#AU: Broken Lighthouse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captain-mj · 9 months

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hi! no pressure, just want to offer you an idea for non military au. ghost is former soldier, now he is a lighthouse keeper. one day he finds unconscious and maybe wounded selkie!soap on the beach and decides to take care of him, because the nearest city is very far away and he doesn't know what to do in strange situations like this.

I love this idea so much! Wrote this in a series of scenes to cover more of the story :) Also I wanted it to feel like an indie movie where you walk away feeling like you missed something.

Ghost was smoking quietly outside of the lighthouse, watching the stars. He was having one of those nights where he couldn't sleep. All of his duties were done for the night and the light would continue without him until morning. But he couldn't sleep.

Movement happened at the shoreline. His eyes quickly flicked over to it, watching for it to happen again. The water lapped over the shore and hit something, making it splash. Something that definitely was not a rock.

Occasionally, seals would wash on shore so he wanted to make sure nothing bad was happening. If they were hurt or tangled in nets, he'd try to help them. Even if the bastards liked biting him.

When he saw the soft fur lighting up in the moonlight, he resigned himself to having to help one of them. The very human foot that appeared though. That was new.

Ghost slowly walked closer, not making a sound.

The person in front of him had a seal coat on and nothing else. In this freezing cold, that wasn't a good idea. There was also blood that was slowly spreading around.

Ghost moved him gently, seeing where there was a broken spearhead in his side. Who the fuck uses spears? What the fuck happened to him that he'd be in the position to get hurt like this?

With how bad it was and how far they were from civilization, there was no way he'd make it unless Ghost did something. Good thing Ghost did all his own medical care and he could cover it.

Hopefully, mystery man wouldn't be too upset. He was sure if he explained he was ex-military and was medically trained, he'd understand. Or he wouldn't and he'd sue him.

Mystery man was heavy. And naked besides the coat. Not even underwear. He made sure to keep his... bits covered. Didn't want mystery guy waking up in a compromising position.

He'd hate to get blood all over his bed, but the couch would be hard to work with. So he laid mystery man in his bed, exposing the wound and not much else.

Ghost heated up a needle and threaded it. He started to clean the wound with vodka and pulled the spearhead out. As the needle slid in, the mystery man twitched but didn't wake up. The wound was deep and bloody, but he still got it under control. With a few bandages on top, he looked just fine.

The coat had to come off. It had blood all over it and needed to be cleaned. If it set in the fur, it might stain it. He gently took it off.

Ghost's focus on the wound shifted to focus on the man himself. His body was extremely toned like he worked out constantly. Scars littered his body, big ones that looked like they were from a shark and little ones from something. He couldn't quite figure it out.

Ghost put a blanket over him. After a moment, he tucked him in. Felt a little silly to be a grown man tucking in a grown man, but he did it for some reason. Mystery man sank a little further into the bed when he did it. His mohawk just barely stuck out from the blankets.

The coat. Ghost grabbed it and took it to his laundry room. With how it looked, he probably needed to handwash it. He soaked it first, getting all of the blood out, before he put some soap on it. It was the same he used for his balaclava so he knew it wouldn't be damaging. Then he put it up to dry.

It took a while, but he managed to fall asleep on the couch.

A few hours later, there was movement in his home. He tensed up when it happened and went on high alert. On instinct, he went for the knife under his pillow but it wasn't there.

Mystery man was staring at him. Giant black eyes staring deep into him. Feral.

"Where the fuck did you put it?" Mystery man moved so fast, pouncing on him, using his thighs to pin him down. His hands grabbed Ghost's wrists so he couldn't attack him.

He was still naked.

Ghost kept his eyes trained on his eyes, not wanting to look down and be a perv.

Was it technically pervy if this guy jumped on him?

"Where is my coat?" He bared his teeth.

Ghost's eyes widened, seeing the set of seal teeth. The eyes.

"What the fuck are you?"

Mystery man snapped at him, ready to sink his teeth in to him, and then winced right as Ghost felt the warm blood hit his stomach. With practiced ease, he flipped them around, pinning him down now. He then stood up and got some more bandages. "You ripped your stitches. Stay right there."

Silence followed as Ghost restitched him and put more bandages on him. Once he was sure he wouldn't bleed out again, he pressed him down on the couch. Mystery man looked up at him, something fierce and wild in his expression. He looked beautiful honestly. In a frightening way. Like an angel.

"What are you?"

He snarled at him but looked down at where Ghost's hand was pressed to his chest to keep him down. His hand dwarfed his chest. It made the situation a lot less tense. Both of them believing they could definitely kick the other's ass.

"Selkie."

"The fuck is that?"

"Sometimes I'm a seal. Sometimes I'm a person." He explained, slowly relaxing more. "Where is my coat?"

Ghost realized this person was certified insane. Though he did see the dark eyes and seal teeth, though maybe they both were. "I cleaned it."

"Cleaned it?"

Ghost nodded. "Yeah. I washed it since it was bloody. You're going to need to stay here for a bit. You'll need to heal some more or you'll rip those stitches and bleed out. No jumping around either."

He frowned but seemed more content now.

He was still fucking naked.

Ghost grimaced. "What's your name?"

"Soap."

"Soap?"

"That's what the people up the street call me."

Ghost thought about the fact that there was not another house for about twenty miles and decided to ignore that. "Just relax. I'll find you some clothes?"

"Why?"

Ghost wrinkled his nose at him and went to his bedroom. He found a few things and looked up, freezing.

his face.

He hadn't been wearing his mask last night. Why would he? It was cold, but not that cold and there was no one for miles.

This guy had seen his face. And while yes, he had seen this man's... everything, his face was an intimate affair.

If he put the mask on now, it would cause even more questions and problems. If he didn't, the man would still be looking at him.

Then the man was there.

"I ripped my stitches again."

"Fucking hell."

Once Soap was bandaged, dressed and back in his coat, he was more than happy to take up Ghost's entire couch, body spread out and branching. The coat hugged him perfectly. A glove made for him.

His bright blue eyes were staring at him. Ghost had to stare and try to remember if they were blue before as well. They fit his face. Bright blue eyes with tan skin and pretty features. Not delicate by any means. Strong jaw and nose. But definitely pretty.

"So, Ghost." Soap started to speak, glancing at where Ghost was cooking for them in the kitchen. "Why are you here?"

"I run the lighthouse."

"The big tower with the light on it?" Soap sat up curiously, tilting his head.

Ghost nodded. "That's the one."

Soap hummed. "Always wonder what that did." He put his head on the back of the couch, staring at Ghost with his pretty blue eyes and dark eyelashes.

"Helps boats know where the shore is."

Soap hummed in response and continued to watch.

Ghost brought him food, watching Soap start to shovel it in his mouth with his hands. "Do you not know how to use a fork?"

Soap snapped at him and Ghost let it go.

Ghost watched his progress with great interest. Soap's wounds healed faster than the average person and it healed cleaner. It was still a slow process though so he had to watch carefully. He never slipped the mask back on. Maybe he should’ve. It would be smarter too.

Soap noticed the masks but he never said anything. He never passed judgement on Ghost’s quirks. His giant blue eyes peered at him all the time. Absorbing him. It was odd, being the one watched. Though, he did watch him back.

They got into long staring contests which were tons of fun for him. It was calming. Weirdly. Soap was much like the ocean he came from. Unsettling and eerie and beautiful. Especially the eyes.

Ghost did research, trying to find out if maybe selkies had an effect like this. Instead he just found dozens and dozens of things about their coats.

He didn’t touch the thing. It looked soft. But it made him nervous in a weird way. Like he’d make it dirty. Didn’t help that Soap went from civil human to snarling animal if he glanced at it. Big black eyes ready to rip him to shreds.

Soap never truly scared him. Unsettled, sure. But Ghost was pretty sure he could take him.

Pretty sure.

Soap was complaining again. Maybe horrid noises as he rolled around the floor.

“I could help if I knew what was wrong.”

“Dirty.”

“You want a bath?”

Soap paused his writhing to consider. “Yes. I would like... a bath."

Ghost nodded and fixed it for him. He made it cold. For some reason it felt right to do so.

Soap sank deep into the water and looked very happy. It made Ghost feel calmer. Big black eyes stared at him from the water.

He had seen them before. While out on the beach, he had seen those eyes staring at him.

A predator from the depths. Maybe like cats and wolves, this predator could be tamed as well.

Ghost grabbed the shampoo and started to wash Soap's hair, enjoying the softness of the strands. He used nicer shampoo for the smell so he hoped it was okay. With how Soap's was styled, he assumed he took pride in his hair.

Soap relaxed into the freezing water, humming. "A little warm for my taste."

"Should I put ice in it?"

"That sounds good."

So Ghost poured ice in the bathtub. He started to wonder what this was. If maybe he had finally killed himself and this was some weird purgatory. Or maybe it had been so long since he had a conversation that he was imagining this. What if he had a wild seal in his home?

Ghost decided this was a path he didn't want to travel. He could live with not knowing.

Soap relaxed and his eyes went back to the nice blue.

Ghost took his bed back after the third night. Soap stayed on the couch. He was still healing and outside of when he wanted to be dramatic, he rarely moved.

Ghost cooked for them every morning and night before going to check on the lighthouse. He did his normal duties and then came home in record time every day.

Soap was always doing… something. Usually staring out the window at the ocean or biting at his pillows or laying dramatically on the floor like a broken doll. Ghost would sit with him and they’d talk.

They sat there for a few minutes before Soap looked at him. Dark eyes staring into him again. Shredding him. Making a place inside of him that only Soap could squirm into.

"If you died, you think you'd go to Valhalla?"

"Valhalla is for people who die fighting."

"Are you not fighting now?" Soap asked him and smiled. It was impish. Like he had secret Ghost wasn't getting.

Ghost frowned. "No. I'm not fighting now."

Soap grabbed Ghost's hand, comparing their hand sizes. "So what are we eating tonight? Fish again?"

"Yeah, I can make more fish." Ghost glanced at him, watching his mouth.

"Thank you." Soap batted his eyelashes at him and smiled softly.

They fell in sync so easily. Ghost cooking and Soap by his side to watch it. If it weren't for Ghost, he'd eat the fish raw, but it was impolite to do so in the house.

Soap licked over his teeth. Giant things. Sharp.

Ghost thought of what it would be like to feel them pierce his throat.

Ghost wasn't sleeping. He laid down and just stared at the ceiling.

Soap had healed. He could leave now. Maybe that's what kept Ghost up. Or maybe it was the fact that Soap was clearly moving.

The door creaked open and Soap stepped in. He didn't speak, just found where the bed was in the dark. Slowly, he got on the bed next to him and then moved on top of him, straddling him.

"My name, when I played human, was Johnny."

"My name was Simon."

It felt inevitable. The way their lips brushed against each other. Pressed soft but insistent. Intent on devouring each other.

"Simon." Johnny said softly. "First human I've met than I've liked."

"Thank you." Ghost felt honored weirdly enough. He pulled him closer to kiss him more.

Johnny's mouth traveled down his jaw and to his throat. Simon relaxed, waiting for the sting. For the inevitable death. He'd welcome it like a lover. Like Johnny.

Instead it was only soft kisses. Trailing and claiming. Spiraling around. Fingertips searching each other in the dark.

Johnny moved and slowly undid the tie on Ghost's pants. "I want to give my gratitude."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. Want you to touch me."

This was Valhalla. Or maybe that purgatory he feared. Scars all over his body ached as he reached for Johnny's face, cupping him. "Johnny."

"Simon..." He breathed against him.

Their mouths stayed close, breathing in each other's air as they moved against each other. It was slow and aching and it made Ghost want to take Johnny's coat and mix them together in the sheets. To never let him leave and stay there for eternity, breathing each other in.

He'd never. Johnny finally sank his teeth into him. Into his shoulder. Ghost groaned and grabbed on to him. Johnny's hands. They dragged him under.

It had been so long since he had been touched. He felt undone by Johnny. Simon tried to reciprocate, to make Johnny feel just as good.

Until they were both wrecked and panting and sinking into the bed.

Johnny clawed at him and buried his face in his neck. He kept him pinned down so his hands could go over Simon's body.

The touch was heavenly. It felt like it was burning him.

Simon held him close.

"Are you going to disappear in the morning?"

"Do you want me to?"

Simon held him closer, fingers going through the fur of his coat. "No. God no."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #cod #ghostsoap #soapghost

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

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dio. 🤍

ao3 • writing tag • time travel au tag (stories & snippets) steddie drabbles & microfics ☕️ ko-fi vibes only. mostly steddie, sometimes clarkson.

🌷 WIPs & multi-chaptered stories

➤ i’ll try. i’ll try. (but i couldn’t be better) WIP M | 74k | 12/? | time travel au, angst, steve whump Sent back to 1983, Steve tries to save his friends from everything that's coming and takes on the battle against the Upside Down alone with El by his side.

➤ nice to meet you, where you been? T | 12k | 3/3 | tattoo shop au, pure fluff, trans eddie Chrissy sends Eddie to check out a tattoo shop. Little does he know it belongs to Steve Harrington, or that they’ll both be falling for each other at lightning

➤ untitled knight!Steve / bard!Eddie WIP T | 10k | 2/? | tumblr: part 1 | part 2 | ... regency au (freeform), enemies to lovers Eddie is a bard of great renown who returns to Hawkins ready and willing to spite the people who cast him out all his life. He is in search of his muse: the knight Dustin has been writing to him about who has inspired his greatest ballads and poems. Dustin’s Sir Steve is nowhere to be found, but Lord Harrington seems to hold a grudge against Eddie and he wants to find out why.

➤ shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides WIP M | 5.8k | 2/7 | tumblr: part 1 | part 2 | ... A steddie ghost story. Steve Harrington, disgraced and disowned by his father for moral insanity, has been haunted by eerie dreams of a mysterious lighthouse ever since he was a little boy. His lighthouse quickly turns from recurring night terror to gruesome reality when his superior delegates him to fix the broken light and be the new keeper. But he soon finds out that it is he who is being kept.

➤ tales of blue | who did this to you? WIP M | 13k | 3/4 | tumblr: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | Eddie POV, pre-s4, injured Steve, hurt/comfort One summer's day in 1985, Eddie finds a very injured Steve in the boathouse, and even though he doesn't want the kind of trouble that this might bring, he can't just leave him there. So, scared though he is, he takes Steve to the one person he trusts to always make everything better.

➤ untitled kas!eddie / steve WIP M | 5.3k | 1/? | tumblr: part 1 | post-canon, hurt/comfort, enemies steddie The extent of his brain injuries and the intensity of his migraines is something Steve has been keeping secret from everyone. When he goes to Kas to let him feed, however, the sudden blood loss gives him a migraine. Kas decides to take care of him.

one shots & ficlets under the cut (ao3) -> ao3 link in the tumblr fic post

🌷 fluff & floaty

floor time fic (ao3) Eddie POV, falling in love, fluff, neurodivergent steddie

eddie likes Good Words (ao3) Steve POV, stablished relationship, neurodivergent steddie, echolalia

rambly Steve in love Eddie POV, established relationship, love confession

soft insomniacs (ao3) Eddie POV, short trans Eddie, soft Steve, bickering, established relationship

3 am phone call (ao3) Steve POV, soft, pre-relationship

car ride in love Eddie POV, floaty, boys in love, Andante, Andante

stargazing Steve POV, floaty & soft, boys in love

sick fic Eddie POV, domestic fluff & silliness, steve is sick, eddie is in love

first kiss Eddie POV, floaty, boys in love

loving eddie munson (is a full body experience) (ao3) Steve POV, floaty, boys in love, introspection, love confessions

floaty steddie date hours Eddie POV, established relationship, date night, marriage proposals, softness, dancing in the rain

sick fic 2 (woollen bat hat) Eddie POV, sick!Steve, soft boyfriends in love, cuddling, Eddie reads Momo to Steve

🌷 yearning

✨yearning hours (a-side) (ao3) Eddie POV, heart-wrenching yearning, light imagery, (mis)communication, vulnerability, first kiss

✨yearning hours (b-side) (ao3) Steve POV, insecurity, trauma, darkness imagery, vulnerability, first kiss

✨yearning hours (bonus track) (ao3) Eddie POV, light imagery, vulnerability, getting together

summer nights were made for steve (ao3) Eddie POV, yearning, getting together, the stars are pretty but steve is prettier

✨yearning hours (hidden track) (ao3) Steve POV, floaty music, getting together, sudden love confession, pining, A Flock of Seagulls

✨ high yearning make-out fic (smutty) (ao3) Eddie POV, recreational drug use, dry humping, coming in pants, so much yearning, so much kissing, spicy six as friends

🌷 hurt/comfort

insomniac eddie & human weighted blanket steve Eddie POV, developing relationship, comfort

Eddie being inexperienced at relationships Eddie POV, established relationship, dramatic eddie, boys in love, cuddles

spiralling writer eddie Eddie POV, established relationship, comfort, emotionally intelligent steve

‘You’d be a great dad’ Eddie POV, established relationship, insecure Eddie, comfort

steve has seizures (ao3) Steve POV, angst, self-isolation, seizures, post-s3, found family, background steddie

nonverbal steve gets a hug (ao3) Steve POV, established steddie, nonverbal steve, caring eddie, touch starved steve

sensory overload steddie Steve POV, soft boys, building relationship, nonverbal steve, touch-averse eddie, floor time as the cure

🌷 angst & hurt/no comfort

spiralling steve Steve POV, traumatised steve, nonverbal steve, established steddie, eventual comfort

breakup Steve POV, steve is not okay, breaking up

My Boy Steve POV, major character death, post-s4, inspired by My Girl funeral scene

memory wipe musings Steve POV, post-canon, established relationship, breakup-ish

post-breakup steddie Steve POV, a follow-up for @steddieas-shegoes prompt-fill | years after breaking up with steve eddie writes him a letter and they talk, mentions of drug abuse and rehab, starting over, 2nd chances (it's hopeful but it's kinda really sad)

knightmærs Eddie POV, prince!steve, traitor!eddie, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it's intrigue, brainwashing, torture, eddie whump, manipulation, open ending, violence & threats of death

🌷 smut(ish)

steve wants to hear eddie Eddie POV, established relationship, anal sex

sexytimes in a tent Steve POV, trying not to get caught, established relationship, hand jobs

sub!kas eddie (drabble) (tag for more) Steve POV, good boy kas, soft dom steve

school reunion sex Eddie POV, chubby!steve, dom-ish top steve, belly kink, light degradation kink, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, reunion sex, good boy eddie

misc. & gen

steve and nancy finally have A Talk Steve POV, apologies, communicating like adults, making up, platonic stancy

steve and mike coming out to each other (ao3) Steve POV, bisexual lighting, established background steddie, mike & steve sibling relationship

why'd you jump? (ao3) conversation at the quarry, coming out (kinda), working through trauma together, steve & mike sibling relationship, big brother Steve | cw: could read as suicidal tendencies or intrusive thoughts

a study in grief: steve and mike talking about barb (ao3) Steve POV, Barb's death anniversary, Barb was Mike's friend, grief, mourning, big brother Steve, Mike character study

stobin arsonist tendencies (drabble) Steve POV, robin wants to burn down steve's car and house, fucked up platonic besties, neurodivergent swag

🌷 i'll try-verse (time travel au) oneshots

steve takes el to see her first meteor shower

el calls steve magic

eddie finds nonverbal steve

tina's party steddie hug

steve meets wayne

clarkson fics

meet-sweet | kids duty (ao3) clarkson origin post with @unclewaynemunson. Wayne POV, first meeting, slow burn, pre-relationship, soft

coursework, caffeine and cuddles (ao3) teacher student!steve, domestic fluff, established clarkson & steddie, found family

if i fell in love with you (ao3) Scott POV, soft, established relationship, domestic fluff, If I Fell

home. (ao3) Scott POV, comfort, floaty, established relationship, after-school car ride, domesticity

quiet. (ao3) Scott POV, hurt/comfort, domesticity, established relationship, wayne doesn’t like how quiet scott’s house gets

don’t let go (i won’t) (ao3) Scott POV, hurt/comfort, found family, post-s4, shared trauma, steddie, established relationship, wayne gets a bad flashback and scott calls steddie for help

ronance fics

snow angels for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six winter fic challenge, Nancy POV, pining, first kiss, getting together

yearning hours (ao3) Nancy POV, pining, yearning, realisations, pre-relationship, semi-floaty

#steddie #clarkson #flowercrowngods masterlist #masterlist #all my fics are just vibes tbh #there are some misc ficlets in the writing tag still but eh these are the ones i think are okay

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laiqualaurelote · 10 hours

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Ok but for the file thing, I'm DYING to know more about "The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign" pls <3

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! this is an extremely cracky AU in which the Richmond Players all start manifesting superpowers.

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign. The second was Zoreaux.

To be fair to Isaac, he had failed to chop Jamie in half. (More on this later.) Thus, while Jamie went off to sulk and Zoreaux ambled up to poke at the broken sign saying, “Maybe we can make a new one?” Isaac thought nothing of clapping him on the back and replying, “Sure thing, bruv.”

His hand went through Zoreaux like a hot knife through butter. Zoreaux didn’t exactly fall apart, but he did sort of peel away in two halves like a melted clock in a Dalí painting. He was screaming the whole time. It was the modern art mash-up nobody wanted to see.

Isaac gaped at him in horror. The other players were yelling. “Bro! What did you do!”

“I didn’t – ” began Isaac.

Zoreaux was still screaming. Weirdly, there was no blood or anything. The edges of him seemed to have been pinched off, like Play-doh.

“We must put him back together!” shouted Dani. He and Richard were on their knees, trying to jam the two halves of Zoreaux back together, only Zoreaux seemed to be drooping and stretching through their fingers. “Mon dieu,” gasped Richard. “He is like cheese! But not good cheese! Like the cheap mozzarella from Pizza Express!”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” shrieked Zoreaux. “What the fuck is happening!”

“I got the duct tape!” called Will, rushing in. He tossed the roll to Sam, who began trying to tape Zoreaux back together as the rest of the players rushed in to try and help.

“Wait, wait.” Something was happening as Sam’s hands brushed against the halves of Zoreaux. They seemed to be melding back together. “Sam!” cried Dani. “It’s you! You are healing him!”

“Wow,” said Sam, staring at his hands as they knit Zoreaux back together. “Wait, I need to make sure he’s aligned properly. Can I get more light?”

Everyone was temporarily blinded as Dani burst into a blazing ball of brilliance.

“...okay,” said Sam after some time, “way more light than I needed, but thank you.”

“De nada, Sam!”

It was at this point that Trent Crimm walked into the room. He stopped and put on his glasses, as if that would clarify the tableau of the AFC Richmond team duct-taping their cloven goalkeeper together while one of their strikers was blazing like a lighthouse beacon and their captain stood in the corner with his hands apologetically raised in the air.

“What,” said Trent, “the actual fuck?”

Trent’s first thought was that he would have to re-pitch his book as a fantasy novel, because nobody was going to take it seriously as non-fiction any more.

“So you’ve got healing hands,” he repeated to Sam.

“I think so?” Sam stared at his hands. “Or maybe I just have the ability to stick things back together. I don’t know. Perhaps I should test it on another injury?”

Across the locker room, O’Brien cleared his throat. “Sam? Can you touch my butt?”

Trent and the players turned to stare at him.

“Not for gay reasons,” O’Brien clarified. “For science.”

“Both of those are valid,” said Sam. “I would be happy to touch your butt for you.”

Trying to ignore O’Brien casually dropping trou in the corner, Trent removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dani’s brightness was giving him a migraine. “I’m sorry, bruv,” said Isaac to Zoreaux for the thousandth time.

“It’s okay,” said Zoreaux. They had yet to remove the duct tape, just in case, so he looked like a very poorly-wrapped package. “It didn’t actually hurt. I was just freaking out, bro.”

Babatunde was holding on to Zoreaux’s little finger and walking across the room while Bumbercatch followed him with a measuring tape to see how far the finger could stretch. “Three metres!” yelled Bumbercatch as Richard tried to cross the room to his locker and ended up having to do the limbo under the finger. “Okay, take it around the corner!”

“I just thought,” went on Isaac, “‘cos I touched Jamie, and I didn’t chop him in half…” He trails off.

“What?” said Jamie. And then, as Isaac made a move towards him, “Whoa! Are you fucking mental?”

“Sorry.” Isaac backed off.

“Could I test a theory?” ventured Trent. “Bearing in mind that I mean this as a purely scientific inquiry.”

“Sure,” said Jamie. “Whatev – oi!” he yelled as Trent stabbed him in the hand with his pen.

The pen snapped in two. Ink splattered over Jamie’s hand, the skin of which remained unbroken. Jamie screwed up his nose. “That’s disgusting, man.”

“I think you’re invulnerable, Jamie,” said Trent.

Jamie considered this. “That mean I can’t be hurt?”

“I believe so, yes. We’ll have to run more tests to be sure.”

“Huh,” said Jamie. “Sick.”

“It worked!” O’Brien yelled from across the room. “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!”

“Okay,” said Trent wearily, “so we’ve got…five superpowers that have manifested so far. Anybody else feel a superpower coming on?”

“I got one,” called out Jan Maas. “I’m always right.”

The locker room erupted in laughter. “Shut the fuck up, Jan Maas,” they chorused.

Jan shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

#wip ask game #procrasktination #ted lasso #isaac mcadoo #thierry zoreaux #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #dani rojas #jan maas #trent crimm

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mysafehaneul · 8 months

Text

II.AQUAMARINE

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 7k+

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

ANGST, (obviously lol), Fluff, Smut (in future chapters not this one).

This is my original work for free comsumption because fuck capitalism but please do not steal it. All characters are orginal except The members of Seventeen, I do not own them. This is purely a work of fiction with no similarity with real life whatsoever, If any incident feel familiar, That is purely a coincedence. Please drop your feedback as it helps me feel motivated and improve. Happy Reading!

Previously On

CHAPTER 1

Here's the Picture that inspired this chapter.

CHAPTER 2: A RELUCTANT AGREEMENT

Ten years ago

Through the corridors of yesteryear, you recall the day when, in that bright classroom, red chairs and whiteboards, your professor's voice echoed through the room. The chirps of the birds could be heard from outside the window. Silent and attentive, like a gust of wind, he burst into the classroom, a whirlwind of energy and presence. Brown hair, tousled like a cascade of autumn leaves, His eyes bore the stories yet to be told; gentle and expressive, his brows arched as if to frame his emotions, a canvas upon which his feelings painted their masterpieces. And that smile, my goodness, that smile, a warm sunbeam peeking through the clouds, a constant presence on his lips, as if kindness itself chose to reside there. He tilted his lean body as he excused himself through the narrow passageway between the tables without knocking over the laptops or catching the professor's eyes.

Professor Stevens spun the pointer in his hand, expounding on the intricacies of change management. ''So as we can see from this point, change is an inherent part of life because the ability to adapt to a new circumstance is a hallmark of human resilience. From personal transformations to shifts within organisations, the psychological aspects of change and adaptation play a pivotal role in our ability to navigate unfamiliar'' His voice drew out and lost its trail when the movement at the back of the class disrupted his lecture. Catching sight of the intruder, voice laced with reprimand and amusement, he said, ''Stop right there, Mr. Mouse. Where are you attempting to sneak into?'' following his line of vision, all twenty pairs of eyes looking back at him. Through the collective attention of the classroom, Joshua could feel the burn of it as its evidence slowly rose to his cheeks. His embarrassment was palpable, an eloquent smile tucked away, and his gaze cast downward as if the most interesting object in the world were now on the floor beneath him. ''The class started twenty minutes ago, young man,'' the professor's voice resonated. With a sheepish grin and the shoulder strap of his backpack clutched tightly over his shoulder, Joshua lifted his head, his fingers finding refuge at the back of his head. ''Sorry, Dr. S,'' a hint of apologetic charm twinkling in his eyes. A swift retort danced in the professor's gaze. ''Party went too long,'' he quipped, and a ripple of chuckles traversed the classroom. ''Come here and sit in your assigned seat'' and went back to the lecture. Reclaiming the reins of the lecture, he went back to highlighting the nuances of adaptation, echoing through the walls. But his words faded into the background as you stood in the midst of that moment, your heart beating in a newfound rhythm. Your gaze was an unwitting lighthouse, locked onto him, and the cadence of his movement to his seat enveloped your senses. Your reverie was broken by a nudge from your best friend. Pulling you back from your daydreams. Her voice, laced with playful jes, reached your ears. ''I get that he's cute, but stop doorling.''

A smile adorned your lips. Rolling your eyes, you forced your eyes back to your professor. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of the same brown eyes got fixated on the person right next to you.

...

Present day

Laughter flowed like a melody, woven into the golden threads of the lamps and chandeliers above the table. Amidst the opulent splendour of the dining hall, the clinking glasses and the delicate harmony of forks and knives became the soundtrack of the evening. Your parents are mainly leading the conversations, engaging in animated conversations about Mr. Hoshimoto, the CEO of Tiger Baby Media, and his inexplicable obsession with tigers. ''I tell you,'' your father declared, his voice filled with mirth and the boost of wine. '' One of these days, he'll start adding 'rawr' at the end of every sentence.'' The collective laughter that followed enveloped the room with shared amusement.

And there, across the expanse of the table, was him. His eyes, as sharp and inquisitive as a fox, a shade of black as deep and enigmatic as the night sky, held stories untold, a universe of thoughts and emotions concealed within their depths. His gaze was both intense and preceptive, as if he possessed an innate ability to see beyond the surface and to delve into the hidden corners of the soul. met yours in a challenge, a dance of determination that played out in unspoken verse. With a lazy smile gracing his lips, he laid down his fork, reaching for his glass in sync with your movement, like a subtle mirroring of your actions. A silent duel of wills, a tug of intentions, unfurled between you both. His words echoing in your head: the information you believed was unbeknownst to the whole world, he is aware of it. You steeled your resolve; no matter what, you would not let him breach your composure. You will not let him have the benefit of doubt that he got under your skin. You gave a subtle cheer to the glass and brought it to your lips.

But the universe had other plans. For your mother's voice, a beacon of redirection cut through the atmosphere, dissolving your silent standoff. A victorious grin danced on her lips, a know-it-all grin that spoke volumes of maternal triumph. ''Mrs.Jeon is asking you something,'' she announced, her words pulling you from the magnetic pull of his gaze. You redirected your attention, a reluctant withdrawal from the battlefield of gazes, only to meet the warm and understanding smile of Mrs. Jeon, who encouraged familiarity with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Call me Sunmi," she insisted, her tone one of amity. "So, Y/n, I've heard you completed your education and now handle your father's business in Switzerland. Any particular reason?" Her inquiry hung in the air, a canvas upon which you painted your aspirations and your reasons for charting your own path beyond the shadows of legacy. "I like the weather over there," you offered, your chuckles echoing like a chorus that surrounded you. "On a serious note," you continued, eyes glinting, determination set like steel. "I wanted to expand my horizons beyond the family's shadow, learn about the world, experience life, and make friends." And then, the audacity in his gaze pierced through, his mocking remark barely veiled, ''who feel like family'' a reminder that he was present in every corner of your world, even here. Your gaze, unwavering and defiant, shifted from Mrs. Jeon to him, a smile that whispered "Fuck off" without uttering a word. And then came the probing question that shifted the air—a playful inquiry about your romantic inclinations.

So, Y/N, do you have any boyfriends or girlfriends? '' "Suni—"

"Honey, it's the 20th century. A girl can have options." Sunmi's voice, cheekily defiant, carried an air of rebellion, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips as she leaned on her palm and elbows on the table. a posture that didn't sit well with your mother's etiquette-driven sensibilities.

"We're all friends here, aren't we?" she mused, her gaze challenging the boundaries of decorum. With a calculated tilt of your head and your voice a blend of wit and audacity, you responded, "Not sure. I'll have to check my dungeon in Switzerland to see if he's still there." The room held its breath, a suspended moment, a tightrope between jest and earnestness. Then, like a storm breaking, the room erupted in laughter—a deep, soulful laugh that enveloped you, drawing you into its embrace. Among the harmonies of shared amusement, his laughter stood out—a sonorous echo that mirrored the rhythm of your own mirth. He has a nice laugh, you thought to yourself. And amid the laughter, Sunmi's declaration washed over you like a gentle tide. "I like you," she confessed, her words an embrace of shared connection. "I knew I was going to like you." As the conversation flowed seamlessly back to its course, you found yourself excusing your way from the table—a retreat to solitude in the powder room. Yet even as you left, your curious eyes met his, his amused smile leaving a lingering trace on your thoughts.

In the realm where awareness transcends mere information, a deeper truth takes root. Information, like fleeting gusts of wind, is consumed and forgotten, but awareness—ah, awareness—unfurls like petals, revealing what lies beneath the façade presented to the world. It's the art of observation that grants one the privilege of peering beyond the surface, uncovering the hidden layers waiting to be unveiled. Such was the state that Wonwoo found himself in on a Thursday morning, stirred by a curiosity that had lain dormant for far too long. As your graceful figure retreated from the opulent dining hall, a realisation swept over him like a gentle breeze. He became acutely aware that the waters of your persona ran deeper than what shimmered on the surface, and an inexplicable urge surged within him to plunge into those depths. A subtle clearing of the throat snapped his thoughts back to the present, a reminder that it was impolite to let one's gaze linger too long. Such introspective musings were often doubled in embarrassment when witnessed by the lady's father. Caught in an unspoken exchange with your father, their eyes locked briefly, and an unspoken recognition passed between them. Your father then addressed Wonwoo, ''Young man,'' he began. ''I have to tell you, you make your father very proud. He was telling me how you have a keen eye for property.'' ''He flatters me, sir'' "Good work deserves appreciation," your father said, his words carrying the weight of wisdom. "It fuels productivity and fosters competition among peers. Learn to seek what you want, my boy, and when you find it, treasure it." With a tender gesture, he kissed your mother's hand, a symbol of the appreciation he spoke of. The secret smiles exchanged between them held volumes of shared understanding. Wonwoo's father chimed in, ''I agree'' his smile echoing his agreement. Amidst these exchanges, a restlessness began to claw at Wonwoo's insides. He excused himself from the table, his fingers twitching with a subtle anxiety. He needed solace, a moment of respite, and smoke. And so he rose from his seat, excusing himself from the company and the conversation that had entrapped him.

"Would you like someone to show you the way?" Your mother's voice offered assistance, kindness colouring her words.

Politely declining the offer, Wonwoo left the room, his destination veering not towards the washroom but towards the haven of the balcony. The open air beckoned to him, a refuge to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts that spun within him.

...

The tendrils of moonlight that wrapped around you, a heavy ambience of anguish clung to your soul, reminiscent of a night shrouded in sorrow. Your feet, as if drawn by the moon's silver strings, carried you into the night, and with every breath of cool night air, you felt a weight on your chest that hadn't pressed down so heavily since the night you lost a piece of your world. As the moonlight bathed you in its ethereal glow, you found solace in its tranquil embrace, a moment of respite from the tempestuous memories that surged within you.

Two years ago

The echo of heavy footsteps reverberated through the halls of your home, carrying with them a grim aura that painted the scene as it unfolded before you. In the doorway stood police officers, their expressions etched with sombre gravity. A voice, tinged with urgency, pierced the silence as one of them addressed you.

"Do you know Noella Bulavia Hong and Joshua Hong?" The words hung like a haunting melody in the air.

"Yes," you replied, urgency tightening your voice. "She's a very close friend of mine—Noella'' Oh my Ella.

It was the dreaded moment when reality turned into a nightmare. "I am sorry to inform you, Ms. L/N," the officer's voice held the weight of crushing news, "but today at 1:30 am, there was an accident at the Bahnhofstrasse. Two cars collided, and a gas leak ignited a fire that resulted in an explosion. The occupants of both cars lost their lives."

No--- Your world spun in disbelief, and your mind was a maelstrom of chaos. Numbness spread like a winter frost, as if you were detached from the very ground beneath you. Tears flowed involuntarily, and your senses dulled as if robbed of their essence. A heart-wrenching void opened within you, an emptiness so profound that it felt like you were falling endlessly into an abyss. The weight of the night pressed upon you, suffocating your spirit.

'Noella, the girl with the most resplendent eyes,' your thoughts whispered, each memory a fragile touch that warmed your heart. Every laugh, every shared moment, is all fading into the bitter reality of the present. You have heard that when a soulmate departs, a part of oneself fades away with them. Today, you understood that agony.

Why her? Why her? What did she do to deserve this? Your thoughts spiralled into an anguished chorus. "When she finally found the love she always yearned for and the family she deserved,"

Sobs clawed at your throat, but you continued, driven by a desperate need for answers. "Officer, they had a son, Noel Hong. He's five years old; was he... He has blue eyes and

Words faltered, and incomprehensible emotions swirled within you. Officer Batch, a familiar face, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, guiding you inside. The tea cup in your trembling hand was a lifeline, a futile attempt to find solace amidst the storm. But your thoughts slipped back to that dreaded call from Jeonghan, informing you of the accident.

"Fortunately, their son was not with them," he had said. "He was with his babysitter. Right now he is with Ms. Ashley, a child services officer. He's in the car sleeping."

Oh, Noel. Your mind groaned in anguish as you rested your head in your hands, trying to process the pain that gripped you. There was a honk outside, followed by a loud slam of the car door. A few beats later, Jeonghan rushed into the room, gathering you into a tight embrace. Sobs wracked both of you, two souls mourning the loss of the most important people in your lives.

"They're gone, JJ," you choked out, tears a torrent between you. "They're gone."

Victor, Jeonghan's partner, conversed with the officers before heading out to retrieve Noel from the car. "Where's Noel?" Jeonghan's voice trembled, brokenness painted across his face.

"Tante," a small voice roused you both. Noel's sleepy inquiry cut through the air like a blade, his innocence contrasting with the devastating truth. "Why are you crying? Where are Mama and Appa?"

Your heart shattered at the innocence that clung to his voice. You walked over to him, scooping him into your arms. Holding him tightly, you mustered a smile through your tears. "They went somewhere, little one. It's late; why don't Tante and Noel have a sleepover?"

"Without mama?" his voice trembled, mirroring your own.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice catching. "Today, it's just you and me."

You led him to your room, laying him down beneath the covers. He clung to your finger, his tiny hand a lifeline amidst the abyss of grief. In his slumber, he echoed the pain that reverberated within you. ''Tante, when will Mama and Appa come back'' for the first time in a while? You prayed for the first time in a while to know the answer to that question. ...

Descending back downstairs, the scene had changed. Officer Batch remained, as did Jeonghan and Victor. Ashley, the child services officer, stood, straightening her attire. Her condolences were heartfelt, and her sympathy was genuine. As she prepared to leave, her words lingered like a balm on your wounds.

"Firstly, I am extremely sorry for your loss."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the room. You looked around; the officer who had delivered the news had excused himself. It was now just the three of you, the grief englufing the room and the reality setting in.

Ashley's words took a practical turn, discussing procedures, cooperation, and the logistics of what lay ahead. But your thoughts drifted, images of Joshua and Noella surfacing like ghosts. You realised the danger Noel might be in—the very real threat that could have stolen him too.

"Jeonghan," you interjected, your voice calm yet resolved. "Noel's existence should remain hidden from the Bulavia family."

The room went quiet, the implication lingering in the air. ''The Bulavias are his only blood relatives,'' he cried, but you understood the darkness that lurked within their legacy. Victor's words echoed in your mind, urging you to see beyond the façade of their societal stature.

"They are murderers. Are you truly that naive to think their deaths were mere accidents?" The words tumbled from your lips, filled with an understanding forged from the past. "Come to your senses. We know what they are at the core; they may be arms manufactured for the world, but we all know—-'' you drew a deep breath, lowering your voice, '' they never cared for Noel. I am certain you can recall what happened when they learned of her pregnancy'' Jeonghan was now pacing as you sat down on the same chair as the officer Batch was once seated, recalling that horrendous sight when Joshua was beaten to pulp and Noella's brother slapped her to the ground—the horror she lived through till she came to the university. You were certain that if they got their hands on Noel, then one could only imagine the horrendous things they would do to that child. unshaken eyes and a composed voice, ''till the time I am alive, I won't let anyone touch Joshua and Noella's child''."

Jeonghan and Victor exchanged glances, their unspoken agreement cementing an unbreakable pact. A silent oath was shared among the three of you—Noel's protection was is and will be your first priority. Because every child deserves a childhood and no one will deprive him of it.

Present.

Your musings were interrupted by the persistent vibration of your phone against your dress. The moonlight cast a sombre glow, your thoughts mired in the past, and your heart still carried the weight of those memories. You glanced at the caller ID, Rema's name catching your eye.

Your phone stirred in your hand; its vibrations were a stark interruption to the calm. Your heart quickened, for her calls often held weighty matters. You answered, your voice soft yet tinged with an undercurrent of anticipation.

"Rema?"

Her voice carried a mixture of empathy and concern, her words threading a tapestry of news that would unravel your tranquilly. "Y/n, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a new development. A notice from the Swiss court has arrived."

Your fingers tightened around the phone, an invisible tension sweeping over you. "What is it?"

A heavy pause danced on the line, a prelude to a storm of emotions yet to come. "They're suing you, Y/N. The Bulavia family is filing a lawsuit against you, claiming that you've kept their grandson away from them."

Your breath caught, a tempest of disbelief swirling within you. Their intentions bore a weight that you couldn't ignore, and the accusation against you was an unwelcome intrusion into the sanctuary of your solitude.

"They're also alleging that you're an unstable person, unfit to care for Noel." Rema's voice carried a note of frustration, mirroring your own feelings.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a surge of anger and desperation intertwined within your chest. The moonlight seemed to dim, the world tilting on its axis as the weight of their accusations pressed upon you.

As you processed the news, your back remained turned towards the entrance of the balcony. Little did you know that within the shadows, another presence lingered—WWonwoo, a silent observer in your moment of vulnerability.

Amidst the turmoil of emotions, your voice wavered as you spoke, your words a mix of resilience and defeat. "Rema, I... This is... it's unjust."

Her response was a reassuring echo in the night. "We won't let them tarnish your image, Y/N. I've already contacted our legal team, and the evidence is in our favour. We'll fight this with everything we have."

Your grip on the phone eased, and the connection between you and Rema felt like a lifeline in the storm. As you absorbed her words, the door leading to the balcony creaked open, but your attention was so consumed that you remained unaware of the presence that had joined you.

In the shadows, Wonwoo stood, his eyes upon your figure, his heart stirred by the depth of your emotions. Your strength and vulnerability were on display—a portrait of resilience in the face of adversity.

"We'll weather this storm together, Y/N." Rema's voice was a promise, a lifeline to hold onto in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty.

With a small nod, you replied, your voice a blend of determination and gratitude. "Thank you, Rema. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

As the call ended, you remained standing on the balcony, seeking solace amidst the twinkling stars. The tendrils of cool air wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, a balm for the restless thoughts that stirred within. Unbeknownst to you, a presence approached, a shadow converging with your own.

A soft spark illuminated the darkness as a cigarette was lit, the warm glow revealing the figure that had joined you. Wonwoo's towering form, standing at a commanding 6 feet, casts a silent yet powerful presence. The tendrils of smoke that curled from his lips seemed like ethereal wisps of thought floating into the night.

"You're quite the enigma, aren't you?" His voice was a low rumble, a testament to the depth of his emotions.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting the soft ember of the cigarette's tip. Your brows furrowed, and a mixture of surprise and accusation laced your voice. "Were you eavesdropping?"

He quirked an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Eavesdropping would imply a certain level of secrecy. I believe the word you're looking for is 'overheard.'"

Your lips curled into a wry smile, and you crossed your arms, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and curiosity. "Semantics. What's the difference?"

He took a leisurely drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. "The difference, my dear, is that eavesdropping implies a certain degree of intentionality, while overhearing is simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time."

The banter between you was a dance of words, a subtle clash of wills that echoed in the night air. The moon above seemed to glow a little brighter, as if captivated by the exchange unfolding beneath its watchful gaze.

As the cigarette dwindled to a mere stub, his final exhale mingled with the evening breeze, a symbol of conclusion. He flicked the remains away, the glowing ember dissipating into darkness. "Well, my unintentional overhearing has come to an end. Shall we return?"

You nodded, a mix of annoyance and something else settling within you. The two of you turned to leave the balcony, making your way back to the warmth of the dining room. The moment you stepped inside, you were met with the knowing glances of your parents, their exchanged looks laden with unspoken implications.

With an inward sigh, you were about to find your seat when Wonwoo's actions surprised you. He pulled out your chair, a gesture both unexpected and oddly courteous. The corners of your lips twitched, an amused yet sceptical glint in your eyes. "I can sit down on my own, you know."

His lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze meeting yours with an air of playful challenge. "I'm aware. But isn't it polite to assist a lady?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a chuckle, despite yourself. "Chivalry isn't dead, I see."

As you settled into your seat, he took his own place across the table. The room was steeped in the echoes of your exchange, an unspoken understanding threading between you. The dance of words, the spark of banter—iit was a tapestry woven from different threads of emotion.

The clinks of silverware and hushed conversation enveloped the room once more, a symphony of togetherness and shared moments. Amidst it all, you and Wonwoo exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the dance you'd shared, a dance that had brought you both a little closer, even in the midst of your verbal jousting.

The evening had unfolded like a symphony of shared moments and whispered laughter. As the dinner drew to a close, the air held a blend of both familiarity and anticipation.

Mr. Jeon's eyes held a mixture of admiration and genuine warmth as he leaned forward, his words an echo of sincerity. "Y/N, my dear, your accomplishments are nothing short of remarkable. I sometimes wish I had a daughter like you."

A smile played upon your lips, a mixture of humility and gratitude. Beside him, Mrs. Jeon's gaze was softer yet equally sincere. "Indeed, dear, though we might not have had a daughter, there's always room in our hearts for someone as exceptional as you."

The words lingered in the air, like petals of praise carried by the wind.

And now, the time had come to bid adieu. Outside, the night awaited, and as the group made their way to the grand entrance of the mansion, the atmosphere was charged with the bittersweet awareness of departure.

A soft breeze brushed against your cheeks as you stood beside your parents. One by one, your parents exchanged pleasantries and farewells with the Jeon couple. When it was your turn, a sense of both anticipation and trepidation took hold.

Wonwoo's approach was graceful, his every step resonating with a quiet confidence. He first pressed a tender kiss upon your mother's hand, a gesture steeped in old-world charm. Then he shook your father's hand with the kind of firmness that conveyed respect.

And then, it was your turn. The air seemed to hum with charged energy as his eyes locked onto yours. The anticipation was palpable, and you felt his thumb gently trace the outline of your knuckles, a touch that sent ripples of sensation down your spine.

However, unlike how he bent to kiss your mother's hand, He raised your hand to his lips, but just as the moment seemed poised to unfold into something more profound, you made a choice. With a swift shift of your hand and a mischievous smile, you transformed the kiss into a handshake. His chuckles joined yours, a moment of shared amusement that danced like fireflies in the night.

The sound of his engine roared to life, a powerful crescendo that echoed the energy of the evening. Both cars began to glide down the drive, the mansion's gates awaiting their passage.

...

The road stretched before him, each mile carrying him further away from the evening that had etched itself deeply into his thoughts. The engine's low rumble echoed through the empty streets, a symphony of solitude that seemed to resonate with the weight on his mind.

You. The name seemed to echo in the quiet chambers of his thoughts, a refrain that he couldn't escape. Those eyes, your eyes, had held a certain fire that intrigued him, an ember of challenge that stirred his curiosity. The conversation he had unwittingly overheard in the corridor replayed in his mind like an elusive melody, each word resonating with a melody of its own.

As the penthouse came into view, its sleek lines and imposing presence a beacon in the night, he parked his car with the precision of someone accustomed to control. The lift carried him to his sanctuary, the living room, an oasis of shadows and scattered moonlight. The vast window transformed the cityscape into a tapestry of twinkling stars and luminous hues, a world outside the reach of his contemplations.

A figure graced the couch, legs crossed in a display of elegance that masked the complexity beneath. Eleanor Calder, a name that carried the weight of a past he couldn't quite shed, was a habit he yearned to break. He approached, the tension between them palpable, words unspoken yet hanging in the air like a tempest.

"Good evening, Wonwoo." Her voice was honeyed, a mixture of familiarity and ambiguity that had once ensnared him.

"Evening," he replied curtly, his gaze fixed on her as he took in her features illuminated by the faint glow. Glossy hair framed an alluring countenance, pouty lips, and eyes that held secrets of their own.

"How was the dinner?" Her question cut through the silence like a dagger, a reminder of the evening that refused to relinquish its hold.

"Fine," he replied tersely, the monosyllabic response a shield against the tides of memories.

"Is she as pretty as they say?" Eleanor's question was laden with a blend of curiosity and a hint of insecurity.

He let out a soft breath, the temptation to reveal his thoughts just shy of his lips. "Beauty is subjective," he said with a flicker of a smile.

She leaned closer, a sultry grin playing on her lips as she attempted to close the distance. "What about us, Wonwoo? Aren't we a beauty worth cherishing?"

His hand gently stopped her advance, a silent refusal that hung in the air. Her frustration surfaced, her lips trailing to his neck with a bite of aggression that carried echoes of their past.

"Why don't you like me anymore?" Her voice held a tinge of desperation, a question born from the shadows of uncertainty.

"You made your choice," he replied, his voice a mix of resignation and detachment. "Now you have to live with it."

Her retort was laced with bitterness, a blend of anger and longing. "That's never stopped you before."

The sound of shattering glass punctuated her exit, the remnants of a vase littering the ground as she left his presence. A sigh escaped him, a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

Slipping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he loosened his tie and unbuckled his belt, the insignias of formality discarded as he sought solace in his sanctuary. With practised ease, he dialled Chan's number, a weary smile tugging at his lips as he heard the groggy voice on the other end.

"Late night, Chan?" he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

"You may think I don't have a life outside of you, but I do have a routine, you know," Chan responded with a hint of mock annoyance.

Without missing a beat, Wonwoo shifted gears. "Get the construction company under a pseudonymous name, the one we'll be using for the Oasis project, to contact me. There's something I want to discuss."

The connection remained for a moment, a silent agreement shared in the darkness. As the call ended, a wistful smile played on his lips, a plan unfolding in his mind.

The path of water droplets on glass mirrored his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the city lights that danced beyond the window. And as he moved towards the sanctuary of his private space, his mind held a singular focus that burned as brightly as the moonlight.

....

The morning embraced you with its crispness, each step propelling you forward along the winding path of the park. The rhythm of your breath is synchronised with the rhythmic beat of your heart. Amidst the rhythmic cadence of your run, your thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the chime of your phone. With a brief pause, you pulled the device from your pocket, and the voice of your assistant, Rachel, filled your ears like a familiar tune.

"Good morning, Rachel. Early morning?"

"Morning, boss. It's about the Vanguard Builders project. They're refusing to work under the current terms of the contract. They want adjustments made to accommodate our engineers, and there seems to be a lack of cooperation between the architects, engineers, and workers. It's turning into quite a mess."

The tinge of irony that life often offers "Weren't they the highest bidders for this project? Why the sudden defiance?"

"Beats me," Rachel replied with a hint of exasperation.

"By the way, who's heading the Oasis department now?" You inquired, a sense of curiosity weaving through your words.

"William Holmes," Rachel promptly answered. "Here's a fun fact about William Holmes: Jeon Wonwoo and he graduated in the same class."

The gears of thought spun in your mind, pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

"Rach," you mused, "who's the owner of Vanguard Builders?"

"Well, the acting head is Roland Thomas," she began.

"And the real owner?" you pressed further.

There was a pause before she answered, the realisation dawning on both of you simultaneously. There were a few clicks on the keyboard. "It's a subsidiary of JJ Group," Rachel replied.

"Jeon Wonwoo." You echoed the name with a mix of astonishment and determination.

"Rach, put the project on hold," you commanded, your tone unyielding yet composed. "And get in touch with his office. I need an appointment as soon as possible."

With a nod that only you could sense through the call, you concluded, "I'll see you at the office."

As you continued your run, the weight of the situation settled on you. What was it about that particular project, that particular place, that had him so resolute in its pursuit? With each stride, you felt the anticipation and tension growing, a prelude to the battle that lay ahead.

Upon returning home, you couldn't shake off the sense that this was going to be a long and intricate day.

....

In the seclusion of his office, Wonwoo perched on the corner of his desk, a solitary figure framed by the expansive window that offered a view into the bustling world beyond. His gaze was drawn downward, watching the city's heartbeat throb in the form of fast-paced cars and the hurried lives of its inhabitants. The city's rhythm was a stark contrast to the moment's stillness, his thoughts a tempest swirling in the calm.

As if sensing the weight of his contemplation, the door creaked open, and Chan, with a sprightly demeanour, stepped into the room. A subtle dance marked his steps, a rhythm of his own that added a touch of buoyancy to the space. With a cordial smile, Chan informed him about the call from your assistant.

"Sir, Ms. L/N's assistant called. They want to arrange a meeting," Chan shared, his words carrying an undertone of intrigue.

Wonwoo turned slightly, his gaze shifting from the window to rest on Chan. "What time did they suggest?"

"Anytime that's convenient for you, sir," Chan replied.

A calculating glint sparked in Wonwoo's eyes, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Tell them this. I don't want to meet her in my office. Arrange for a meeting at the restaurant in my hotel. Inform the staff there that I'll be dining with her. Confirm the details with her, of course."

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, and Wonwoo found himself musing about the unbinding knots of destiny. As Chan nodded and left to carry out his instructions, Wonwoo's thoughts continued to wander. The game was afoot. The city continued its rhythm outside the window, and Wonwoo knew that within its cadence, a melody of possibilities was beginning to emerge.

....

A monstera plant stood sentinel by the door, a hint of nature's wildness juxtaposed against the sleek, orderly decor. An aquarium to your left provided a soothing contrast, an aquatic symphony of colours and life.

Rachael's entrance echoed with purpose, her heels punctuating the marble's silence. "Boss," she addressed, her tone threaded with urgency, "Mr. Jeon has agreed to the meeting, but not in his office. He's opted for the hotel's restaurant, Lyden."

You muttered an exasperated "son of a bitch" under your breath. Wonwoo's manoeuvring was a subtle art that kept you on your toes. The enigma surrounding his intentions was matched only by his persistence.

The thought crossed your mind—was he trying to be overly familiar, or was this merely a strategic ploy? His determination to procure the land was palpable, but his methods—oh, his methods—remained enigmatic.

Sighing, you confirmed the dinner for 7. The sooner you navigated this web, the quicker you could retreat to familiar ground. And marriage—well, that was a topic that had lost its novelty.

...

As twilight painted the canvas of the city, you found yourself within the opulent embrace of the Lyden Hotel—a sanctuary of luxury nestled in the heart of urban chaos. The clutches of your office attire remained steadfast, for the effort to change felt extraneous. Lavender notes wafted in the air, a soothing touch to your racing heart, and the art that adorned the lobby resonated with the lively atmosphere. The hotel's colour palette resonated with hues of purple and lavender, a tranquil dominance that contrasted with the usual gold and red. The gleam of lamps and chandeliers, cast in ethereal white instead of conventional gold, danced around you as an attendant, average in height and likely in his mid-40s, approached. His warm smile invited you to navigate this orchestrated rendezvous, his presence a gentle anchor to the surging tides of anticipation. But then a presence sidled up to you, and you met those dark eyes again. Wonwoo, your enigmatic companion, surveyed you with an intensity that mirrored your first encounter. A tinge of humour danced on his lips, shared only with you. He leaned in slightly, his voice laced with a jesting tone.

"You know, Ms.L/N, I've heard rumours that Swiss chocolate is so irresistible that it once convinced a diplomat to give up an entire country just for a taste."

You chuckled, playing along. "Is that so? Well, Mr. Jeon, I've also heard whispers that Swiss watches are so accurate that they can predict the future."

He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Predict the future, you say? I must have missed that feature on my watch."

"It's a hidden setting, only activated when you're running fashionably late," you replied with a grin.

His laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the restaurant, creating a melody that seemed to synchronise with the beating of your heart. "Ah, so that's the secret! I'll have to try it out sometime."

"Mr. Jeon," the manager began, addressing Wonwoo, "I apologise for the wait. And you must be Ms. L/N. Please, this way, your table is ready."

As the evening unfolded, a tapestry of conversation weaved between you. They served wine, but you abstained, aware of your responsibility on the road. Wonwoo, that audacious man, prodded you "You know, Ms.L/n, I've heard rumours about these smile police," he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes. "Apparently, they're quite strict when it comes to ensuring that everyone's lips are on an upward curve." You saw through his whimsical façade, demanding to know his true intentions.

''What is it that you truly want, Mr. Jeon?''

With a practised lean and a wry grin, he revealed his interest—your Oasis project.

You chuckled.

The weight of his intent hung in the air as he proposed a partnership, a 30-70 arrangement.

You, unperturbed, countered his proposition with grace.

''How about 40%?''His reaction was a study in composure—stillness giving way to a wry smile. He inquired ''What's the catch?'', arching an eyebrow.

The pasta found its way to your mouth, providing you with a moment's reprieve. Washing down with water, you said, "Would you like to marry me, Jeon Wonwoo?"

A few hours ago

"Rach!" you grumbled, rubbing your temples. "Rema's on line two." A quizzical look passed between you as to why she would call the office line, and then realisation dawned—you'd left your phone on the dresser, charging.

Rema's voice trickled through, laced with fatigue and worry. As she detailed the developments, a storm brewed within you. The lawsuit, the custody battle—the magnitude of it all pressed against your chest.

"They're claiming your lifestyle is unstable," Rema informed, her voice tinged with sympathy.

You scoffed. "Define unstable."

"Frequent moving, long absences, and—well, they highlighted the lack of a husband."

"Bullshit," you spat. "I don't recall the law stating that a single woman can't adopt her ward, bestowed upon her by the child's parents."

Rema's understanding tone resonated with the receiver. "I know, Y/n."

The conversation pivoted to the notion of marriage, and your disbelief was palpable. "So, I should get hitched just for a legal battle? That's absurd."

"Y/N, I'm your lawyer," Rema asserted, her voice unwavering. "I can't suggest illegal activities. But I can ponder the 'what ifs.'"

Your mind whirred, emotions settling into resolution. Closing every avenue that the Bulavia family sought to exploit. Even if it means Jeon Wonwoo,

Present

His reaction was a symphony of amusement,his eyes glinting with intrigue. He leaned back, beckoning you to elaborate.

"I don't like owing anyone," you began. "It seems I'm in a bit of a predicament. I find myself in need of a husband. If you agree—"

A grin played on his lips as he interjected, "So, when do you want to get married?"

You spluttered, momentarily caught off-guard. He was swift in his response, crafting a clever solution out of thin air. "You said you wanted a husband, and there's pressure on me to find a wife. Killing two birds with one stone" He shrugged and said, "Do enlighten me, Ms. L/N. I'm curious to hear about these circumstances that demand such a drastic solution." and you did. ...

In the car, As you drove Wonwoo to his place, the air was laden with silence, your thoughts whispering secrets only the wind could hear. The plans for Noel, your mutual benefit—it all tumbled through your mind. The contract, the call, and your parents

"Are you always this persuadable?" you inquired, your words filling the silent car.

"Only when it involves a beautiful lady in distress," he retorted, causing you to roll your eyes.

As you navigated through the city streets once again, you spoke of Noel, his significance, and the impending legalities. Wonwoo remained thoughtful, his demeanour subdued. With his apartment in sight, his voice resounded, seeking answers.

"So, he's not your son?" he queried, a sliver of vulnerability seeping into his tone.

"No," you affirmed. "Your informant was not as efficient as it seems, but he's like a son to me."

His curiosity blossomed further. "Do your parents know about it?"

You chuckled. "About what?"

"About Noel," he reiterated.

"No," you confessed, "they believe he was with Noella and Joshua that night, as they couldn't attend the funeral."

He nodded in understanding, his thoughts churning in the silence. . As he watched your car fade into the distance, a sense of purpose filled him. The evening's discussions had ignited a fire of determination within him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialling his mother's number.

As the line rang, his thoughts swirled like the city lights below. The memories of his grandmother, a regal and wise woman, were as vivid as ever. She had worn a unique ring—a family heirloom—that he had admired since childhood. He could still hear her stories, her voice rich with history and love.

The call connected, and his mother's warm voice flowed through the line. "Wonwoo, dear, how are you?"

He smiled, her voice a comforting balm. "I'm well, Mama. I was actually calling to ask Do you know where Grandma's ring is"?

tbc

A/N: Phew! its was a long chapter, hope you all liked it. Please drop your feedback in the comments or reblogs with tag or in the inbox as it motivates me and help makes the fic better.

msh

#seventeen #kpop fluff #kpop angst #fanfiction #aquamarine #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #kpop smut #jeon wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #hoshi #wonwoo #joshua hong seventeen #jeonghan

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sepublic · 10 days

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So Jay was a pirate at one point and Skybound leaned into Pirates of the Caribbean references, plus Jaya being a pivotal plot point for that season. And Nya literally became the sea.

Imagine some PotC-adjacent AU where Jaya is like Davy Jones and Calypso; Nya became the sea, Jay grieved and became a pirate to be closer to her. Maybe seized command of the Sky Pirates so he would be in his element as well, the stormy skies intertwined with the ocean below through rain. He figured out a way to restore Nya's human form, at the cost of her powers, so he could see her again; But Nya was unhappy because as the ocean, she was so free and released from all burdens. She hoped Jay would love her as the sea and not just her human form. Maybe Jay already saw Nya's decision to become one with the sea as a betrayal.

They split apart, both broken-hearted. Jay and his crew roamed the skies, watching the sea from afar but not quite making contact. Being surrounded by his element also caused his body to change; A storm cloud with lightning bolts resembling an octopus' tentacles, a familiar image to some...

Nya resigned herself to a new life, living as a witch dabbling in potions and magic. Always yearning for the sea and to return to it, but never quite able to achieve that freedom. Mourning her love. Yet she cannot help but be appalled by the monster her lover has become. She has become more estranged from her true self than she has ever been, and it has been agony for Nya in many ways.

Or maybe they’re gods of the sky and sea who can never touch one another, save for when the sea sends water up to come back down as rain. The water cycle is their little gift to one another… The lighthouse in middle of the ocean is the one place they can sometimes meet, or have met.

#ninjago #ninjago seabound #jaya #nya #jay walker #au

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aeor-is-for-reccing · 5 months

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Sickfics: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have sickfics! Check under the cut for 8 fics that depict Caleb and Essek while ill and unwell, and the care and angst that come with that; and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

Of Broken Plans and Places to Be by ThreeGremlinsInATrenchcoat (8856, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek contracts a mysterious illness in Aeor. Caleb worries, and gets intense about it.

Reccer says: Care shown when someone falls ill is one of my weaknesses, and this is a great fic for displaying all of Caleb's conflicting emotions.

in sickness and in health by viciousmollymaukery (1219, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek gets a cold. Caleb takes care of him

Reccer says: I liked it!

The Mind and The Malady by SaltCore (38941, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek comes down with Hanahaki disease, and tries to hide it from the Nein

Reccer says: I'm a sucker for the Hanahaki trope but I love how Essek tries to compentalise what he's going through with his notes. The reveal is just amazing and the hurt and comfort are both amazing.

reaching the starlight by CherryMilkshake, eldritchmochi (86552, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Discussion of bulemia, mental illness

AKA the Camming AU. Caleb and Essek have separate camming streams, and decide to team up for the views. Then it gets complicated.

Reccer says: There's a lot of depth in the fic outside of the sickness portion of it - a lot of hot porn, a lot of great exploration of complicated feelings, but also the sickness portion unfolds in a slightly different (but very satisfying) way than usual

Overheated by oswinpond (2856, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek (and Caleb) suffer the effects of too much time in the sun

Reccer says: Hypothermia is more used in fandom, but this is a great whump fic with heatstroke as the illness

i can feel it taking hold (now i am a chemical) by atlasarcana (23739, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dubcon/Consensual Non Consent, Elements of horror (think: monster chase scene); the ethics of helping your SO through sex rabies

Essek contracts a sickness from a drow poison that makes him go feral and lethal unless he "sweats out" the toxin with sex. This is partly a sex pollen fic, partly a sick fic; both heavily inform the central conflict.

Reccer says: I like how high the stakes are, making it just as angsty and scary as it is heartwarming and a demonstration of devotion and trust. Note that it's the third of a series with an overarching plot.

the hole in the stone by MinnesotaBruja (13243, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: animal/pet death

Shortly post-Cognouza, Essek takes a position as a lighthouse keeper on a remote island north of Eiselcross. These are his letters to Caleb.

Reccer 1 says: It's absolutely beautifully written, with a lot of loneliness and aches and angst before it gets better Reccer 2 says: The formatting is so interesting, and the illness and comfort depiction is just the best

Prompt #13 - kissing someone's forehead by ariadne-mouse (917, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb catches a cold while the M9 are traveling and Essek fusses over him, not being familiar with human illnesses.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with HIDDEN GEMS

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #cr fic recs #fan fiction rec list #aeor is for lovers #critical role fan fiction #cr fics #cr fic #sickfic

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amourcherie606 · 20 days

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so yeah im kinda crazy for drawing another AU lmao BUT BUT my friend dared utter the words "heathmael rapunzel au?" and i fucking lost it I havent thought like to crazy into it, but like heath promises to help ish explore the city a bit while she helps him find a golden bough. :3

story dump below the cut! cuz i am kinda crazy :3

ishmael has been living in a lighthouse near the lake for as long as she could remember, only making contact with her Captain Ahab and her crew. to conquer the lake and prevent the crew from losing their minds from trying to conquer the whole lake, Ahab has Ishmael sing sea shanties everytime they come back to this lighthouse. For Ishmael unknowingly was born with a golden bough inside of her. Shes a precious treasure one might even say. Ishmael is quite knowledgeable on how the city works, having read as many books as she could grab her hands on, she knows plenty on the city, probably moreso than the cities residents themselves. Her curiosity to explore the city itself has been continuously curb stomped by her captain however, Ahab having a way with words to drive Ishmaels desires. Ishmael lives with the stories the crew speak of however, hoping maybe one day to explore outside of her tower.

Heathcliff has been sent on a mission by his "dear cathy" to bring her an upmost beautiful treasure known as a golden bough, him hoping this can be enough proof to his dear cathy that he is worthy of her love and and hopefully marry her! he happens to stumble upon ishmael, tho he doesnt know she has a golden bough literally inside her. extra facts!: - ish's eyes, chest, and hair glows when she sings + she can heal and calm people with her singing - YES she carries around an anchor as a weapon cuz shes crazy like that - heathcliff i think might have like a compass or something that helps him find golden boughs? but he thinks its broken cuz it keeps telling him that hes right next to one! weird lmao (the compass looks like dante) - im thinking of making one of the sinners a lil animal companion for ish lmao

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bluejaysandblackbats · 22 days

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Eyes and Ears

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.

Chapters: 7/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings

Chapter Seven: Seaside

Barbara went out as Batgirl shortly after dinner, leaving Jason home alone to wait for Jim. As the night progressed, Jason lay on the couch watching tv. He wanted to be awake when Jim returned. It reminded him of how Jason often waited for his parents to come home, and that's what worried him most. As hard as he tried to stay awake for Jim's return, he couldn't keep his eyes open past two in the morning.

Jim dragged his feet as he entered the house around three in the morning. His body and mind were weary as he hung his coat up and kicked his shoes off. He turned the tv off and smiled at Jason, who lay curled up on the couch, holding one of the throw pillows to his chest. Jim picked Jason up and held him for a moment before taking Jason to his room to tuck him into bed. Jason took hold of Jim's wrist and mumbled, "Don't go... Please don't go." His voice was broken. Jim pushed Jason's hair back.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here... We might have to go get ice cream in the morning, though," Jim whispered as he sat down on the floor by Jason's bedside. Jason turned on his stomach, facing Jim, and he opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked. Jim took a deep breath.

"Mind if I tell you what happened and why I was gone so long?" Jim asked. Jason nodded.

Jim talked about his work with Batman and how many bombs they had to defuse around the city, and Jason stopped him. "But are you okay?" Jason asked. Jim paused, and his shoulders dropped.

"I'm exhausted, and I feel bad for how I left you earlier... I want you to know that I would've come home hours ago if I could've. I don't want you to think I abandoned you," Jim whispered.

"You were working," Jason yawned.

Jim left the room and showered, and climbed into bed. He lay awake for a few minutes only to hear Jason's footsteps in his room. Jim lay still and listened to Jason make a shuffling noise before complete silence. He turned on his side and met eyes with Jason. Despite the pounding in Jim's head, he opened his mouth and whispered, "It's cold down there. Come up here." Jason hesitated for a moment before climbing into Jim's bed, and he closed his eyes. Jim threw the blankets over Jason and took a deep breath.

"I was dreaming about my mom... My birth one. I mean, I don't know her, but maybe this is the way she wanted things to be. Maybe she didn't want me," Jason whispered, "Maybe she doesn't want to be found..."

Jim kissed the top of Jason's head. "I can't imagine someone not wanting a kid like you... But I honestly hope that even if you do find her, you'll consider making this your home for good," Jim whispered.

"You'd want me to stay for the next five years? Like until I turn eighteen?" Jason asked.

"Or until you're ready to leave home. I figure if you're still living with me by the time I retire, we could go live in Maine... Get away from all the noise. We could go fishing there," Jim whispered as he went on to describe the coastal cities and the lighthouses and the silence. Jason's breathing slowed, and Jim kept speaking as if Maine was some fairy tale place.

Jim drifted off to sleep only after he knew Jason was fast asleep. They both slept late into the next day, only waking once the sun was too bright to ignore. "Pop?" Jason asked as he sat up, and Jim groaned. "Therapy?"

"Mhm, we'll pick someone out together... But first, let's go eat, okay? I promised my son I'd take him out for ice cream," Jim smiled. Jason got out of bed, and he stood in the doorway.

"I know I just kind of got you, but... You're the best dad I've ever had," Jason whispered before waving. The words made Jim's heart heavy. He got cleaned up and dressed before leaving his room and ran into Barbara in the kitchen.

"You do realize that you just can't promise him ice cream and make things okay, right?" Barbara asked. Jim nodded solemnly.

"I know," he replied, "But I did talk to him about therapy, and he said he'll give it a try as long as I'm there with him."

"How'd you manage that? He wouldn't even—."

"I took a different approach. Do you want to come with us to get ice cream?" Jim asked. Barbara nodded.

"Sure, why not. I have a day off... Also, I noticed... This is the second night in a row that he hasn't slept in his bed," Barbara noted. Jim nodded.

"I know. But last night was sort of my fault. He was gonna sleep on the floor," Jim explained. Jason came out of the bathroom and stretched out. "Hey, I'll be downstairs." Jason nodded and moved to follow Jim before Barbara took his hand.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Barbara asked. Jason nodded and stood in the kitchen with her. "You okay?"

"Train me," Jason whispered.

"What?" Barbara exclaimed. "No! Are you crazy? You're just barely thirteen, that's way too young—."

"How old was Robin when he started? He didn't exactly look like he was in his early twenties," Jason whispered.

"Robin wasn't my baby brother. You are," Barbara replied as she tried to walk past him, and he grabbed her wrist.

"I already lost one family. I'm not gonna lose this one," Jason tightened his hold on her wrist, not to hurt her, but to let her know he was serious. She sighed.

"I'm not letting you in the field, but I'll consider it," Barbara replied, and he embraced her. She stood still in shock for a moment before hugging him back. "I'm serious. It's not a yes. I'm just thinking about it."

She tried to keep a stern look on her face, but she couldn't help but smile. "I call shotgun, Barbie!" Jason smiled as he ran down the stairs.

"Wait! No one calls me that!" Barbara shouted as she locked up and followed him down the steps and out to the car. Jason chuckled to himself in the front seat.

While they were eating ice cream, Barbara tried to think about the idea of a partner, but she knew he was far too young and much too traumatized to be out in the field. On the other hand, he would be too busy training to worry about losing them and decided that keeping Jason preoccupied was her best option.

She understood where Jason was coming from, but she was no Batman. She could only allow him to dream, nothing more. Barbara secretly hoped that he would lose interest as his fear of loss subsided. Only time would tell.

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thehistoriangirl · 1 month

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The Tides Have Veiled [Fifteen]

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---5K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You see the world beyond the veil, though something is lurking beneath...

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fifteen: Cold Embrace

There was a moment in the night when the world painted grey lead, almost transformed into a ghostly realm, blurry lines between the mist floating above the sea and the infinite sky. Barely the sketch of a world.

It was when the veil between worlds thinned enough for the spirits to crawl into ours, and for you to enter theirs.

If you so wished, of course. And you longed for it every night, thinking about what you would wish to say to the woman who gave up on life as soon as she created a little one. Why didn't she take you with her?

Why the sea refused, again and again, and again, to claim you. Too starving of revenge and the blood of this forgotten town, and yet, only those closer to you kept dying.

The image flashed, as quick as lightning. Cold sand pressed against your back, small pebbles trying to incrust inside your skin, the rotten stench of death as the sharp edge of a rusty knife pierced the surface at barely centimeters away from your cheek.

“If the water won’t claim you,” a voice said, face covered with thin, soaked blonde hair. The woman took the handle of the weapon with her broken fingers, nails black and long as she pulled the knife off the sand to raise it above her head. You gasped at the sight of half-eaten grey skin, barnacles, and moss growing on the hard edges of the bone. "Blood will. And how much blood I'm going to draw…"

The knife sang against the air, falling with mastery toward your heart.

By the time you tiptoed your way back to the beacon room, the rain had died down to a breeze; freezing wind sneaking its way through the boarded window. Such opposite of the warm embrace of your now not-so-fake husband—that if his gentle kisses were proof concrete enough.

Though tearing yourself away from the warm embrace of the couch and the sweater Viktor thrown over you was almost a herculean task, but you didn’t wish for him to cover your duty, though by now your rest had been disturbed by the recurrent nightmare, better said, the recurrent memory.

Your weeks as the keeper had turned you nocturnal, another spirit keeping watch by the cliff—a chill running down your spine when you realized you weren't that different from the other ghosts roaming the coast, wailing at the foot of the cliff.

Except today, it seemed. Just as everything seemed different with him around.

Viktor was posted by the uncovered section of the glass, his cane leaned against the wall, a figure so still you thought you were still dreaming, that he had become a new prop of your foolishness at imagining that last night had been real.

A mask melting into the disgusting face of the bloated woman. Another knife was hidden inside the handle of his cane.

"Viktor?" Your voice broke the stillness of the early morning, the fuzzy edges of the world becoming solid once his golden gaze broke between the foggy morning like a victorious sun.

Your steps were annoyingly noisy against the creaky wooden floor of the beacon room, the cold, salty air filtering through the boards as the roaring of the sea dwindled to a simple, constant growl.

“You should’ve woken me,” you said, eyeing the disarray on the table; with open journals and yellowish pages scattered everywhere, tiny, and hurried calligraphy strangely familiar. “Keeping watch isn’t your job.”

His cane tapped against the floor when he turned toward you, a sheepish smile on his face. "It's been a while since I got to see this view." Long, sinewy fingers traced the length of the boards, as if the view he was referring to had been now carved into the wood instead of appearing in the wild. "Accompany me. We need to retrieve some tools from the house today.”

Why he had been by the window all night? If certainly the seascape was stunning during dawn, by night everything was just a world of mist and darkness.

"Did you see her?" you muttered once out of the lighthouse tower; fingers still freezing over the door bolt before pulling out the lock. Part of you hoped you didn't have to say who—not only because of the uncertainty, but also the dread of voicing it, such action pushing the memory of it not like a dream coated in guilt and frenzy, but a real affliction.

Viktor called your name, metal shrieking with accumulated rust once he pulled the gate open. "There's a legend," he trod with caution, words stumbling against each other once the house's façade started looming on the horizon. "About her."

“Well, what is it?”

He smiled at your interest, opening the door of the house that always remained unlocked while he beckoned you inside a spotless foyer. Almost eclipsing the scene, you saw upon your return to the city. If it weren’t…

Everything could be done with step following another, and another; as easy as that, as you’ve done all your life—as you got near your uncle’s funeral.

But then, the pull.

You stood like an alien on the threshold, noticing the elongated shadows seeming to devour any trace of sunlight that could enter through the open door. The silence was broken only by the waves down the beach.

“Miss, we ought not to talk about it here, unless we wish to summon them,” Viktor said, leaning closer to you to whisper such words that left goosebump flesh to crawl up your arms. “That’s what all ghost stories say, does it not?”

No, it wasn’t a pull. It was a gaze.

Old and unmerciful and unwavering, coming from the empty corner down the first floor’s hall. There where only the amorph shadow of the dissected mermaid had been once.

Was it her? Was hers the cave you discovered yesterday? Was she—

"Then, when do we talk about what's happening in here?" you whispered, hoping your front of bravery would be enough for the house to stop staring at you with the feeling of inferiority blooming out of your chest. "I’m tired of thinking I’m out of my mind. I don’t want to run anymore. Because ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Just like you pretended those muddy footsteps were a result of your vivid imagination. Barely daring to remember there here, where the horror had taken place—though you had to admit it hadn’t been the worst.

His eyes darkened, from sunny to burned honey. Viktor passed next to you, side-gazing the staircase up to the first set of stairs toward where his underground office was located. His fingers surrounded one of your wrists, pulling you away from the entrance and into the depths of the house.

His back and open coat brought you protection as he guided you toward the kitchen, covered from the gaze you were sure was still piercing his back.

“In open waters, where nobody else but ourselves can hear,” he whispered, pulling back in such a swift move you were almost convinced his words had been a delusion. “Alright. I'll bring the notebooks to my bedroom desk. Can you bring the books on the table down to my office?” He pointed toward the first-floor hallway. “I need to pack lightly for this excursion.” Viktor chuckled. “The boat isn’t that big, and now I’ll have company…”

Now was the cave, but before had been those damned footsteps, mocking outlines of a presence that shouldn't be there—and you weren't sure if you preferred it to be a simple joke from Viktor or an intruder from town.

Why had Viktor decided to make you company in the lighthouse? It went further than empathy, or even, the craving of being closer to each other when the whole world faded. But the starlight sphere hadn’t been built yet. And while shadows rested for their hauntings, you could wander freely.

You remembered the stagnant air filling your nose as you hoped your uncle to pass by after their break inside Viktor’s house, fearing the vivid memory would materialize into his ghost again.

Or whoever would be wearing his face this time.

“I—I would prefer to go for the books on the second floor, so you won’t climb too many stairs,” you said, your face hot once you met Viktor’s attentive gaze, an eyebrow elegantly arched. “Not to be meddlesome, of course.”

Viktor nodded, a half-smirk pulling his lips. “If you say so." He hummed, taking some keys out of his pockets; between all the golden, the one to open the underground office was big and heavy, silver, and with a slight tint of green from rust. “I’ll see you by the office, then.”

His steps quickly disappeared, your curiosity peaking as you climbed the stairs, almost picturing the rainy night you had met him, so many weeks ago.

Perhaps you’d be more familiar with the house if this marriage were conventional—if this house were conventional, too, without charged silences and acute shadows looming around the corners.

Without muddy footsteps guiding the way toward Viktor’s room.

He didn’t have any servants employed on the daily, with dusty corners and spiderwebs growing from the small crevices between the wall lamps and the roof. Excepting the quiet cook who came once a week to deliver food, Viktor lived all alone.

Until you, perhaps.

You would never know how he could stand it, the endless, empty hallways, still corners as if waiting for something to break such consistency with a humanoid shadow suspended above the ground. Such a big house, so lonesome.

Many corners watching your every move, so many shadows lurking nearby. It was maddening, as if you were a prey expecting to be hunted at every turning corner.

And then, it was your shabby cabin, too small for five people and yet, just as solitary.

Cursed or not, the walls are always whispering, bleeding the time it has seeped into them when the wallpaper isn’t changed regularly. The dark spots of humidity, creaky floors, and shrieking doors.

This house was alive, just like a guardian for its secrets, and right now, you were an intruder.

Would there be a place where you weren’t one?

Viktor’s door was unlocked when you entered, the familiar, cold handle quickly turning. Inside, everything was untouched, as you would expect a hostel’s room to look. So… abandoned.

The morning sun painted the white walls light yellow, staining your vision that was now so used to the dim orangey hues from the oil lamps lined up along the hallway. His bed was kept, blankets tucked neatly under the pillows that you know smelled like him; old pages of books, coffee beans, and the marine breeze filtering through the window.

With careful strides, wishing not to disturb the quietness of the place that was cut only by your slow breaths.

There it was his desk, the pile of papers and notebooks with wrinkly edges covering the wooden surface. Absentminded, your fingers passed through the pages, observing ink stains seeping through the reverse of its surface, crossed-out words gone unreadable. Diagrams of different sea creatures signaling with arrows are parts you couldn't make sense of.

Except… these… some of these drawings were familiar, or illustrations you'd found in the tales' books your grandparents kept by the side of your cot. Mermaids—all kinds of creatures with human heads, arms, and torsos, yet infinite classes of lower half.

Click. You heard, the hairs in your nape raising once the door in front of his bedroom started creaking.

Wood wept as the darkness spilled into the hallway, acute shadows seeming to lurk closer. His notebooks crackled when you pressed them against your chest in a stupid attempt to soothe your frenetic heartbeat.

Curtains were drawn, windows boarded; the inside of the adjacent room looked like a dark maw. You wished to tear your gaze away from the void, but curiosity prickled your brain, wishing to guess which amorph figures you could peek from the shadows.

Which one was the cause of your horrors?

You got closer to the hallway—you didn’t have another way to walk toward the exit, taking steps backward steps in an attempt not to turn your back to the darkness.

From the poor illumination from the oil lamp next to the door, you observed the outlines of a four-poster bed, a thin veil covering the mattress to protect it from the dust that permeated the forgotten, locked-away room.

It was then when your gaze flashed down, gaze focused on the large, solid mass of shadows sitting at the edge of the bed, half-body tucked inside the veil.

Your feet stumbled, almost tripping by the wrinkled edge of the carpet; knees converted into molten wax.

A trail of mud looked like drying blood inside the room, ending at the foot of the bed.

The sketch of a humanoid figure—the ghost bared its teeth in a lazy grin. Human teeth.

The air got stuck on its way out of your lips.

But no, you have pledged enough mercy that night at the cave, and you knew ghosts would be restless anyhow, as unmerciful as the heartbroken wails from the cliff.

You felt the heavy weight of the shell in the depths of your pocket, a somewhat comforting presence when your hands slid along the wallpaper wall, cold and rugged by time, to touch the level of the sconce.

Light filled the room like a yellowish afternoon, showing you a bedroom that was probably decorated by and for a young woman. With its tall closet and books collecting dust, discolored bedsheets covering what appeared to be a lounging couch posted by the window. A vanity whose mirror had been missed.

Covered with a soft-looking cotton blanket decorated with a knitted pattern of flowers laid the mattress, ruffles of lavender fabric covering the rest until it grazed slightly against the wooden floor. And yet despite all the details, no matter how hard your eyes tried to scan the surface, the bed remained empty.

Though a mark was half hidden beneath the ruffles, like a mocking gesture.

The outline of a footprint, still wet and muddy staining the fabric’s edge.

Newly made.

Swallowing a lump down your throat, which could be both panic and nausea, you held your breath while taking the door’s knob, cold and solid and grounding.

I won’t fear anymore. You thought, knuckles white from your forceful grasp. I won’t fear anymore.

Accommodating Viktor’s notebooks under your arm, you ran your finger to meet with the light’s flick, the movement more unconscious than you'd imagined as your finger simply ran down the button's surface to fill the room with shadows once again.

Instinct called you to look at the bed once again, which remained empty.

Yet still, while you closed the door with a slam, the hairs around your face moved by the breeze, accompanied by a distinctive human sigh.

It smelled like stagnant air, like the rotten stench of death.

When you tore your hand away from the knob, your fingers were stained with mud and traces of coagulated blood. An ominous mark, and an open challenge, perhaps.

It hadn’t been disgust. It wasn't a lack of bravery that made you dash down the stairs either, but the feeling that preceded closely behind after the sound dragged too long and with an impossible origin in this solitary hallway. Chills covered your skin with goosebumps, the heavy feeling of your nausea climbing up your empty stomach, the sick sensation of someone—something—watching you close.

Mid-way to the first landing, you started humming, a coping mechanism you developed since your uncles loved to tell you horror stories. To let your mind wander, filled with a long-forgotten song you tried to resurrect. Hum the same song in a loop until your brain tired itself out, forcing you to slumber.

This time, an echo answered your unconscious call for a duet once you stepped onto the ground floor, the sound floating along the wood, originating from under the door next to Viktor’s office.

“Viktor?” you muttered, though the voice wasn’t the same. It was a childish attempt to conceal the fear that this house enjoyed tied into your ankles and arms, like a puppet.

And right now, the house wanted you to play, prickling your curiosity enough to open the door. The locked door whose key remained inside the breast pocket of Viktor’s coat, the closed door that upon your intense gaze wasn’t locket at all, lock rusty and empty, yet not sealed.

Perhaps this one would also open unexpectedly if you hovered nearby long enough.

If you want to know, open this door, the house told you, making its walls loom closer, to trap you inside this moment when the sun hid behind a cloud, perhaps fearful of what your decision would be.

Open it. Open it. Open it.

You stood in front of it, torn between going down the known path, where Viktor’s door pooled light under the door, safe company, or following this one where the cold breeze came from. The door looked back at your indecision, impassive and old. All-knowing.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Don’t you want to know if you’re crazy? If you’re both crazy?

With your jaw clenched, you hugged Viktor’s notes closer to your chest, a sharp inhale as if you were about to dive underwater.

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

The iron was freezing to the touch; the slight creak between the floor and the door filtered cool air toward your legs, around your ankles like a lasso—which made you aware that this wasn’t a sealed room.

What was on the other side?

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

THUNK.

“Miss, what are you doing?” Viktor said when he saw you running down the steps of his office, hands pressed against the door as if a monster were trying to enter. “Are you alright?”

“Viktor,” you breathed, feeling your legs shake from the strain and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “Viktor, what is this?” you said, tumbling down the stairs and pushing the mermaid’s diagrams on top of the desk.

Viktor looked at you with wide eyes, some hairs prickling his forehead when he shook his head. “Pardon? Were you looking into my things?”

“Of course not,” your rebuttal was sharp and dry, humorless. “These are the notes you wanted to retrieve for the expedition. Why?”

He started by calling your name, but this wasn’t time to play with niceties. It wasn’t the first time you were haunted in this house—much less in this damned town; your old shell as a scared person had slowly been replaced by a harder, boldest one.

Viktor sighed, rubbing his right temple. “It’s… complicated,” he ventured. Words died in his mouth when he looked away in shame. "I don't think you'd believe me."

You extended your left hand, showing him the rest of the mud and blood starting to peel off. "If you believed me, why shouldn't I believe you?"

His eyes traveled toward your fingers extended toward him, his hand swiftly enveloping your stained digits with his own, dismissed the idea of caring about getting his hand dirty. You saw his expression shift; knitted eyebrows and a slightly clenched jaw, lips pressed on a line.

“Come with me,” Viktor said, standing from the desk and grabbing a valise that looked both full and heavy. “Let’s get out of this house.”

The afternoon was fading away when you helped Viktor push a fishing boat toward the shallow waters of the beach, almost not feeling the freezing weight of the water lapping at your ankles for the tall boots you decided to wear.

Your tummy was full of an extensive meal, arms burning from the effort of a whole day full of duties, feeling the rattling of the wooden boat scrapping the rocks in your bones.

“It’s ready,” Viktor grunted, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I’ll help you up first.” He extended his hand toward you, using it as leverage for you to step into the wobbling surface of the vessel. “There you go.” He used his upper body strength to sit against the edge of the boat, using your arms to rotate himself inside it, only putting down his legs over what would be his seat for the rest of the expedition.

The lighthouse waved you goodbye when you started paddling, wanting to keep the motor in case of emergency—besides, Viktor had said that the rain would come only after sundown.

"This is the fishing boat of Mr. Calis," you told him, passing your hands over the half-scrapped-down painting of its name Norina. It was, better put since Mr. Calis had died years ago.

“Yes. I bought it from his son when Mr. Calis moved with him to the city,” Viktor said. “It’s said to be the only fishing boat that didn’t suffer losses even during the fishing shortage years ago.”

You remembered, around ten years ago when your grandma told you that story while you promised you wouldn't repeat it.

It happened when she was still young, blessed with a reliable memory. Like all the other families from Piltover the Old, they must carry the familiar tradition of fishing as the only job people from this town could have—they were favored by the mermaids, or so the legends said.

And yet, all that terrible winter brought were merciless storms, destructive floods, and blobs of rotten fish washed ashore. All unconsumable, all unsellable.

It went for all winter, using the arrival of spring as an excuse to offer tribute to the sea, a custom you could still appreciate from the elders' survivors of the town leaving offerings at the foot of the cliff, washed away by the sea.

"People said he cut half the catch of each day and dumped it overboard in open waters," you hummed, just like your grandma did when she reached that part of the tale. "To feed the mermaids that helped him fill his nets."

“This town had always been tied to mermaids," Viktor said, enjoying the view of the lighthouse making itself smaller and smaller, a thin veil of fog starting to cover the sea as the sky turned dark blue. "Its designation as the largest, richest fishing zone all along this coast; it's downfall, and now even its remains are still tied to it."

“That’s why you’re interested in mermaids?”

"Yes," Viktor said, his body leaning backward and onwards with each forceful paddle, the tides growing impatient by the calling of the full moon that could barely peek down at you from between the thick clouds. "Many scientists still don't understand what phenomenon occurs in these waters. How there are so many flashing floodings, uneven patterns of raining seasons, and, well, this." Viktor signaled around you, the world becoming blurry and grey in the middle of the mist. "Look over there, where the sun dipped down."

With his cold hand, he guided your chin toward the west, where the continuous path of mist broke with a blue patch of sky.

“Is that…?” But it couldn’t be.

Viktor nodded. "The night sky. Nobody knows why only this part of the beach fills with fog and storms at night. There are dozens of papers theorizing about it, but alas, nothing is concrete yet."

“And do you think this is the product of mermaids?”

“There was a brutal hunting episode near this shore,” Viktor gestured to where the lighthouse was observing them like a gargantuan cyclops with its unwavering gaze, golden like its owner. “Folklore says that the fishermen killed mermaids once their revenues plummeted at the sudden shortage of fish—their pact with the mermaids already broken. But scientists say they killed large mammals instead, perhaps manatees. Such massacre would've created an unbalance in the ecosystem that still affects us today."

You paddled quicker once the night sky grazed you with its twinkling stars, a clean fabric of navy blue where the moon looked so big and full you could almost extend your hand and cup it, letting her tint you with its silver hues, to make you all moonlight. Perhaps that way you could float away from the dreary coast, always grisly and hopeless with its freezing rain that had seeped your bones with the same disillusion.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain the meteorological phenomena surrounding the town, either why there are people who refuse to leave it despite its conditions,” Viktor continued, stretching the sore muscles of his back once you broke over the unfoggy, calm open waters.

“Maybe they can’t,” you replied, your mind lost in the memories of your trip to the city.

Viktor gazed at you, seemingly thinking the same in the way he nodded, lips ajar as if trying to say something else.

“Perhaps they can’t,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper. “His name was Gavin. Gavin Stell. He built the house—and many say, he haunts the house.”

You felt cold despite the layers of clothes you had wrapped yourself into, the marine breeze making you believe the ghost was still behind you, whispering things into your ear.

“A man covered in mud…”

Viktor nodded. "He died inside his house during the devastating first flooding. Thinking his house was high enough that nothing would happen to him, he boarded the windows and sealed the doors to prevent the water from entering; and yet, she still found him and claimed him and the house. They had been the highest tides ever recorded; around sixty feet tall and seventy feet in range—of course, many say folklore exaggerated them. There’s no way to know for sure.” Viktor took the anchor and let it sink overboard once you were all surrounded by inky waters. “His spirit is locked inside the house, wanting his revenge from the mermaids that made his most precious project go to waste.”

You bit your lip, tasting the copper stench of your blood. The words were too scary to let out. This is real. That night was real. “Then the woman on the beach is a mermaid, perhaps? The one he’s trying to take revenge on?”

“No. Mermaids can’t be ghosts because they have no soul, no real body that remains after death.”

“But… the one in the museum—”

“It’s a fake. A wonder of mythical taxonomy, but it’s made up with human rests and other marine animals to match. It was discovered years after the flooding and after Gavin’s death. I suppose it was the last reason to abandon any hope to recover Piltover the Old’s once splendor.”

“That’s why you say you’re cursed?” you mumbled now that his attentive gaze was drawn away from yours, his fingers expertly aligning bottles to collect the bioluminescence algae and the water. “Because if so—and I know this may not help at all—but we’re all a bit cursed, too. But maybe together we can find a way to get out of the mist for good.” Shyly, you took the small tests he handed you, scribbling down what he instructed you to label them correctly and put them inside the box made of wood and leather.

Viktor tried to smile, observing the calm water that started to form foam with bioluminescent blue and green, ready to scoop part of it into his sterile bottle. "I've lost count of how many times I've tried, that I'm trying not to get my hopes high, Miss. The sea is unforgiven, and it seems that I still owe too much for her to let me go."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, not knowing how to feel, or what to say. You felt it, too. The tug at the bottom of your heart that called to look out the window, even now, challenged your best senses to look directly down into the abyss. To watch and tell her, I’m here.

"Mermaids may have no soul, but where do you think all those people killed by the sea went?" Viktor's question surprised you, his profile bathed in moonlight while his eyes squinted in focus toward the coast that had been left behind. "Sometimes, I think that they're, perhaps, in the mist that surrounds the town at night."

That she had taken too much from you, to confront her; sinking into the green-blue waters and glaring into its unbounded limits.

I’m here. What more do you want from me? You thought, settling another sample of bioluminescence inside the chest and dipping your hand into the water to erase a blotch of ink from staining your sweater.

"But then, why do they haunt us?" you whispered, the ghost wearing your uncle's face appearing in your mind. Your eyes locked into the water to try erase such happening from your memory.

What more do you want to take to let me be free?

From the infinite black of the ocean's waters, you saw a glimpse of white move below the boat, pale and quick and giant like lightning.

The boat rippled, with Viktor almost lost balance while trying to catch his cane about to fall overboard.

“Vikt—" you started, looking at him with eyes wide with terror, your grasp on his shoulders forceful and your breathing so quick it was creating clouds of steam from the lower temperature creeping into the night. “There’s something under the boat…”

From under the boat, you saw the flash again, a large, massive eye peeking from under the ocean surface directly at you.

A scream bubbled up its way out your throat, drowned by the sudden movement of the water below swaying violently to the side, toppling the boat upside down.

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