#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 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟... ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄�� ?? 🚫🚫

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

[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

[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)

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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]

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 6 (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: 5581

Éléanor woke up slowly, the soft light of morning filtering through the windows, casting a gentle glow across the room. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before remembering where she was—Patrick’s couch, wrapped up in his blankets, the memory of last night still fresh in her mind. A mix of emotions stirred within her: contentment from the quiet intimacy they’d shared, a hint of embarrassment from how things had played out, and something deeper that left her feeling warm and a little vulnerable.

The storm still raged outside, the wind howling softly, but it wasn’t as brutal as the night before. Snow had piled up high around the cabin, turning the world outside into a quiet, white wilderness. Éléanor’s gaze drifted to the couch beside her, where Patrick still slept, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath.

For a moment, she let herself look at him—really look. 

His shirtless body was sprawled comfortably under the blanket, and her eyes traced the lines of his muscles, now highlighted by the morning light creeping through the window. His chest was broader than she’d really noticed before, the pale skin dusted with a light covering of chest hair, something she hadn’t noticed in the dark last night. It curled softly, catching the flicker of firelight, giving him a rugged, masculine edge that made her pulse quicken.

His face was relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the tension he’d carried last night. His lips were slightly parted, and his dark lashes cast faint shadows against his skin. Watching him like this, she felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire.

His stubble had grown more noticeable, the coarse hairs along his jawline now thicker, and a shadow of a moustache was forming, giving him an almost roguish appearance. Flecks of grey dotted his sideburns, and as the light hit his face, it gave him a certain maturity that contrasted with his boyish grin. 

She found it hard to tear her eyes away—so she didn’t.

Her eyes trailed down his body, taking in his flat, defined stomach and the curve of his hips. His boxers clung to him, riding low on his waist, leaving little to the imagination. The blanket had slipped just enough to reveal the curve of his muscular thighs, and Éléanor’s face flushed as she caught herself staring.

God, he was so attractive.

With a deep breath, she slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him. 

The wooden floor was cold under her feet as she padded towards the small kitchen, grabbing his sweater that lay discarded on the floor and pulling it over her head. 

She wanted to keep busy, to distract herself from the tangle of emotions still swirling inside her. Pulling Patrick’s pullover tighter around her, she began to rummage through what little they had left, trying to piece together some kind of breakfast. Eggs, a few slices of bread, some cheese—it wasn’t much, but it would do.

As she stood by the counter, cracking the eggs into a bowl and slicing up the bread, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the night before. The way Patrick had panicked, the way they’d calmed each other down afterwards, cuddling in the firelight. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way they’d handled it. It could have been awkward—embarrassing even—but instead, it had made her feel closer to him in a way she hadn’t expected.

As she mixed the eggs in a bowl, trying to figure out how to cook it without a stove, she heard a soft shuffle behind her. Before she could turn around, Patrick’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her gently back against his chest.

She melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressing against her back. His chest hair brushed against the back of her neck as he leaned down, his chin resting on her head and his breath against her.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against her skin. The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Éléanor smiled, leaning back into him, enjoying the easy warmth between them. “Morning,” she replied softly, turning her head slightly to glance at him. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his hair tousled from sleep, but there was a soft smile playing at his lips.

He tightened his arms around her just slightly, pulling her closer. “What are you doing?” he asked and stifled a yawn.

“Trying to make breakfast with what little we have,” she said with a soft laugh. “But the stove doesn’t work, and I have no idea how to cook this without it.”

Patrick chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure something out.” His gaze dropped to the bowl in her hands and then flicked back up with a crooked smile. “Or, we could just stick to bread and cheese. A low-maintenance breakfast.”

Éléanor laughed, the sound light and easy, and she felt the tension from the previous night fully dissolve. She caught herself blushing slightly, a bit embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that simple solution first. The eggs were wasted now, a casualty of their morning scramble, but she found she didn’t really mind.

“Honestly, that’s probably the best idea I’ve heard all morning,” she admitted, glancing over at the loaf of crusty bread and the wedge of cheese sitting on the counter. The simplicity of it, the way the fire crackled in the background, made her feel at ease. She let out a small sigh, comforted by the idea that life didn’t have to be perfect to be good.

Patrick’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “See? It’s the small things,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural, so effortlessly caring, that it sent a tiny flutter through her chest.

She set the bowl down on the counter, the broken eggs an afterthought now, and reached for a knife to slice into the cheese. “Next time, I’m sticking to the basics,” she joked, her voice touched with a playful self-mockery and lingering embarrassment.

Patrick’s deep, warm laugh filled the small kitchen, wrapping around her like a favourite blanket. “No need to overthink it,” he said, his eyes finding hers, their familiar sparkle comforting. “It’s not really about the eggs or anything. It’s about mornings like this.”

A soft pause settled between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a burning log. His gaze drifted down, a playful smirk forming as he tilted his head. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he remarked, his voice low and teasing. The brush of his lips against the side of her neck caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Éléanor felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but grin as she turned just enough to catch his eyes. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” she shot back, the humour in her voice softening the air between them. “You were hogging all the blankets.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he nuzzled closer. “Fair enough,” he admitted, his breath warm and unwavering. The nearness was intoxicating, a blend of comfort and tension that made her pulse quicken.

For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. His hands rested gently on her waist, and fingers splayed as if to anchor them both at that moment. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. It was an odd mix of domesticity and heat, standing there in his oversized pullover while he held her, both of them pretending that the night before hadn’t changed everything.

Reluctantly, Patrick let his arms fall, stepping away with a small sigh as he moved towards the table where he stretched, his body unfolding in a way that drew her eyes once more. His boxers clung to him, highlighting the sculpted muscles of his thighs and the curve of his back in a way that had her biting her lip. She couldn’t help but notice the way they fit snugly over his ass—tight, firm, and perfectly shaped.

His back muscles rippled as he reached for the ceiling, the light catching on the ridges of his shoulders and the faint sheen of sweat that lingered from the warmth of the room.

Éléanor’s pulse quickened as she watched him, a smile tugging at her lips before she turned to grab the simple breakfast supplies. Patrick brought the bread and cheese from the counter and placed them on the small, weathered table. She followed, carrying two mismatched mugs of instant coffee—more than enough given the circumstances of the power outage.

Patrick leaned over to stoke the fire, the crackle growing stronger as new flames licked at the logs. The warm glow cast long, shifting shadows that danced across the cabin walls, contrasting with the cold, pearly light outside. Snowflakes continued to drift steadily down, adding to the thick blanket that muted all sound beyond the walls.

They settled into the nook beside the fire, knees touching beneath the table, sharing the kind of comfortable silence that spoke more than words could. The flickering light played on their faces, illuminating the curve of Patrick’s smile as he passed her a piece of bread. Their fingers brushed, and a warm spark passed between them.

“So... the storm’s still going,” Patrick finally said, glancing out the window, his eyes following the swirling snow that danced in chaotic patterns against the glass—a sea of white that refused to calm. “Looks like it’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Could be worse,” Éléanor said with a teasing grin, her tone light, though her heart beat just a little faster. “We have food, warmth... and decent company.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, a smirk curving his lips in response. “Decent? That’s all I get?”

“Well,” she said, the blush rising to her cheeks as she held his gaze, her pulse fluttering under his scrutiny. “I didn’t want to inflate your ego too much.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich, the kind that made her stomach flip. Leaning back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes, a playful warmth that drew her in. “More than decent,” he corrected, his voice dipping into a tone that was both teasing and sincere.

Éléanor took another sip of coffee, cradling the warm mug in her hands as she glanced out the window at the snow piling higher in an attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. “You know … This is probably the most basic breakfast I’ve made in years,” Éléanor said, smiling over the rim of her mug as she took a sip of coffee.

Patrick’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Hey, it’s perfect,” he said, the simplicity of the moment not lost on him. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”

The fire’s warmth settled around them, casting a golden glow that made the cabin feel cocooned from the storm. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy with unsaid things, a shared realisation that the world outside had ceased to matter for now.

“I guess we’re lucky we even have this,” Éléanor said softly, her voice trailing as she looked back at him, their faces close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. “It could’ve been much worse.”

Patrick nodded, but his eyes lingered on her, darkening with an emotion that made the room feel warmer still. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with. You’re... pretty decent company .” The playful curve of his lips softened, revealing a sincerity that wrapped around her like a blanket.

He leaned forward, the movement deliberate, and brushed his fingers across her hand. The touch sent a spark through her, lingering even as he set her empty mug aside with care. When he turned back to her, his expression had shifted, eyes intense, as if he were trying to memorise every detail.

Patrick’s hand lifted, moving slowly until it cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of her jaw with a tenderness that left her breathless. Éléanor leaned into his touch, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as their eyes met, the distance between them shrinking with every second.

Neither of them spoke.

Patrick moved first, leaning in and closing the small space between them. When their lips met, it was as if a spark had lit a fuse. 

Éléanor’s hand slid up to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with an unspoken plea. He responded in kind, his arm wrapping around her waist with a sure but tender touch.

In a seamless motion, they rose together, the movement natural and instinctive, their lips never breaking contact. Patrick guided her backwards, steps slow and steady but charged with intent as they made their way towards the couch. 

Éléanor’s heart pounded in her chest, her body alive with sensation. Every brush of Patrick’s lips, every touch of his hand on her skin, sent sparks of warmth coursing through her, making her pulse race. 

Patrick gently eased her down onto the couch, his body hovering over hers as their kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, more desperate. 

The space between them seemed to evaporate as his hands moved over her back, tracing her curves with a mix of tenderness and raw need. His touch was everywhere —gentle but commanding, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing second.

Éléanor’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, craving more. She felt like she was burning from the inside, her skin tingling with a fierce energy, like that fuse they had lit had finally exploded. 

There was nothing else—just him.

They broke the kiss for just a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. Patrick’s hands were still on her waist, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, the simple touch sending waves of heat through her, stoking the fire that was already burning inside her.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, husky, each word a quiet rumble that made her heart race. His breath was warm against her lips, his question lingering between them.

Éléanor smiled, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and certainty. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble along his jaw as she looked into his eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, filled with the surety she felt at that moment. “I’m sure.”

With that, Patrick’s lips were on hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more confident. His hand slid under her sweater, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth, arching her back as she pressed herself closer to him, her body responding to his every touch.

Patrick slowly began to lift the fabric, his hands warm and steady. Éléanor shifted beneath him, helping him peel it away, her skin instantly exposed to the cool air of the cabin, leaving her in only her panties. 

But before she could feel the cold, Patrick was there, his hands on her bare waist, his mouth covering hers in another slow, deep kiss. Before he lowered himself, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His lips moved with a deliberate slowness, trailing down the sensitive skin of her neck and over her chest, each kiss drawing a soft gasp from Éléanor.

She let her hands wander across his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in him as he held her close, his body warm against hers. His lips brushed over the swell of her breasts, his breath teasing against her skin before he dipped his head lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses as he moved down her body.

The firelight flickered, casting golden shadows across the room, making the moment feel all the more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Patrick’s hands traced the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed just above the waistband of her panties, his breath warm against her skin. Éléanor’s breath hitched as his lips lingered there, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. 

He kissed his way back up, capturing her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that left her breathless, his hands roaming over her sides. Then, with a smooth, almost teasing motion, he tugged at her underwear again before sliding them down and tossing them aside.

 She felt the cold air on her overheated, exposed skin, and her nerves thrummed in arousal.

Éléanor’s hands slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her palms, her fingers grazing the elastic of his boxers. She felt his hard cock through the thin layer of fabric and was desperate to feel him, to continue what they had started yesterday. 

So she pushed his boxers down, leaving them both completely exposed, their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. 

Patrick looked down at Éléanor in the soft morning light, his features softened by the glow filtering through the windows. The shadows from the slowly burning fire danced across his sharp jawline, but it was the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment, that made Éléanor feel like she was melting beneath him.

His chest, broad and strong, rose and fell with steady breaths, but the tension in his muscles betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. 

Éléanor’s eyes dropped to his body, taking in the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat. He was perfect—every inch of him strong and toned, his cock hard and thick, standing proudly against his abdomen. She reached out, her hand wrapping around him, her fingers brushing over his length. Patrick let out a low groan, his hips pushing forward slightly into her hand as he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation.

But he didn’t let her linger there long. 

His fingers traced lightly over her skin, starting at her collarbone and slowly moving downward, exploring her curves as if committing every inch of her to memory. Éléanor shivered at the warmth of his touch, her body responding to the slow burn of his attention before her mind could even catch up. 

His hands, big and slightly rough, slid over her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Patrick’s mouth followed, placing soft kisses along her collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing over her chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Éléanor arched into him, her breath coming faster as his lips closed around her nipple, his hand still gently kneading the other breast. 

The sensation was overwhelming—his warmth against the cool air of the cabin, the firelight flickering beside them, and the intimacy of his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Éléanor’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body instinctively moving with his as he kissed and touched her with growing intensity. His hands roamed lower, brushing over her stomach and down to her hips, and then, with a firm but gentle grip, he guided her legs apart. The warmth of his fingers, firm but gentle, made her hips lift involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Without a word, he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her cunt wet. 

He paused for just a second, letting the sensation sink in for both of them. “Éléanor,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his fingers brushing over her sex with a soft touch, barely parting the netherlips but enough to feel her wetness. 

Patrick’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and a low groan rumbled from his chest as he watched Éléanor gasping and her body trembling under his touch.

He slipped two of his thick, strong fingers into her cunt, pressing them in deep and curling them just enough to find that sensitive spot within her, the one that made her back arch and her breath catch in her throat. 

Éléanor moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body reacting to every movement he made. The way his fingers curled inside her and the steady pressure he applied sent wave after wave of desire through her.

Patrick watched her closely, his gaze locked on her face as he continued to finger her with that perfect rhythm, his thumb now brushing over her clit in slow, firm circles. The pleasure was instantaneous, sharp, her hips instinctively lifting to meet his hand. Éléanor moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as he played her like an instrument he knew too well.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Patrick groaned, his voice barely a whisper, full of awe and lust. His thumb pressed against her clit again, his fingers moving in rhythm with the growing tension between them. Éléanor’s body responded instantly, tightening around him, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter, nails digging into his skin as she urged him on.

 “Patrick…” she gasped, barely able to form words, her hips grinding against his hand as her body moved in sync with his. His fingers pumped inside her, slow but steady, the high building with each thrust. She felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against her thigh as his thumb continued its relentless work on her clit, sending her closer and closer to the edge.

He could feel it too—the way her body tensed and quivered beneath him, the growing wetness that coated his fingers as he stroked her deeply, curling his fingers inside her just to hear that sweet gasp leave her lips. The sensation of her slick heat gripping him made his cock ache with need, and the way her body responded to his touch only heightened his arousal.

Éléanor’s hips bucked against his hand, her moans growing louder as she felt herself teetering on the brink. Patrick’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing firmly against her clit, sending her spiralling into a frenzy of pleasure. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her body trembling under the overwhelming sensation.

Éléanor’s hand shot up, tangling in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her lips moved urgently against his, her breath hot and uneven as she kissed him deeply, swallowing his groans of pleasure. She was so close, her body strung tight, every nerve on fire as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

And then he stopped.

He withdrew his fingers slightly, his thumb easing its pressure, leaving her right at the precipice but holding her there, not letting her fall. Éléanor let out a frustrated gasp, her body aching for release as she looked up at him in confusion. 

He cupped her face with his now damp fingers, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he kissed her again, softer this time, more controlled. “Not yet,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire but laced with restraint. He was holding back, savouring every moment, wanting to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

Éléanor’s body throbbed with need, every nerve alight with the desire for more, but as Patrick kissed her again, slower, deeper, she melted into him, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

He started to move his fingers inside her again, slow and teasing.

She needed more, her hips rolling against his hand as she sought relief from the unbearable tension building inside her. But Patrick was in control now, his lips ghosting over her neck, the soft, teasing brush of his mouth making her moan with frustration and desire.

“Patrick, please…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, breathless with need.

He lifted his head, his dark, hungry eyes meeting hers. 

A smile played at the corner of his lips, and he kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, letting her feel the heat of him. His free hand traced up her side, his fingers brushing over her bare breast, teasing the sensitive skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple again, making it peak under his touch.

Her body responded to every move he made, a slow, torturous build of pleasure that had her squirming beneath him. Patrick broke the kiss, his lips moving to her jawline, trailing hot kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. He paused at her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently.

Éléanor cried out, her back arching, her body pressing closer to him as the sensation of his mouth on her breast and his fingers inside her drove her crazy. The combination of his touch, his lips, and the deliberate, slow pace was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alive and burning for him.

Patrick’s fingers curled inside her again, pressing against that spot deep within her, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing as the pleasure surged through her in waves. She could feel the edge approaching again, that delicious tightness in her core building, but Patrick kept her on the brink again .

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to her lips, and she kissed him with a fierce intensity, her frustration and desire pouring into the kiss. Patrick groaned into her mouth, his own need evident as he pressed his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh, spreading precum on her skin.

“Patrick… I need you,” Éléanor murmured, her voice a breathless plea against his lips, her desperation raw and unguarded.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand still working her slowly. His eyes darkened at her words, the intensity in them almost too much to bear. He kissed her again, rougher this time, before pulling his hand away, leaving her empty and aching for more.

Patrick’s fingers paused for a moment as he looked into Éléanor’s eyes, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. He pulled back slightly, the desire still strong between them, but his gaze softened, filled with a mix of hunger and care.

“I should grab a condom,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, breaking the tension just enough to pull them both back to reality, and the memory of last night flickered in his eyes.

Éléanor nodded, her chest still rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “Yes… please,” she whispered, her body already aching for him to return, the intensity of the moment too much to wait.

Patrick reached for his wallet on the side table, his mouth curving in a small, knowing smile as he pulled out the condom, seemingly having placed it there sometime after last night, perhaps in a mix of preparation and nerves.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist as she spoke softly, “Let me…”

Patrick shook his head gently, his thumb grazing her knuckles as he held her gaze, his expression soft yet resolute. His eyes stayed on hers as he shook his head, his voice low and soothing. “No, it’s fine—I’ll do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together if you touch my dick now.”

She watched as his fingers deftly tore open the small packet, the tearing sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers brushed her thigh as he rolled the condom over his hard cock. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sight of him making her thighs clench together in anticipation.

Patrick leaned forward again, his body pressing into hers, the warmth of his skin seeping into her. His lips found hers, slow and deliberate. His hand, rough yet gentle, slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist before his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin between her legs.

Éléanor gasped into his mouth, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch as his fingers explored her wet sex once more. He teased her, his thumb circling her clit with agonising slowness while his fingers slipped inside her, stretching her just enough to remind her of how much she needed him. 

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down her spine. Every inch of her body responded to him, the heat between them growing unbearable, her need for him nearly overwhelming.

Patrick could feel it, too, the way her body clenched around his fingers, her slick heat making his head spin. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating between them, as he moved his hand to guide his cock to her entrance. 

She moaned into his mouth, her body trembling with need. Patrick’s cock brushed against her again, the condom in place, and this time there was no hesitation—not like last night. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his waist as he slowly pushed inside her.

Éléanor’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the room as her body responded to the delicious stretch, her nails digging into his back as she pulled him closer. Patrick’s heart raced, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control, the feeling of her slick heat surrounding him inch by inch.

The sensation of him filling her, stretching her slowly, was everything she had been craving and everything she didn’t know she was craving. 

“God… you feel incredible,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed deeper, his cock sinking into her with slow, measured thrusts. He could feel every pulse of her body, every tremor as her walls gripped him tighter.

Her body responded instantly, arching up to meet him, desperate for more. But Patrick moved with deliberate care, easing into her slowly. Filling her inch by inch until he was fully inside her. He groaned against her neck, his breath ragged as he held himself still for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.

Éléanor’s hips rolled instinctively, urging him deeper, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Patrick, move,” she whispered, her voice laced with need as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was losing herself in the feeling of him, the fullness, the weight, the stretch.

He started slow, his thrusts gentle but deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through them both. Patrick could feel the way her body responded to him, the soft moans escaping her lips driving him wild. 

As his pace quickened, he kissed her again, hard and desperate. His hands roamed over her body, one cupping her breast, kneading gently, while the other slipped between them, his fingers finding her clit again.

Éléanor gasped loudly, her body trembling beneath him as he worked her with expert precision, his cock moving in sync with his fingers. Every thrust, every touch, brought her closer to the edge, and Patrick could feel her body tightening around him, her breath coming faster, her moans louder.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the pressure inside him building as he lost himself in the moment. 

His hips moved with a deep, driving rhythm, each thrust intensifying as his fingers circled her clit with relentless precision. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her gasps quickening as her body arched beneath him, her soft cries filling the room.

“Patrick… I—I’m so close,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperate need, her body tightening around him as she felt the pressure mounting, ready to break.

Patrick groaned in response, his own control fraying as his movements became more urgent, his fingers working her with precision. He kissed her again, his lips crashing against hers as the tension in her body snapped with a particularly rough flick of his finger on her clit. 

Éléanor’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body arching off the couch as her walls clenched around him. She gasped his name, her voice trembling with the intensity of her release, her fingers gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Patrick followed her, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final deep thrust, he groaned her name, his body shuddering as he came, the condom filling with his cum. His body collapsed against hers, both of them breathless and spent.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their soft, shared breaths and the crackling of the fire nearby. Patrick slowly pulled out, carefully removing the condom and tossing it aside before settling back down beside her.

They lay in a comfortable silence, their bodies entwined as the room slowly settled around them. The soft, golden morning light spilt in through the windows, warming the space as they stayed close, wrapped in each other’s presence. Patrick’s fingers traced gentle, soothing patterns on her arm, and Éléanor let herself sink into the comfort of his steady heartbeat beneath her hand.

She felt like she could stay here forever, wrapped in this quiet, unhurried happiness.

[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 💕

[vanilla-waffles]

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

[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.”

[glimmeringivy]

Like a Maelstrom OrmXOFC

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339731/chapters/43417388

Sooooo I wrote a thing, wanna check??

Nothing is what it seems in this story about family, misunderstandings and love.

Orm Marius had a dark secret. He once had a relationship with a surface dweller. The same surface dweller who has been personally invited by new King as his guest of honour to the coronation ceremony, along with her son.

Grace Curry never thought she would meet Orm Marius again, but this time she hopes she can punch him hard in his stupid handsome face. Mera promised her, after all.

Plot is full of secrets that will be revealed along the first chapters.

[jamgoesart]

depeche mode - a OC x Orm Marius FF.

Place after Aquaman an The Lost Kingdom.

Coming soon but i love the cover that's why I had to publish it already.