sound effects. Jonesy was Paul’s wife and the best bassist you knew; she had been one of Heather’s best friends as well. You did your best with the mic as the lead vocalist.

The time and energy invested into Audiowish gained you a small following in New York, and your boss lent you and your bandmates the studio at your work to use as a practice space. The studio at your apartment was still the best place to write, however, as you could see Central Park sitting at the desk by the window. The band was a cooperative effort with all the members, each one being skilled at their own craft, and within a few months, you were putting together an album. You were halfway through the editing process at Christmas when your brother Ryan decided to visit for the holidays.

You heard the door unlock from your perch at the Mac in the studio. The sun was just starting to lower down and turn purple, and snow was starting to fall.

‘Y/N! We’re here!’ called Joanie from the entryway. You took your headphones off and made your appearance to see Ryan lowering his bags from his shoulders onto the floor.

‘Little sister!’ he grinned. You could feel nothing but shock. He was being nice. Why was he being nice?

From behind him, Joanie widened her eyes in surprise. She glanced at you in wonder, and you knew she could feel everything you were feeling.

‘Um, hi?’ was all you could manage before Ryan stepped out of his shoes and walked over to hug you.

‘So, Ryan!’ interjected Joanie, masterfully sensing your extreme discomfort. ‘What made you decide to visit for Christmas?’ She was making a point, and obviously. Your shoulders were still tensed as Ryan released you and stepped back to look at her.

‘I can’t just visit my family? What other reasons do I need?’ he laughed. He looked back to you. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m staying at a hotel down on Fifth. I have some meetings with Equus Recs to go to, so I’ll be out of your hair for mostly.’

You released the deep breath you had been holding with an internal sigh of relief. Ryan wasn’t here for quality time. He had established the family dynamic of distance, and you were both comfortable with it. The thought of this standard operational procedure changing made you feel anxious and defensive, like you always were at the end of Ryan’s rare visits.

‘Equus?’ you questioned with a raised eyebrow. ‘That’s my company. Why are you meeting with them?’ The tension returned as Ryan shook his head.

‘It’s not for low-level button pushers to know,’ he jabbed. There he was - the old Ryan you were more familiar with. His bluntness was renowned.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘That’ll be my cab! I’ll meet you guys for dinner later,’ he promised on his way back out the door.

Your brother had come in and gone like a whirlwind, leaving you and Joanie staring at each other, frozen in shock. The air felt like it was stuck in your lungs, and time felt like it would never go forward again.

Joanie was the first to move. She pushed you down onto the sofa and shuffled into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Tea was always her answer to these situations. She returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of it.

You held the ceramic warmth to your chest as you finally let yourself relax back into the furniture.

‘He still didn’t really explain why he was here,’ you muttered. Yes, the meetings, but you still didn’t know why, and it made you feel nervous.

‘It’ll be okay,’ Joanie said immediately. ‘He never stays for long, you know that. Hopefully we don’t have to see him much.’ You nodded.

‘I hope that his meetings have nothing to do with me,’ you added. You felt like you were crazy for thinking that you might even be mentioned, but Ryan suddenly being in your city to meet with your company felt too random, like it was too much of a coincidence for you to think otherwise. You didn’t believe in coincidences.

You and Joanie finished your tea ritual, and of course, you did feel much better by the time you got to the bottom of the mug. It was a practice night, and right on cue, Paul and Jonesy burst through the door. Knocking and doorbell ringing had become antiquated and obsolete at this point in your friendship, and everyone in Audiowish came and went as they pleased. You forced yourself to come back to life and chatted with them about Ryan’s sudden and unexpected appearance while you waited for Cliff.

You didn’t hear from Ryan again for a few days. You managed to avoid running into him at your workplace without any real effort on your part, but before you could wonder what happened to him, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You paused the track you were working on.

‘Hi, Ryan, I’m working,’ you said grimly. The interruption was unwelcome, especially during the creative process involving someone else’s music.

‘I know, I know, your boss said you would be. Can you get everyone involved in Audiowish to come up to the boardroom this afternoon?’ he asked.

‘Wait, how do you even know about that? What’s this about?’ You really were curious now. What could he possibly want?

‘Your boss played me some of the tracks you laid down this fall,’ Ryan began. ‘I’m not gonna lie, sis, it’s impressive stuff and I want to be involved. Can you get everyone to meet up at the boardroom here this afternoon?” You choked at the suddenness of it all.

‘I-I can try,’ you managed. ‘Why though? I don’t understand,’ you continued, demanding clarification.

‘I want to be involved in this,’ he repeated, ‘and I can be better involved if you relocate the whole thing to my side of the pond. What do you think?’

It took a moment for you to process everything he had just said to you. The possibilities of what could happen, of what Audiowish could be loomed in front of you, threatening only because of their overwhelming nature. You felt small.

‘Y-y-you want me to move…’ you breathed out into the phone.

‘Yes, dummy, to Seoul with me. Are you in or not?’ The harshness woke up your stunned brain and thawed frozen tongue.

‘Let me talk with Joanie, I’ll get back to you,’ you said before hanging up. Greetings and goodbyes were a formality that you and your brother never bothered with.

Your hands shook and you almost called the wrong person several times before you got on the line with Joanie. She conferenced in the others, and before you could make any objections, they had all agreed.

You were moving to Seoul, and you didn’t have a choice.

Prologue | One | Two | Three