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[getwellpathlabs]

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[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[flamingredanon]

"I once thought of you as my weaker half, the part of me that I needed to be rid of so that I could lead the Toppat Clan without weakness.

However I was foolish in that decision and paid dearly.

But you Henry, you have done what I could not and shown yourself as not only the stronger half between us...

...but you have become your own person throughout your struggles."

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[getwellpathlab]

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[gaytheropods]

[ID: A tweet by @ DefiyantlyFree reading, "DOGE, coming to a government building near you..."

Attached to the tweet is a meme of buff doge + crying doge. Buff doge says, "Pack your bags" and crying doge is labeled 'Government employees studying the sex life of beetles" and is saying, "Please no". End ID]

There’s a bunch of right-wing people posting memes about “”DOGE”” making the government more efficient by removing funding from “”dumb bug researchers”” and I am now realizing how little the average person knows about entomology and its importance

Excuse me while I get sad .

[nomaishuttle]

got 2 the end of the glass desert got caseys last starmail screammsss

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[itsonlydana]

Sleeping In Their Clothes | hobbit / lotr

how they would react to finding you asleep in their clothes

characters: Thranduil, Bard, Aragorn, Legolas x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of Boromir's death (Aragorn), age gap (Bard), romantic shipping

word count: 5,7k

an: trying something new! Have been struggling to write after some personal issues so please excuse the slow updates on this blog

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil:

Thranduil’s mood darkens the halls, clouds the air around him bitter and ashen. The elves he passes lower their heads at his strides, at his cloak billowing behind him as thunder rolls over the skies. No one dares to speak, no one dares to whisper or raise their voice at any volume below the hushed glances they share after he disappears behind a corner. The foul stench of anger and frustration traces his path, starting right in front of the doors he slammed after another day of negotiations and down the direct route to his chambers. 

He grits his teeth at the servants hurrying toward him and bellows a low: “Get out!” as hands reach forward and there’s enough fury in his eyes for the servants to scatter away like a heap of leaves blown apart by a particularly harsh wind. 

Even the thought of skin touching him when he is burning up… he shudders. 

There’s only one who he wants close to him right now.

He reaches out for you long before he’s in the bedroom, feeling for your fëa entangled with his in an inseparable union and he makes sure to be gentle, brushing you with his love rather than the anger bubbling hot inside him. 

The calling stays unanswered – a deep wave of security and comfort labs over him but by the tenderness of it rather than your usual playfulness, and by the time Thranduil sees the seethrough white curtains around the bed, he knows exactly what state you will be in.

And never one to disappoint him, your unconscious yet dreamy smile is all Thranduil needs to forget about the anger he yielded like a sharp sword; used to cut down any and all offers from the dwarfs and their stubborn and unreasonable trading offers. 

Instead of ripping apart conversations and insults, Thranduil’s hands are gentle as he parts the curtains and kneels on the feathery mattress with your shapes ingrained in it. All those nights spent close together and his warrior-heart will never fail to skip a beat at the sight of you wrapped in his robes. It’s one of the older, worn ones as well. Fabric that thins out at the cuffs – not that this would be a problem; you’re not close to reaching them –, a few cuts and holes in places twigs and branches bore themselves into the crimson, featherlight velvet. 

Thranduil sees your skin flashing through some of them. The one above your knee, drawn up, another one below your biceps, relaxed because you know nothing can hurt you here, and some more all over your chest, hinting that you are not wearing much else. 

He knows you well enough that you won’t be bitter if woken up and so he leans in closer from behind. One hand finds your head, cradling it into his large palm until you, still in dreams comfortable embrace, roll to the side and bury your face inside it, nose pressed right against his steady pulse while his fingers gently trace the curve of your ear. 

No time spent together will ever sicken him of this, your complete surrender into his care, the doubtless trust that wherever you laid down to rest, he would sit by and be there. The oath of protection is one Thranduil promised his folk the day he was crowned their King as well, not once has he doubted he would abandon it all for the vow he gave you the night you offered your heart and he gifted you his; you above all.

His thumb just brushes over your temple and the fine hairs that come loose of your braid when your lashes flutter, leaving him to readily dive into the pools filled with love and sleep.

While he maneuvers with cunning, a master of actions and power, playing a game of chess on a board he alone commands, you stand unrivaled with the art of words. Your tongue, sharp and precise, weaves wit and wisdom into every phrase. Whenever he acts rationally and leads by his heart, you would listen first, hearing out heart as well as brain, and come to a conclusion serving everyone. 

Your voice has the power to sway wars and balance the scales of battle. When you speak, your tone, thick with the remnants of sleep yet razor-sharp in purpose, reduces him to nothing more than a mere soldier—helpless in the face of your command, whether in war or love:

“I dreamt we were air.”

“Invisible?” Thranduil's voice is laced with a touch of curiosity as he revels in the warmth of your laughter, the puff of hot breath meeting his wrist like a secret kiss. Your presence is a balm, a reminder of everything that is tender and true.

“You, my love, know that this is not true.”

“It is not?” 

“No,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tender skin, lingering with your lips over the pulse and the veins rushing blood to the heart, your heart, inside his chest. A puppeteer of words. Even the silent ones. 

“I agree,” Thranduil muses, enticed by this playful exchange, “that the wind is what we notice, a fleeting glimpse of nature’s breath. But air – air is the unseen force that dances around us, invisible yet ever-present, until our souls merge with the very fabric of the universe.” He glides his other hand to your legs, slipping underneath his warmed robe. 

You squeak as he anchors his arm around your thigh and tugs you over to face him in a swift movement. Faced to lie underneath his larger figure, you shoot him a crooked grin. 

“You can see the air just as much as you can see the wind it turns into,” you start and get comfortable in his lap. Thranduil immediately jumps the chance to idly with the robe that’s draped all over your body. 

“In the particles that dance in the sunlight,” you continue, your voice soft and thoughtful, “in the flags that hiss and flutter. In the vapor rising from steaming ponds, and in the mist that clings to the earth in the morning fog.” He watches, entranced, as your palm flattens against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I see it here,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and he follows your gaze as you watch your hand rise with each of his inhales and fall with each exhale.

Your fingertips, soft and gentle, curl slightly into the fabric of his current robe – soon, undoubtedly, those same fingers will find comfort in the folds of this robe, curling into it as you slip into sleep.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, he will see the air too, in the way your breath mingles with his, in the way your presence fills every space around him, making the invisible tangible, making the unseen profoundly felt.

The air catches in his throat and he sees your eyes twinkle.

Then, not looking away from you, he lies down as well. He has no need for the blanket crumpled underneath you both, the sight of you facing him, drawing your knees back to your chest and skin flashing whenever the fabric of his robes part to allow him these glimpses, is warmth enough. He loves you, even if you have a habit of taking what is his. A spray of his scents to drive him crazy, a feather that you take between your teeth as you write, or his robes but all of those mean nothing and all since you have him as well, fully and completely. 

So he will request ten new robes, in colors that you like, and await the day he gets to your bedroom and finds you sleeping in them.

“So,” Thranduil repeats slowly. His hand drifts to your face, trailing lines over the smile you give him. “You dreamt we were air?”

“Yes,” the corner of your lips quirk into a quick smirk, one that fades quickly yet leaves traces all over, “and we were invisible –”

“Oh, you little minx!”

“Ahhh – Thran, stop, oh I beg you, stop tickling me!”

Bard:

The brittle stairs heave and sigh, creak and groan under Bard’s boots, once honeyed planks now gray from the flow time, heavy rain and the dampness of the lake coloring the edges mossy green, and with the days passing by, the steps taken as he rushes down to work or tiredly drags himself up, one hand curved around the splintered railing, he wonders how many steps these stairs will endure before his house comes crashing down into the murky lake. 

This winter seems to be harsher than the ones before, with the wind howling loud at night and rattling on the walls that he wakes to frames shattered on the ground and the curtains ruffled even if the windows are closed. This winter, he swears the ice is thicker, a nearly impenetrable obstacle for his boat and his clothes are never warm enough but then, in the end, he knows the next winter will be worse and he doesn’t dare to complain out loud, doesn’t think it’s right to curse for hands shaking and feet aching and his nose running. 

As exhausted as he is, and Bard is, so exhausted, so tired, so drained, he’s mindful enough to skip the last plank of the stairs. He lifts his feet higher, ignores how the muscles in his thighs complain, and steps over the plank that always sounds like it’s waiting to break through, always moans the loudest when he needs to be quiet as if his state isn’t mockery enough. 

Bard slips through the door, opening it barely to keep the cold outside, and when he turns around, finally, warmth takes over. 

It starts in his hands, in the tips of his reddened fingers, exposed to nature's icy companions the moment he sneaks out to work before the sun rises. It creeps higher, up his arms and to his shoulders strong enough to carry his family more than he can hold himself, parting ways to fill his cheeks in the softest of glow, a simmering fire that colors his skin an ember-red and travels down through his swooping stomach, lightening a hunger he knows food will not sate, and when the heat reaches his feet, Bard releases a small sigh. 

There, in the low and flickering light of a candle burned down to a hardened wax puddle, his eyes immediately find you resting underneath the only window whose curtains are drawn open. Most of you is covered by a dark blanket, hiding your face but that doesn’t matter to Bard; he has every inch, every freckle, every crinkle of laughter and wrinkle of pain memorized. 

Not that he should; you’re kind enough to look after his children while he works, accepting no money and hearing no ‘buts’, and here Bard stands, a decade older, widowed and tired, and knows exactly that your mouth will be slightly opened and that your lashes will fan over the rosy apples of your cheeks and that your shoulders will ache because you rather sleep on the bench under the window than take away Bard’s pillow. 

Stubborn girl.

Bard crosses the cluttered floor, avoiding Tilda's drawings hung up to dry on the wooden ceiling beams and Sigrid's books and tomorrow, he will tut over Bain’s clothes left hanging on chairs and stools, but tonight he walks past them and their sight burns in his chest. 

As Bard gets closer to you, he nearly trips. 

That’s not a blanket that you hide your face in, that keeps away the winds creeping through the gaps in the wood behind you, that you use as a shield against the cold yet the greatest thing it fights are the walls Bard pulls up around his heart.

That’s his coat. 

The dark blue coat he left to dry over the oven after last night's rain. 

You must’ve taken it and that dismantles Bard into millions of pieces, chips away on his walls like nature takes layer after layer away from the stairs outside. 

While he can’t know when exactly the latter will be too much to take on any more pressure, he feels the heavy weight of his coat around your sleeping body, and just like the stairs, his personal defenses creak and groan, heave and sigh and crumble down around him in a thumping echo in his ears, that Bard fears his choked breath will wake you up.

He is helpless. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you directly, as much as he yearns to brush away the strands of hair fluttering in your even breaths. Bard’s hands are rough from his work and your soft skin deserves better than the callouses and scars he bears, so Bard gently lays his hand on your shoulder, covered by his coat – his coat, Lord how ever will he survive knowing the fabric kissed your body?

“Darlin’,” he whispers in a voice that’s horse and gravely, though it softens as he speaks your name, daring to follow it up fast enough there’s no room for a pause between the term of affection to be separated from your name.

You stir in your sleep, shift to reveal your face some more and the crease between your eyebrows and the effort it takes Bard to hold back from smoothing it out with his thump could have moved mountains. Bard ignores to notice how your nose is buried deep into the coat and that no washing could’ve ever cleaned the heavy fabric of his smell; he swallows hard. 

A low sigh blows away the hair and Bard’s eyes fall on the plushness of your lips. You wake up slowly, closing your mouth and you pull the coat tighter around you, holding onto it, while Bard lets go of his restraints.

“Darlin’,” he repeats, and this time you hear him enough to evoke a tired smile.

When you open your eyes and turn towards Bard, the candle flickers in the reflection of them. “You’re back,” you mumble into his coat, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I know, Bard wants to say, I skip the last stair so the noise does not take away my chance to wake you up.

Instead, he shakes his head: “You shouldn’ be sleeping on this bench, it’s too hard and uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, the coat still far too large around your frame and you don’t make any attempt to part from it, “This bench is sufficient enough for a short nap, and I–,” a yawn interrupts and you grin sheepishly, “What I wanted to say is that I wasn’t that tired anyway.”

“Sure,” Bard's laughter is quiet but fills the entirety of his lungs and his own lips mirror yours in a grin. 

The look you share in the darkness makes him feel like he’s young again, filled with infinite love for a limited body, bursting through his cells and flooding every vein, rushing blood that burns hot for you up to his battered heart. Bard can see your eyes wandering over his face and he wonders if you can tell that this smile is only for you and that he fights a lost battle in telling himself he can stop what’s tugging you closer. 

He leans in further and lets his hand fall from your shoulders to run his fingertips over his coat. His knees brush against yours, and Bard tells himself it's only the late hour that makes him tender, that his weary, overburdened mind is surrendering to the forbidden's allure in the quiet moments when no one else is watching. Yet, deep down, he knows this is merely the rationalization of a lost man, drawn to the woman who cares for his children who are not her own in some ways and are in others, who sleeps wrapped in his coat, and who gazes at him as though he could reach up and give her the stars he can see through the hole in his roof. 

“C’mon,” Bard nods his head toward the back of the house, an offer he speaks out every night, “I won’t let you go home all alone this late.” 

All other nights you shrugged his offer off, had him walk you home over the planks and gurgling water until you kissed his cheek goodnight and Bard snuck back to his home, falling into bed to fall asleep to an aching heart. He prepares for it now, the apologetic smile that usually takes over your face, the tilt of your head to hide your eyes, all of it is memorized to his memory and even though they’re always quiet he hears your “I can’t, I must go home,” like the drums of war that shoot the heart that beats for you.

He awaits it. He will ask again and again, no matter how desperate it makes him seem and how the hurt will take over and push him through the day only for the night to repeat itself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Bard freezes.

You blink up at him, eyes full of sleep and dreams that shouldn’t have the image of an old man and his children in them, but you’re never one to listen to what’s expected from you. 

There’s no ache in his bones as he gathers you up in his arms, your head resting against his beating heart.

There’s no groan in his muscles as he carries you through his house and over the threshold to the little corner where he lays you on his bed, blue coat pooling over you as you smile and pat the small free space next to you. 

He doesn’t feel the pain of work, the exhaustion of days of darkness and the fear of surviving the night to get through the week.

Bard kicks off his shoes, discards his dirt-stained pants, and shrugs off the shirt dampened by water, ice, and snow. He vows that tonight, you won’t feel the cold. As he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under the weight of his trembling legs. You lift the blankets without hesitation, inviting him closer, and he accepts, silently aching for the warmth you offer. Your body radiates heat as you nestle in beside him, your smooth skin brushing against his legs. Almost timidly, you curl into him, your smaller form pressing against his chest and stomach. His arms wrap around you and when he allows himself to breathe a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder, he catches his musky scent left behind by his coat. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the crown of your head, feeling the fast beat of your heart under his hand, “my love.”

Aragorn:

Aragorn has been familiar with the pain of war ever since his father was murdered by orks when he was two. He knows how it flits through the body like lightning through water, cracking into all the ends of a being to render them helpless, burning through whatever energy and fight is left, and killing easily and efficiently. 

And yes, he has felt the pain of war on himself before, in the years he spent fighting as Thorongil under the hands of Lords and Kings in the West. Aragorn saw good men fall, saw better men than him die to the growing threat of Sauron and there has been a cloud of thunderstorm in his heart from there on.

Nothing hurts as much as the pain that took over your lovely eyes the moment you saw Boromir lying on the ground in colorful dried crunching leaves, pierced by arrows that had been aimed at you too, though that didn’t matter – to you – then. The scream that came next pierced through Aragorn blindingly white and he could do nothing but try to grab you, as you fell to the ground, scrambling away from his strong arms to get closer to Boromir, your weak efforts nothing but agony for him. You had cried bitterly, hitting Aragorn with curled-up fists and he took every punch, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

It only got worse when you realized the Hobbits were gone too. 

Aragorn saw the flame of hope flickering inside your eyes, a darkness of grief and pain behind them that he knew and yet he had no idea how to help you. 

He still doesn’t. 

The sun rose hours ago, red bleeding into gold, Boromir waving a last goodbye in the clouds, and the rustle of the wind brings shivers to the four of the Fellowship who are left. You’re setting up camp for the day; Legolas and Aragorn have not much need for speed but exhaustion can be a much crueler enemy combined with death and grief. Aragorn’s gaze wanders to you ever so often as you stand in front of the burning skies, staring at the pack that was once Boromirs and he casts his eyes downwards to where his heart aches. 

You suffer, obviously, and Aragorn, who fought for more years in his life than not, doesn’t know how he can battle your demons. 

If he could he would draw his sword and head into the fight, only return bloody-knuckled, the shadows wrapped between his tight fingers. He can’t though, and that may be what pains him more than the obvious heavy weight of witnessing Boromir’s last moments; his inability to take on your emotional baggage. It tears through his heart in aggressive jibes and stings like liquor on an open wound. 

This is why he’s the first volunteer when Legolas suggests splitting up. 

Aragorn nods at Gimli and they disappear into the forest, leaving Legolas who rests even less than Aragorn, and you, the walking example of why avoiding sleep after such traumatic events should be mandatory: your eyes drop, your hands shake and no amount of effort on your side is enough to hide the sacking of your shoulders. Every day that you walked further away from when you were nine – Mithrandir’s absence not accounted for – you distance yourself more, most likely to hide your suffering yet all that this behavior accomplishes is that Aragorn notices it all. 

How could he not?

He cares for you, most ardently, and these feelings brought forth a vulnerability, an open spot in his heart for love to slip in and make itself at home.

Aragorn leaves you in Legolas' care; the trust he places in the elf to protect you in your fragile state is grander than the one he has in himself. One soft whimper as you hide your face in your shoulder and stumble over feet that won’t listen and Aragorn might do something naive as pack his sack back up and hunt the orcs that took the Hobbits, the one coated in Boromir’s blood, on his own. 

It would be reckless, ignorant, a troubled journey without Legolas or Gimli or even you.

So Aragorn goes against his heart's urges and patrols – clearing the forest and trying not to think about your frail form, hugging yourself out of desperation and grief.

Gimli and he return hours later, under the warm rays of the sun – the gentle strings far too bright and calming for the last day's events, the wind a breeze swirling through the leaves crunching under his light feet and Legolas lifts a finger to his lips as soon as Aragorn makes eye contact.

He assures his steps are as silent as possible, avoiding the logs and twigs they would collect later for a fire to warm them, and walks past the elf, nodding his head and quietly thanking Legolas for keeping an eye on you. 

A hand lands on Aragorn’s shoulder, stopping him in his movement. 

“She’s asleep,” Legolas says quietly, leaning in closer, “We shall move forward when she awakes, rested.”

“No sooner,” Aragorn agrees and lets out a relieved breath that had been lodged deep inside his chest. He looks to the elf, then to the bundle of a small human shape underneath a tree. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Aragorn, we need your focus as much as we need hers.” The grip on his shoulder loosens, and the weight stays in Legolas’ eyes and Aragorn almost winces, would he not know his friend only means well. 

His voice is gravel, his words soft and exhausted: “I know.” He didn’t know his heart had been such an open show but then, Legolas knows him like no other, a companion that found him and a friend that he can always count on, a partner in battle and nowadays, Legolas seems to have taken on the role of fates worst messenger – reminding Aragorn that this, you, the differences, the looming war and the ones that never end… 

When Aragorn approaches you, the pain he carries with him dims, a candle dying out in refreshing winds. Bending his knees, he carefully sits down, resting his back against the tree's rough bark covering your gentle face in dancing shadows and flickering golden spots of sunlight that kiss your closed eyelids. Around your shoulders and over most of your body, Aragorn recognizes the cloak he’d asked Legolas to stow away when Gimli and him took off. Now that he sees you, finally asleep, he is glad the cloak found a better use than being shoved inside a bag where it would have never touched your skin. 

He reaches out, soft and slowly, making sure his movements will not wake you and pulls off his leather coat as well, placing it across the uncovered part of your boots and legs.

Aragorn is tired but he will keep watch, protecting you to sleep safely.

He is weak but only for you, so he will fight harder than ever before to ensure the Hobbits return to see the smile he loves so much on your face again.

There is a possibility this will all change faster than any of you could realize, these times are unpredictable and there is a taste of danger on his tongue and in the air. The journey of the Fellowship has barely begun and already the sun bleeds into the horizon in colors that mark the grounds of battlefields awaiting you.

Aragorn clenches his jaw and only unclenches it when he hears the smallest of sighs. Looking down at you, he dares to smooth away some strands of hair, leaving a streak of dirt on your sunkissed temple. 

In the grand scheme of things, there is of course the need for the bigger picture and the importance of all that connects to this journey, but in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of the forests and your breathing, Aragorn takes comfort in knowing he has this moment with you to remember all the small things count just as much. 

A cloak to sleep in.

The shadow of a tree.

Even the pain seems to have fallen into a slumber, resting to surely come back and hit him square in the chest like it has never left him but Aragorn has never felt this free as in the pain’s short-lived absence. 

And he can hear it in the silence and in the way you keep his cloak close to you.

War brings pain but you bring love.

Legolas:

Legolas may agree that abandoning his father's task of informing Lord Elrond of the disappearance of their captive to travel through the lands and destroy a ring in Mordor – whether the Fellowship will make it this far is still unknown – but then Aragorn brought you to the Council and suddenly Legolas finds himself months away from his home, listening to your laughter as you flip rocks over the lake you’re standing in front of. 

He can not remember the last time he saw someone be this amused by the ripple of water and the stones skipping across the otherwise calm reflection of the skies that cause the growing disturbance. Then again, Legolas never met anyone like you in general and every aspect of your personality that he gets to watch unfold like the meadows you ride across, the hills you climb up, the more eager he feels to find out what makes you laugh.

Stones, apparently. 

“No, not this one!” you chime in and take the stone he picked up out of his hand, your skin brushing his and sending ripples over his skin. 

“No?” he inquires and tilts his head in genuine confusion. “This one seems perfectly adequate for this, no different to the ones you chose.” 

You scoff, giddy giggling followed. “That’s outrageous! Calling this one adequate when it's clearly in no shape to even compare to these –” you lift your hand to his face and present the collection of rocks that you seem to keep in the pockets of your vest, a grin blooming across your face, “Look! They’re thinner, perfect to hop.. hopefully, four times?”

Legolas smiles, one that’s more tugged into his cheeks and corners of his eyes to really be called one. “I will leave you to find what you think–”

“I don’t think,” you interrupt him and roll your eyes, already turning your back to him again and bending your knee slightly. You turn your head over your shoulder and the sun reflects beautifully in your cheeky gaze, “I know. I feel. Look!” Then you twist your arm, pulling it into your chest at an angle before flicking the stone across the lake.

Five times.

You cackle loudly. 

And Legolas picks up the stone you thought not to be perfect and slides it into his pockets, ignoring how his heart skips five times.

The day flies by like the stones dance over water, fast, too fast for Legolas' liking yet by the time the sun burns low on the horizon, he is glad for the calmness that settles over the little camp they’d set up earlier. The others are scattered around the fire crackling behind Legolas, the warmth creeping into his bones and settling high in his cheeks, as he turns his head slightly and catches you staring out onto the water; the red fire and golden sunset basking you in a glow that pulls him into you like busy bees to the sweetest of flowers.

He can’t help but stare, even if it’s everything but appropriate. Your face is lit up, not only by the embers fluttering to you and the last of the sun's rays caressing the fullness of your cheeks but ever since you decided to tag along on this journey, nature bathes you in an aphrodisiac of wind-swept hair that Legolas wants to braid, rosy fingertips that he wants to hold and kiss each one of them. Whenever he looks at you – he could not tell how much, time is a rush of emotions, a whirlwind of hair and laughter, hands playfully slapping him and he counts the days by how often you blink up tiredly after waking up rather than the sun sets and rises – he is astounded of the beauty someone could possess and carry it out freely like it sits in your heart and not in your face. 

The sun sets and your eyes are full of wonder and molten gold, an open letter of your adoration for the nature that equally loves you back. 

Behind him, Legolas hears Merry and Pippin sing, hears the low chuckles of Aragorn, and lips that curve around a pipe, teeth clacking against shaped and glazed wood filled with smoke. He also hears your intake of breath as the wind swipes over you, gliding over the lapping water first, over the croaking frogs and wreathes around your naked arms. He hears the sound of your hand smoothing over the fine hairs that stand up on your prickled skin. 

He hears himself talk, before he thinks: “Here, this cloak will keep some of the cold away.”

Your eyes widen.

His heart skips five times on each breath taken in the moment of silence.

Legolas is sure that you would take the offer one way, but then you nod, lower lip pulled between your teeth as if that could stop the shy smile from tugging up the corners of your mouth, and you scoot closer, lifting yourself up by your hands and leaning in, until your shoulders brush his side.

He almost freezes, not because of the cold – this he can not feel, for multiple reasons, and mostly the advantages of being an elf though the warmth radiating from your body, suddenly so close to yours and the blush that he must blame on the fire – but because the way you slid into his side as he holds up one side of the green cloak leaves only the option to drape the fabric over your shoulder and awkwardly pull his arm away or–

There must be some of his father's braveness in Legolas for he lowers his arm around you, shaking ever so slightly. 

You sigh, contentedly, and draw your legs up to your chest. “Much better at this than skipping stones,” you mumble and a tired yawn accompanies your huff of laughter. 

Despite the teasing tone, Legolas can’t stop his smile. “Is this.. perfectly adequate?”

“No,” your head drops and maybe you don’t notice but you rest it on the arm, oblivious to the halt this causes to every single thought Legolas has ever had. “This,” you whisper and he can hear the flutter of your lashes trying to stay open, “is just perfect.”

All Legolas can do is hum in agreement, and even this sounds as shaky as his words would have been had he any of them readily and not swallowed up by the swarm of butterflies swooping through his stomach.

The sun disappears behind the line of trees on the other side of the lake, throwing one last wink of gold over you both before the silver light of the moon laps over you like the waves onto the shore. By the time your hair twinkles like the stars you seem to have lost the fight of keeping your head up; it rests against Legolas, just like most of your upper body that followed one last yawn. He sits still, not daring to move much now that you’re this close to him, your nose against his chest, the bones of your knees resting against his thigh, and all of you enveloped in his cloak.

The fabric rustles slightly as his arm slips from your shoulders to your middle, tugging you closer to keep the heat encased in this cloak and moment you’re sharing.

Legolas's other hand glides into his pockets, finding the stone hidden inside. His hand wraps around it, pressing the smooth surface against his palm.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch part 2 Yeah, there's a subscription post now...

Danny pulled another sweet potato fry from his bag before refolding the top to keep it warm. He’d finish all the fries before he even got home, he knew that, but that was future him’s problem. Right then being able to munch on the sweet, salty goodness as he took a shortcut through the park was just what he needed. There was something about Robinson park that always settled him.

It was probably because of the park’s wild, otherworldly nature that came from Poison Ivy’s control. It almost felt ghostly in how unreal it was. It was another thing Danny tried not to think too hard on and just enjoyed. It wasn’t that Danny was ignoring the fact that he was half ghost (as he always tried to convince himself), he just wasn’t dwelling on it anymore. Ghosts had consumed his life for so long and he needed a break.

Even before his accident (it was easier to just call it an accident when people asked about his scars), his parent’s obsession controlled their house, family, and lives. He got now that it wasn’t normal to grow up not cooking because the food might eat you. Or because your parents were too busy in the basement lab to remember. His time away from Amity Park in college made Danny realize that Jazz and his childhood had been at best unsafe and at worst negligent.

It had taken Danny a lot of therapy to be able to say those words.

Being honest, Danny still needed a lot of therapy, but there was only so much progress he could make when he couldn’t really explain that he was half dead and had spent the end of his childhood fighting ghosts, the government, and his parents. He was half tempted to try and track down Harley Quinn and see if she was up to taking on a new patient. (Danny was pretty sure that she wouldn’t rat him out to the authorities.)

A vine thrashed suddenly in front of Danny, hitting the sidewalk with a meaty thump.

Danny froze.

Fuck.

His phone was out of power.

He couldn’t check if something was going on in the park.

While Poison Ivy was much more Pamela Isley than rogue these days, as seen by the city just letting her have control of much of the park, she was still temperamental and the right— or wrong— sort of thing could set her and her plants off. (Sometimes the plants went off on their own. Everyone knew not to be a sleaze bag in Robinson park.)

Slowly Danny started to back up.

Several more vines wretched themselves out of the ground around him.

He could hear shouting somewhere off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement from the plants that direction.

Alright, not angry at him then.

Danny crept forward slowly, keeping his motions as calm and small as possible. Just because they plants weren’t angry at him it didn’t mean they weren’t a threat to him. His best chance was to stay on the path and head in the direction away from the noise.

And away from the over sized flowers.

Well fuckity fuck.

Most things Poison Ivy could do weren’t really a threat to Danny. He could phase away from vines, after all. But the flowers? The flowers had pollen and pollen was an unknown; one that Danny didn’t want to be known. Sam was rather certain that the pollens could effect Danny in odd and unknown ways due to his half ghost nature.

He had refused to let Sam experiment on him to figure it out. Comparing her fervor to his parent’s helped shut that idea down for good. Danny didn’t regret avoiding being a lab rat, even as he was staring down the ruby red flowers to his right. He still just had to keep his motions as calm and small as possible.

The flowers were only an issue if they let their pollen out.

Danny started to move in as wide of an arc as he could around the flowers.

While they were closed up he was safe.

Danny’s left hand spasmed.

The paper bag of food crinkled.

The flower petals unfurled.

Fuck.

---

AN: I know there are issues, another no read through late night post, but I'm getting my serotonin where I can. Stay delightful, darlings.

[getwellpathlabs]

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[risaonda]

current gaming setup (very funny):

sitting in bed wrong

scarlet up on the tv, making egg power sandwiches

laptop on. watching sonic x. 30 minute timer up in the other tab to let me know when my sandwich runs out

periodically hitting the a button to check the basket for eggs

intermission (pause sonic x, make another sandwich, resume)

[theemporium]

[10k] an investigative study into the mysterious fish that saved his life; by oscar piastri with the assistance of logan sargeant, google searches and a crush that makes a man blind to the obvious signs that his coworker is a mermaid.

happy birthday @scuderiahoney!! for one of my fav people and one of my fav spirals we have had together<3

inspired by this moodboard

warning: mentions and descriptions of drowning!! idk why that wee bit went angsty but it did so be warned!!

.

THE PREFACE 

Oscar Piastri never considered himself a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy, but more of a ‘never have a plan’ kind of guy instead. 

He likes to let fate guide his decisions, or at least that’s what he told himself. That the universe was looking down at him and putting him where he needed to be. 

Because it was fate that he read the wrong room number, ending up in an ocean wildlife conservation lecture rather than the mechanical engineering one he was meant to be in. 

Because it was fate that he found a map, with a small seaside town circled, in the glovebox of the secondhand car he managed to save up and buy. 

Because it was fate that that very seaside town had one of Australia’s biggest ocean conservation programmes that was currently accepting applicants. 

Because it was fate that the dodgy, beachside cabin he bought for ridiculously cheap ended up being home to a stray dog who would become his best friend. 

Because fate was the only explanation for so many things in Oscar’s life that he never planned to happen nor did he believe would’ve just happened if he followed along the way he was. He chose to believe that there was some superior being up there that was making sure he was sticking to the path that was meant for him. 

And so far, it hadn’t led him astray. 

In fact, all things considered with his mother’s constant questioning and uncertainty of him moving so far from home for the programme, things had been working out pretty well for Oscar. 

He enjoyed the routine he had settled into in the almost year of being in one of Australia’s most picturesque, scenic seaside towns. 

Every morning he woke up just before sunrise, when the sky was breaking into pinks and oranges and yellows. He would shuffle his way into the kitchen, pouring a bowl of kibble for Buddy and a bowl of cereal for himself before taking a run along the beach (that was essentially his front garden) until the sun was in the sky. Some days he hit the water, most days he tried to stop Buddy from eating the jellyfish that had washed up on the beach. 

He would have a quick shower, put out some more food for Buddy before riding his bike fifteen minutes towards the water park (because unlike the others, he listened to Sebastian’s talks on lessening your carbon footprint). 

He would greet Alex and George by the door, the two already arguing or disagreeing about something or the other. 

“Alex, they have to show you proof of university ID to get a student discount!” 

“They looked trustworthy!” 

He would pass by the gift shop where Lando would be sitting on the cashier counter, swinging his legs back and forth and fiddling with the speakers to play whatever music he was feeling that day. 

“I’m telling you, Aussies love country music, Osc. You’re clearly the odd one out.” 

Some days, he would pass by Charles and Max by the tourist booth, bickering back and forth about the customer shows and tours for the day. 

“I can’t dedicate thirty minutes of my tour to you, Charles.” 

“But the penguins have learnt new tricks!” 

Other days he would pass by the labs where Sebastian would stick his head out, waving at the boy and throwing some weird and wondrous fact at him. 

“Hey, Oscar, did you see that the squid killer parasite was treated successfully last week?” 

And some days Sebastian stayed in the lab, the door closed and locked behind him which told Oscar and the others that Mark, the park’s owner, was visiting. 

And by the time Oscar reached the staff room to drop his stuff off in his locker and prepare for the day, Logan would’ve somehow hunted him down and began yapping his ear off about something or the other before he eventually brought up his favourite topic. 

The crush Oscar had on you. 

“You must be happy this morning,” Logan commented offhandedly as they left the main building, heading down towards the animal habitats. 

“As opposed to every other morning when I’m always angry and upset?” Oscar deadpanned, shooting the American a look. 

“Just thought you would’ve had a small mood booster after seeing the rota,” Logan shrugged, but there was a mischievous and knowing glint in his eyes. “Heard you were on the late shift.” 

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh.” 

“On the late shift with a certain someone,” Logan continued. “Someone you happen to—”

“Do you have to do this every time?” Oscar asked, deadpanned.

But Logan was already nodding. “Yes, it brings me great joy when you try to act nonchalant and then lose your mind in front of her.” 

Oscar scoffed. “I do not lose my mind in front of her.” 

“Hey, guys!” 

Oscar felt his mouth run dry when he turned his head to find you already out on the dock by the dolphin enclosure. It was embarrassing the way his brain went blank, the way his eyes were glued to you—your outfit no different to the uniform both he and Logan and everyone else wore—and not a single coherent thought could leave his mouth. 

He felt Logan jab him in the ribs, kickstarting his brain and letting out an awkward garble before he managed to blurt out, “Heyo!” 

He wondered if jumping into the tank with the dolphins would save any of his dignity. 

“What he meant to say was hey back,” Logan called out, far too smiley as he tried to hold back his glee. “You’re out here early.” 

“I was teaching Rufus a new trick,” you explained, something quite fond in your voice as you turned to smile at the dolphin who was currently nudging a ball towards you. “And then Gizmo felt left out so I played with him a bit too.” 

Logan raised his brows. “With one ball?” 

“I’m creative,” you shrugged. “If you were working in the dolphin enclosure, I would’ve taught you my tricks, Sargeant.” 

“Well, you can always teach Oscar!” Logan said, giving his friend a slightly rough slap on the back which caused him to stagger forward. “I’m sure he would love to learn anything you wanna teach him!” 

Oscar shot Logan a glare. 

Logan only grinned wider. 

“I’ll see if I can make him a dolphin whisperer,” you teased, lighthearted and playful and unaware of the lingering tension between the two boys. You turned to Oscar with a kind smile on your face, one that kind of made his brain go fuzzy. “It’s been a while, Piastri. I’ve missed working with you.” 

And Oscar could feel his cheeks burning up but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he mirrored your smile, his heart beating wildly in his chest. 

“I’ve missed it too,” Oscar replied, sincere and genuine. 

He did. He really did. Because despite all of Logan’s taunting and teasing about Oscar’s crush on you—which was very much real—he also appreciated you as a friend. He had since the day you both started, anxious and eager and leaning on each other for support since day one. 

Just somewhere along the line, Oscar managed to catch some feelings he couldn’t quite shake away. But it was fine. He had them under control. He had long ago accepted they wouldn’t be requited and he would let them run their course before the friendship returned to normal—whilst you were none the wiser. 

“The dolphins missed you too,” you added. “That’s just ‘cause you feed them an extra herring.” 

“I gotta bribe them!” Oscar defended. “You have some secret bond with them. It’s not fair.” 

You snorted. “Well, lucky for you, you’re on swimming duty. Get that wet suit on, Piastri.” 

And then, you flashed him a wink and turned around and—

Yeah, Oscar was far from moving on from how he felt about you. 

But it was fine. Because Oscar Piastri was the kind of guy who let fate take the reins for him. 

Because fate led him to this town. Because fate led him to this job. Because fate led him to you and all the others he had bonded with to make a dysfunctional but supportive family. 

Because it was fate that led him to making one of the biggest discoveries in his life. 

…

THE SIGHTING 

It was as normal as a morning could be. 

He had woken up a little earlier than his alarm, a weird and unsettling feeling in his chest that he brushed off as the few hours of sleep he had managed to get. Buddy wasn’t much better, not as eager to get out of the house as he usually was when Oscar stood by the door for their morning walk. 

It was a little chilly, enough to warrant Oscar wearing a jumper as they wandered down the beach until Buddy felt a little more relaxed and playful. 

But by the time they returned to the house, Oscar was still wired with some restless energy itching under his skin and still three hours until his shift started at the park. 

He thought a quick go at the morning waves would help settle the feeling buzzing through his body before he started scratching at his own skin. 

The water was cold and refreshing and definitely washed away any last dregs of sleep that Oscar had been clinging onto. The exhaustion was long gone, now replaced with a different type of adrenaline that made him seek out the waves that made him work for it. 

It was still early, far too early for many people to be on the beach. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and Buddy was still half asleep on the beach by his towel, no real rush to join Oscar in the water any time soon. 

Everything was fine. 

Everything was normal. 

The morning sun was starting to shine through, but instead of fluffy, white clouds like the forecast had assured, large, dark clouds were taking over the barely blue sky. It was disconcerting, especially when the waves seemed to be getting rougher. 

He took one glance down at his watch, assuring himself he had enough time for one more wave before he headed back to shore to get ready for his shift at the marine park. With a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes at the water and began paddling with his hands. 

The wave didn’t look too big or risky. It should have been an easy attempt, one that Oscar could do with little to no thought on a day with good weather. But the wind was stronger than he realised, the water more temperamental than he assumed and it didn’t take Oscar long to realise that this wave wasn’t going to end well. 

But the panic didn’t start setting in until the wave washed over him, knocking him off his board with little time for him to take a breath before he went under. He could feel the current tugging his body in different directions, pulling his arms one way whilst the leash around his ankle pulled him in the opposite direction with his board. 

And no matter how hard he kicked his legs and propelled his arms, he couldn’t seem to get any closer to the surface. 

It hit him that he was absolutely fucked when he could feel his lungs starting to burn.

Buddy would be left on the beach, whining and crying out for Oscar until someone found him. Or, god forbid, the loyal dog would try to swim out and find him himself. Oscar was all he knew, the only family Buddy had ever known and it was clear that the dog loved him. It made him feel a twisted sort of pain at the idea of leaving the dog behind. 

People at work would be confused when he didn’t turn up for his shift. Logan would probably be the first to notice when he spends far too long waiting for Oscar in the staff room, watching the clock with a frown. The blond would probably offer to drive out to his house to check up on him. Charles would probably offer to join and might even offer to drive if he could see the boy’s hand shaking too much. He wondered if you would join. 

Sebastian would probably have to call his family back home, to tell them. His stomach twisted into something bitter and awful at the thought of leaving his family behind, of never being able to hug his mother again or tease his sisters or surf with his father. 

His body stopped fighting at one point, too tired to even attempt to reach the surface. But his brain kept going, kept haunting him with the life his family and friends would lead whilst he continued to float and float and—

And then he saw it. 

It was blurry, his vision dotted with black and white blobs as the overwhelming urge to close his eyes took over his body. But he saw it. He saw the flashes of orange, the scales glimmering in the little light under the surface. He saw a fin and scales and then—

Skin. 

And hair. 

And arms reaching for him. 

And he swore he saw the features of a human face staring back at him, but before he could even try to force his eyes to focus, everything was going black and Oscar let it happen. 

…

The first that hit him was how fucking cold he was. 

The second was—

Well, the second hit him when his eyes blinked open, barely giving him a chance to acknowledge the people surrounding him before he coughed, emptying out the saltwater that was still stuck in his lungs. 

He could feel someone’s hand soothing his back, the action almost relieving if it weren’t for the fact Oscar swore he couldn’t stop shivering. 

“Let it all out, honey, atta boy,” a woman’s voice soothed as Oscar laid on his side, panting heavily and trying to wrap his head around everything before he felt a furry head pushing against his own. 

“Hey, Buddy,” Oscar breathed out, his lips twitching as he let the dog practically throw himself on top of Oscar even if it was still a little hard to breathe. 

“Smart dog you got there,” the woman spoke up again and Oscar finally turned his head to find a kind-looking woman smiling down at him. It took a few seconds before he realised she was wearing the paramedic uniform. “He managed to drag a couple out of their car to come help you. They are the ones who called us.”

Oscar blinked. “You swam out?” 

The woman frowned a little. “Of course not, honey. The waves seemed to have washed you in. You were lying out on the beach when we got called out.” 

“I—” Oscar blinked again, his confusion growing as he stared out at the ocean for a few moments. “Right. Of course.” 

“Do you remember what happened?” The kind paramedic asked.

“A little,” Oscar admitted. “I was surfing and the wave took me under. The current started dragging me further out. But then I saw—” Before he paused. Images of orange scales and a human face flashed in his mind but there was a voice in the back of his head that told him to stop, to keep that to himself.

“Saw what?” The paramedic prompted. 

“I don’t know,” Oscar eventually said as he shrugged. “I think I blacked out after that.” 

“I see,” the woman nodded, though he couldn’t read whether she believed him or not. “Think you can stand up? We just wanna do some standard tests, make sure you are alright. Then maybe someone you know can come pick you up.” 

“No need, my house is just there,” Oscar said as he nodded towards the cabin in the distance. “I feel fine, I promise—” 

“Procedure,” the woman said with a sheepish smile. “C’mon, it won’t take long. Promise.” 

And true to her word, it hadn’t taken long. 

Beyond some tests to prove that he knew his name, had basic motor functions and wasn’t concussed, he was allowed to head back home with Buddy by his side and a blanket wrapped around his body to try and maintain what little heat he had left.

His body was running mostly on muscle memory as he shuffled into the house, pulling the blanket off (against better judgement) and starting to unzip his wetsuit so he could peel it off his body like a second skin. 

He was smiling down at Buddy, who had refused to leave his side, when he felt a sharp prick against his finger. He winced, lifting his thumb to his mouth without second thought before glancing down to see what had nicked him. 

His eyes widened comically large when he saw an orange scale stuck to the side of his leg, sparkling and glistening the same way he swore it had under the water. The attempt of removing the wet suit was quickly abandoned as he glanced around the room, swearing under his breath before shuffling towards the kitchen. 

Buddy followed, whining and huffing as Oscar slammed cupboards doors open and shut before finding a small container. He leaned down, grabbing the scale as gently as he could before transferring it to the container. 

“M’telling you, Bud, that thing out there saved my life,” he spoke, his voice still a little raspy and raw. “I don’t know what it is but it wasn’t a normal fish. And I’m gonna figure out what the hell it is.” 

With all due respect, Buddy looked at his owner like he was insane but Oscar didn’t seem to notice. 

…

“I need you to look at something for me.” 

Logan let out a high-pitched scream, his body reacting quicker than he could keep up with and causing him to fall out of his seat before he noticed Oscar standing there, a frown on his lips. The blond let out a curse, his hand pressed against his chest as he let out a deep sigh of relief. 

“Fucking hell, dude, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” Logan grumbled before pausing, scrambling to stand up and really focus on Oscar this time. “What the fuck are you doing here? You should be resting!” 

Oscar blinked. “I’m fine.” 

“You almost drowned,” Logan said slowly, like he was explaining the point to a child.

“Yes, Logan, I’m aware,” Oscar deadpanned. “I was there, believe it or not.”

“I—” Logan let out a deep breath. “You’re insane. Like actually insane. I think you lost too many brain cells because you shouldn’t be out of bed, let alone at work—”

“I’m not here to work,” Oscar corrected before flashing his friend a grin. “I came here because I need your weird fish encyclopaedic knowledge.” 

Logan stared at him. “Be honest with me, did your board hit your head?” 

“Shut up,” Oscar rolled his eyes before gesturing to the jar he slammed on the table before Logan fell off his seat. “Look.” 

Logan frowned a little, picking up the jar and peeking inside. “I know you work with dolphins but I’d at least hope you know that’s a fish scale.”

Oscar shot him a look. “I know it’s a fish scale but I need to know which fish it belongs to.”

Logan blinked. “You think I’d be able to take one look at this random scale and tell you which fish it belonged to?” 

“I mean,” Oscar shrugged. “Yeah. Kinda.” 

“You’ve been hanging around the dolphins far too much,” Logan murmured. 

“Listen, whichever fish that scale belongs to saved my life,” Oscar started. 

Logan stared at him like he had grown a second head. “A fish saved you from drowning?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you are sure you didn’t hit your head?” 

“Oh my god,” Oscar huffed. “Look, I know what I saw. It had a huge orange tail but it also had…like…skin and hair.” 

“Very commonly found in marine animals,” Logan deadpanned. 

“I’m serious,” Oscar said, his lips turned downwards. “And think, if it is a new kind of fish and you help me discover it—” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Logan muttered, waving him off. “For the record, I still think you’re going insane but I’m your friend so I’ll help you out.” 

Oscar grinned. “I knew you’d help.” 

“You owe me lunch though,” Logan added. “I dropped my burrito when you scared me.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Fine, deal.” 

…

THE INVESTIGATION

Despite his concern, Oscar managed to convince Sebastian to let him come back to work the next day (after saying he would be bored out of his mind at home) with the condition that Buddy be allowed to join him at work considering the dog had downright refused to leave his side since the accident. 

George and Alex had been awkward at the front. They had been less than subtle at their surprise that he had come into work so soon, and in turn, had been dreadfully unprepared in the etiquette of how to talk to your coworker friend who had almost drowned and died less than twenty-four hours earlier. 

Lando had been no better, downright asking him if he met God in the few minutes he lacked oxygen under water before being washed back out to shore. He hadn’t understood why Oscar—and even Buddy—had stared at him blankly.

Charles had been a little more sympathetic, though oddly protective of the boy. He had been a little fussy at Oscar coming in so early, insisting that he would make sure the boy had proper breaks and meals, even if he had to talk to Sebastian himself. Max had rolled his eyes at the other boy’s antics but clapped Oscar on the back and said he was happy he was alive. 

Even Logan had been cautious around the boy. Despite his agreement to help search for the fish that saved him, he still constantly looked at Oscar like he had downright lost his mind. And maybe he had. 

The only person who seemed to be acting remotely normal towards him was you, or at least it felt that way. 

“You know, Rufus really missed you yesterday.” 

Oscar raised his brows as he walked down the pier towards where you stood, two buckets of fish in each hand. “I think we must be talking about different Rufuses.” 

You rolled your eyes, though it seemed quite fond as you patted the spot next to you as you sat on the edge of the dock. “He likes you. He just also likes teasing you.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, he is a little prince around you,” Oscar commented, smiling softly when Buddy rushed towards your side, nuzzling you fondly. 

“There’s my favourite dog,” you cooed, taking Buddy’s face in your hands and pressing a smacking kiss on the top of his head. “Such a handsome boy.” 

Oscar chose to ignore the fact he was feeling oddly jealous of his dog of all people. 

“You’re just a dolphin whisperer,” Oscar said eventually, looking out at the two rescue dolphins that were currently chasing each other with a red ball between them. “I don’t get how you do it.” 

You shrugged, but your smile was mischievous. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” 

Oscar snorted in response. It would have been embarrassing if it didn’t make your smile widen. 

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the two of you with Oscar watching the dolphins and your attention on the needy dog now half-sprawled across your lap. You waited a few moments before you found the confidence to speak up again.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, your fingers tangled in Buddy’s fur as the dog sighed happily. “I mean, obviously you don’t have to answer that but if you want to talk about it—”

“I’m okay,” he answered with a kind smile. “It was…weird.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Weird is an understatement.” 

But Oscar just shrugged his shoulders. “I was lucky, that’s what I’m choosing to focus on.” 

You nodded but you didn’t say anything in response. You didn’t get the chance as Logan came barrelling down the dock, a huge grin spread across his face and a bunch of scuba equipment in his arms.

“Dude, you won’t believe what Seb let me borrow!” 

Oscar’s eyes widened as he quickly scrambled up, shooting Logan a look that he didn’t seem to understand. 

“Don’t worry,” Logan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t tell him about your mission to find—” 

But Oscar reached over to smack his hand over Logan’s mouth before the boy could continue, laughing awkwardly as he looked over his shoulder at you. “He doesn't know what he’s talking about!”

You glanced between the boys, eyeing the scuba equipment curiously. “Hiding some top secret mission from me?” 

“No, of course not!” Oscar quickly blurted out. “It’s just…something stupid.” 

You raised your brows. “And requires state of the art diving equipment?” 

Oscar just laughed nervously.

Logan finally managed to push Oscar’s hand away, something mischievous and cunning shining in his eyes as he glanced at Oscar before looking at you. “You know, we have spare equipment. You could totally join us tomorrow—”

But before Oscar could intervene, you were already responding. 

“Oh no, I can't swim.” 

Logan blinked. “What?” 

“I, uh, mean,” you laughed, awkward and stilted as you quickly stood up, almost tripping on Buddy as you did so. “I swim. I can swim. Just not well.” 

Logan nodded slowly. “Well, Oscar could always teach you—” 

“No, no, don’t let me hold you back,” you insisted before clearing your throat. “God, would you look at that! I should go get some more fish. Bye, guys!” 

Neither boy got a chance to say much before you were running down the dock, heading towards the main building. Logan watched you for a moment before looking down at the two full buckets of fish by his feet. 

“Well, that wasn’t weird at all,” he deadpanned.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re reading too much into it.” 

Logan gave him a weird look. “Dude, she’s literally lying. It’s a part of the entry requirements to be able to swim and be fully lifeguard trained.” 

“Well, maybe you made her uncomfortable and she felt the need to lie,” Oscar retorted.

Logan rolled his eyes. “A man in love is a blind man.” 

Oscar shook his head. “Pipe down, Shakespeare, and show me what Seb gave you.” 

…

As it would turn out, aimlessly diving around the area Oscar almost drowned was a useless and fruitless endeavour. 

Who would have thought?

Logan, clearly, considering the boy had been insisting as much since the two of them waddled back into Oscar’s cabin, their wetsuits drying out on the balcony and the heavy weight of exhaustion on their shoulders after the hours of searching was something that was not there. 

“Maybe it needs a purpose to show itself,” Logan suggested as he slumped down on the couch, happily letting Buddy jump up and join him. “Maybe you need to almost die again.” 

Oscar shot him a look.

“Right. Too soon. Sorry.” 

“No, I—” Oscar paused, shaking his head and letting it drop. He was too tired to deal with it anyways. “That is not a theory we are going to test.” 

“Whatever you say, man,” Logan shrugged, settled against the soft throw pillows Oscar’s mother had insisted he needed to buy to make his place seem a bit homier. “What’s your plan anyways?” 

Oscar frowned a little in confusion. “For what?” 

“When you find this fish,” Logan stated. “Like, what are you gonna do? Say thank you and move on with your life?” 

“Well, no, I—” he paused for a moment. “I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s a weird fish.” 

“And diving the depths of the ocean will get us nowhere except having a very boring hobby for the next fifty years,” Logan deadpanned. “Describe the fish again. Maybe we can note down some main features and do some research. There’s probably something on the internet.” 

“I don’t know,” Oscar shrugged, turning his attention back to whatever scraps were left in his fridge that he could somehow make a meal from. “I have never seen a fish like this.” 

“Because you know every fish ever to exist.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” 

“C’mon, just try,” Logan whined as he reached for his phone, muttering out a small ‘sorry’ when he had to manoeuvre Buddy on his lap before he pulled up a new tab. “We have orange scales, big, skin and hair-like features—”

“It was skin and hair.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Logan murmured as he continued to add a few more details Oscar had told him before hitting search. He waited a few moments, looking through the top searches before he let out a loud snort. “Okay, maybe you were right. Maybe googling is useless.” 

“Why? What does it say?” Oscar asked, reaching for the jar of pasta sauce that seemed to be shoved towards the back of his cupboard. For the sake of his rumbling stomach, he decided not to linger on how long it had been back there for.

“It says you’re looking for a mermaid,” Logan snorted, his amusement clear in his voice. “I mean, come on! Like any sucker would believe that.” 

However, when he turned his head to see if Oscar was laughing along with him, he found the boy staring back with a contemplative look on his face.

“No,” Logan groaned, leaning his head back against the pillows. “No, Oscar, we are not—” 

“It might be,” Oscar argued back.

“You need to get your head checked,” Logan grumbled.

“Just find as many reliable sources on mermaids as you can whilst I make lunch,” Oscar retorted, waving him off as the American let out a squawk of protest.

“He’s gone insane. My best friend has gone insane.” 

“I can hear you.”

“Good!” 

…

“I can’t believe these words are about to leave my mouth—” 

“You don’t need to say that everytime.” 

“But how do we know we are dealing with a mermaid and not a siren?” Logan questioned as the two of them sat on the dock by the dolphins, sandwiches in hand as they enjoyed their lunch break whilst entertaining Rufus and Gizmo with the new toys Sebastian had ordered.

“Because it would have killed me if it was a siren,” Oscar responded matter-of-factly. “If it was a siren, they probably would have eaten me.” 

“Should we really be saying it? Wouldn’t it be a she?” Logan asked, but before he could even wait for an answer, he was continuing. “And how do we know she speaks English? Like, she could speak some ocean language. Maybe you need to start speaking fish so you can thank her if we find her.”

Oscar blinked. “Speaking fish? Really?” 

“What? I am just making assumptions here,” Logan murmured. “It’s not like there’s a lot of accurate and reliable sources for mermaid logistics and habits.”

“Well, she is also probably a human living in this town,” Oscar pointed out. “So, I think my chances of her speaking English or any other human language is high.”

“So you think,” Logan muttered under his breath.

Oscar glanced down when he felt a nudge against his foot, smiling when he felt Rufus nudge him. “I wonder if she can speak to fish.” 

“Hm?”

“Like, imagine how cool it would be to be able to talk to different sea animals,” Oscar commented as he leaned down, his smile widening when the dolphin lifted his head up to meet Oscar’s hand.

“Well, your girlfriend is the dolphin whisperer,” Logan teased, nudging the other boy’s side with his elbow. “She could maybe teach you something, help you practise your fish language before you find your knight in scaly armour.” 

Oscar could feel his cheeks burn. “She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“But you wish she was,” Logan sang. 

“Plus, some people just have a special knack with animals,” Oscar shrugged, watching as Rufus continued to nudge his foot to gain his attention. “She’s one of them.” 

“A shame she can’t swim with them,” Logan muttered.

“Oh my god, get off her back with that,” Oscar groaned. 

“I am just saying—” 

“Stop saying it.” 

“—it’s a little weird that—”

“You’re a little weird.”

“—she was so dodgy about her swimming and then ran off—”

“You are reading far too much into it.” 

“—like she’s hiding something!” Logan exclaimed. 

“Who’s hiding something?” 

Both boys let out a scream, whipping their heads to find you standing a few feet away, looking far too amused at the expressions on their faces. You raised your brows, glancing between them and watching the way they both floundered for a response. 

“Were you talking about little old me?” You asked, a dramatic gasp following as you placed your hand over your heart. 

Oscar’s eyes widened. “No, we just—”

But before he could even come up with a half-assed, lame excuse to try and sell, a large splash of water hit the three of you. The water was cold and a shock to the system and the almost mocking laugh of Rufus as he swam away was the cherry on top. 

Oscar glanced down at the soggy sandwich in his hand before shifting his attention to you, noticing the way your eyes widened in panic. 

“Hey, you look a bit pale,” Oscar started but you were already starting to walk backwards. 

“I have to go!” You blurted out before turning on your heel and sprinting down the pier. 

“Wait!” Oscar frowned, ignoring the odd look Logan was giving him as he began to chase after you, watching you make a beeline towards the main building. 

He could feel his legs burning as he tried to catch up, as he chased you through the windy footpaths of the park, only to find himself at the main building with the door still locked and you nowhere in sight. 

He called out your name, his teeth starting to chatter a little as the water seeped into his clothes and hung heavy on his frame. 

But you were nowhere to be seen. 

…

“Do you think there is a way to find the human version of the mermaid?” 

Oscar barely lifted his head up from his phone, glancing down at the series of unread messages he had sent to you over the course of the last few days. Sebastian had said you called in sick, saying you needed a few days to recover from your cold without giving it to anyone. 

But Oscar wasn’t buying it.

“Because maybe we just need to look for the very obvious clues.”

Of course, there was the potential option that you really were sick. It was quite chilly the other day and Oscar’s mother always did say that wet clothes and chilly weather were never a good combination. It was why his first message was staged as a simple wish for you to get better, seeing if you would reply to him. 

You didn’t. 

“You know, like people well affiliated with fish. And maybe avoid water. And maybe have a suspicious background we don’t know about.” 

The following messages had been sent by accident. His thumb had been hovering over the second message when Buddy bumped into him and made his thumb hit the screen. And then, with the embarrassment already settled, he found himself sending a few more to follow up. 

But still, he hadn’t heard a single word from you. Nobody had. 

“It does make me wonder if your kids would come out as mermaids or fully human though.” 

Oscar blinked, head snapping up to stare at Logan with a bewildered look. “What?!” 

Logan huffed. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?” 

“No, clearly not. Though, if you’re talking about how mermaids reproduce then I’m glad I zoned out,” Oscar deadpanned. 

“You should have a lot more interest considering your girlfriend is a mermaid,” Logan retorted. 

Oscar blinked. “Come again?” 

“Don’t tell me you don’t see the signs?” Logan prompted. 

Oscar shot him a look. “I don’t see the signs.” 

“God, love really is blind,” Logan sighed, shaking his head. “The signs are right in front of you, dude. She’s the one you’re looking for. Maybe. Potentially. It’s mostly a hunch.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Oscar scoffed. “I know her. I know her better than you. And I know that isn’t her.” 

“In denial your girlfriend is a fish?” Logan teased, nudging his foot against Oscar’s shin only to let out a wince when Oscar kicked him back. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m not in denial about anything!” 

“Who’s not in denial about anything?” 

Oscar’s head snapped around, his cheeks burning when he found Charles and Max standing at the door of the staff room, looking between the two younger boys with a questioning but amused look in their eyes. 

“Nothing!” Oscar flashed them a strained smile. “Truly nothing. We are talking about absolutely nothing.” 

Max raised his brows. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.” 

“Well—“ Oscar laughed, another half-assed lie ready to leave his lips but Logan bet him to it. 

“Oscar is just in denial about his lady fish!” Logan blinked, realising what he’s been saying. “I mean his friend who’s a fish! I mean, his lady friend who likes fish. She isn’t a fish. No one is a fish but fish!” 

Oscar shot him a look. 

“You know?” Logan laughed awkwardly. 

To his credit, Max looked positively delighted like their misery was great for his amusement. But Charles looked downright concerned, looking at Oscar with a solemn look as he walked around the table. He placed a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and gave him a small squeeze. 

“We will fight your fish fetish together,” he said in a completely serious voice. 

Logan choked. 

Oscar blanched. “I do not have a fish fetish!” 

“It’s fine, accepting it is the first step and we will get there together, yes?” Charles said with a kind smile. “You’re not alone, Oscar.” 

“I’m not there at all,” he retorted. 

“You have a support system here, Oscar,” Charles said. “We are your family too.”

Oscar groaned, his head slumping down to rest on the table. “Logan, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Logan is your friend and he just wants to help,” Charles continued, patting the boy on the back like he was trying to comfort him. 

It was safe to say he wasn’t focused on your lack of response to his messages after that. 

…

THE REVEAL 

It was actually totally by chance that it happened that morning.  

Just before his shift ended the day before, Sebastian had managed to catch him on his way out, ranting away about storms and stocking up and eventually ending his ramble by asking Oscar to come in early for his shift tomorrow to help deal with the morning feeds in case they have to shut down the park for the storm. 

He had agreed, assuring the older man he would be at the park before the sun had risen before he left. 

The next morning, he had been cursing his past self as he dragged himself out of bed and forwent his usual morning swim for a quick walk with Buddy before cycling towards the park. 

He was barely awake as he sauntered towards the staff room, putting his things away and just barely noticing your locker was already full before he made his way out towards the dolphins where he assumed you would’ve started. 

After all, Sebastian never said you two couldn’t work through the breakfast shift together. 

Oscar still felt a bit half asleep and bleary when he saw you at the bottom of the pier, talking away to Rufus and Gizmo. It made him smile, listening to whatever you were saying without even really processing it. 

In fact, it was because he was so entranced that he almost missed it at first. 

“Okay, one more but then you’ve gotta have your breakfast,” you sighed, shaking your head fondly at the two dolphins before lifting your hand. 

It took a second for Oscar to even realise there was a massive ball of water floating in front of you. It took a few more seconds to realise it turned to ice seconds later. And he was already rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself by the time you threw it into the water, letting the dolphins chase after it. 

He stood at the bottom of the dock, mouth agape and heart thundering in his chest that he missed whatever you said to the squeaking dolphin before you dove head first into the water. 

His body kicked into action by that point as he sprinted down the pier, yelling out your name and already trying to shrug off his coat so he could dive in after you, only to pause when he saw something in the water. 

Not something—you. 

It felt like deja vu as he stared at you under the water’s surface, stuck between confusion and awe. It was still dark but somehow the scales of your tail still glimmered in the water, dancing and shining and downright mesmerising. It was orange and gold and yellow and just breath-taking to see when he wasn’t losing oxygen. He watched your hair flow behind you as you swam effortlessly beside the dolphins like you belonged, like you were meant to be in the water. 

It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. 

He had barely picked his jaw up off the floor by the time you rose to the surface again, your eyes widening as you saw him kneeling on the pier staring out at you. 

You gulped a little. “Oscar, it’s not what it seems—”

“It’s you,” he interrupted, though his voice was soft and awestruck. “You’re the mermaid. You’re the one that saved me.” 

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t been an idiot surfing when it wasn’t safe,” you retorted, almost defensive as you squirmed under his watchful gaze. 

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are so—”

“Scary?” You supplied. 

“Beautiful,” Oscar corrected with a small frown. 

“Oh,” was all you managed to say. 

His eyes drifted down once again, his eyes lingering on your tail and the way it swayed gently to keep you above the surface. It was long, much longer than he realised the last time he saw you. But it was there and it was real and it belonged to you and— 

It was overwhelming. 

And it was also deeply annoying that Logan was right. 

Oscar opened his mouth. “I have so many questions I want—”

“I’m sure you do and I will answer them but,” you flashed him a sheepish smile, though the defensive tone in your voice was still there. “Not now. Later. Promise.”

Oscar nodded, a little dumbly. “Come back to mine after work?” 

You nodded back, your smile a little strained. “Yeah, of course.” 

…

“Would you like some tea?” 

The wind howling and the rain pattering against the window from the storm managed to break some of the awkward silence as you sat in Oscar’s living room, picking at the skin around your nails and avoiding eye contact with him completely. 

“Uh yeah,” you nodded. “Tea would be nice.” 

Oscar nodded before shuffling towards the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and putting the kettle on before he glanced over his shoulder to peek out at you. 

He smiled a bit as he watched Buddy trot towards you, letting out a whine and knocking your hands away from each other and instead placed his head on your lap until you started scratching behind his ears instead. 

“He’s a bit of a clinger,” Oscar warned as he wandered back into the room, two cups of tea in his hands as he placed both on the coffee table before taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. “If you give him too much attention, he will never let you leave.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” 

“You’ll think twice when he starts chewing your shoes because he wants to go out in the morning,” Oscar retorted. 

You let out a soft laugh in response. 

He watched you for a few moments as you cooed at the dog in front of you. You had told him you’d make your way to his house, considering Oscar’s shift ended half an hour earlier than yours and he had only driven a bicycle into work. 

He had tried to be really casual and nonchalant about the whole thing, pretending like his mind wasn’t spinning all day since he saw you in the water. It got a lot worse when he got home, practically pacing the cabin and wearing a hole into the carpet as he kept glancing at the clock—so often that even Buddy started whining about it. 

And then, just minutes before the rain started, you were knocking on his door and walking into his house and—

He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He wondered if he was meant to be the one to drop it. 

“So, a mermaid, huh?” 

And maybe it was the shitty icebreaker or maybe it was the nerves catching up with you, but you couldn’t help but snort. 

“Really?” You teased, finally looking at him with something that felt oddly close to fondness. “That’s what you start with?” 

“I panicked,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “And…I don’t know how much you want to share.” 

“Most people would be demanding answers,” you told him, your voice a little defensive like you expected him to be the same. 

“I’m not most people,” he responded before pausing. “Wait, other people know?” 

“Well, no,” you confessed before shrugging. “I just assume people would demand answers. I sure as hell did.” 

Oscar’s brows furrowed together. “You haven’t been a mermaid your whole life?”

“Since I was sixteen,” you told him, shaking your head. “It’s a long story. Full moons, sea caves and a very confusing attempt at a shower the next day.” 

His lips twitched upwards. “And you’ve hidden it this long?” 

You nodded. 

“That must be exhausting,” he murmured, his chest tightening a little at the idea that you had been carrying this secret alone for years. 

“I’m used to it by now,” you answered honestly with a shrug. “Plus, technically speaking, other people don’t know but other creatures do.” 

Oscar blinked. “You can actually speak fish?” 

You shot him an odd look. “Well, it’s not really a universal language amongst all fish but I can communicate with them.” 

“And control water,” Oscar blurted out, remembering what he saw that morning. 

You smiled softly. “Being a mermaid has its perks.” 

“The park is a risky place to work,” Oscar commented with a frown. “Aren’t you scared of constantly being exposed?”

“Like the other day?” You huffed, shaking your head. “I’m usually quite safe and I’m careful. Rufus was just being a dick.” 

“He…knows?” Oscar said slowly, like his brain was still catching up with the fact you could speak to marine animals. 

“He’s very demanding during our morning swims,” you admitted with a soft smile. “He also has very strong opinions and can be quite pushy with them.” 

Oscar raised his brows. “And what was he getting pushy with this time?” 

You fell silent, your attention quickly falling back to Buddy. 

He frowned a little. “I won’t judge, whatever it is. Unless it’s like a mermaid-slash-fish insider thing I wouldn’t understand, then I totally get it but—”

“It’s whatever,” you quickly interrupted, your smile seeming a little more put on and strained. “It’s not true, anyways.” 

Oscar’s frown deepened but he didn’t say anything as he nodded. It was only in the moments of silence that he realised how heavy the rain had gotten, with the drops sounding like harsh patters against his window. 

“Fuck,” you murmured with a frown. “It’s going to be impossible to get home.” 

“Home as in…a house or a sea cave or…?” Oscar started to trail off, having the decency to look a little embarrassed when you shot him a look. 

“I have a place on land,” you confirmed, though he could hear the amusement in your voice. “Although considering the fact I have seconds before I change, I won’t even be able to make it out your front door before I grow a tail.” 

“You can stay here,” he blurted out before he could second guess himself. “If you want to. I don’t mind. Neither does Buddy.” 

As if on cue, Buddy let out a soft bark of agreement as he nuzzled his head against your lap. 

You looked at him. “Are you sure? Because I—”

“I’m sure,��� Oscar confirmed with a nod. “You can take the bed, I don’t mind taking the couch. Although, you may have to deal with Buddy trying to cuddle with you.” 

Your eyes widened slightly. “Oscar, I can’t kick you off your own bed.” 

“I don’t mind,” he repeated with a shrug. “Plus, the couch can be tricky to get comfy on if you don’t know the exact way to sleep and I’m used to—”

“I’m not letting you sleep on this couch,” you said, pausing for a moment before sheepishly smiling. “No offence.” 

His lips twitched. “None taken.” 

“We can—” You paused again before straightening up in your seat. “We can share the bed. It’s just one night, no?” 

Oscar blinked. 

“Friends can share beds, right?” You added, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Uh, yeah,” Oscar blurted out. “Yeah, totally. Absolutely. We can so do that. No problem at all.” 

He was fucked. 

…

All things considered, Oscar thought he was doing pretty well until the two of you actually had to fall asleep. 

He gave you some spare clothes to borrow and took the gentleman’s route of letting you use the bathroom first. He let you choose your side of the bed and borrowed some of the throw pillows from the living room to act as a barrier to make you a little more comfortable. He had even made sure Buddy was squished on his side of the bed so he wouldn’t disturb you. 

But then, the silence settled between you both after he had turned the lights off and climbed into bed and not even the pattering rain could ease the suffocating tension. 

“Logan knows,” Oscar blurted out. 

You blinked, turning your head as though you could see him in the dark. “What?!” There was a pause. “You told him?” 

“What? No!” Oscar quickly corrected. “No, of course not. He guessed it. Kinda. He was, like, forty-seven percent sure you were a mermaid.” 

You frowned. “And the other fifty-three percent?” 

“That,” Oscar snorted a little. “Was him being confident that mermaids didn’t exist at all and I hit my head during the accident.”

“You almost did,” you confessed. 

Oscar swallowed before turning his head to look in the direction of where you were lying. “Thank you,” he whispered in a softer voice. “For saving me. You really did save my life and you didn’t have to.” 

There was a small pause before Oscar felt you reach over the wall of pillows to take his hand. “I would’ve never left you hanging, Osc. You’re my friend.” 

He squeezed your hand a little. “Right, friend. Of course.”

Another moment of silence passed between you two. 

“You know I would never tell anyone your secret, right?” Oscar whispered, something about the moment feeling soft and quiet. “Even with Logan. I’ll throw him off your tail, stop him from bothering you.” 

A laugh slipped out. “Off my tail?” 

His cheeks burned but he smiled. “The pun was unintentional.” 

You hummed before responding. “You’d actually do that?” 

“Of course,” Oscar confirmed, genuine and sincere. “You’re my friend.” 

“Right, friend. Of course,” you repeated when nothing else came to mind. 

And once again, the silence settled between you but it was thick and suffocating and desperate to be cut and—

“Rufus wanted me to be honest with you,” you blurted out, squeezing his hand a little like it was the small sign of comfort you needed. “That’s what he’s been bugging me about. Gizmo too, actually.” 

Oscar frowned a little. “About telling me you’re a mermaid?” 

“No. Yes. Kinda.” You took a deep breath. “They wanted me to be honest with how I feel.” 

“I didn’t realise they were licensed therapists,” Oscar commented.

Your lips twitched. “They are delusional like that.” 

“Whatever you wanna say, m’not gonna judge you,” Oscar murmured, squeezing your hand to solidify his point. 

“I like you,” you whispered. 

“Yeah, I like you too,” Oscar replied casually. “And nothing you say can freak me out. I promise.” 

“No, Oscar, I like you. Like like.” 

“Oh.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” you swore under your breath as you moved to pull your hand away. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position—”

“No, I just—” Oscar let out a huff. “Wait a second.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you listened to him shuffling around on his side of the bed. It took a few seconds before you realised what he was doing, throwing the pillow wall on the floor and reaching for the lamp on his bedside table before he turned to you. 

“Better,” he murmured before reaching for your hand again. “You mean it? You like me?” 

“Are you really gonna make me say it again?” You winced a little. 

“I mean, it would help me redeem my response beyond a pathetic ‘oh’,” Oscar confessed, his cheeks flushing pink as he bit back a smile. 

You watched his expression closely. “And what would your response be this time?”

He swallowed harshly, gaining what little confidence he had left in himself before he chickened out and second-guessed himself. “I would say I have been pretty much in love with you since the day you accidentally trapped me in that huge fishing net and had to cut me out with a shitty pair of craft scissors.” 

Your brows furrowed together. “But that was our second day working together—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Oscar repeated with a grin. His eyes dropped to your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, squeezing your hand as we spoke. “I like like you too.” 

“Even if I’m half fish?” You asked, watching as Oscar’s expression grew adoring. 

“Even if you told me I had to live on a dinghy for the rest of my life to be with you,” Oscar confessed. 

“That,” you paused as you laughed a little. “That might be one of the weirdest but most romantic things someone has ever said to me.” 

“You should see me flirting after a few drinks,” he deadpanned, not bothering to hide his smile as you rolled your eyes fondly.

“Just kiss me, Piastri,” you murmured.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he nodded before slipping his free hand to cup your face before leaning down to kiss you.

You let out a happy sigh, pulling your hand free so you could wrap both arms around his neck and tug him closer. Oscar rolled closer, keeping his weight off you as he deepened the kiss and smiled a little at the satisfied noise you let out. 

It was soft and sweet and adoring and made your whole body feel like it was on cloud nine by the time he pulled away, strands of hair falling in his eyes and a gentle expression pained across his face.

“We should probably sleep,” Oscar murmured.

“Yeah, we probably should,” you nodded in agreement.

“Glad you agree,” he hummed.

“Totally,” you responded.

Neither one of you could bite back your smiles as you leaned in for another kiss. 

…

THE AFTERMATH 

“This is cheating.” 

“How is it cheating?” 

“Okay, maybe it isn’t cheating but it is unfair.” 

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement as you lightly flicked your tail to splash the boy sitting on his surfboard. He let out a small noise of annoyance but he was still smiling, looking down at the seashell in his hand with utter love and adoration. 

“My gift seems lame in comparison now,” Oscar grumbled as his thumb smoothed over the ridges of the shell. 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” you retorted, leaning on your crossed arms as you leaned on the edge of his board. 

“Yeah, well, I bought your gift and you literally dived to the depths of the ocean for mine,” he replied but he still held the shell with a great sense of protectiveness, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you, babe. I love it.” 

“Thought it would look cute for your collection,” you grinned back, sighing happily at the ease and relaxation written across his face. It had been an intense few weeks at work and this was the first mutual day off the two of you had. You almost forgot how much you loved seeing Oscar so laid back and stress-free. 

“It’ll be the best one in my collection,” he grinned, staring down at the shell for another few seconds before reaching for the small zipped pocket in his wetsuit. “Okay, close your eyes.” 

You rolled your eyes but did as you were told, holding your hands out as you listened to the sound of the zip. You waited a few moments before you felt cold metal hit your palm and tried to bite back your smile.

“I know the mermaid magic has a whole mind of its own but I thought maybe this would be one thing you can wear both on land and in the water,” Oscar confessed, and you could hear the hint of nerves in his voice. “Something from me, so I can be there with you when you are deep in the ocean getting me cool shells.” 

You snorted a little, but the amusement was quickly replaced by awe and surprise once you opened your eyes and spotted the silver locket in your palm. Your thumb traced over the necklace, smiling a little when you noticed the gem was the same shade of blue as his favourite board—the same one he was currently sitting on—and Buddy’s eyes.

“Oscar,” you whispered when no other words seemed to leave your lips. 

“Open it,” he prompted. 

You gently clicked the locket open, your smile widening when you noticed a picture tucked into the frame. Staring back at you was one of your favourite photos of you, Oscar and Buddy on the beach that a passing local had taken for the three of you when you were out one morning for Buddy’s morning walk. It had been one of your and Oscar’s favourite photos, considering it was currently framed and sitting on his bedside table and another print tucked into his locker at work. 

You looked up at him, your chest feeling so warm and tight and full with all the love you had for the boy. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Perfect for you then,” he murmured with a grin before nodding his head. “Turn around, let me put it on for you.” 

You listened easily, moving your hair over your shoulder as the boy reached around to place the necklace on before clasping it together. Your fingertips brushed over the locket as you glanced down at it before turning to look at him. He was already staring back at you, his expression soft and fond and so full of love that it almost made you wonder how it took you so long to confess your feelings when he had been staring at you like that long before you started dating.

“I love you,” you murmured, your heart warming at the sight of his cheeks blushing at the same three words you have said countless times to the boy.

“I love you too,” he replied easily before leaning down to kiss you. “Happy one year anniversary, baby.” 

“Happy one year, Osc.” 

,

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