#orm x oc

[tinderbox210]

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn

(In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.)

When the ancient, powerful deity Cthulhu is awaken from slumber in the sunken city of R'lyeh located deep beneath the Pacific Ocean and threatens to destroy both Atlantis and the surface world, Elena is plagued by apocalyptic visions and Orm must once more become Ocean Master to protect what he holds dear.

(based on this idea x)

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 1 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 3412

A/N: If you wanna be tagged for the next chapter - just let me know

Éléanor took a deep breath as she stepped out of her car, the crisp mountain air filling her lungs. Sweden was stunning at this time of year, with the snow-draped scenery stretching out before her like an untouched, pristine canvas. The snow shimmered under the midday sun, resembling a scattering of tiny jewels across the ground. Only delicate, winding animal tracks disrupted the thick, white layer that enveloped everything.

Tall, majestic pines loomed around her, their branches laden with snow, bending gently beneath its weight. Occasionally, a gust of wind would send a flurry of flakes tumbling from the branches. For a brief moment, Éléanor closed her eyes, enjoying the silence that enveloped her.

She focused on the sharp, icy air that bit at her cheeks and the gentle sound of snowflakes drifting down from the sky. A few flakes tangled in her hair, softly brushing her face before melting away. Éléanor smiled, savouring the tranquillity and the unmistakable chill of winter that she had missed so much.

With another deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked towards her little cabin, nestled among the towering pines. The wooden retreat, with its dark timber walls, stood in stark contrast to the snowy landscape. Frosted windows reflected the sun's soft glow, casting a warm, golden light across the snow-covered ground. Over the years, this place has become her sanctuary, where she returns every winter. No bustling café to manage, no customers to serve—just the stillness of nature and the quiet flow of her creativity.

She knew it would be bitterly cold inside, but her trusty fireplace would soon take care of that. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, Éléanor grabbed her bags from the back seat and took in the familiar sight of her cosy cabin.

The snow crunched under her boots as she trudged through the ankle-deep powder towards the front door, mentally noting that she would have to clear the path later.

With a push, she opened the door and sighed in relief.  Inside, the scent of aged pine wood welcomed her, and the warmth of the cabin sharply contrasted with the chill outside.

The place was small and rustic but perfect for her. A fireplace sat in the centre of the main room, with a plush armchair and a soft couch in front of it.  To the right was a small kitchen that always smelled faintly of fresh bread. In the far corner, large windows revealed a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountains.

She set her luggage down by the door and took a moment to take it all in. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

She was home.

After shrugging off her coat and scarf, she unzipped her suitcase and carefully pulled out two of her most precious items. The first was her sketchbook, its well-worn cover filled with memories of past trips, sketches of café patrons and fleeting scenes from her travels. She held it fondly, flipping through a few pages to find her latest watercolour drawing—an old cathedral from back home in France, bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun. Smiling at the piece, she set the sketchbook gently on the small table by the window, a spot she knew she would spend countless hours by over the coming days.

Next, she reached into the suitcase and brought out a small, carefully wrapped container. Unwrapping it, she revealed her beloved sourdough starter, Jacques, alive and well, despite the journey.

“You made it, mon cher,” she whispered affectionately, holding the container close as if greeting an old friend. 

Jacques had been with her for years, travelling wherever she went, and every loaf of bread she baked carried a bit of home within it—he was an essential part of her café back home. She placed him on the kitchen counter and popped the lid off to let him breathe.

With Jacques settled and her sketchbook ready, Éléanor took the rest of her time to unpack, folding her clothes neatly into the cabin’s wooden dresser and laying out her art supplies.

Several days passed in peaceful solitude, just as Éléanor had wished.

Her mornings were spent sketching by the large window that overlooked the snowy forest; the light from the rising sun cast a golden glow over the snowy land, and she captured the way the rays shifted through the trees in delicate watercolour strokes. Afternoons were reserved for baking, as the enticing aroma of sourdough wafted through the cabin while she tried out various recipes, each loaf turning out more delicious than the last. In the evenings, she curled up by the fire with a good book, savouring the quiet and the crackle of the burning wood.

One evening, as she was tidying up after a long day of painting, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked it up and smiled as her best friend's name appeared on the screen.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!” Virginie’s voice was bright and lively, a stark contrast to the quiet surrounding Éléanor. The sound of music and laughter echoed in the background. “Guess where I am!”

Éléanor chuckled, already knowing the answer. “In Spain, of course. How wild is it this time?”

“Wild!” Virginie exclaimed, nearly shouting over the noise. “I’m at this incredible party—everyone’s dancing and I’m halfway through my second bottle of wine! You should see it, Éléanor. How are you surviving up there in the mountains, all by yourself?”

Éléanor laughed, picturing her best friend surrounded by a whirlwind of music, people, and bright lights. “You know I prefer the quiet. Besides, the snow is beautiful, and I’ve got my art to keep me busy.”

“Sure, sure, your art,” Virginie teased. “Let me guess, you’re sitting there with your sketchbook, sipping tea like some brooding artist.”

“Not just that,” Éléanor said, her voice light. “I’ve been baking too. Jacques has been very productive.”

There was a long pause, and then Virginie’s voice came back, incredulous. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you actually brought the damn sourdough starter with you!” Éléanor could practically hear the eye-roll over the phone. “You seriously dragged Jacques all the way to Sweden?”

Éléanor grinned. “Of course I did. I couldn’t leave him behind; he’d die.”

“Éléanor,” Virginie groaned, laughter bubbling in her voice. “You’re ridiculous. You brought a jar of bacteria to your winter getaway. No wonder you’re still single—you’re in a committed relationship with bread dough! You really need to get laid, ma belle.”

Éléanor burst out laughing. “Hey, Jacques and I are very happy together, thank you very much.”

“I’m serious! You’re too young to be cooped up in the mountains with Jacques. What you need is to be at this party with me, drinking wine and meeting someone who isn’t yeast-based.”

Éléanor shook her head, still smiling. “Maybe next year, Virginie. But you know I love it up here. The peace, the quiet—no distractions. Just me, my art, and my bread.”

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Virginie said dramatically. “But fine, if you want to keep having your mountain romance with Jacques, that’s on you. Just remember that I’m living my best life here! Next year, though, you’re coming with me. No more hiding away in the woods.”

“We’ll see,” Éléanor replied, though they both knew the answer. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Hm, I’ll take that as a maybe!” Virginie’s voice softened a little. “Don’t be too lonely, alright? I’ll be back in France soon, and we’ll catch up. Love you, ma belle.”

“Love you too, Virginie. Have fun!” Éléanor hung up, a fond smile lingering on her lips. Virginie’s energy was infectious, and their friendship balanced each other perfectly. While Virginie craved the buzz of parties and crowds, Éléanor preferred the stillness of moments like this—just her and the quiet comfort of the mountains.

She moved through her nighttime routine with the ease of familiarity. Brushing her teeth, washing her face, changing into warm pyjamas, and braiding her wild hair to keep it in check. She took one last look at her sketchbook, then at Jacques, making sure everything was in its place before heading to bed. The cabin was quiet; the silence was only broken by the distant howling of the wind outside.

As she drifted off to sleep, the peacefulness of the mountains surrounded her, a comforting embrace that lulled her into dreams of soft snow and watercolour landscapes.

In the dead of night, Éléanor stirred, hearing the faint crunch of tyres on the snow and the sound of a car engine rumbling outside. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding in the sudden silence that followed. It was rare to hear anything but the wind and the occasional call of an owl this far up in the mountains. Curious and slightly wary, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the window.

Pulling back the curtain just a fraction, she peered out into the dark night and noticed the soft glow of headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the cabin beside hers.

A man stepped out of the car, tall and broad-shouldered, his face hidden beneath the shadows of the night.  He unloaded bags from the trunk with practised ease. Éléanor’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t expected company up here. Most people avoided the mountains in the depths of winter unless they had a specific reason to be there.

Éléanor watched him for a moment, her curiosity piqued. The neighbouring cabin was often vacant during the winter, so it was unusual to see anyone here, especially at this hour. He moved quickly and efficiently without much noise. Maybe he was just another quiet visitor, someone like her, seeking solitude.

With a quiet huff, she pulled back from the window and returned to bed. She wasn’t here to meet strangers. Seclusion was what she’d come for, and that’s what she intended to keep—no matter who had arrived next door.

Still, as she drifted back to sleep, a part of her wondered who he was and why he was here in the same remote corner of the world.

_____

The next morning, she woke to a bright, crisp day. The sunlight streamed through the large cabin windows, illuminating the fresh snowfall that blanketed the landscape outside. The snow glittered under the early light, creating a world that looked almost magical, untouched, and pure.

Still wrapped in the warmth of her bed, Éléanor let out a soft sigh, listening to the silence that filled the cabin. It was the kind of quiet she craved—no sounds of cars or people, just the occasional soft creak of the old wood settling and the gentle crackle of embers from the fireplace. She loved these mornings. The snow had a way of making everything feel slower and more peaceful.

Stretching lazily, she threw on a thick sweater and made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding against the cool wooden floors. The familiar sight of her sketchbook left open from the previous night’s work, caught her eye, and she smiled as she passed it. The half-finished watercolour of the mountains stood stark against the white paper, still waiting for the finishing details.

She filled the kettle with water and began preparing her usual morning tea, humming softly to herself. The cabin smelled faintly of pine and the lingering scent of sourdough bread from the previous day.

Just as the kettle started to whistle, a knock at the door interrupted the stillness. Éléanor frowned, glancing at the door in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Cautiously, she walked over to the front door and opened it, the rush of cold air making her tighten her sweater around herself. 

Standing on her porch was the man she had seen arriving last night—the one who had moved into the neighbouring cabin. He was bundled up against the cold, his thick jacket dusted with snow as his broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. 

She noticed his striking face: a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that gave him an effortlessly handsome look. Beneath the knitted hat that covered his ears, wisps of light brown hair peeked out, and a trace of stubble ran along his jawline, growing denser along his upper lip.

His breath puffed in small clouds as he smiled at her, his blue eyes catching the light of the morning sun. 

Éléanor blinked, momentarily distracted by how impossibly good-looking he was. He looked like someone who should have been on a magazine cover rather than standing on her snow-covered porch.

“Hey,” he greeted her with a smile that was equal parts charming and boyish. “I’m Patrick. I’m staying next door.”

His voice was smooth, deep, and easy, with a friendly tone that instantly made her feel at ease. Despite the cold air biting at her cheeks, Éléanor couldn’t help but feel warmth spreading through her.

She hadn’t expected him to introduce himself, let alone in person. His presence felt oddly natural, though, as if he belonged in this quiet landscape. Still, it took her a moment to respond.

“Hi,” she finally said, offering a small smile in return. “I’m Éléanor. Nice to meet you.”

Patrick’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was just shovelling the snow off my driveway,” he explained, nodding toward his cabin. “Figured I’d offer to do yours, too, since I’m already out here.”

Éléanor blinked, caught off guard by his offer. She wasn’t used to anyone offering to help in these parts—usually, everyone who came to the mountains was looking for the same solitude she was. But there was something in his demeanour that felt genuine and unassuming.

“Oh,” she hesitated, glancing at her snow-covered driveway. “That’s very kind of you, but you really don’t have to.”

Patrick interrupted with a light shrug. “It’s no trouble. It’s not like I have much else going on today.”

His easygoing nature and the relaxed way he stood there, his breath puffing in the cold air, made it hard for Éléanor to refuse. She smiled despite herself, her cheeks flushing—not just from the cold.

“Well, if you’re sure… then thank you,” she said softly.

He gave her a friendly nod and turned to walk back down her porch steps, heading towards his own cabin to grab a shovel. His movements were smooth and purposeful, and something about how he carried himself made it clear he was used to being in control. He moved with confidence but not arrogance—just a natural, effortless ease.

As he began shovelling, Éléanor couldn’t help but admire him from the warmth of her cabin. 

His strong arms worked steadily as he cleared the snow, his shoulders flexing under his jacket with each movement. She was mesmerised by the way the light played off his sharp features, the concentration on his face as he worked, and the quiet determination in his posture.

Unable to resist, she reached for her sketchbook. She pulled it towards her and settled by the window, the natural light casting soft shadows across the page.

Her fingers quickly flew across the page as she began sketching his form — his strong, defined lines against the snow, the contrast of his dark jacket against the bright white. She sketched him from different angles, flipping through the pages and trying to capture every detail: the way he held the shovel, the curve of his back, and even the way the sunlight glinted off the snow in front of him.

Soon enough, she added watercolours, bringing the scene to life with soft washes of blues and greys to reflect the snowy landscape and the warm hues of his complexion.

Before long, Patrick had finished, and the driveway was now clear of snow. Éléanor watched as he wiped the back of his hand across his brow, exhaling a puff of visible breath. She watched as he took a step back, admiring his work for a brief moment before glancing back toward her cabin.

Éléanor snapped her sketchbook shut, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She had just spent the last hour drawing him without his knowledge, and she wasn’t sure how he would react if he knew. 

Deciding to thank him properly, Éléanor brewed a fresh pot of tea and poured two steaming mugs. She bundled herself up and stepped out onto the porch, her boots crunching on the freshly cleared snow.

“Patrick!” she called out, holding up one of the mugs. “I made you some tea. Thought you might want something warm after all that work.”

Patrick glanced up, a smile tugging at his lips. He wiped his hands on his jacket and made his way towards her. As he took the mug from her, their fingers brushed for a moment, and Éléanor felt a tiny, unexpected spark shoot through her. The casual intimacy of the touch caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help but steal a glance at his hands.

His hands, though warm from holding the mug, were still slightly reddened from the cold. They were large and strong, with well-defined knuckles and carefully groomed nails. Éléanor quickly looked away, hoping he had not noticed her lingering gaze.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of the tea. “Perfect timing.”

They sat down on the porch steps together, the steam from their mugs swirling into the cold air. The world around them was still and silent. The only sounds were the distant wind and the crunch of snow underfoot as the snow-capped mountains glistened under the sun.

“So,” Patrick started after a few sips, “what brings you up here? You live around here, or are you just visiting?”

Éléanor shook her head. “No, I’m from France originally. I run a café back home with my best friend, but I come here every winter to take a break…It’s kind of my personal retreat.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely impressed. “France, huh? I would’ve guessed Europe from your accent, but I didn’t know where exactly.”

She chuckled softly, her cheeks warming. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty noticeable.”

“Trust me, it’s not a bad thing,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers briefly, and the sincerity in his voice made her blush a little more. 

The sunlight caught his eyes as he spoke, making them an even brighter blue—like the sky on a perfect day, clear and inviting. Éléanor found herself momentarily lost in them, wondering how a man could have eyes like that, so sharp yet kind. 

“What about you?” she asked, turning the conversation back to him. “What brings you to these mountains?”

Patrick shrugged, taking another sip of tea. “Same as you, I guess. Needed to get away, clear my head. It’s hard to find this kind of quiet anywhere else.”

Éléanor found herself nodding along, appreciating the easy flow of conversation. Despite his rugged, handsome appearance, Patrick didn’t seem to have the air of someone looking to impress or be impressed. He was easygoing and comfortable in his own skin, and it put her at ease.

“So, what do you do when you’re not shovelling strangers’ driveways?” she asked, giving him a teasing smile.

Patrick chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “I’m in… entertainment, I guess you could say,” he said vaguely, his tone nonchalant.

Éléanor didn’t press further. She didn’t have much interest in prying into someone’s life, especially when she had come here for peace and solitude. For now, Patrick was simply a kind man who had helped her out—and, as it turned out, was excellent company.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their tea and gazing out at the snowy landscape. Patrick’s broad shoulders were relaxed as he leaned back slightly, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the fabric of his jeans hugging the strong lines of his thighs.

As their conversation drifted back to light topics—the weather, the beauty of the mountains—Éléanor couldn’t help but wonder about the man sitting next to her. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t quite place it.

But she let the thought slip away. For now, it didn’t matter. 

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, warming the porch ever so slightly, Éléanor realised just how much she was enjoying Patrick’s company.

“You know,” Éléanor said thoughtfully as she glanced over at Patrick, “I’m not used to having company up here. But… this is nice.”

Patrick looked at her, his expression softening. “Yeah. It is.”

[headrant]

𝓒𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇

𝑂𝑟𝑚 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑠 𝑥 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑂𝑟𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑥 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐴𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑎𝑑𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑜�� 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟... ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

“So you think this was a good idea?” Adriana asked, glancing at Orm as the two watched Arthur combine both worlds.

“He knows what he's doing… Even if no one knows it yet…” Orm said, taking another bite of his cheeseburger before the girl let out a scoff.

“Are you softening up, Ocean Master?” She teased, gently kicking at Orm’s feet from under the table as the cool summer breeze blew past the two.

Land was different… of course Adriana had been up here a handful of times with Mera or Arthur, but actually living here… with Orm… trying to make it a normal, surface dweller life, it was new…

It was nice…

“Not at all.” He hummed, a bit of grease from his burger staining his lips and chin as he smirked causing the aquatic female to smile.

“Wipe your face, you're a mess.” Adriana said, handing Orm a napkin before reaching for her drink as a small cockroach crawled past her hand causing her to jump a bit.

Eyes widening, Orm reached out to grab the blattodea before lifting the top bun to his cheeseburger and setting the insect inside as the legs still crawled and wiggled in an attempt to escape.

Watching with awe and confusion, knowing Arthur absolutely had something to do with this, Adriana witnessed Orm bring the burger up to his mouth and take another bite before letting out a content sigh.

“What are you doing?” She asked, finally finding herself able to form words from the shock as Orm furrowed his brows.

“Hm? I'm eating. What are you doing?” He asked with a full mouth, chewed up mush of cockroach, meat and bread threatening to fall out the side of his mouth before Adriana shook her head.

Sure, a cockroach wasn't much different than a shrimp or crawfish, but she had been on land a few more times more than Orm to know they were not exactly the ideal burger topping.

“Apparently watching you eat a cockroach… why?” The girl laughed, still in disbelief as she reached out to lift up the top bun of Orm’s burger to see the roach now headless yet still wiggling.

“That's a bug. Not really food.” She told him, the aquatic man swallowing before shaking his head.

“No, Arthur told me it's shrimp or the land.” Orm defended, pulling out the roach before holding it out to Adriana. “Mhm, try it. It's really good.”

“Maybe if it wasn't just picked up off the ground?” She said, raising an eyebrow at the bug before looking back at Orm.

“I didn't pick it up off the ground, I picked it up off of the table.” He said, once again gesturing to the headless cockroach for his lover to take.

Hesitantly, Adriana reached forward and took the wiggling blattodea from Orm before examining it closely only for her eyes to once again lock on him.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He asked sweetly, Adriana scoffing at his words.

“Yes.” She retorted quickly before ultimately bringing the roach to her mouth and taking a bite.

Chewing for a few moments as the shell gave a bit of a crunch on her teeth, the innards mushing inside of her mouth, Adriana eventually hummed at the slightly metallic yet almost shrimp-like taste.

“Good, right?” Orm asked, his lips curling into a smile as he held out his hand expecting for Adriana to give the roach back to him before she nodded and finished the rest.

“Mhm…” she hummed, not even paying attention to the Atlantean as she licked her fingers clean causing Orm to slowly drop his hand and close his burger with an eye roll… Deep down, though, he couldn't help but smile at the girl sitting across from him eating the cockroach.

[metalupyourazzzz]

Siren // Orm Marius

Orm Marius & my OC, Cora

Description: Cora is a young girl living off the coast of Amnesty Bay, Maine. She's known Arthur for years after he saved her when she washed ashore. After years of being tangled with the League of Assassins, Arthur comes knocking on her door, Orm in tow. He comes with news: David Kane is intent on destroying the world, and he needs her help to stop him.

Set during Aquaman 2

Status: Ongoing

Rating: Mature(some blood and gore, maybe some smut)

Can also be found on Wattpad: metalupyourazzz

Chapter 1: Take it Off

Years ago

A beach outside of Maine

Arthur stood on the white sand, panting.

“Again.” Vulko commanded, hands laced behind his back, “You’ll never claim the throne if you do not have proper training.”

“This is bullshit,” Arthur cried out, “I just want to meet my mother, my brother. I just want to see Atlantis!”

He shifted his weight, twirling his trident gently, scraping the end in the sand.

“Patience, my young prince, everything good happens with time,” Vulko stated, pacing around, sand kicking up behind him.

Arthur began to speak, when the waves crashed, and something washed ashore.

Someone.

He ran over to the huddled lump and the first thing he saw was the bright green of her eyes. She wasn’t breathing, yet her gaze pierced through him like a knife.

“Vulko?” He whispered as the man stood grimly beside him.

She started coughing, salty water spewing from her mouth, and she rolled over. She had a large gash in her forehead, and she slowly stood to her feet.

“Where am I?” She asked hoarsely, blinking the salt from her eyelashes.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur cooed, “You’re safe.”

Today

09:00 hours

Amnesty Bay, Maine

Cora wasn’t sure what woke her up first, the sunlight peeking through the thin, filtered curtains or the loud knocking on the door. Grumbling slightly, she peeled back the heavy blankets on her bed, and sat up, rubbing her temples. She hoped it helped rid last night’s tequila before she answered the door. A soft yawn escaped her lips as she picked up her phone, groggily scrolling through the 16 missed calls and various texts, all from the same number.

“Arthur Curry, you’re the reason I drink,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled her long blue locks up into a ponytail, quickly combing her fingers through her unruly bangs.

Stepping out of bed, she grabbed the nearest shirt and threw it on, padding across the cold wooden floors to the door. Slowly opening it, she stood somewhat dumbfounded on who stood on the other side.

“Hey squirt!” The tall Hawaiian yelled, picking her up in a tight hug, spinning her before setting her down.

“Arthur, always good to see your face,” she said through a forced smile, his loud voice cutting knives into her head.

“The place looks good,” he remarked, doing a 360 around her dinky studio. He looked a lot different than she remembered. He was more muscular, his hair was longer and more blonde, and he had a ridiculous spandex suit on. His eyes weren’t their normal brown, they glowed a dark gold color, and he had rings and bracelets adorning his arms and fingers.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?” She asked, walking over to her kitchen, pouring a steaming cup of coffee, “Last time I saw you, you had less clothes, and you were less…all of that.”

She finished her sentence with a small motion to his attire and big smile, “You still with the JL?”

He shrugged her questions off, “We are here, because we need your help.”

“We?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur motioned to the door, and that’s when she noticed the other man standing there. He was shorter than Arthur, and from what she could tell, a lot different. He had no shirt on, tweed pants that hung low off his hips, and sandy hair that covered his face, alongside a rugged beard.

“Arthur why is Rob Zombie in my apartment?” She asked.

Arthur snorted, and she could’ve sworn she saw the other man roll his eyes.

“That’s my brother, Orm.” He whispered to her.

“Oh, the righteous douchebag that tried to kill humanity, gotcha.” She whispered back, before she turned to him, “C’mon sunshine let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Arthur if you haven’t forgotten we have better things to do.” The man said, “We have to meet my supplier.”

Cora raised her eyebrow, looking between the two. She shook her head, grabbing a chair and kitchen scissors, “Sit.”

Orm looked at her skeptically, “You’re surely not using those on me.”

“It’s either that or I shave you bald take your pick,” she snapped. He immediately sat down, and she draped a blanket over his chest.

“You still have suits here?” Arthur asked, thumbing through her record collection. He picked one up, and blew the dust off of it, setting it into the record player. Soon the hard melodies of ‘take it off’ by KISS started drifting through the room. The slow snipping of the scissors mixed with it as she worked on Orm’s unruly hair.

“Yeah, I’ve got supplies as well. The League brings me some every so often. I think it’s just an excuse for Talia to keep an eye on me.” She replied, letting out a small laugh. She gently pushed a lock of Orm’s hair out of his face as she worked on the front of his hair. His piercing blue eyes met hers, and she flicked her gaze back to what she was doing.

Soon enough, his hair was at a reasonable length, no longer covering his eyes. He was watching her as she moved, with a grim expression.

Filthy surface dweller, he thought to himself, touching me like I’m a peasant. Treating me like a peasant.

She moved quickly, shaving off his beard, leaving no trace of the torture of being locked in the Fisherman Kingdom. As she worked, she heard a small crash, and something tinkered across the floor, and Arthur picked it up.

“Cora?” Arthur asked, quietly. She looked over to see him holding a crown. One that brought her almost to tears. She dropped the scissors she was holding, and they skittered across the floor.

“A-Arthur, I can explain.”

She barely got her sentence out when he was standing in front of her. His once happy expression was turned to a grim one. His face contorted into an angry frown, as he put the crown almost against her. She trembled as she looked up into his eyes. The fire in them terrified her, it reminded her of the one wearing the crown. The day she never wanted to remember. The one that brought chills down her spine every second she thought of it.

“Cora.” Arthur whispered, voice shaking in anger, “Why the hell do you have my father’s crown?”

[vanilla-waffles]

4 Years 151 Days! A bunch of au versions of Fritz

[blackwidownat2814]

I've read a couple Orm stories, but this is my favorite so far! It's been on my TBR for a bit and I'm glad I finally started reading it

Water Like a Stone (1/?)

[Orm Marius x Reader]

Summary: Exiled on land and taken in by Tom Curry at the Lighthouse, Orm is introduced to family friend and Marine Park Ranger Grace, a woman unafraid of swimming with sharks and whose job it is to care for the Amnesty coastline... How is he not to adore her.

Warnings: Language, sexual references, mentions of almost drowning? Reader is named, but it shouldn't come up too often, it just makes it easier to write xxx

Notes: This is set post The Lost Kingdom, and is a slight AU given that in this story Atlantis hasn't yet come forward to the world. This si my first time writing for Orm, I hope you enjoy it!! TY to @hangmanssunnies you are my ROCK!!!!!!!

Word Count: 6.7k

Orm pokes at the dark purplish bruise on his forearm, one of many that littered his body after another day of training. This one is already turning yellow around the edges, and by tomorrow it will only be a faint ache he won’t be able to see, but will still feel regardless when another bruise forms over it.

A delicate hand takes his and pries it away from his arm, holding it tightly. His mother frowns at him, though, he knows it’s not really him she frowns at, and when she realises he’s looking up at her, her features pull into a soft, sad smile.

“I do… I do everything Father asks of me,” Orm begins doing his best to stop his voice from shaking, though he’s so young the feat feels impossible. “But he always asks for more… Does he think me a failure too?” he asks, but he regrets the question the moment it leaves his mouth, as his mother’s smile falls. Orm would do just about anything to see his mother smile, especially now, especially given come morning he would never get to see it again.

She hugs him, draws him near and almost wraps her whole body around him. In recent months he’d become adverse to feeling small, especially in the eyes of his father, but right now his father isn’t present, and Orm doesn’t mind feeling small. He does feel small, embraced by his mother like a baby again, and he holds on tight, knowing it’s for the last time.

“Orm, I need you to hear me when I say this, if it’s the last thing you remember of me, I need you to hear it; It does not matter if your father is proud of you, son, the only person who must be proud of the man you become is you.”

Orm looks up at his mother, briefly shocked by her words, but he lets them sink in, washing over him like the water all around them. He hugs her tighter and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’ll remember everything about you, I won’t forget,” Orm insists, and feels the vibration of his mother humming, her chest to his head.

His shaking voice and soft sniffling is harder to hide then, and he turns his face inward to attempt to hide it, but is only met with a gentle hand carding through his hair, and the sound of his mother’s own tears as she holds him closer.

“It’s okay, Orm, you can cry with me, I’ll cry with you,”

Those are the last words he hears as he falls asleep in his mother’s arms for the final time, and in the morning when she’s led to the Trench, he replays them in his head, over and over and over as she is taken from him.

Orm wakes in the early morning, slivers of pre-dawn light filtering through his window. He lays still for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the wind and the house settling before he at last rises. Ever since Arthur, Mera, and their son, had moved to their own home, he rarely heard a sound this early. Tom still slept, though Orm knows he too will wake soon, so he quickly dresses, in simple work clothes, and begins the morning duties.

The creaks and shudders of the house are his only company as he gently steps onto the porch, and for a brief moment, he finds himself almost missing the full house. Though he’d never turn an ear to purposefully listening in to others' conversations, the background noise was almost comforting. He’d known the comings and goings in the upstairs rooms by the footsteps alone, could track where they were going and what they were doing, and the downstairs movements were similiarly traced by the groaning of the floorboards.

Orm knows he might be called paranoid for keeping such tabs, but if that were the worst of his offences these days, he’d bear it.

The sun won’t show itself for an hour or more by the time he’s trudged up the lighthouse steps and performed the routine checks and tests Tom had shown him, and although Orm could now say he relished the feeling of the sun on his skin, he liked rising before it woke, enjoyed the blue haze the world was cast in before it’s rays reached any of them. It reminded him of Atlantis. It reminded him of home.

After checking the boat docked on the pier, he pulls it up and out of the water, for some maintenance later, as he’d been advised yesterday, though he has no real grasp on the mechanical side of things, he was happy to help the old man with his strength alone.

In his exile, and subsequent ‘death’, Tom had been willing to take Orm in, and in doing so, had given him a new sense of purpose, of duty, and the lighthouse was quickly becoming a source of calm and solace for the once-king of the waves below.

One of them at least.

The other, as he would come to know her, arrives at around midday.

-

You arrive at the Lighthouse at around 12:30.

Your modestly sized, government-issued four wheeler is hooked up in the back with an equally modest sized little dingey. Your business out at the bay only really needed to be a conversation, but you’ve known Tom Curry long enough by now to know he’d have no problems with you killing two birds with one stone, and allowing you to use his pier.

Besides, it was choppy out there today, and you didn’t want to give the old man a scare when you inevitably left your boat anchored and seemingly empty.

You pull your uniform bomber on as you exit your truck, seeing as you were out here on official business afterall, and step out into the fierce winds that were already picking up. One look up at the sky tells you if not now, it would rain soon enough, but you find yourself startled by movement and sound to your right, and you jump to face the man that has now exited the boat shed only a few meters away.

“Can I help you?” he asks, voice low, but smooth and rounded, somehow sounding incredibly formal despite his almost ragged appearance. That wasn’t to say the man was not well kept, in fact he looked incredibly similar to the impression his voice gave off, only, he wore a dark set of work clothes, and instead of waterproof pullovers like you’d see most of the dock workers or even you yourself have worn on occasion when working on wetter days, this man's clothes are damp, if not outright soaked in patches.

To his credit, if the man was bothered by his lack of dryness, he doesn’t let on.

He’s handsome, you realise dumbly and out of nowhere, very aware of the ridiculousness of your standing there and accessing him like a value to be taken stock of, especially given that the rain you’d predicted had begun to sprinkle lightly now. And yet, you can’t help yourself. He is handsome, with strikingly defined features, piercing blue eyes and almost white blond hair. You find there's something almost familiar about him, which is when you remember.

This must have been Tom’s ‘other son’. You knew Tom’s son Arthur tangentially, you’d gone to the same school, though a few years apart, and you’d even been saddled together on a luckless double date once back in high school, but despite this, you’d honestly say you knew Tom much better. Still, for as long as you’d known the Curry’s, it had been just the two of them. You were too young to remember the strange woman your father had mentioned once, and to be honest, your father mentioned a lot of ‘strange’ things, so you’d never really paid him much mind on that front, but recently, the talk of the town had you wondering.

You’d seen the family around town since Arthur’s mother had returned. You hadn’t met this man yet, but you’d heard through the grapevine at your work about him, Arthur’s brother. Apparently he was helping to run the lighthouse, and looking at the man before you now, there's not a doubt in your mind he’s of the same blood as the ethereally beautiful woman you’d seen here and there.

“Oh, I–” you start, feeling your face heat up slightly as you tear your eyes away from staring at the man openly, his slowly rising eyebrow telling you he’d been fully aware of your struckedness. A small, physical shake of your head gets you back on track, just as the man dusts his hands off– though you note they didn’t appear dirty to you– and steps closer to you. He briefly looks up at the clouds as he feels the first of the rain on his face, and you almost have to give another shake of your head to draw yourself away from waxing poetic about the way he looks so lovingly up at them.

“I work for the Marine Park office, I just need to talk to Tom about the upcoming season…” you manage to get out. His eyes finally leave the sky to focus back on you as he comes to a stop a few feet away, though after a moment, his gaze travels beyond you, to what it takes you a moment to realise is your truck, specifically your boat, and you clear your throat. “… and I didn’t think he’d mind if I used his pier after…” you tell him quickly, feeling a little like you’re under deep scrutiny, but you get the distinct feeling that his lightning-coloured eyes make everyone feel that way.

He looks back at you quickly once he’s processed your words, a small, concerned looking frown coming over his features.

“You’re going out to the Archipelago today?” he asks. It isn’t a true Archipelago that you had here in Amnesty, it was really just a large collection of small rocks and islands formed off the coast, outside of the initial Bay, but it had been called as such for longer than you can remember.

“Well, I plan to be below the water, so the wind and the rain doesn’t bother me too much,” you reply, preparing yourself to assure and defend your decision to do your job, but unlike the warnings of rough waters and danger you’re expecting from the stranger, he shakes his head and nods out at the pier, and the water beyond it.

“There’s a shark in the area. Tom has been monitoring it since yesterday… I thought he would have relayed that information to your office…?” he tells you instead. It takes you a moment to really hear what he’s said, but once your mind filters it through, you let out a laugh of almost relief, your own gaze trailing out to where he’d been gesturing at.

“Oh, that’s just Khan! He’s a local. Sort of. Usually swings by once a month or so to get pets and head scratches… don’t worry, he’ll retreat deeper by tomorrow, I’m sure. It gets too cold for him otherwise,” you assure the stranger with a wave of your hand.

The man’s features turn to surprise, and he blinks down at you like you’ve just said something completely insane. It doesn’t bother you, however. As the certified ichthyologist hired to work for the Amnesty Bay Marine Park, you were more than used to people thinking you were insane for swimming with some of the sharks that came through the area over the summer months, but Shere Khan was different. An older, docile creature, the king of the tiger (sharks) as you’d dubbed him, loved to keep you and your colleagues company when you were out and about on the water, and you almost didn’t feel quite right anymore going out there without him when he was away.

Contrary to how most people would feel with a six metre tiger shark tailing their boat, ever since an incident with a slightly more aggressive and curious bull shark several years back, you actually felt much safer with him around.

“You’re going to–” he doesn’t get to finish, the disbelief in his voice going entirely unanswered as nearby the back door to the property’s main building all but bursts open, and Tom comes barrelling down the steps, drawing both of your attention. On his face is a massive grin, and you don’t stop to think about not wanting to leave the close proximity of the stranger, instead caught up in the joy of what you know is about to be a massive bear hug.

“Gracie!” The lighthouse keeper exclaims as he gathers you up in a bundle of an embrace, and you can’t help but let out a laugh. “It’s been too long, my girl! You never come see me any more!” he complains with the faux grouchiest looking version of a pout you’ve ever seen, and as he puts you down, you give his shoulder a playful shove.

“Don’t get sour on me, gramps, I’ve heard you’ve replaced me!” you say cheekily, jerking your thumb over your shoulder at the blond man who seems to gingerly approach. Something in Tom’s eyes light up as he looks between you and the stranger, but he appears to try to cover it up quickly with even more faux attitude. He points a threatening finger at you.

“I’ll get more sour if you keep calling me ‘gramps’!” he growls out, but his aggression lasts only moments, and he looks past you to the blond who lingers beside the two of you.

“Grace, this is Arthur’s brother Orm. Orm, this is Grace. She’s a Marine Park Ranger here in Amnesty. Takes care of the tourists during holiday season… and she’s a family friend.”

At last with an introduction, you turn to the man, and after only a moment of hesitence on his part, you shake his hand, cursing yourself for how flushed and warm your face feels when you make eye contact again. You’re glad to see any of his prior alert for your upcoming swim conditions has receded, a sort of grim acceptance seemingly overcoming him now, but again, that in itself is more than familiar to you from outsiders.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Orm tells you somehow both incredibly regally, but simultaneously stiffly, as though he knows his formality is out of place, yet knows no other way. You decide to ease any of his discomfort by matching the strange, frankly weird energy you get from him.

“The pleasure is mine, I’m glad the old man has someone to help him out at the lighthouse now… was starting to worry me for a few years there,” you say truthfully, but playfully, and it doesnt go unnoticed to you the way Orm’s slightly too polite small turns a little softer, and he gains a small glint in his eyes as they flicker past you and toward the sound of the angry hiss you hear.

“For your information, the ‘old man’ is still hear, and is still willing to call up someone’s father to inform him of her breaking the cardinal rule of not insulting the Lighthouse Keeper!”

You ignore Tom, though you roll your eyes and laugh, your attention more importanttly taken up by the fact you’re still shaking Orm’s hand. You quickly pull away with a nervous chuckle at your own expense, though thankfully this time, the blond doesn’t seem willing to call you out with another raised eyebrow. He simply stays still in place, with his hand outstretched yet now empty, before he too seems to realise his fault, and drops it to his side.

You clear your throat and have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from the striking man in front of you.

“Well, ah, I’d love to have come for a social visit, but I do need to talk to you about a few things regarding the upcoming tourist season…” you tell Tom, who does his best faux grumble, but nods along despite himself. Naturally you both begin making your way up to the house, and only a glance behind you reveals Orm, standing still in his place, and watchnig after you curiously. 

When you catch one anothers eye again, you both bashfully startle, and look away.

-

Orm is tying your boat to the dock when he finally hears his mother’s footsteps approach. She’d been watching him from the window, then the porch for some time as he’d unhooked the boat off the back of the monstrosity one might call a ‘car’, and pulled it down to the pier for you. Strictly speaking, it certainly wasnt his job to do. He can tell the boat isnt all that heavy, likely picked out by you specifically so you would not need much help… but Orm finds he can’t stop himself once the thought has entered his head.

“You know, Tom’s mentioned Ranger Grace before, I don’t know if you remember, he suggested perhaps the two of you meet… to make sure you don’t spend all of your time here at the lighthouse, I mean…” his mother starts, and Orm suppresses a roll of his eyes.

“She’s planning on swimming with that shark that's out there,” he ignores his mothers insinuation, but she isn’t deterred.

“Her father’s a sailor, captains a ship out of the Bay, perhaps you could take a trip,” she goes on like he said nothing at all.

“His name is Khan. It– he has a name. How big did Tom say it was? six metres? She’s insane,” he wants to hate himself for sounding so enamoured but he can’t bring himself to do it. Atlanna rests her hand on his arm, and when he looks back at her she’s giving him a soft smile that almost makes him fold entirely.

“If Tom trusts her, you should too.”

Orm isn’t quite sure why it feels like she’s speaking about more than just the shark.

-

When you exit your meeting with Tom, you step out of the house to find your boat no longer hitched on the back of your car, and after only a few moments of searching, you spot it, bobbing at the end of the pier. Curiously, you begin wandering over to it, only to stop short when you see the blond man– Orm, knelt down on the pier, winding up a thick length or rope, and occasionally looking out over the rough waters ahead.

When you approach, you seem to startle him, because he stands suddenly and whips his head toward you, though clearly seems to regret such attentiveness, if the flustered look on his features is anything to go by.

“Ranger Grace,” he says formally, making you grin. You wonder, with a manner like that, if he has to force himself to suppress a bow.

“Just ‘Grace’ is fine,” you tell him, and for a moment you stare at one another. You feel captive in his intense gaze, like you’re being sized up or analysed, but in a single second you’re released, and he looks away, back toward the water, a tiny frown creasing between his eyebrows.

You already know what he wants to say, it’s the same thing a hundred people have said to you before, and you hold back a friendly eyeroll, and open your mouth to abate his worry, but once again when he speaks, it isn’t what you’re expecting.

“You care about them, the creatures out there,” he states, like it isn’t a question, something almost wistful in his voice. He turns back to you.

“I– why wouldn’t I care?” you ask confused at his strange manner, and this time when he frowns deeper, its at you, though not displeasure you note, more like he can’t quite figure you out. It confuses you more. You weren’t all that complicated, at least you’d never felt particularly complicated.

He stares at you again, though he seems to be at a loss for words, like he doesn’t know how to respond, but you decide to put him out of his misery.

“If you’re worried about Khan, I could introduce you?” you say, seemingly throwing him completely off guard, and distracting him from his uncertainty.

“Excuse me?”

“Khan, the tiger shark. I could introduce you. He’s really sweet.”

That makes him almost blanch, and he blinks at you like you’ve lost your mind. You can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Are you laughing at me for being reticent about an ‘introduction’ to a wild tiger shark?!” Orm sputters, and although you put a hand over your mouth, you can’t stop the giggles that continue to bubble out of you.

“He’s very friendly!” you say in your defence. Orm raises a single eyebrow at you.

“Oh, I’m certain he is,” he bristles, making you laugh once more.

You don’t notice how his face seems to soften, but you settle yourself down as he glances back out at the ocean.

“Perhaps another time,” he tells you gently. You raise both hands to assure him no offence is taken, and begin making your way further down the dock to your boat.

“I’m going to change and set off, before it gets much rougher out there,” you tell him, watching him nod as you siddle up to both him and your swaying boat. You prepare yourself to step out to it, but before you can, a large strong hand shifts into your vision, and you look up at its owner, blinking in surprise.

Feeling nervous for no other reason than a handsome stranger has offered you his gentlemanly help, your face flushes as you accept it, placing your hand in his and letting him steady you as you step down into your dingey. He doesn’t let go right away, and youanxiously look back up at him, almost questioningly. He lets go when he catches your eye, stepping back with his hands folded behind his back, and clears his throat.

“We will look for your return,” he tells you.

Strangely, you get the feeling he means something else.

-

The rocks in the Archipelago provide enough cover for Orm to swim at a comfortable distance from you and remain hidden. If anyone were to ask, he’d say that he wouldn’t normally do this, it wasn’t like him to stick his nose in the business of humans, but since no one is asking, he isn’t too proud to admit that he’s worried. He wants to think more of himself than that he's simply worried because he thinks you’re beautiful, and in truth, he does. It intrigues him that you have seemingly befriended a shark, intrigued him more that your job appeared to send you attending to something out in the ocean, and from what he can see now, it was… interesting to say the least.

You’d changed into some kind of swimming suit, similar to what he’d seen other swimmers wear before, but unlike them, you seem to carry some kind of… device in your mouth. It was cylindrical in shape, and every so often bubbles would spout from it unexpectedly. It certainly doesn’t seem to bother your companion, who he begrudgingly has to admit, is a rather docile, rather large tiger shark. Orm watches from a distance as it swims around you, occasionally bonking its face into your idle hands, at which point you smooth your hand over the top of its nose. You even occasionally seem to hold gently onto its dorsal fin, and let it lead you through the water. He can honestly say he’s never witnessed such a… a… friendship between a human and any sea life.

He knows he should leave after seeing you’re safe. But he can’t bring himself to do it.

As you near the base of a nearby outcropping of rocks, Orm watches you unsheath a large, long knife from a strap on your thigh, and carefully, you swim lower, and begin cutting away at the kelp and seaweed that has grown all around it. It’s only once a large patch has been cut away does he realise the overgrowth hides the entrance to some sort of cave. He wants to get nearer then, as only your legs become visible, but he holds back, in case you were to turn around and see him, but he finds himself pressed by other matters. Seemingly knowing he’s too large to fit, the shark, Khan, he reminds himself, swims a little further away from you, seemingly occupying himself until he begins to get nearer and nearer to Orm’s hiding place.

Orm’s eyes flash between where he can barely see you now and the shark, and decides the shark is the more immediate threat. Khan siddles up quite close, swimming laps back and forth right by him, and Orm gets the distinct impression he’s being eyed up, if not outright warned off.

“Away!” Orm tries to shoo him. “Back to your human,” he wills the creature, though the shark remains persistent, getting even closer. Orm isn’t worried about attack, though he does wonder what you would think if your apparently docile friend were to attack a stranger seemingly out of nowhere.

Then, as if you’ve called both their names, Orm and Khan both startle, and look towards the cave entrance, with Khan swimming off immediately. Perhaps that is what spurs Orm away from his hiding spot, perhaps it’s the unsettling sound of muffled panic, but soon enough he too is moving far closer than he’d ever intended, his stomach sinking somewhat as he hears the familiar sound of something dropping to the ocean floor.

A fish, a large one he has no mind to name in that instance, swims hurriedly and suddenly out of the mouth of the underwater cave, and Orm presses himself back some to allow its exit. Worry now consumes him once more, and without further thought, he swims forward, his eyes adjusting far better to the darkness than he knows you would. He finds you, hand raised to the back of your head, where the familiar sight of blood has begun to flow, staining the water around it red. You seem stricken otherwise, your body no longer swimming, and it's only when he realises your breathing apparatus has fallen from your mouth that he knows your injury is far worse than it might first appear.

Your body shakes, and if you’re conscious, you must only be barely cognisant of your surroundings, which is why Orm swims in closer, as you begin to drift down, unconcerned in your current state about the very real danger of drowning, but it’s no matter. He catches you in his arms, just as a spout of bubbles exit your lungs, and he knows he must get you back to the surface immediately.

He doesn’t waste time fetching your equipment, nor the knife you’ve dropped, he doesn’t worry about your boat left out in the water, or the shark that trails him until he reaches the pier. Orm adjusts to the weight of holding you above water, climbing the rocks and thanking whatever the surface dwellers liked to thank when Tom comes jogging out of the house, concern and panic plastered on his face.

“She hit her head, she’s bleeding,” Orm informs him hurriedly, knowing that Tom will know what to do. The old man looks up at him questioningly, but seems to think better of it, quickly ushering him inside. His mother, upon seeing him and the unconsious woman he carries, all but drops her tea cup on the table, rising fast and disappearing into the kitchen.

You convulse in his arms and it’s all Orm can do not to drop you.

“On the floor, put her on the floor!” Tom orders him, to which he obeys, gently laying you out on the living room floor where Tom pushes him aside once you’re flat. Orm watches in no small amount of concern as the olde rman begins pressing in hard on your chest in rhythm to his counting, before leaning down and placing his mouth over yours. Luckily, once he’s pulled away again, the water is dislodged from your lungs, and Tom quickly turns your head to one side as you splutter and cough.

Your eyes blink open briefly, and you croak out something no one can understand before the coughing takes you again and you try to raise your hand to clutch at your head. Tom stops you, and looks back to Orm again.

“Help me set her on the couch.”

He does as asked, though now you’re no longer unconscious, you appear to shift and wiggle more, clearly pained, and Orm surprises himself when he sushes you softly. His mother returns, with a box of medical supplies, and Tom once again nudges Orm to the side once you’re settled.

“Tom,” you rasp groggily, sounding panicked. “My head,” you try to alert him, but Tom only hushes you, and pulls your hands away from your hair.

“It’s alright, Orm told us, just bear with me, alright? I’ll call your office.”

That seems to calm you somewhat, and you squeeze your eyes shut again.

“Is Khan alright? He’ll be worried…” you ask, sounding small and tired, and Orm almost lets out a laugh. Almost drowning in an underwater cave and you still have the mind to ask after the shark.

“He’s fine, he let us know you needed help,” he says without thinking, and your eyes peel open once more, struggling to find and focus on him before you smile wrly.

“Told you he was friendly.”

Orm does laugh at that, feels the anxiety and worry in his body leave all at once knowing you were alright. Tom laughs too, but shushes you again, and looks over at him.

“Can you call the Marine Park Office? It’s on the fridge,” he says, just as his mother steps around the couch and begins to inspect the back of your head, where Tom holds you up.

Orm hesitates, realising he doesn’t wish to leave your side, but forces himself to hurry off and do as told. He has to stop himself listening in to his mother and Tom’s quiet conversation, in order not to ignite his worry again, and instead, after making a call out to the Marine Park Office, as awkward as he feels doing so, Orm dives back into the water.

Khan is right by the shallow waters, swimming back and forth in a manner Orm would describe as ‘stressed’, and once the creature catches sight of him, he swims right over, slowing as he eyes Orm up.

“I don’t know if you can understand me,” Orm says, feeling a little foolish speaking to a shark. “But she’s okay.”

Khan eyes him, continuing to swim in short laps, this time closer to him. Orm wouldn’t know how to explain himself to anyone if they were watching, but something possesses him in that moment to reach out his hand. Khan turns his headband slows somewhat in his movements, but in a matter of seconds he’s making for Orm, before gently bonking his nose against his hand.

Orm finds himself laughing at the sheer absurdity of it, but he can’t stop himself from going back for another pass, running his hand over Khan’s smooth head one more time before he fixes the creature with a business-like look.

“I’m going to collect her things. Would you care to join me?” he asks, and receives his reply in the form of the shark turning tail and making back for the small cave entrance some ways away. Orm is glad your boat is docked so nearby, he’d not explored these waters well enough yet to know where exactly he’d rescued you from, not in his sheer hurry to get you back to the surface.

Khan waits for him, once again swimming laps and circles around the small outcropping, and it doesn’t take long for Orm to find your dropped knife and the device you used to breathe. He inspects it curiously, though it’s completely foreign to him and he tucks away his questions to hopefully ask you later. His other curiosity he finds he can sate for himself, and with your items in hand, he swims further into the curving cave structure, until he can swim no further, and finds instead a path up.

He isn’t surprised you wished to clear the pathway into the grotto he finds, beautiful and natural as it is. He would never have guessed the rocky outcropping a few hundred feet from the edge of the pier would hold something so special, but as he pulls himself up onto the lip of the small standing area, Orm can see himself possibly spending more time here. The dark clouds outside are visible to him through a small opening at the top of the peaked ceiling, and he supposes on sunnier days they provide an amount of light, though the darkness doesn’t bother him.

He wonders, idly, secretly, if perhaps, he may convince you at one time or another, to take him here yourself.

-

You wake with a splitting headache.

A sharp pain toward the back of your head makes you reach a hand out, but a warmer, more calloused one stops you.

“Tom advised me that you shouldn’t touch it,” a deep timber voice rolls over your thoughts, before you groggily realise it's not just in your mind, but in the room also. You squint your eyes open, and peer over at Orm who sits somewhat stiffly nearby. “Luckily it was not a bad cut, though judging from your unconsciousness, and need for sleep, it appears to me as though the blow to your head was worse,” he squints back at you, though you aren’t sure he’s aware he’s doing it until his features seem to soften and he quickly snaps forward to help you adjust to sitting.

“That’s no good…” you say redudantly, and look briefly around the familiar living room. Just hours ago you had been sat with Tom right here, and going over the same old information you always did when it approached tourist season. You almost feel foolish for all the attempts you’d made to assure both he and Orm that you would be fine on your afternoon swim. Thunder cracks overhead and you start, sitting up straighter and fixing your apparent lone companion with wide eyes.

“My boat!” you say startled, but the blond man beside you calms you with a rather regal wave of his hand.

“Is already docked. I went back for it some time ago,” he tells you in a voice one might find condescending if you weren’t so briefly panicked. Your worry subsides with his simple words and you blink up at him curiously.

“First you set it in the water, and then you fetch it from its anchoring? I can see why Tom keeps you around,” you joke, bringing a tight smile to the man's lips. He appears to be more focused in looking you over, his eyes darting over your form as if accessing for further injuries. “Khan didn’t give you any trouble I assume? I’ll admit he can be a bit firghtening, but he’s really–”

“– friendly. Yes, I experienced as much for myself,” he cuts you off, and you relax a little further.

“You swam with him?” you ask, almost a little surprised, though given your accident, you’re not sure what else you’d have expected. Khan was a very loving creature, if he’d gone to get you help, his appearance by the docks instead of by your side clearly suggesting as much to Tom, and you have to guess Orm too, then you imagine he wouldn’t have gone far in the time it took for Orm to also head back out to where you’d anchored your dingey.

“Yes. I am not as eager as it appears you are to share waters with a creature such as Khan, but I am not afeard of it either…” Orm states, though appears to pull back some, as if he thinks he’s said too much.

“I suppose that means I won’t have to introduce you next time…” you trail off, wondering when exactly you had planned on seeing this man again. He was handsome, certainly, but you’d met him only this afternoon. You suppose the fact that Tom vouched for him went a long way in your books, but beyond that, you feel as though you’ve already grown fond of his odd mannerism, the way he spoke like a storybook prince of some stripe. He seemed out of place, and although clearly having learnt a lot about Lighthouse keeping, or at least enough to know about keeping watch, there was a manner to which he seemed to perform the duties like they are unfamiliar to him.

“I wouldn’t say no to a formal introduction,” Orm responds after a beat of quiet. You smile at him, feeling nervous all of a sudden, though you aren’t exactly sure why. The kitchen door opens then, and you both turn in unison to find Tom, and Arthur’s mother entering, shucking off their raincoats.

“Glad to see you’re still with us,” Tom exclaims, not bothering to remove his boots before he’s beelining toward you. Orm seems to shrink back, like he’s guilty of something, and you briefly catch a glimpse of his mother attempting to make further eye contact with him that he seems to avoid.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” you say with little conviction. Tom steps around the couch, but brushes a hand over your shoulders as he does.

“We called your office, and I spoke with the nurse at the clinic in town… she thinks you’ll be fine but asks that if you have any side effects, you head in… she also asked that you not drive yourself home.”

You groan, knowing its not the smartest idea anyway, but it made you feel more indebted.

“So I’ll pick my car up in the morning?” you ask, already knowing there was no use in arguing. Tom nods.

“And I’ll pick you up for that too.”

You nod back at him, before rubbing at your eyes with your palms.

“I called your Pa, too,” Tom says more quietly, making you look up at him pleadingly.

“Tell me you didn’t really?” you ask, feeling like a teenager caught out drinking. Tom shrugs.

“I’d want to know,” he says by way of explanation. You huff out a grumble, and sit back against the cushions.

“He’ll only say it’s what I get for disrespecting the lighthouse keeper,” you say, though you know it's unfair. Tom chortles and pats your knee.

“Well maybe next time you’ll think better of calling people old!” he says back. You groan again and squeeze your eyes shut.

“C’mon Gracie, let me get you home,” he says then, heaving himself up off the couch with a small amount of effort. Orm rises then too, and you notice he seems rather intent on lending you his hand to get up. You only hesitate for a second before you take it, feeling your face flush some, but you tactfully avoid looking at either Tom or Orm’s mother, instead focusing on the blond who’d helped you, his grip firm. Embarrassingly, you get the sense the size of his arms or the broadness of his chest aren’t simply for show, if the ease in which he lifts you is anything to go by.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, hoping he understands you mean to thank him for more than just this moment. He looks down at you seriously, and nods once.

“Of course,” comes his reply. You realise you still hold his hand in yours and release it, blinking rapidly as you clear your throat and turn away from him. Tom looks between you unsubtly, and you decide some distance might quell his medlesomeness.

“Thank you for everything,” you say louder, turning to find Orm’s mother smiling kindly at you from the kitchen doorway.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” she says gently.

With your dry clothes having been retrieved from the trunk on your dingey by Orm (you assume), you only bother to place your jacket on before collecting the rest and following Tom out to his car.

Curiously, when you glance back at the house in the rearview mirror, you think you spot a man watching you go.

comments and reviews are welcomed <3

[tartytarttaker]

Why are we not booming with Orm x OC fanfics? Has no one watched Aquaman 2?? Why do we not rave over the dethroned king's redemption arc??? So much potential here I'm actually overwhelmed with my non existent choices.

[jamgoesart]

Shipwrecked

A Orm Marius X OC FanFiction.

[tinderbox210]

"In a sea of strangers, you've longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores." ― Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 2 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. A s they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 4036

A/N: I just really really want a hot dude (Patrick Wilson) chopping wood in front of my window. Is that too much to ask, universe?

The next day began as peacefully as the other mornings before, with soft light spilling into her cabin, illuminating the snow-covered landscape outside her window. She had become familiar with the tranquillity of these mornings—silent, serene, with nothing but the sound of the wind brushing through the trees. However, as she walked barefoot to the kitchen, she glanced out of the window and froze mid-step.

There, outside, was Patrick again.

She didn’t even need to step closer to see him—he was right there in the clearing between their cabins, chopping wood with deliberate precision. But today, unlike yesterday, he had taken off his beanie, and his thick, wavy hair caught the morning light. His brown locks were a bit messy from the effort, curling slightly at the tips and damp with sweat, even in the chilly air.

His jacket was unzipped and tossed aside on the porch, leaving him in just a thermal shirt that clung to his broad chest and strong arms. 

As he lifted the axe above his head, his shirt stretched tightly across his chest and shoulders, revealing the lean, athletic build underneath. Each powerful swing of the axe seemed effortless, his muscles flexing as the wood split cleanly in two. His face, focused yet calm, made it clear that this wasn’t something he struggled with. It was like watching him in his element.

She moved closer to the window, leaning her elbows on the sill as she watched him, mesmerised.

Her eyes drifted over him, taking in every detail—the curve of his jaw, dusted lightly with stubble, the way his breath came out in puffs of mist, the way his hair shone golden in the early light. He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair, and Éléanor couldn’t help but notice how naturally handsome he was. 

Her fingers itched for her sketchbook once again.

Éléanor grabbed it from the table and settled onto the window seat without much thought. 

At first, she began lightly—just a few soft lines, mapping out his form, starting with the broad, powerful shape of his shoulders. Her pencil danced across the page, tracing the bend of his spine as he leaned into each swing of the axe, the slight tension in his arms, and the way his hands gripped the wooden handle.

As she worked, Éléanor’s eyes flicked from the window to the sketchbook, back and forth in a rhythm as fluid as Patrick’s movements. She sketched the way his hair fell into his face as he wiped his brow and the way the sunlight caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Every stroke of her pencil brought him to life on the page—the sharp angles of his jaw, the scruff of his stubble, and the slight narrowing of his eyes as he focused on the task at hand.

She moved quickly, capturing his stance in broad strokes—the confident, grounded way he stood, feet planted firmly in the snow, his body steady and sure. But as the minutes passed, her sketches became more detailed and intimate, filling page after page.

In her most comprehensive drawing, which filled an entire page, she concentrated on the finer details with her watercolours. She refined the subtle way his chest rose and fell with each breath and how his fingers curled around the axe handle, strong and capable. She added the texture of his shirt,  highlighting the folds in the fabric as it stretched over his frame and the way his muscles moved beneath it.

And then there was his face. Éléanor slowed down here, taking her time as she focused on the sharp lines of his features while refining her sketch. His eyes, deep blue and intense, were slightly shadowed beneath his brow, but they glimmered in the sunlight as he paused to stack the wood. She traced the strong line of his nose and the fullness of his lips, slightly parted as he breathed heavily from the work.

The more she drew, the more she noticed—the way the cold air turned his cheeks a little pink, the mess of his hair as he ran a hand through it absent-mindedly, and the way the muscles in his arms tensed and relaxed with each movement. There was a rawness to him, a quiet strength that fascinated her.

Her drawing began to take on a life of its own, each line breathing energy into the paper. The light shadowing on his face, the depth in his eyes, and the firmness of his stance—she was capturing everything.

As she added the final details to his face, her phone buzzed on the table, startling her.

She glanced at it and saw a message from Virginie.

―――――――――――――

Virginie : Why didn’t you come to Spain with me? There are so many hotties here, ma chérie!

―――――――――――――

Éléanor chuckled, setting her sketchbook aside momentarily as she glanced out the window again. Patrick was taking a break now, leaning on the axe’s handle, catching his breath. His face was flushed from the cold and exertion, but his easy smile as he wiped his forehead sent a shiver through her.

She smirked, then typed back:

―――――――――――――

Éléanor : Well, I may have a hottie here myself.

―――――――――――――

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed again, and this time, it was an incoming call.

“Ugh, of course,” Éléanor muttered, already knowing what was coming. She answered the call and put it on speaker.

“WHAT?!” Virginie’s voice practically screeched through the speaker, filled with excitement. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a hottie? Tell me everything immediately! Don’t hold back on me, Éléanor!”

Éléanor stifled a laugh, watching as Patrick wiped his hands on his jeans and moved to stack the freshly chopped wood. “Okay, calm down,” she said, keeping her voice casual. “He’s just staying in the cabin next door.”

Virginie scoffed. “Next door? Next door in the middle of nowhere? Don’t play coy with me. What’s his name? Is he cute? No, scratch that. How hot is he? Like, is he actually hot, or are you just starved for human contact up there?”

Éléanor glanced out of the window again, and her heart gave an involuntary flutter as Patrick bent to pick up another log, his shirt stretching taut across his back. “His name’s Patrick. And… yeah, he’s… um, he’s definitely hot,” she admitted. “But it’s not like that. He’s just… around.”

“Oh my God, of course he is. Details, woman!” Virginie demanded, her voice rising in dramatic excitement.

Éléanor shifted, feeling a little embarrassed. “Okay, fine. He’s tall, maybe around six feet, with sandy-blond brownish hair. It’s kind of wavy and, well… he took off his hat, and it looks even better in the sun. His eyes are this striking blue—like, really blue. And he’s got this rugged, outdoorsy look going on. I mean, he’s currently out there chopping wood, so… yeah. It’s a scene.”

“Stop right now,” Virginie gasped. “He’s chopping wood? This is like something out of one of those cheesy romance novels!”

Éléanor laughed. “Yeah, it kind of is. And he’s really strong. I mean, the way he swings that axe… it’s impressive.”

Virginie sighed deeply on the other end of the line. “So basically, you’re living out every woman’s fantasy right now. You know that, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Éléanor said, shaking her head. “It’s not like that. He’s just a neighbour, and we’ve only exchanged some small talk.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Virginie replied, clearly not convinced. “And what exactly did you two talk about, hmm? Don’t leave anything out.”

“Well,” Éléanor began, glancing out of the window as Patrick stacked another log of wood. “He helped to shovel my driveway yesterday. We had tea on the porch afterwards. We just talked about, you know, the weather, the mountains, and why we’re both here. He’s really down-to-earth, actually. Quiet, but in a nice way.”

Virginie made a noise of disbelief. “And you didn’t immediately jump him? Éléanor, I’m starting to think you’ve been in those mountains too long.”

Éléanor flushed, laughing. “I’m not going to jump him!”

“You’re in a literal cabin romance scenario… and here you are, 34, with your nose stuck in your sourdough jar and sketchbook.”

There was a long pause on Éléanor’s end, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her sketchbook and the detailed watercolour drawing of Patrick.

“You’re drawing him, aren’t you?” Virginie gasped theatrically. “You sneaky little stalker.”

Éléanor laughed, holding the phone away from her mouth. “I am not a stalker. He’s just right there, and I’ve got my sketchbook.”

“Uh-huh,” Virginie said with a grin in her voice. “And yet, you’ve not sent me a picture? The hypocrisy, Éléanor.”

Éléanor smirked, glancing out of the window one more time as Patrick raised his axe for another swing. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m not some creepy paparazzi.”

“Oh, come on,” Virginie whined. “Just a little one? For research purposes, of course. For me, as a friend.”

“Nope,” Éléanor said firmly, her voice light with amusement. “I’m not invading his privacy like that.”

“Privacy, schmivacy,” Virginie shot back. “This man sounds like a walking dream. I bet he wouldn’t even mind. But, okay, I’ll stop bugging you about the photo. For now. But listen, you need to let me live vicariously through you. How’s he dressed? What’s the wood-chopping outfit?”

Éléanor sighed, stealing another glance outside. “He’s wearing this snug thermal shirt—it’s dark grey and fits him really well. His jacket’s off, so you can see his arms and chest quite clearly. And he’s wearing these rugged jeans. Honestly, the whole look is very… outdoorsman chic.”

“Oh my God,” Virginie groaned dramatically. “You’re killing me. I’m stuck in Spain with a bunch of drunk idiots, and you’re over there with a real-life lumberjack hottie.”

Éléanor shook her head, laughing. “You’ll be fine in Spain. I’m sure there are plenty of guys there who’ll catch your eye.”

Virginie huffed. “Maybe, but none of them are chopping wood for me in the snow. This is unfair.”

“Well, like I said, he’s just a neighbour. Nothing’s going on,” Éléanor said, though even as she said it, she couldn’t shake the little thrill she got from watching him.

“Uh-huh,” Virginie replied, unconvinced. “You’ve got a hottie right next door. Don’t waste this opportunity, Éléanor. Seriously. When’s the next time you’re going to have a situation like this?”

Éléanor rolled her eyes playfully. “Okay, okay. But I’m not just going to throw myself at him, Virginie.”

“I’m just saying,” Virginie teased. “You deserve some fun. And maybe… something more?”

“Virginie!” Éléanor said with a laugh, “I didn’t come here for a man… I came here because of the solitude and quiet.”

Virginie sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But you better tell me everything. What’s his deal? Does he live up there, or is he just hiding out like you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Éléanor said, biting her lip as she thought about it. “He said he’s here to get away from things. But it’s only been a couple of days, and we’ve just had some small talk. He’s easy to be around, though. Like… I don’t know, normal.”

“Hm,” Virginie hummed thoughtfully. “Normal, hot, and right next door? Éléanor, this is your chance to finally touch someone who isn’t yeast-based.”

Éléanor protested with a laugh, her cheeks flushing. “Hey! Leave Jacques out of this.”

Virginie sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if you two have some steamy cabin romance, I expect full details.”

“Yes yes…Now goodbye, Virginie,” Éléanor said, laughing as she hung up the call.

She placed her phone down and stretched, feeling both amused and a little flustered. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a movement outside. Patrick had finished chopping and was now glancing over at her cabin. Éléanor’s breath caught when he met her gaze through the window.

Had he seen her watching him? Or sketching? The thought sent a small thrill through her, but she quickly masked it with a smile, offering him a friendly wave and opening her window.

To her surprise, he waved back, smiling, his axe resting on his shoulder. Then he called out, his voice carrying easily through the crisp morning air. “Do you have enough firewood, or do you need more?”

Éléanor’s heart skipped a beat, momentarily mesmerised by his deep voice. He looked even more striking now—his hair slightly messy from exertion, his blue eyes bright against the cold air.

“I’m good!” she called back, hoping her voice didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “Plenty stocked up!”

Patrick nodded, his grin easy and warm. “Alright, just checking. If you need more, don’t hesitate.”

She smiled, her heart fluttering a little at his casual offer. “Thanks! I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Patrick turned and headed back to his cabin, Éléanor couldn’t help but bite her lip, watching him walk away. He was such a presence—strong, capable, and far too attractive for her peace of mind.

She looked down at her sketchbook again, fingers brushing the painting she had made. There he was, captured on the page—every detail of his movements, his focused expression, the subtle lines of his strong jaw, all immortalised in her art.

Virginie was right about one thing—Éléanor was definitely enjoying the view.

_____

As the evening settled in, Éléanor felt an urge to lose herself in the familiar, comforting ritual of baking. After watching Patrick chopping wood from her window all day, she needed the soothing routine of kneading dough and stirring pots. She glanced at her trusty sourdough starter, Jacques, which bubbled happily on the counter. 

Tying her apron around her waist, she gathered her ingredients. The flour, water, and salt came together beneath her hands, the dough taking shape with a rhythmic push and pull. As Éléanor kneaded, her thoughts wandered back to Patrick. 

He had looked even more rugged that morning, chopping wood like some kind of lumberjack straight out of a daydream.

She thought about how his face had sharp features softened by a boyish smile when he glanced over at her cabin, unaware she was sketching him again. His blue eyes gleamed like the sky against the backdrop of snow, and there was something effortlessly handsome about the way he moved, confident but not in a showy way.

Éléanor found herself smiling, her hands working the dough with renewed energy. 

Once she had finished, she set the dough aside to let it rise as she set about preparing her French beef stew, boeuf bourguignon. 

The rich smell of onions sautéing in butter filled the cabin, mingling with the crisp scent of the winter air sneaking through the cracked window.

She chopped the carrots, celery, and mushrooms into perfect little pieces, tossing them into the pot with the browned beef. The sizzle of the meat meeting the hot pan was satisfying, each sear deepening the flavour.

Pouring in a generous glug of red wine, Éléanor inhaled the rich, earthy aroma as it mixed with the herbs and vegetables. She moved with practised grace, tasting and adjusting the seasoning as she went, lost in the rhythm of cooking. 

The stew simmered on low, filling the cabin with warmth, while she shaped her risen dough into a beautiful round loaf, scored the top, and placed it in the oven.

As the bread baked, she leaned over the counter to peek into the oven, watching the crust form and turn golden, the smell of sourdough wafting through the room. The loaf crackled as it rose, promising a perfect, airy crumb beneath its crispy crust.

After the bread had finished baking, she carefully donned a pair of thick, quilted oven mitts to protect her hands from the intense heat. Opening the oven door, she let out a rush of warm, fragrant air that surrounded her. As she reached in to grab the heavy cast-iron baking pan, she felt the comforting weight of the loaf as she lifted it out.

The bread had emerged beautifully from the oven; its crust was a perfect golden brown, glistening slightly from the steam. The detailed leaf-shaped indents she had painstakingly created before baking stood out prominently against the snowy white flour dusting the surface.

On a whim and after looking at her bread for a few minutes, Éléanor wrapped the still-warm loaf in a clean kitchen towel. Before she could second-guess herself, she made her way to the door, wanting to bring it to Patrick. He had been so kind, shovelling her driveway without a second thought, and this was her way of thanking him.

Éléanor bundled up in her thick coat, slipping on her scarf and boots before heading outside. The night air was crisp and biting, the sky above her inky black, yet the windows of Patrick’s cabin glowed warmly in the distance, with a faint trail of smoke curling from his chimney. With the loaf in her arms, she trudged through the snow, her breath misting in the cold.

Her heart raced a little as she approached the door and knocked. She could hear the faint sound of movement inside before Patrick opened it. 

His face lit up in surprise, and Éléanor couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked, even in casual clothes. 

His hair, still slightly tousled from earlier, framed his face perfectly, and the firelight accentuated the flecks of grey in his stubble. His scent—earthy with hints of pine and a subtle cologne—enveloped her as she entered, adding to the cabin’s warm and inviting atmosphere.

“Hey,” Éléanor said with a shy smile, her breath misting in the cold air. “I, um, thought I’d bring you a thank-you for shovelling my driveway. Freshly baked sourdough.”

Patrick’s grin widened, genuine and boyish, as the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this. That’s really nice of you. Come in.”

He stepped aside, and Éléanor entered the cabin, immediately greeted by the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. The interior of Patrick’s cabin was much like her own—simple and rustic, with wooden beams and stone accents—but it was also infused with a certain charm. 

The fire cast a soft, golden glow, and a few personal touches—books stacked on the coffee table, a guitar leaning against the wall—gave the space an inviting feel.

“Your place is lovely,” Éléanor said, taking it all in as she removed her coat and scarf.

“Thanks,” Patrick replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to make it feel like home. It’s not as cosy as yours, I’m sure.”

Éléanor smiled, placing the bread on his kitchen counter. “Well, it looks good in here. You have a fire going, and that’s half the battle.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Patrick said, eyeing the loaf appreciatively. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Well, you did shovel my driveway. I figured it’s the least I could do,” Éléanor replied, slipping off her coat and scarf.

“I’m sure it’s amazing,” he said, grabbing a bread knife and cutting into the loaf. The sound of the crispy crust breaking apart was music to her ears, and the smell of the warm, freshly baked bread filled the room. 

He handed her a piece, and she noticed the warmth of the bread mixing with the faint scent of Patrick’s cologne. She watched as he took one for himself, spreading a little butter on it.

They stood there for a moment, savouring the bread in comfortable silence. Éléanor couldn’t help but glance at Patrick, admiring the way his lips curled slightly as he chewed.

“This is incredible,” Patrick finally said, breaking the silence. “You weren’t kidding when you said baking is your thing.”

Éléanor smiled, a flush of pride warming her cheeks. “Thank you. I’ve been baking for as long as I can remember. It’s kind of my specialty.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but…wow”, he chuckled, taking another bite. “This is the best bread I’ve had in… probably ever.”

They moved to sit near the fire, Patrick offering her a spot on the couch. The atmosphere was cosy and easy, and Éléanor found herself relaxing more than she had in days. Patrick poured them each a glass of wine, and soon they were sharing more than just bread.

Éléanor couldn’t help but observe how the firelight played on his features, softening his rugged appearance and highlighting the flecks of grey in his beard. His stubble had thickened since he got here but seemed to focus mostly on his upper lip, where a soft moustache was starting to form. 

She realised he was likely a bit older than she initially thought—his bright blue eyes and that charming, boyish smile had fooled her, yet she found herself not caring about that at all.

“So, what brings you out here, really?” Éléanor asked after a moment, swirling her wine in the glass. “I mean, the mountains are nice, but they’re not exactly a quick trip.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair, the firelight casting a soft glow over his face. “I needed a break. From work, from the city, from… everything. It’s nice to get away from the chaos.”

Éléanor nodded, understanding all too well. “I get that. I come out here for the same reason. I live in a small town, but even that can feel overwhelming sometimes. This place is my escape.”

“Your café, right? I think you mentioned that the other day,” Patrick said, his eyes curious.

“Yeah, I run a little café in France with my best friend, Virginie,” Éléanor said, smiling fondly at the memory of her café. “It’s small, but it’s home. We serve homemade bread, pastries, and a few simple meals. It’s a quiet life, but I love it.”

Patrick smiled, looking impressed. “That sounds perfect. A lot simpler than what I’m used to.”

“And what is it that you do, exactly?” Éléanor asked, her curiosity piqued by his vagueness. “You mentioned being in the entertainment industry, but you didn’t really say much more.”

Patrick shrugged, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. “Yeah… I’m just in the entertainment industry, nothing more, but it’s… a lot sometimes. That’s why I came here. To get away from all the pressure.”

Éléanor raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not pressing. “That makes sense. I imagine it’s hard to find peace in that kind of world.”

“It can be,” he admitted, his gaze flickering to the fire for a moment. “But being here, it reminds me of what really matters. The simple things.”

She nodded, feeling a quiet connection with him. They both sought refuge in these mountains for different reasons, but the end goal was the same—peace, simplicity, a break from the chaos of life.

They talked late into the night, sharing stories about their lives, their favourite foods, and the peace they both found in simple, quiet moments. 

Patrick had an easy charm about him, making her laugh with dry humour and gentle teasing. The conversation felt natural, and Éléanor found herself forgetting the outside world as they sat by the fire, sharing bread and wine.

Before she knew it, the evening had slipped away, and the fire had burned low. Éléanor stood, feeling the comforting weight of contentment in her chest. “I should probably get back to my cabin,” she said softly. “Thank you for the wine.”

“No, thank you for the bread,” Patrick replied, his smile warm. “And hey, if you ever need more firewood, just let me know.”

Éléanor smiled, touched by his offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she made her way back to her cabin, the cold air nipping at her cheeks, Éléanor felt lighter than she had in days. There was something about Patrick—his kindness, his quiet strength—that put her at ease.

Once inside her cabin, she decided to check on her firewood supply before turning in for the night. She opened the door to the shed, and her heart sank. The pile of wood she had so confidently assured Patrick about earlier was nearly gone.

“Damn it,” she muttered, realising too late that she had underestimated how much wood she would need.

She stood there for a moment, the cold air biting at her skin, before closing the door with a sigh. She’d have to swallow her pride and ask Patrick for help sooner than she thought.

[srim01997]

About Me

สวัสดีชาว tumblr ทุกท่าน เราชื่อศรีโมย้ายบ้าน(?)จากนกฟ้ามาที่นี่ชั่วคราวจนกว่าอีลอนจะหายผีบ้า แนวงานส่วนมากจะเป็น canon x oc จากด้อมมาเวล สตาร์วอร์ส และจจส. ส่วนมากลงงานใน RAW

Where to read my work (TH language only)

My readAwrite

My AO3 (My Eng. Work Version is here!!)

Recommend Work (TH Works only)

marvel

Werewolf By Night x oc | Beauty and The Wolf

Moon Knight x oc | Selenophile

Star Wars

The Mandalorian x oc| Riduur

Poe D. x oc| The Story of Elara (Coming Soon)

DCEU

Orm M. x OC | Thalassophile

House of The Dragon

Ser Gwayne Hightower

[OS/EN] In the Garden of the Red Keep (Tumblr) (AO3)

The Red Princess & The Green Knight.[up on AO3] (playlist) (CH.1) (CH.2) (CH.3) (CH.4)

[vanilla-waffles]

4 Years 155 Days! A bunch of au versions of Jeremy

[a-z0-9-i-n-gram-completionist]

1:    0 1 2 4 8 9 a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z    32/36    (26/26)    (6/10)

2:    08 11 18 19 41 42 84 90 ab ac ad ag ai aj ak al am an ap ar as at av aw ay ba bd be bi bl bo br bs bu by ca cc ce ch ci ck cl co cr cs ct cu cy da dd de df di dl dn do dr ds du dy ea eb ec ed ee ef eg eh ei el em en eo ep eq er es et ev ew ex ey fa fe fi fo fr ft fu ga ge gh gi gl go gr gs gt gy ha he hi hn ho hr ht hu hy ia ib ic id ie if ig il im in io ip ir is it iu iv iz jo ju ke ki kn ks ky la ld le lf li lk ll lm lo ls lu lv ly ma me mh mi mo mp ms mu my na nb nc nd ne nf ng nh ni nk nl nn no ns nt nu nv ny oa ob oc od oe of og oi ol om on oo op or os ot ou ow ox oy pa pe ph pi pl pm po pp pr ps pt pu qu ra rd re rg ri rk rl rm rn ro rp rr rs rt ru ry rz sa sc se sh si sk sm sn so sp sq ss st su sw sy ta te th ti tl to tr ts tt tu tw ty ua ub uc ud ue ug ui ul um un uo up ur us ut ve vi wa we wh wi wo wr xc xe xi xt xu yb yg yl ym yn yo yp ys yx ze zo    290/1296    (282/676)    (8/100)

3:    184 190 842 908 abd abl aca acc aci ack acr acs act ade ads age ain ajo ake aki ale ali alk all alm alo als ame ami amp ana anc and ane ang ani ans ant anu any ape app ard are arg ark arl arm aro arr ars art ase ask ass ata ate ath ati ato att atu ave avi awa awr ayb bab bac bal bas bdo bea bed beh bel bet bey bio bis bit ble blo bly bod bon bou bow boy bra bre bst bul bur but cal can cav cce ccy cee cen cep che chi cia cie cin cks cky cle clo clu coc com con cos cre cri cru cti ctu cul cut cyx dar dda dea dee den deo dep der des dfi did die din dis dle dne doe dom don dor dul dur ead eak eal ear eat ebr eci ecr ect edd edi eed eei eem een efe egi egs ehi ein eir eit ela ele elf ell elo elv ely ema eme emo emp ems emu enb enc end eng enh eno ent env eos eou epo eps ept equ era ere eri erl erm ern err ers ert eru ery erz esc ese esn esp ess est eta ete eto etw ety eve evi ewh exc exe ext exu eyo fam far fat fem fer fes fib fie fif fin fir fis for fos fra fro fth fur fus gap gel gem ges ght gic gif gio gir gla glu gol gon gou gre gro gth gys han hap hat hav hea hei hem hen her hes hey hic hig him hin hip hir his hit hiu hna hol hot hou hro hum hus hym ial iar ibe ibi ibu ica ice ich ick icu ide idf ied ien ier ies iet ife ifi ift igh ila ili ill ima imi ims ina inc ind ine inf ing ink ins int inu iny iof ion ior iou ips ird irs isc ise ish iso isp iss ist ite ith iti its itt ity ium ive ize joi jor jus jut ked kel kes kin kiv kne kno ksc lan lar lat lde leg len les let lex lia lie lif lis lit lli llo lls lly lmo loa log lon loo lop lou low lso lue lun lus lvi lym lyp mag maj mak mal man mar mas mat may mel men mer met mew mil min mit moo mor mos mou mph mpl mpr mse mur mus myg nac nad nal nat nbo nce ncl nde ndi ndn ndo nds ndu nec nee nei neo nes nex nfr nge ngs ngt ngy nhn nim nky nly nne nop nor nos not now nox nse nsi nst nsw nta nte nti ntl nto ntr nts ntu nuo nus nve oac oat oba occ oce oci odi ody oes ofi oft ogi ogo ogs oin old ole olo oma ome omi omp omy ona ond one onl onn ons ont ool oos oot ope ops opt ora org ori orm ors ose osi oss ost osu ota ote oth oti oto oug oun oup ous out owe owi oxi oyl par pat pea pec ped pel per pho pic pin ple pli pmh poi pos ppa ppe ppo pre pri pro pte pti pub qua que qui rac rai ral ran rap rat raw rdl rea rec red ref reg rel rem ren res ret rev rge ria rib rig rin rio ris rit rki rks rly rma rmi rmo rms rns roa rob roc rog rom rop ros rou row rpr rra rro rru rsa rse rsi rst rte rth rti rto rts ruc rum rus sac sal sam sav say sch sci scl scr scu sec sed see sel seq ses sha she sid sim sio sis sit siv siz ske ski sma smo soc sof som sop sor spe spi spo squ sso ssu sta ste sti stl sto sts stu sty sua sub suc sue sup sur sus swe syn tai tak tal tan tar tat tea teb ted ten ter tes tha the thi tho thr thu thy tib tic tid tin tio tip tis tiv tle tly tom ton too tot tre tri tsi tte ttl tty tua tud tur tus twe two tyl typ ual uar uat ubi ubs uch uco udi uea uen ues ugh uit ula ume und ung unt unu uou upp ups ure uri urn uro urp urr urs urt usc use usi ust usu uta ute uts vel ver vic vid vil vit war wee wel wer wha whe whi who why win wit xcl xem xio xte xtr xus ybe ygo yle ylo yme ymp ymu yno yon you ypi ypm yst zoo    802/46656    (798/17576)    (4/1000)

4:    1842 1908 abdo able ably acce acin acru acti actu adep ages ainf ajor akes akin alis allo alls ally almo alog also amil ampl anal anat ance ands andu aneo ange anim answ ants anus aped appa appe area aren arge arki arks arly arms arou arra arsa arte arti arts ased aske atar ated ater athe atid atio ativ atom atte atty atur avit awar aybe babl back ball base bdom bear bedd behi belo betw beyo biof bitt blog bodi body bone boun boyl brat brev bsta bula burr bute call cavi ccen ccyx ceed cent ceps cept cher chiu cial cien ciet cing cles cloa clus cocc comp conn cons cont cosu cret crib crum ctio ctua ctus cula cuta dard ddar deal deed denb denc deos depo dept desc dfis died dies diet ding disp dnes does dome domi dors dula duri eaki eall ears eart ebra ecia ecre ecti ectu edda edin edis eedi eein eems efer egio ehin eing eith elat elet elop elow elvi emal emel emen emor empl emur enbo ence endi ends engt engy enhn enop enor enti entl entu enve eous epos epti eque eral eran ered eres erio erly ermi erru erse ersi erte erti erto erus escr espe esti esty etal etat eton etwe ever evic evid ewha excl exem exte extr exus eyon fami fatt fema femo femu fest fibu fied fift find firs fish form foss frac frog from furt fuse gely geme gest gica gion gird glan glue gold gona gous grea grou gyst hape have head hear heir here hert herz hese hich high hims hind hing hips hird hite hium hnac hole hoto houg hroa hume hyme hymu iall ibed ibio ibul ibut ical icep icks icky icul idea iden ideo ides idfi ienc iety ifes ifie ifth ight ilar ilia illi imag imal imil imse inal incl inde infr ings inky inse insi inst inte into ints inuo iofi ions ious irdl irst isch ishe isop ispo issu ists ites ithe itio ittl itty ivel join jori just juts kele king kink kive knee know ksch land larg larl late lati latu lden legs leng leta leto lexu liar lier life lifi litt llie llow lmos loac logi logo lond loos lope lops lowe lowi lung lusi lvic lymp lypm mage majo make male mall many mark mass mati mayb mely meno ment meru meta mewh mila mili mina mite moot mora most moun mous mple mpli mpri msel murs musc must mygo naci nads nali nalo nato nboy nclu ndee nder ndin ndne ndon ndul nect neit neou ness next nfro ngem ngth ngys nhna nima nnec nopt norm nost note noxi nsec nseq nsid nsis nste nswe ntai nter ntin ntio ntly ntri ntua nuou nusu nvel oaca obab occy ocee ocie odie oesn ofib ogic ogou oint olde olog omat omen omew omin ompr onad ondo only onne onse onsi onta onti ontr oolo oose ooth oped oper opte oral oria orit orma ormo orsa oses osit osso oste osto osty osus otal oted othe otic ough ound ount oups outs ower owin oxio oylo pare part patt pear peci pelv perl phot pica pine plex plif poin pose posi post ppar ppea ppos pred pris prob proc prop pter ptid pubi quar quea quen ques quit ract rain rang rans rapp rate rath rawr rdle real reat rect redi refe regi rela reme rent rest rete reve revi rgel rges rial ribe ribu righ ring rior rise rity rkiv rksc rmat rmit rmou roat roba roce rogs rope rost roun roup rowe rpri rran rrou rrow rruc rsal rsed rsio rstl rteb rter rthe rtic rton ruco sacr sacs sals same save sche schi scie scle scri scul secr sect seei seem self sequ shap shes side sidf simi sion sist siti sits sive size sked skel skin smal smoo soci soft some sopt sori spec spin spos sque ssor ssue stan stea ster stic stin stio stly stom stot stud styl sual subs such supp surp surr swer syno tain take talk tanc tane tars tata tead tebr tend tera tere teri term tern than that thei them ther thes they thig thin thir this thou thro thus thym tibi tica tick ticu ting tinu tiny tion tips tiss tive toma tomy tons tota toti trem trib tsid tter ttle tual tuat tudi ture turn twee tyle typi uall uart uate ubis ubst ucos udie ueak uenc uest uite ular ulat umer unde undi undn ungs unus uous uppo urin urns uros urpr urro urth uscl uscu used usio usiv usua utan utsi velo vely verr vers vert very vice vide vill vity ware ween well were wers what when whic whit whol wing with xclu xemp xiou xten xtre ygol ylou ymen ymph ymus ynos

yond ypic ypmh ysto zool    815/1679616    (813/456976)    (2/10000)

5:    abdom accen acing acrum actio actua adept ainfr ajori aking allow almos alogo amili ample analo anato andul aneou angem anima answe appar appea arent argel arges arkiv arksc aroun arran arsal arter artic asked atars atera ather ation ative atomy atter ature avity aware bably balls based bdome bdomi bedda behin below betwe beyon biofi bitty bodie bound boylo brate brevi bstan burro cally cavit ccent ceedi centu cepti cherz chium ciall cienc ciety cloac clusi coccy compr conne conse consi conta conti contr cosus crete cribe ction ctual cular culat cutan ddard denbo dence depos descr dfish dings dispo dness doesn domen domin dorsa dular durin eakin eally earts ebrat ecial ecret ectio ectus eddar eding edisp eedin eeing egion ehind eithe elati eleta eleto elope elops elvic emale emely ement emora empli emurs enboy endin ength engys enhna enopt enorm entio ently entua envel eposi eptid equen erans erest erior ermit erruc ersed ersio erteb ertic erton escri espec estin estio estyl etata etons etwee evers evice evide ewhat exclu exemp exten extre eyond famil fatty femal femor femur festy fibul fifth first fishe forma fosso fract frogs furth fused gemen gical girdl gland golde gonad great group gysto haped heart herto himse hnaci hough hroat humer hymen hymus ially ibiof ibula ibute icall iceps icept icula ideal idenc ideos idfis ience ifest ified ilarl iliar illie image imila imsel inali inclu indee infro insec insid inste inter inuou iofib irdle irstl ischi ishes isopt ispos issue ither ition ittle ively joint jorit kelet kinky ksche lands landu large larly later lativ latur ldenb lengt letal leton lexus lifes lifie littl llier llowi lmost loaca logic logou londo loose loped lower lowin lungs lusio lusiv lymph lypmh mages major makes marks matid matio maybe menop menti merus metat mewha milar milia minal mites mooth moral mount mplex mplif mpris mself muscl muscu mygol nacin nalis nalog natom nboyl nclus ndeed nding ndnes ndula necti neith neous nfrog ngeme ngyst nhnac nimal nnect nopte normo nosto noted noxio nsect nsequ nside nsist nstea nswer ntain ntere ntinu ntion ntrib ntuat nuous nusua nvelo obabl occyx oceed ociet odies ofibu ogica ogous oints olden ologi omati omewh omina ompri onads ondon onnec onseq onsis ontai ontin ontri oolog operl opter orial ority ormat ormou orsal ositi osits ossor oster ostot ostyl other otica ounde oundi oundn outsi owers owing oxiou oylou paren parti patte pears pecia pelvi perly photo pical plexu plifi point poses posit poste ppare ppear ppose predi prise proba proce prope ptera pubis quart queak quenc quest quite racti rainf range rathe reall rectu redis refer regio relat remel rentl resti rever revic rgely rgest ribed ribut right rkive rksch rmati rmite rmous robab rocee roper rosty round roups rower rpris rrang rroun rrowe rruco rsals rsion rstly rtebr rther rtica rticu rucos sacru scher schiu scien scles scrib scula secre seein seems seque shape sides sidfi simil sists sitio sivel skele small smoot socie somew sopte soria speci spine spose squea ssori stanc stead steri stick sting stion stoma stoti studi style suall subst suppo surpr surro swere synos tance taneo tarsa tatar tebra tendi tends teral teran teres terio termi their there thert these thigh thing third thoug throa thymu tibio tical ticks ticky ticul tinuo tions tissu tomat total totic treme tribu tside ttern tuall tuate tudie turns tween typic ually uarte uated ubsta ucosu udied ueaki uence uesti ularl ulatu umeru under undin undne unusu uppos uring urost urpri urrou urrow urthe uscle uscul usion usive usual utane utsid velop verru verse versi verte verti vicep viden video villi wered which white whole xclus xempl xious xtend xtrem ygold ymeno ynost ypica ystom zoolo    622/60466176    (622/11881376)

6:    abdome abdomi accent action actual ainfro ajorit allowi almost alogou amilia amplex analog anatom andula aneous angeme animal answer appare appear arentl argely argest arkive arksch around arrang arsals articu atarsa ateral athert ations attern bdomen bdomin beddar behind betwee beyond biofib bodies boylou brevic bstanc burrow cavity ccentu ceedin centua ceptid cially cience cloaca clusio clusiv coccyx compri connec conseq consis contai contin contri cribed ctions ctuall cularl culatu cutane denboy deposi descri dfishe dispos domina dorsal during eaking ebrate eciall ecrete ection eddard edings edispo eeding either elativ eletal eleton eloped emoral emplif enboyl ending engyst enhnac enopte enormo ention entuat envelo eposit equenc eresti ermite erruco ersion ertebr ertica escrib especi esting estion estyle etatar etween everse evicep eviden exclus exempl extend extrem famili female femora femurs festyl fibula firstl fishes format fossor fracti furthe gement girdle glands glandu golden gonads groups gystom hearts herton himsel hnacin humeru hymeno ibiofi ically icepti icular idence idfish ifesty ilarly illier images imilar imself inalis inclus indeed infrog insect inside instea intere inuous iofibu irstly ischiu isopte ispose jority keleta keleto kscher landul largel larges latera lative lature ldenbo length letons lifest lified little llowin logica logous london lowing lusion lusive majori marksc mation menopt mentio metata mewhat milarl miliar minali mplexu mplifi mprise muscle muscul mygold nacing nalogo natomy nboylo nclusi ndness ndular nectio neithe nfrogs ngemen ngysto nhnaci nnecti nopter normou nostot noxiou nseque nsists nstead nswere nteres ntinuo ntribu ntuate nusual nvelop obably oceedi ociety ofibul ogical oldenb ologic omatid omewha ominal ompris onnect onsequ onsist ontain ontinu ontrib oologi operly optera ormati ormous ositio ossori osteri ostoti ostyle otical ounder oundin oundne outsid oxious parent partic patter pecial pelvic plexus plifie points positi posits poster pparen ppears predis probab procee proper pteran quarte queaki quence questi ractio rainfr rangem rather really rectus redisp region relati remely rently restin revers revice ribute rksche rmatio rmites robabl roceed roperl rostyl rounde roundi roundn rowers rprise rrange rround rrower rrucos rtebra rtical rticul rucosu sacrum scherz schium scienc scribe scular sculat secret seeing sequen shaped sidfis simila sition sively skelet smooth societ somewh sopter sorial specia sposes squeak ssoria stance sterio sticks sticky stomat stotic studie sually substa suppos surpri surrou swered synost taneou tarsal tatars tebrat tendin terans terest terior termit therto though throat thymus tibiof ticall ticula tinuou tissue tomati totica tremel tribut tually tuated tudied typica uarter ubstan ucosus ueakin uestio ularly ulatur umerus unding undnes unusua uppose urosty urpris urroun urrowe urther uscles uscula usivel usuall utaneo utside velope velops verruc versed versio verteb vertic viceps vicept videnc videos villie xclusi xempli xtendi xtends xtreme ygolde ymenop ynosto ypical ystoma zoolog    446/2176782336    (446/308915776)

7:    abdomen abdomin accentu actuall ainfrog ajority allowin alogous amiliar amplexu analogo anatomy andular angemen answere apparen appears arently arksche arrange articul atarsal atherto bdomina beddard between biofibu brevice bstance burrowe ccentua ceeding centuat clusion clusive compris connect consequ consist contain continu contrib ctually cularly culatur cutaneo denboyl deposit describ dfishes dispose dominal ecially ections edispos eedings elative eletons emplifi enboylo engysto enhnaci enopter enormou entuate envelop eposits equence erestin ermites errucos ertebra ertical escribe especia etatars eversed eviceps evicept evidenc exclusi exempli extendi extends extreme familia femoral festyle firstly formati fossori fractio further glandul goldenb gystoma himself hnacing humerus hymenop ibiofib iceptid icularl idfishe ifestyl imilarl inclusi infrogs instead interes iofibul ischium isopter isposes keletal keleton kscherz landula largely largest lateral ldenboy lifesty llowing logical lusivel majorit marksch mations menopte mention metatar milarly minalis mplexus mplifie muscles muscula mygolde nalogou nboylou nclusio nection neither ngement ngystom nhnacin nnectio noptera normous nostoti noxious nsequen nswered nterest ntinuou ntribut ntuated nusuall nvelope nvelops oceedin ofibula oldenbo ologica omewhat ominali omprise onnecti onseque onsists ontinuo ontribu oologic opteran ormatio osition ossoria osterio ostotic oticall ounding oundnes outside parentl particu pattern peciall plified positio posteri pparent predisp probabl proceed properl pterans quarter queakin questio raction rainfro rangeme redispo relativ resting reverse revicep rkscher rmation robably roceedi roperly rostyle rounder roundin roundne rrangem rroundi rrowers rrucosu rtebrat rticula rucosus science scribed sculatu secrete sequenc sidfish similar skeleta skeleto society somewha soptera special squeaki ssorial sterior stomati stotica studied substan suppose surpris surroun synosto taneous tarsals tatarsa tebrate tending teresti termite therton tibiofi tically ticular tinuous tomatid totical tremely tribute typical ubstanc ueaking uestion ulature undness unusual urostyl urprise urround urrower uscular usculat usively usually utaneou veloped verruco version vertebr vertica vicepti vidence villier xclusiv xemplif xtendin xtremel ygolden ymenopt ynostot ystomat zoologi    297/78364164096    (297/8031810176)

8:    abdomina accentua actually ainfrogs allowing amplexus analogou angement answered apparent arkscher arrangem articula atarsals atherton bdominal biofibul brevicep burrower ccentuat ceedings centuate clusivel comprise connecti conseque consists continuo contribu culature cutaneou denboylo deposits describe disposes dominali edispose emplifie enboylou engystom enhnacin enoptera enormous entuated envelope envelops eresting errucosu ertebrat escribed especial etatarsa evicepti evidence exclusiv exemplif extendin extremel familiar formatio fossoria fraction glandula goldenbo gystomat hymenopt ibiofibu icularly idfishes ifestyle imilarly inclusio interest iofibula isoptera keletons landular ldenboyl lifestyl lusively majority marksche menopter metatars mplified muscular musculat mygolden nalogous nclusion nections ngystoma nhnacing nnection nopteran nostotic nsequenc nteresti ntinuous ntribute nusually nveloped oceeding oldenboy ological ominalis onnectio onsequen ontinuou ontribut oologica opterans ormation ossorial osterior ostotica otically oundness parently particul pecially position posterio pparentl predispo probably proceedi properly queaking question rainfrog rangemen redispos relative reversed reviceps revicept rkscherz rmations roceedin rounding roundnes rrangeme rroundin rrucosus rtebrate rticular sculatur sequence sidfishe similarl skeletal skeleton somewhat sopteran speciall squeakin stomatid stotical substanc surprise surround synostot tatarsal terestin termites tibiofib ticularl toticall ubstance unusuall urostyle urroundi urrowers usculatu utaneous verrucos vertebra vertical viceptid xclusive xemplifi xtending xtremely ygoldenb ymenopte ynostoti ystomati zoologic    189/2821109907456    (189/208827064576)

9:    abdominal accentuat analogous apparentl arkscherz arrangeme articular bdominali biofibula breviceps brevicept burrowers ccentuate centuated clusively connectio consequen continuou contribut cutaneous denboylou described dominalis edisposes emplified engystoma enhnacing enopteran enveloped errucosus ertebrate especiall etatarsal eviceptid exclusive exemplifi extending extremely formation fossorial glandular goldenboy gystomati hymenopte ibiofibul inclusion interesti isopteran ldenboylo lifestyle markscher menoptera metatarsa musculatu mygoldenb ngystomat nnections nopterans nostotica nsequence nterestin oceedings oldenboyl onnection onsequenc ontinuous ontribute oological ormations ostotical particula posterior pparently predispos proceedin rainfrogs rangement redispose revicepti roceeding roundness rrangemen rrounding rticularl sculature sidfishes similarly skeletons sopterans specially squeaking stoticall substance surroundi synostoti tatarsals teresting tibiofibu ticularly totically unusually urroundin usculatur verrucosu vertebrat xclusivel xemplifie ygoldenbo ymenopter ynostotic ystomatid zoologica    112/101559956668416    (112/5429503678976)

10:    abdominali accentuate apparently arrangemen articularl bdominalis brevicepti ccentuated connection consequenc continuous contribute engystomat enopterans especially etatarsals exclusivel exemplifie formations goldenboyl gystomatid hymenopter ibiofibula interestin isopterans ldenboylou markscherz menopteran metatarsal musculatur mygoldenbo ngystomati nostotical nteresting oldenboylo onnections onsequence ostoticall particular predispose proceeding redisposes reviceptid roceedings rrangement rticularly stotically surroundin synostotic tibiofibul urrounding usculature verrucosus vertebrate xclusively xemplified ygoldenboy ymenoptera ynostotica zoological    60/3656158440062976    (60/141167095653376)

11:    abdominalis accentuated arrangement articularly breviceptid connections consequence engystomati exclusively exemplified goldenboylo hymenoptera interesting menopterans metatarsals musculature mygoldenboy ngystomatid nostoticall oldenboylou ostotically particularl predisposes proceedings surrounding synostotica tibiofibula ygoldenboyl ymenopteran ynostotical    30/131621703842267136    (30/3670344486987776)

12:    engystomatid goldenboylou hymenopteran mygoldenboyl nostotically particularly synostotical ygoldenboylo ymenopterans ynostoticall    10/4738381338321616896    (10/95428956661682176)

13:    hymenopterans mygoldenboylo synostoticall ygoldenboylou ynostotically    5/170581728179578208256    (5/2481152873203736576)

14:    mygoldenboylou synostotically    2/6140942214464815497216    (2/64509974703297150976)

Why are rain frogs so round? What's /inside/ of them around such an itty bitty skeleton?

So it turns out this is a really interesting question.

The first thing we must be aware of is that rainfrogs as we see them in videos of them squeaking are not quite the same shape as they are when at rest:

[x]

But you are quite right, they are very round. This is exemplified by the skeletal photo you refer to:

[X]

So what are we seeing?

Well, firstly, note that the body cavity in these frogs actually envelops the femurs, such that only the tibiofibula (fused in frogs) and the tarsals and metatarsals are outside the body. The arms are quite similarly enveloped, but a bit of the humerus does extend outside the body cavity too. This predisposes them to a rounder body shape.

Next, note the ilia - the U-shaped bone in the pelvic region. These in some breviceptid frogs are synostotically fused with the sacrum - that is to say, they are bound by bone-based connections to the bow-shaped vertebra at their tips. This whole joint seems to be quite smooth, and as a consequence, the back of the frog is quite smooth. The other thing we can see here is that the urostyle (i.e. the frog version of a coccyx) juts quite far beyond the ischium and pubis. This extends the body cavity beyond the hips. Note also that the pelvic girdle seems to be largely below the spine, rather than the typical position for frogs behind it and continuous with it. This makes the legs sit below the spine, rather than at its end, enhnacing the vertical roundness of the animal.

Next, let’s talk some soft tissue. Now, I’m not as familiar with soft-tissue in frogs as I am their skeletons, so you’ll have to bear with me a bit (rawr). Beddard (1908!!) studied the soft tissue of Breviceps verrucosus Rapp 1842. It seems that the majority of the body of these frogs is actually muscle. Beddard noted that muscles join the leg at the knee that extend into the body cavity, such that the inclusion of the thigh in the body cavity is further accentuated by musculature. The rectus abdominalis muscle is unusually large, extending from the lower abdomen up and around the sides of the body. Indeed, this large size appears to be the pattern with all of the major muscles, though in the throat the typical arrangement of large and small muscles is somewhat reversed. On the lateral side of the head, there is a substance that is not muscle, but appears to be loose tissue in which sits what is apparently the thymus gland.

There is a very large gap between the end of the urostyle and the anus (one fifth of the total length of the frog), in which there are almost no muscles, save for the one surrounding the lower cloaca. On either side of this area, between the posterior-most muscles of the thigh, lie two large ‘lymph-hearts’, as described by Beddard. These are between one quarter and one third of the total length of the frog. A further lypmh-sac sits between these lymph-hearts and the skin of the femoral region, and they are thus probably analogous to the femoral lymph-sacs of other frogs.

I find it interesting that Beddard (1908) did not mention any glandular formations in the dorsal region. As is evidence from many images (see below), these frogs are able to secrete a white, sticky, noxious substance from their skin (which they actually have to use during amplexus, as the male is too small relative to the female to mount her properly, and so he sticks himself to her with his glandular glue… kinky).

[x]

These glands do not apparently take up a great deal of the cutaneous tissue, and so I suppose are of no consequence to the size of the frog, especially relative to its enormous muscles.

The diet of these frogs consists almost exclusively of hymenopterans and isopterans (ants and termites). Neither of these insect groups are particularly fatty, so it is little surprise that their bodies appear to contain no large fat deposits - fatty bodies extend from the gonads up to the lungs and heart, but these comprise only a tiny fraction of the frog’s mass, and don’t contribute to the round shape. Instead, their bodies are extremely muscular, allowing them to be adept burrowers, ideal for their fossorial lifestyle.

So TL;DR: rain frogs are little balls of muscle (maybe the largest muscle mass relative to body mass of any vertebrate? science just doesn’t know).

Ref:

Beddard, F.E. 1908. On the Musculature and other Points in the Anatomy of the Engystomatid Frog, Breviceps verrucosus. Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London, 1908:11-41 [x]

[roleplayfinder]

orm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’ve had bad experiences with cis male authors. (Trans men and nonbinary pals are exceptions).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me as if we've been friends for years. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

.

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Heartbreaking conversation

Pairing: Orm Marius x reader

Part 2 of Leaving you behind

A/n: This is more of a prequel, enjoy!

As Orm stood on the nearby balcony of the bedroom he watched the waves crash on the sand making a pleasant sound.

'Orm, come to bed.' Y/n mumbled as her sleepy eyes looked onto him.

He chuckled 'I will... Go to sleep darling.'

It doesn't take much for her to go back to sleep, her eyes and body begging to get a good rest. As Orm walked to her kissing her forehead he walks out of the house dressed in his pajamas walking towards the sea seeing a tall and dark figure emerging from it. Orm walks to him nonchalantly.

'Black Manta, what brings you here?' Orm asks cautiously

'Your father.' Manta trails off seeing the sudden shift in Orms eyes

'He requests your presence back home.' Manta adds

'And how much is he paying you?' Or asks his voice cold

Manta smiles at the question 'Enough for me to make a good living out of it.'

'I can double it.' Orm says

Manta laughs at the sudden statement 'Like hell you can. All people know that you are broke as hell ever since you are with... Y/n.' He said with disgust

Orm's hands ball into fists trying to keep his emotions at bay but it seemed far from it.

'What does HE want?' Orm asked

Manta sighs as he crosses his hands in front of his body 'You. Back to Atlantis.'

Orms eyes widen 'And if I don't comply?'

'I get to kill your girl.' Manta answers excitedly.

'You wouldn't dare.' Orm seethed

Manta flashes a cocky smile as he raises a small device with a big red button (I know obvious) 'See this? When I press this button your girl will be killed with a bomb with a force to kill 10 people but designed for one, locking onto its target, making it IMPOSSIBLE to escape it.'

Orm huffs out ready to grab the remote

'And don't think about taking it from me, this is specially designed for my hand only.' Manta says destroying any glimmer of hope.

Orm nods accepting the inevitable destiny 'I'll leave tomorrow.'

And with that Orm leaves and goes back home to spend the last moments with his love and breaking her heart in the morning.

@mexythefoodie @scuzmunkie @ultrarebelheart I hope that you like it sorry for the long wait but it was a busy week for me. Tell me what you think 💕

[oceanmastertrash]

the tides know our names- 16/?

Summary:   After losing the throne to his brother Orm is working with Arthur to try to help Atlantis move forward. A few months after this Elara, part of an ancient order of prescient Atlanteans known as Tidewatchers, has a vision of Orm’s death. Predicting and reading the future through the tides of fate has never been easy but Elara is in for the challenge of a lifetime working with her former king to save his life.

Part: 16/?

Word Count: 5,182

Warnings: none.

Read on Ao3

start from the beginning

Author’s Note: Alright this is the last chapter for today, this one is brand new! enjoy the binge my lovelies!

“Madren messaged you,” Orm clarified, equal parts apprehensive and intrigued.

“Yep,” Elara said. “And she wants to meet you.”

Orm stared back at Elara, completely unsure if that was a good or a bad thing.

-

According to Elara, Madren was currently running the Tidewatcher sanctuary in Guatemala. Orm would have preferred to just swim there but, also according to Elara, there were a couple obstacles to that plan. First and foremost the sanctuary was on the opposite coast of Central America than their current location in Belize. Secondly, given what Henrik had told them about the tracking method Black Manta and Dr. Shin were employing, it was in their best interest to stay on land for the time being.

Orm was apprehensive about leaving the shore entirely and fully immersing into life on the surface. The reality of tackling land travel was also something he had no experience with. Elara had some knowledge but she still had to use an internet cafe to nail down the details of their travel and acquired a cheap prepaid phone to better book their surface transportation.

She also changed out of her bloody garments so as to be less conspicuous. It did Orm better than he would like to admit to see her in her fresh clothes. Elara was not the sort to look fragile, wounded though she was, but it comforted him to see her look put back together in a sense. For her part, Elara took comfort in it, she still ached and smarted if she moved the wrong way but she felt less exposed without a literal gaping hole in her shirt.

Elara contemplated renting a car for their travels, as she did have some limited driving lessons but ultimately decided, given some of the weaving of the path, they’d be better off taking public transportation. It would be a long day and a meandering journey. Elara was certain that Orm would suffer quite a bit of frustration and annoyance from the surface dwellers but there was no way to avoid that at this point.

By now the sun was setting and they decided they would begin their journey in the morning. Elara found a motel for them. It was small and probably nowhere near the standards Orm was used to but it had two beds and he at least recognized their need for rest. Elara was exhausted and while her Atlantean healing and the meds from the clinic were helping with the pain of her injuries, she knew she needed some downtime to try to recuperate.

They stayed up a little while longer as Elara did her best to explain surface concepts like the bus system they’d be employing to get to Madren and the credit card she used for most of their purchases as well as her scant knowledge of the currencies she had. Orm thought it all more complicated than it should be but at her argument, conceded that Atlantis and all it’s kingdoms and politics would no doubt befuddle outsiders as well.

After their strenuous day, Elara fell asleep fairly quickly. Orm didn’t like the idea of them both sleeping at the same time surrounded by surface dwellers on all sides but Elara had insisted that the tides would wake her if anyone were to try anything and they should both rest while they can. Orm struggled with this idea. Letting his guard down was not anything that came easy to him, especially not considering they’d already been attacked that day by a surface dweller.

Ultimately though, fatigue won out and Orm fell asleep listening to the sound of Elara breathing. It wasn’t the most restful sleep by far but it was more than he’d expected. It was not particularly lengthy either, because before too long, they were woken by an annoying melody from the cell phone Elara had purchased. It was an alarm she’d set to ensure they would get up early enough to catch the bus. While such an alarm was useful, it was very irritating and Orm loathed it on principle.

They grabbed something to eat at a nearby cafe and then waited at the bus station. Elara had explained that the bus system they were using had many other stops on the way until it eventually stopped closer to the center of Guatemala where they would then catch a smaller bus for a short stint to the town closest to the Tidewatcher sanctuary. There weren’t as many people getting on the bus this early but Elara knew they would have a lot of contact with a lot of people by the time the day was over.

Elara had booked them on one of more luxury liners instead of what the locals referred to as ‘chicken busses’ which ran more locally and, well, had more livestock on board. Elara anticipated that they’d need to use them at some point but thought it best if they put it off for now; one thing at a time and all that.

The wait was short as those around them chatted in languages Orm didn’t understand. It was hard not to feel so very far from home in this moment. Perhaps Elara sensed this from the tides but she subtly shifted so her uninjured arm was pressed against his in a silent show of support. It was a small thing but it helped. If this had been a couple weeks ago he might have been perturbed by how well she could read him but then he supposed she wouldn’t be a very good tidewatcher if she wasn’t good at picking up things like that. She wouldn’t be able to keep them safe if she couldn’t sense something like a change in mood, that could mean everything in a surprise attack. And he had to note she’d never used this to manipulate him or use him, only to help them. He admired that about her.

He was glad to let Elara take charge in the small things like where they sat. If nothing else, he was glad that he didn’t have to reveal further how little he knew of these things though he suspected she knew anyway. They sat towards the back and not very close to any other passengers so they could talk a little freer as long as they spoke quietly. She sat with her bad side to the window. It was going to hurt all day anyway but at least this way she wouldn’t have to worry about him accidentally elbowing her tender side or scraping her arm. She was careful how she held her arm so as not to rub it the wrong way but the bandaging and the jacket she wore helped insulate it more against aggravation.

Once the bus was on its way they didn’t talk at first. While Orm acclimated to the feel of things on the road and amongst surface dwellers like this, Elara took the opportunity to get familiar with the flows of the tides for the bus and their route. As the whole bus had a hectic and chaotic atmosphere to it, she thought it best to get a feel for what patterns were normal for it so she could better spot what was irregular.

After some time had passed and nothing went wrong and no one bothered them, she could feel some of the edge had dissipated off of Orm. She figured now was a good time to try conversing with him to distract him. She’d also strategically let him take the aisle seat because she figured he’d feel more able to protect them that way even if she did not feel such actions would be necessary.

“So,” she began, turning to him, “what do you know about Madren?”

Orm resisted the urge to smirk, of course she would know he was curious about the old tidewatcher even if he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t proud of it but the idea of meeting Madren intimidated him slightly. While he’d received reports from her during his reign, he’d never met her though he’d certainly heard stories from Vulko and the other Tidewatcher elders over the years. Combine that with all he’d heard from Elara since they’d come to the surface and Madren seemed a larger than life figure to Orm and one that left a profound impression. She was regarded by many as being exceedingly eccentric which Orm had always attributed to the fact that she’d spent several decades on the surface. She wasn’t the only Tidewatcher or Atlantean to maintain an outpost up above but she’d been topside longer than any other Atlantean he’d ever heard of.

She’d acclimated to her environment in unusual ways. When he’d been king, the tidewatcher council would regularly update him on reports from Madren. She could not only sense shifts of surface dweller politics through the tides but also witness it firsthand. She was an invaluable resource but a bit of a wildcard. He’d been content enough to let her stay up here as her intelligence was always timely. He could sense at times she disapproved of his war on the surface but she never interfered which suited him just fine. The same relations between Madren and the king of Atlantis had not always been the case when his father had been on the throne. It was not a subject Orvax had been inclined to speak of which had only served to make it a subject of curiosity for Orm.

“What can you tell me about Madren and my father?” he asked calmly.

Elara raised her eyebrows. That was not the question she had been expecting. “Well you clearly know something or else you wouldn’t ask. What have you heard?”

“Oh just the standard line Orvax circulated to the courts- that he banished her to the surface for her insubordination.” Orm answered with a wry grin, “and enough from Vulko to know that no one actually banished Madren.”

Elara shared a smug grin, “That he most certainly didn’t. Anyone who’s actually met Madren would know that she is not a woman to let anything but the tides tell her what to do. And even then she’ll argue and analyze it five ways to Sunday before consenting.”

“So what really happened?”

“I suppose the diplomatic answer would be that she resented the idea of being under his thumb and subject to his tempers and scrutiny,” Elara said after consideration.

“And the non-diplomatic answer?” he pressed.

“She was tired of his bullshit,” she said straight-face.

“Sounds like she taught you well on that count,” he replied slyly.

“That she did,” Elara agreed. “But the way she tells it, Orvax was a thousand times worse than you ever were. Madren was the best tidewatcher on the council and they both knew it. Madren wasn’t afraid to call him out on his ill-conceived schemes or throw the warnings of the tides in his face if things didn’t work out for Orvax. I don’t think he would have had problems if she was skilled and humble but she was abrasive and loud about it. He knew he couldn’t properly cut off contact with her because what results he saw and liked from the tides mostly came from her leads but he couldn’t abide her publicly contradicting and undermining him.”

“No,” Orm said quietly, “he certainly couldn’t.”

Elara could sense a bitterness and a history to that statement but also that it wasn’t something he was interested in exploring in depth at the moment so she moved on as nonchalantly as she could. “Madren’s no idiot and knew something had to give. Since the tides gave her no indication that Orvax was going to change and she knew she absolutely wasn’t going to, she decided she’d relocate as a sort of truce. Orvax wasn’t wild about her training others on the surface but ultimately agreed that it was preferable to her constantly embarrassing him down below.”

Orm found himself smiling. He enjoyed the way Elara told stories. He found himself content to simply watch how her eyebrows would quirk when she found something amusing and the way she’d gesture with her hands to make a point.  She was certainly more fascinating to watch than whatever was out the window at any rate.

“Everything that was said after she was gone was pure fiction made up to make Orvax sound better once Madren wasn’t in Atlantis to dispute him. All of us tidewatchers knew the truth but it didn’t really matter. Madren said the point was that she didn’t have to deal with him anymore so she was the real winner.” Elara gave an emphatic jab of her finger.

“What about after Orvax died? Why didn’t she come back then?” At this point Orm was just enjoying hearing her talk about it but he was still curious as to Madren’s continued presence on the surface.

A small part of him wondered if Madren stayed away because she didn’t think Orm had been any better of a king than Orvax had. He couldn’t be sure though, it wasn’t as if he and Madren had ever butted heads. It could be different with Tidewatchers, but two people were usually required to have met before having a feud. Orm then felt a twang of unease at the idea that Madren had stayed away because she’d seen his future sins and decided he was just as bad as his father. It wasn’t entirely unwarranted but it also wasn’t an idea he liked to entertain.

Elara sensed a pang of anxiety from Orm but rather than address it she simply continued on. “She was formally invited back for the sake of appearances but she declined. I asked her about it a few years ago and she said that as much as she loved Atlantis, she’d come to love the surface too and she wanted to instill some of that love into the next generation of Tidewatchers. She saw enough ill will between land and sea in the tides but wanted to do what she could to abate it, to remind her fellow Atlanteans that there was much to love and protect up above. She taught me well in that regard too.”

Elara nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looking down at their feet. Orm was hardly about to declare war against the surface again but she knew that her affection for this world above was still an aberration among her people. While she’d argued with Orm about attacking the surface while they were still in Atlantis, she never would have dared to reveal her fondness for it back then. If she had, he would have just rolled his eyes and condescended.

He did none of those things now. In the brief glance she allowed herself to gauge his reaction, she could have sworn he smiled ruefully.

“Indeed she did,” he finally said quietly. Try as she might, she could sense no derision from the former king and that filled her with a quiet sort of gratitude.

It made sense to Orm. Elara had never shown the slightest hesitancy about coming to the surface. To being the one tasked with keeping him safe, perhaps, but she’d held no reservations for the surface. As comfortable as she was down below, there was an ease to her manner up here that some small part of him envied. He didn’t loathe it as he once had but now he was willing to admit that a lot of his discomfort stemmed from not understanding. He still hated their waste and how the people here took so much for granted but he could see hints of joy too. Though he would at least admit to himself that he might not have seen any without Elara’s influence.

A companionable silence fell between them for a time and Orm found himself thinking about his father and Madren. He might have once considered their relationship a mirror of his with Elara. Both Elara and Madren being the stubborn and defiant Tidewatcher while he and Orvax stood opposite as the haughty and proud king. How things had changed. It surprised him to realize that now he felt more kinship with Elara than he did with his father.

His father might have thought he was doing what was right to make Orm the best ruler he could but that didn’t change the fact that Orvax was a cold and distant father. When he did express emotions for Orm it was more anger and frustration with occasional bursts of small pride. More proud of how he had molded Orm than of anything Orm had done for himself. And Orm had spent so long telling himself that it was alright. That Orvax knew what was best but a quiet doubt had always lingered after Orvax had ordered Atlanna’s death. Justify it as Orvax had, Orm had resented his father for robbing him of the one person whom he had known to actually love him. Altanna may have loved Arthur and missed her life on the surface but she had loved Orm fiercely and protectively. Doing her best to spare him the worst of Orvax’s wrath and raise Orm to be considerate and clever and thoughtful.

That was why Orm had never sent his commandos after Tom or Arthur before Arthur came to Atlantis. The rumors of Atlanna’s bastard had certainly plagued his rule as had the knowledge that Atllanna’s human family was what had led to her death and yet Orm had left them alone. He’d certainly been advised to silence the rumors and have the Currys killed but Orm had resisted. It was the only way he could think of to honor Atlanna’s memory. As much as he hated them for essentially taking his mother from him, he knew that Atlanna had loved Arthur and Tom so he’d left them alone.

It was only when Arthur had come to Atlantis himself and challenged Orm’s right to rule that Orm could resist no longer. He was so close to achieving everything he’d been fighting so long for and he hadn’t been able to stand by and let Arthur challenge him. Add Mera’s betrayal and Orm was stung and retaliated in kind. Orm wasn’t proud of it now, it was the actions of a petty man who was hurt and he knew now he would have regretted it if his commandos had succeeded in killing Arthur and Mera.

As ashamed as Orm felt for some of his actions, Orm realized that if he hadn’t done what he had, he would not be where he was right now. The subject of a future assassination attempt and on the surface he’d spent so long despising perhaps- but he was also sitting next to a befuddling, and bitingly clever Tidewatcher who had seen his worst mistakes and still believed in him and that wasn’t something Orm liked the idea of losing. Realizing this affected him in the most peculiar way. As soon as he thought it, he felt a rush run through him and he couldn’t help the slightest tremor that hit him.

Elara sensed it, of course she did, though he couldn’t be entirely sure if she felt it physically or through the tides. In any case, she had grown so accustomed to him that, minute as it was, she felt it and she tore her gaze from the window to meet his eyes.

Concern played across her wonderfully expressive face and he could practically feel her scanning the tides for the source of the tremor.

“You alright?” She asked quietly, unconsciously leaning closer.

He had the absurd desire to lean in as well, just to be even closer to this startlingly lovely woman, but he kept himself in check, trying to school his features in the wake of such an idea.

“I’m fine,” he answered back just as softly. Not because he was worried about any of the other passengers hearing them but because he had the foolish notion that his realization was like a small, easily frightened animal- likely to flee at any loud sound or sudden motion. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, as gently but reserved as he could manage, “I just wanted to thank you.”

Elara could sense something had changed in Orm but, as fast as her heart was beating at their closeness and distracted as her thoughts were, she just couldn’t put her finger on what that change was.

“Thank me?”

“I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for coming up here with me.” He said, even though that barely scratched the surface of what he was grateful for in this current moment.

He was right. He hadn’t thanked her but, if Elara was being honest, she hadn’t expected him to. She wasn’t sure if that was selling the prince short or not but when all of this started he wasn’t feeling any sense of appreciation at his glorified exile. His thanks were hardly some grand glorious gesture, but given where Orm had started, it meant something to Elara. He might have once taken something like this for granted or assumed that it was her duty and simply expected of her. She had begun this journey feeling like the tides were calling her to do this, so she may have once said that thanks weren’t necessary but many things had changed between them since they had left Atlantis.

“You’re welcome,” was all she said and before she could think better of it, she took his hand.

Orm was getting obnoxiously fond of holding her hand. He remembered seeing Elara and Calysa coming to meet them, holding each other’s arms and being very affectionate and he’d certainly seen such friendly physical exchanges among his citizens when visiting the regions but that type of physical familiarity was never something he’d had access to after Atlanna died.

Given all of her many gifts and deductions, Orm wasn’t sure if Elara knew that or not. Didn’t know if this was just her general way with people she was familiar with or if she was actively trying to compensate for his touch-starved youth. And while he wanted to believe he was special, he wasn’t sure how much it mattered in this exact moment. She was holding his hand because she wanted to, because he’d reached out to her and it felt nice.

They didn’t speak again for awhile and eventually she let his hand go with a tight squeeze before getting into her pack for snack bars. The rest of the day was more of the same. There were a few bathroom stops and a constant shuffle of passengers boarding and departing. Sometimes there would be other passengers all around them and paranoid as Orm was he didn’t feel like chatting much, just in case. Elara mostly respected this but sometimes engaged him in small talk about the food they ate or the areas they passed through. He didn’t feel like she was trying to placate him or appease him, but more felt like she was chatting for her own peace of mind and he did his best to help but obviously had little experience in the subject matter.

It was a baffling day but not as frustrating as it could have been if Orm had been left to navigate it alone. Confident and stubborn as he might have been, he had nothing on Elara’s unflappable calm. No matter how loud the bus got or unintelligible the bus driver, she kept her cool and guided them through. Hours passed in this almost mindless chatter. Elara encouraged him to try to get some more sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He may not actively dislike and distrust everyone on this bus as he once had, but it was still too foreign an environment for him to get easy.

Elara, to her credit, tried to stay awake out of solidarity but she just didn’t have the same vigor she usually did. Her injury was healing well. She’d made a point to check on it before they left this morning and once at one of the bathroom stops. It would heal within a few days but it still took a lot of energy in the meantime. As there wasn’t anything pressing to distract her or keep her alert, she kept nodding off, lulled by the easy cadence of their fellow passengers and the feel of the bus rolling along down the highway.

Once she woke up abruptly when a bump in the road caused her forehead to collide with the window. Orm, who had been occupying himself counting and memorizing the other people on the bus, started at Elara’s gasp when she was woken. His warrior instincts immediately put him on edge and on the lookout for the cause. She immediately inspected the point of contact with one hand while holding the other out to him as if to give him the all clear.

“It’s fine, just a bump,” she said and instinctively tilted her head to show that no serious harm had been done.

He appeared to study it for a minute as if to make sure she wasn’t hiding any lacerations. Finally, he nodded as if agreeing with her assessment but then frowned minutely, saying almost under his breath, “this is hardly the smoothest form of transportation. It’s awfully clumsy.”

“Well it beats trekking through the jungle for days on our own.” Elara replied with her usual measure of snark and common sense as well as a signature smirk, “I know that we could handle ourselves but that would have been miserable. Just think of the mosquitoes.”

Not having much experience with the flying pests and still thinking of the realization he’d come to earlier that day, Orm wasn’t sure spending days alone with her in the jungle would be particularly miserable after all. However, he also knew she had a point and with mostly unknown adversaries out there, that would not be the wisest course of action.

“Perhaps,” was all he said in reply. He could accept these things in the name of practicality all day long, and he had, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel comfortable up here.

While passengers had left and boarded their bus for hours and no one had attacked them or even properly interacted with him or Elara besides the bus driver, he couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness and unease. Like they were too exposed. And while Elara was the one thing that was keeping him from complete uneasiness or from complaining about this clumsy earth vehicle spewing noxious fumes, it didn’t mean that he was able to feel comfortable up here.

Even Elara’s ability to balance and calm him instinctively was foreign to him. While Elara was the most familiar thing to him for hundreds of miles, he hadn’t been aware of how much he’d come to count on and trust her until surrounded by others. He still didn’t know what to make of how he was coming to regard her- it was still so strange and new to him.

Elara, of course, being as experienced as she was in interpersonal relationships and friendships might know better how to word or contextualize how he was feeling but he didn’t even know how he could put it into words to ask. And, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if she felt any of these confusing sensations that he did. What if she simply had grown to regard him as a friend? While that wouldn’t be the worst fate he could suffer at her hands, he could feel something unlike friendship growing in him. He hadn’t had much experience with friendship to be sure but this was just unlike anything he’d ever known. Worse still, what if she still saw all this as duty? What if she was simply doing all this to fulfill the call of the tides?

She had been the one to kiss him that drunken night but she’d also been the one to leave and shut herself off from him after that. He thought it might have been repulsion at his admission but maybe it was her own way of prioritizing duty? Her way of saying that fun or feelings would always come last. He didn’t know where that left him if that was true. So while Orm had no activity to occupy him physically on their long bus ride, he certainly had much to think of.

Elara, for her part, slept for most of it. When she woke up at the stop where they’d be changing busses she was surprised to find that she had not fallen asleep against the window but with her head leaning on Orm. He was just the right height for her head to rest against his broad shoulder comfortably. As the bus fully stopped and other passengers started getting up, she almost sheepishly lifted her head off of his shoulder. She didn’t know why it struck her so odd, maybe in their tight quarters, Orm didn’t notice? Highly unlikely, but perhaps he was still offended at the crudeness of their transport and bore it to prevent her from further injury? It wasn’t the most plausible explanation but it was all Elara could figure as they gathered their things and disembarked the bus for the final time.

Elara gingerly stretched out. If she felt cramped after hours of being in those tight seats, she couldn’t imagine how Orm felt with his much longer frame. If they’d been alone or back at the cabin she’d expect him to work through some of those fighting forms he’d been so fond of but he instead he opted for more subtle stretches. After they’d both taken advantage of a bathroom and regained feeling in their limbs, she could feel him scanning the area. He hadn't been fond of the bus but after eight something hours it was at least more familiar than this little town in the middle of Guatemala.

Elara could understand that and did her best to feel through the tides for any threat, only to be surprised at a familiar thread.

“When is our next bus set to arrive?” Orm asked, looking around dubiously.

“Actually,” Elara said, feeling more confidence in her reading, taking gradual steps forward as she mentally tugged on the tide, “we aren’t taking a bus to the sanctuary.”

“We aren’t?” he asked, confusion and alarm coming off of him.

“No,” she replied as she reached the other end of the pull and pointed to the off-roads Jeep at the far end of the street.

An older woman with long gray hair pulled back under a sun hat sat in the driver’s seat. Her eyes were fixed squarely on the two of them with an almost wicked smile on her face, clear to see even from where they stood.

“Is that...” Orm began but of course it was. Who else could have seen when and where their bus would stop?

“Yep,” Elara answered with admiration and fondness in her voice, “that’s Madren.”