#this au needs…. an easier name to refer to….

[brainman1987]

Ourgh it’s so green here, BUT!! UPDATE ON THAT ANIMATIC!! I’m drawing each frame by hand, no repeats, and while that allows for smoother and more fluid animation FUCK IT TAKES SO LONGGG UGHHHHHHHH!! And I’ll have to keep an eye on the sizing of everything too, so much work :’)

But I’m enjoying the process, as long form animation is a very interesting concept to me (you can animate things…. For long periods of time? …Inchresting…..)

[sea-lanterns]

RIDE ME!

synopsis: (cowgirl! au) what's better than riding a horse? a cowgirl.

featuring: navia, dehya, shinobu, clorinde, beidou, arlecchino

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, strap ons, riding, reader on top for the most part, teasing, strap ons refered to as c.o.ck and other synonyms, pet names, possessiveness, jealousy, potential poor translation of french from google translate (navia), slight cunnilingus (shinobu), size kink (beidou), handcuffs (clorinde), degradation (clorinde, arlecchino), usage of whore/slut (clorinde, arlecchino), captor x prisoner dynamic (arlecchino), belly bulge (beidou), may be ooc.

art credits: black lagoon

NAVIA

“Oh my, your cute little legs are shaking so much, ma cherie!*”

Navia giggles to herself when you find yourself panting and struggling to take all of Navia’s length inside of you. The thick toy causing your throat to tighten and whine, because Navia just had to pick something so damn big and long to shove up your pussy.

“N-Navia…” you grit through your teeth, some of the air knocking out of your lungs when the woman suddenly bucked her hips forward. “Yessss?” She replies nonchalantly, a smug look on her face when she sees the way you were struggling to properly ride her. “Did’ya…have to choose the biggest toy you could find?” You groan while glaring down at her sarcastically. 

“Oh honey, stop complaining…” Navia giggles, grabbing your hips and ripping a moan out of you when she begins bouncing you on her own. “You’re a big girl, so you can take a big dick on your own, hm?” 

With each riveting thrust, Navia had you bouncing on her hips like you were some excited little bunny, a look of pure satisfaction on the cowgirl’s face when she got an up close view of your pussy swallowing her cock each time you moved up and down. The sight was utterly breathtaking for the legendary cowgirl of your town, and you saw that she was in fact drooling a little bit from the way your cum was dripping down her shaft. 

“Oh, baise-moi, tu es si belle*.” Navia mumbled under her breath, eyes glazing over in a mesmerized way. “I can’t believe you’re mine…”

She chuckles at the way your body twitches from the constant hammering of her hips, so she decides to cut the tension a bit by grabbing her cowgirl hat lying on top of the night stand and placing it over your eyes. 

“There, now you look like a proper cowgirl.” Navia giggles, clutching your hips and smiling at the way her oversized hat tilts forward to cover your eyes. “Now ride me properly, you silly cowgirl. No horse is too big for you to tame…”

She lets out another cheery smile and continues to brutally thrust her hips at that. 

English translations taken from Google Translate: *my love, *fuck me, you’re so beautiful

DEHYA

“(Chuckle), is the princess unable to tame this bull on her own?” 

Dehya smirks cockily at the way you trembled like a leaf on top of her, the look of pure determination on your face as you attempted to get all seven inches of her strap deep inside you. You would’ve gotten all of it fitting snugly by now, but Dehya had been teasing you for the entirety of your session, smirking and gently patting your hips in a condescending manner, that really had you distracted to the point you struggled greatly with even fitting the first few inches.

“Oh, princess…” Dehya chuckles, eying the way your pussy was just drooling over her shaft like it was trying to lube itself as much as it could. Probably because it needed that much lube in the first place, and the sheer amount of precum you were excreting was enough to make your ears go hot in shame. “I’ve never seen you produce so much slick without orgasming, darlin’”

“Shut up…!” you whimpered, giving Dehya a snarky glare. “I’m not used to riding you on top!”

“It’s really not that hard, babe,” Dehya sighs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Trust me, riding a woman is a lot easier than riding a bull, and I know from both experiences.” She clicks her tongue and winks at you. “So why don’t you give it another shot, come on, I know you can do it.”

She gives you an encouraging pat on the ass and leans back, making sure to stretch her stomach a little bit so her abs could shine under the sunset’s rays. The sight of Dehya looking so relaxed and confident in you gave you the little boost you needed to ease up and slowly slide down to the hilt. 

With a strangled gasp, you let out a pretty little whine that made Dehya practically groan with pleasure. “Such a pretty noise you made there, princess,” Dehya husks, trailing one of her thumbs to push at your clit. “Can you make more? You’re usually singing like a canary by now…”

She chuckles and helps you ease down the rest of her cock, noting the tiny twitch in your legs as you struggle to ground yourself to reality. “Ah, poor thing’s all tuckered out just from sitting down,” Dehya grins, sitting up slightly to whisper in your ear. “Would you like this bull to help ride for you?”

When you were unable to respond, feeling too unbearably full from her cock, Dehya smirks and shifts her hands to rest on your hips. “I guess that’s a yes from the pretty little lady.”

Holding you close to her muscled body, she begins to thrust upwards at a brutal place, tip hitting so deep inside you it had you bouncing till you weren’t even moving on your own…

SHINOBU

“Having difficulty, sweet thing?” Shinobu whispers in that raspy voice of hers, eyes glinting forwards at you like a cat, as she watches the way you involuntarily jerked at her thrusts from her strap on pounding inside you. Shinobu was by no means a gentle woman of any kind, yet when it came to you, the sweet darling bachlorette of small town Inazuma, the outlaw was considerably generous to you, given by the fact that she could wreck your delicate pussy at any time she wanted. 

With that in mind however, Shinobu was being awfully patient with how long it took for you to adjust to her strap. The toy was not even breaking five inches, yet when you tried to stuff it inside you from the top —eager to ride Shinobu like a first time rodeo gal— you almost cried from the sheer stretch you felt of her shaft spearing you open. 

“Oh, baby…” Shinobu hummed to herself out of pity, reaching a hand forward to ease your walls a little more by playing with your clit. “You gotta loosen up, babe. I’m about to slip right out again if you’re this tight right now…”

“S-Sorry…” you grimaced, trying desperately to get your body to relax. “I don’t know why it won’t go in…”

“You’re too tense, babe.” Shinobu chuckles, pulling her bandanna down to slip her long tongue out to lick at her teeth. “Do you want me to help you? I certainly can, all you need to do is ask…”

With the way she was licking her teeth seductively and showing off her impressively long tongue, you felt your cunt drip a bit more as just the sight of it had you drooling out of arousal. “Yes please,” you mumble softly, letting Shinobu lift you off her cock and place you back down on the bed. She eased herself lower so that she was now eye level with your cunt, and began licking slow, languid strokes with her tongue until she was able to see your folds loosen up a bit.

“Atta girl…” Shinobu mumbles breathlessly, gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming and pressing deep nail indents into your skin. “Tastier than any ambrosia they serve at that damned bar…”

She groans and pulls you down to kiss at your stomach, playfully nipping the skin right above your belly button before staring up at you hungrily. 

“Do you still wanna ride me, doll?” She asks in a husky tone. 

You shake your head no. 

“Tch, spoiled girl…” she grins and raises your legs up on her shoulders so that she can angle her strap to fuck you. “You should be grateful I’m so lenient on a sweet thing like you…”

And with that, she has you clawing at the sheets as the outlaw prods her tip through your folds…

CLORINDE

“What a naughty girl, unable to keep your hands to yourself…” 

Sheriff Clorinde smirks to herself as the jingle of your handcuffs move with every bounce you take on Clorinde’s strap. The sheriff having chosen a curved, purple dildo as a strap for you to ride on, as this was your punishment for provoking the sheriff while on duty for patrol.

How did you provoke her you may ask? Well, let’s just say parading around in a short skirt, casting flirtatious winks at the gunslinger and whispering how much you wanted her to destroy you was a one way ticket to pound town with Clorinde and your hands bound together with metal cuffs. 

“But Sheriff, I was only vying for your attention…” you pouted, whining when you felt her hands grip your ass and keep you seated downward on the smooth, warm, toy. 

“Vying for my attention, you say?” Clorinde raises a brow, tugging on the chain between your cuffs so that you’d suddenly lurch backwards with a yelp. “Nearly the entire town saw the way you were crooning for me. Don’t you have any shame?” 

She gave a particularly hard thrust at the word shame, grinning to herself when she saw the way you began leaking all over the toy and crying. “What’s wrong you needy girl, have you sprung a leak?” She teases, trailing a finger down to scoop up some of your essence. “Weren’t you whining for my attention earlier? Come on, where’s that excited spark I saw earlier…”

She continues to roll her hips —albeit at a slower pace— before tilting her head up at you and sighing. “You know better than to make me jealous, sweet thing.” She sits up to whisper in your ear and holds your waist a little tighter. “Navia, Furina, and practically all the cowgirls in town had seen you parading yourself in such ludicrous ways. Only I have the pleasure of seeing you, alright?” 

She grunts and begins to roll her hips a bit faster, practically grinding into you to the point all you could feel down there was Clorinde’s strap rearranging your insides. 

“Clorinde…” you gasped when she suddenly pulled you forward to place a delicate little kiss on your mouth, completely contrasting the way she was currently pummeling you with her cock till all you could see were stars.

“That’s sheriff to you, slut.”

BEIDOU

“Well damn, I didn’t know a gal as sweet as you could take a cock this well…”

Beidou laughed as she rested back on the bed frame and placed her arms behind her head. She looked as relaxed as can be while she watched the prettiest girl in town —that’d be you— lazily bounce on her strap with determination. Usually the rugged cowgirl would be on top of you, molding your body to fit hers as she pounded her cock to the oblivion, but this time you wanted to try something different. Something you always wanted to do ever since watching Beidou wrangle some of those wild horses.

“I admit, when you first asked to ride me, I didn’t think you were serious,” Beidou sneers, “But after seeing how determined you are, it seems like you’d make quite the good cowgirl if you keep this up.”

She smiles and tilts your chin up to look at her, an endearing grin on the cowgirl’s face as she continues letting you “take the reins” so to speak. 

“Like I’d ever want to ride a horse though,” you chuckle jokingly, barely hiding a moan as it slips past your lips. “I’d rather just tame a woman…”

“You already did, darlin’” Beidou smirks, pushing you down a little further till there was a slight bulge in your stomach from her cock. “You could tame any woman out here if you could, ya little rascal…”

Your body involuntarily shuddered when you felt her tip push so deep inside you, the ridged edges of her strap feeling so good against your walls, as they milked her for everything that she was worth. “Gentle now…” you groaned, feeling stuffed to the brim from the way she was handling you. “Is this how you treat all the ladies you bed with?”

“No, just this lady.” Beidou chuckles. “Am I too rough?” 

“Not…exactly.” You whimpered, steadying yourself as Beidou bucks her hips a bit harder. “I just need to get used to it, that’s all…”

Beidou smiled softly at this, before murmuring a curse under her breath and pushing her bangs back in amusement. “Oh fuck me little lady…you’re absolutely precious…”

She can’t stop herself from grinning before grabbing your hips and helping you bounce up and down her shaft. At the extra pressure and boost in speed, you nearly creamed yourself and cried while Beidou kept you upright in her arms. 

“Well if you’re so lenient on me being a bit rougher, then perhaps I shouldn’t be so gentle on you anymore, little lady…”

And she kept her word, having you eyes roll back in bliss as she leans forward to suck a nipple into her mouth.

ARLECCHINO

“Tch…I see why that small town of yours was so angry at me for taking you…” Arlecchino husks, the smoke from her cigar fogging up your senses while you sit upright on her lap with her cock buried inside you. “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes, aren’t you?”

She slips the cigar out of her mouth and puts it out on the ashtray beside her, blowing some smoke into your face and watching as you grimace and cough with a frown. “Sensitive too,” she remarks, smirking and caressing your face with the sharp nails you were oh so terrified of. 

“A-Anyone would grimace if they had smoke blow back in their face…” you grunt, glaring down at your captor while you rode her strap with need. “It’s rude to do that anyhow, y’know.”

“I think you’re forgetting I’ve done much ruder things,” the bandit leader chuckles with amusement. “For example, kidnapped you and kept you for ransom. Isn’t that much worse than blowing smoke in your face, doll?” 

Your face scowled down at her and she only grinned at the way you were pouting. “Oh, don’t make that face sweet thing. It’s not like I have you tied up and chained to a post in the desert. You willingly came in here to fuck me, so don’t act so innocent now…”

She flashes you a sneering look before moving her hips a bit rougher so that you could really feel how hard and perfect her cock felt inside you. The way your lips part and glisten with barely contained drool had Arlecchino stroking her ego faster than you could come undone. The sight of your town’s prized jewel now drooling and riding her cock with pathetic need was sending the bandit leader into another state of superiority.

“Oh how I wish that sheriff of yours could see you now,” Arlecchino chuckles, “Clorinde was it? My, she was seething at the way I had you gripped in my arms. She looked like she would shoot me dead right on the spot if I hadn’t been carrying you.”

She was on a power trip, a glistening of madness in those red, X-shaped pupils of hers, as she began bouncing you harder against her strap. 

“You like that though, I know. A whore like you just loves being the center of attention amongst all those rugged cowgirls…”

She scoffs and sits up to bite a hickey onto your neck, enjoying the way you squirmed and clung onto her shoulders immediately once you felt her teeth on your skin. 

“Tell you what, once that sheriff of yours comes up with the sum of money I want, you send her back a little message for me, m’kay?” She growls and practically grips your ass into her clawed hands. “I want you to show her every little bite, hickey, and scratch I leave on your body, so she knows you had fun with me in my tent. Got it?”

You nodded enthusiastically before whining at the way she was now speeding her thrusts. 

“Good whore.”

[madfantom]

Full animatic And so, part 2 of my comments, let's start.

◁Part 1 || Part 3 ▷

In the last part, and here, the order in which the children got to William is shown, and I will explain why it is not the order of the murders Here is a MEMO with missing children to make it easier to navigate, since I drew very simplistically.

I mean, when watching usually fnaf animations, I myself had the question "who the fuck are all these kids?" and, either in another animation I understood, or I did not understand at all, or the designs were so simplified that you can guess (I mean a child in all red or with a pirate armband is foxy, Freddy is all brown, etc.) So I just made outlines of their hair and costumes and that's it

It's just a little complaint here, don't pay attention, I'll just say it once, and that's because I didn't think that someone would write the same thing all the time when writing AU And one more thing. Chick's name is SOFIA. Please guys, I know that Suzy from fnaf 6 exists, okay? She's there, hell, she's even in the animation next to Cassidy. I just shifted her from being a chick to another one, not removed. And she also has an interesting role and a different design logic, I just don't have time to do everything. In fact, I even have a reason why Sofia exists and I wrote a very long text post about it, but I haven't finished drawing sketches there, so you won't see it yet. It's just that I'm starting to get a little bit hung up by the same type of comments from Pinterest, although to get rid of this, I write in big letters everywhere that it's AU

Let's go back to the animatic

I have displayed the methods of killing, which will then be reflected in the appearance of the ghosts. In fact, I took the idea from my old horror zine Fnaf art when I was thinking about how the children died there to make their appearance more creepy. Some of the ideas remained, and some were redesigned, as well as some designs

Sofia was placed in a ventilation unit. William caught her and left her there suffocating in the off ventilation , after a light strangulation, suffocating in the off ventilation. She didn't actually die, but she was the first (And I refer to this also in a custom night with the phrase "I was the first, I have seen everything!") And now imagine how the room smelled of chemicals after cleaning it from all kinds of oils and other liquids necessary for mechanisms that are very difficult to wipe off. While ventilation did not work and the girl was locked in a narrow place after she was strangled, forced to watch through the slots for the children who were after her That's why Sofia's ghost makes such a quiet clucking sound, as she coughs as if she's still in the ventilation. She won't die of suffocation, nah, in this comic she's still alive and William can cut her throat.

About the rest it is more obvious, well, not counting the pictures on the Background.

Jeremy was electrocuted, so his ghost hair is pulled up as if by an electric shock. He also has charred lips and eyelid skin and no eyebrows, and his hands have torn and charred stripes from just the same clamp. He looks like the most crippled of the three

Fritz couldn't stand the blows from blunt and sharp objects and in the end they attached a mask to his face with a nail gun or something like that and set it on fire quite a bit. Well, just a little bit. His background is directly related to the comic, which Redraw at the beginning, and now I continue. I'm still doing it, but I need a lot of time for it

Gabriella was basically cut while they wrapped one of those cables around his neck that are forever hanging on the walls in fnaf and pulled out his eye after death

[gyumibear]

˗ˏˋ STUPID CUPID ˎˊ˗

“cupid, what you do to me….” | stupid cupid — nct dream

synopsis ── after your latest forum fails miserably, you’re almost out of an extracurricular! that is, until a mysterious account going by the name “cupid” brings you just the thing you need to fix your reputation: park wonbin, radio show host and your longtime crush. with the help of cupid, wonbin suddenly falls head over heels in love with you! you’d expect for this to be a good thing right? but no! everyone’s starting to notice how strange wonbin’s acting and now it’s up to you to figure out how and if you can get wonbin back to normal before anyone finds out what you’ve done. especially because “cupid” has disappeared… stupid cupid.

pairing — campus crush!park wonbin x journalist!reader

genre — smau + written. romcom. suggestive. love spell au. college au. angst. “strangers” to lovers.

warnings — hella swearing + crude humor (kys jokes). mentions/illusions to: food/sex/alcohol consumption. fighting (physical and verbal). mind control (what cupid does is essentially brainwashing). light jealous and possessive behaviors. use of pictures of yn but only for reference. everyone makes fun of each other a lot, but not maliciously. yn is a manga reader so spoilers for jjk, csm, the summer hikaru died & black butler. more warnings in the actual chapters, but please always lmk (!!) if i missed something. keep in mind: this story doesn’t describe the idols in real life and is written by a blk person so aave will be used.

playlist — stupid cupid nct dream. mutual butterflies ryan trey. don’t get mad wayv. cosmic red velvet. one kiss riize. love language hibiki. off the record ive. 2nite p1harmony.

notes — the taglist is open! (26/50) updates every saturday! creds to the respective artists for the graphics used! please consider reblogging or replying with your thoughts on each chapter!! it means the world to me but i appreciate spam likes too! you can join the taglist by replying to THIS post. asks will be deleted sorry </3… it’s just easier to manage for me.

profiles ── hate91.1 | public forum mods | specialz

act one let me monopolize that heart…

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ONE ── this week’s forum

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TWO ── nobody wants wonbin

ᯓᡣ𐭩 THREE ── chat… am i cooked?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 FOUR ── tell her the truth

ᯓᡣ𐭩 FIVE ── party ready!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SIX ── byob (bring your own baby)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SEVEN ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 EIGHT ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 NINE ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TEN ──

act two girl you got me crazy…

to be added…!

additional notes ── ah sunny back again with another smau! yippee!! um, i don’t have much to say except hii if you’re new round these parts.. i hope y’all enjoy because i worked hard and i hope this doesn’t flop? i’ll be sad. pleek.. pleek…?

early taglist ── @onlyhyunjin @pxnklover @glorism @nujeskz @soheendo @starwonb1n

2024 © GYUMIBEAR. do not repost, modify, or translate my work onto other social media sites.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[thisismeracing]

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST

✦ CHARLES LECLERC ▶ CL16

All my Charles posts here

▸ main masterlist | patreon guide ▸ taglist ▸ who I write for & guidelines ▸ subscribe to Patreon for exclusive content ▸ tip me on ko-fi

KEYS: s: smut f: fluff a: angst ✷: Patreon exclusive

― ✦ SOCIAL MEDIA AU

this is the last time I ever call you babe (a): It’s been a little over a year since Y/n and Charles Leclerc ended their relationship, and Y/n went radio silent from everywhere…until the Grand Prix day. They say revenge is a dish better served cold, right?

everything has changed (f): Y/n, a famous singer, drops a song that is more like a letter confessing her feelings, and some fans are convinced it’s about F1 golden boy Charles Leclerc.

his pretty girl (f) : Fans start to notice Charles around an influencer’s profile and it's easy to put two and two together to discover just how in love he is.

match winners (f): After mentioning in an interview that she roots for Charles Leclerc, Yn is surprised with a new follower who happens to show up at one of her tennis matches.

sunshine (f): In which Charles starts dating an earthy/spiritual girl who just loves nature and good energy.

my boyfriend Marc (f): In which Yn always refers to her secret boyfriend as Marc and fans take forever to put the pieces together and realize that many of the names she used were actually Charles Leclerc’s middle names.

his protector (f): Yn is a comedian, who happens to date the f1 driver Charles Leclerc and who loves to joke around about how horrendous Ferrari is, but beware: she is the only one who can laugh at her boyfriend’s disastrous races. No one pokes fun at Charles in front of her, especially not on live TV.

all because I liked a boy (a): Yn fell in love with Charles and secretly dated him for almost a year. She didn’t consider, however, how fans would react seeing they used to love and still stan Charles’ past relationship. What happens when their hidden love gets out in the open? ● part 2 here

just like in the movies (f): You’re shooting a new movie about racing cars, but you did not expect to get a racing heart from a certain driver. Or the one where they met at a racing track and fell in love.

king of manifesting (f): You’ve been secretly dating Charles for a while, but fans can’t believe it when the rumors start to go around. What do you mean a vroom-vroom Ferrari guy is dating their idol?

a real goal getter (f): When fans see Charles at one of your soccer matches, they start speculating what he is doing at a stadium he’s never been to, talking to a guy he never talked with (who happens to be your best friend). When they discover you’re together, they agree you’re the best player, but Charles is the goal scorer for landing someone as amazing as you. 

― ✦ BLURBS

you betrayed me (a)

Overprotective bf (f)

Timeless (f)

― ✦ REGULAR IMAGINES

honeymoon stunts (s): Charles and Yn just got married, and although they know too much about one another, there’s always something new to discover together, such as Charles’ new breeding kink.

the (un)lucky one (f): Charles and Yn have a history back from when he was at alfa romeo, Yn used to be his PR assistant, and they were close to best friends. Now, years later, they are still friends, but Yn is Carlos’ assistant now, and she can help but root for her new friend and boss. Meanwhile, Charles is having trouble with no longer having her undying support all the time. He’s been through an unlucky season on the speedway, will he be unlucky in love too? 

anything you want (s)✷: After getting hit by a wave of bad luck, Yn takes matters into her own hands to make her boyfriend feel a bit better about his situation. Sometimes all you need to feel brand new is a two-day vacation full of sex by the fire and words of affirmation.

love bites (a)✷: It is believed that during the Halloween season, cursed souls and entities come out to play. As it happens, some of them can come uninvited, but things get a lot easier for the dark side when people like Yn are challenged by her friends to go beyond the safety of the town and into the woods looking for a cursed church. One wouldn’t want to be near to witness humans discover history they’re not supposed to.

charlieverse (f): When Yn decided to go to a Halloween party with her best friend, Charles Leclerc, she did not consider that some of the fantasies would be so close to reality that they would terrify her. But one thing Yn had no idea about too, was Charles’ feelings for her. All Hallow’s Eve is not the most romantic scenario to confess your feelings, but it might be just the perfect one for them.

not quite love (a)✷: When you get romantically involved with your best friend you were not expecting a marriage proposal, but simply a commitment. You were sure that what you had wasn’t quite love, though it could be and maybe that’s what hurt the most. The fact that you had everything to be each other’s end game, but turned out to be strangers.

― ✦ HEADCANONS

♡ soon

𓂃☁︎ ✈︎𓂃 Around the world ♡ charles dating a korean girl ♡ charles dating a greek girl ♡ charles dating a brazilian girl ♡ charles dating a french girl ♡ charles dating a canadian girl

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Would they have mechanical mounts or horses for fast transportation? I'm writing some stuff about Harlequin AU (despite my poor English), and this idea came to mind: Caine and Pomni riding horses under the moonlight, calmly enjoying each other's company, or chatting casually

mmm, no mechanical horses because they go crazy and feral, the main method of transport is literally just this

I've mentioned how I wanted object displacement (teleportation) for fast travel in this AU, and this is the lil guy that can do that. For funsies I'm gonna name the All-seeing Eyes "Jeffery" in reference to Caine's green eye from 'POMNI WAKE UP TIME TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE' lol

Jeffery can do some stuff, but this fella's main goal is checkpoints, and offering a small pocket of invisibility for the puppets in the AoE of the eyes (it would cloak energy signatures so that the marionettes are not alerted to an activity in the area). Like the Stargazer from Lies of P, or the bonfire(?) from Dark Souls.

Initially, I wanted Pomni to carry the hat and place it in places where Caine assigned them in, but... that has a lot of issues, starting with "there's NO way Pomni will carry a damn top hat", "how can she even activate other Jefferies with only one hat??" and "Would she carry 12 top hats all at once??" so...

The new idea would be that Caine placed these eyes all over the city for easier mode of transport, but Marionettes keep knocking over the Eyes when idly passing by. So, Pomni has to reassemble and reactivate the deactivated Jefferies.

When that happens, Caine can teleport to the recently activated eye without a hassle, and upgrade them. He'll set up camp there, repair Pomni when she falls in battle, go back and forth to the manor when needed, bring the needed ally Pomni wants to accompany her in battle, amongst a few other things. Pomni can also fast travel to other Jefferies if she wants.

... What were we talking about again? Oh right, horses and riding underneath the moonlight. uhhhhh

You can just say they found live horses somewhere eating grass lol

[honkytonk-hangman]

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

[writeforfandoms]

Fast Car 2

Find my Simon Riley masterlist

Two years after the end of the world, you have a choice to make, and potentially a new life to settle into. One thing you definitely now have: a nemesis.

Warnings: Swearing, lots of grumbling, gentle interrogation, don't forget these guys are a trained very effective unit, dick-ish behavior, reference to cannibalism, reference to the wider zombie au.

Word count: 1k

You approached the meeting place carefully, slowly. Sure, you were planning to go with them. But that didn't mean you had to trust them. 

It wasn't terribly hard to spot three people, standing exactly where hat guy said they'd be. You didn't see tall and scary, but that was just fine with you. 

Maybe you'd get lucky and he'd been eaten overnight. 

“Took your time getting here.” 

Spoke too soon. Grimacing, you half-turned to see him emerge from his hiding spot, gun in hand but aimed away from the two of you. Small mercies. 

“I'm on time,” you defended yourself, planting your hands on your hips. It wasn't as effective given the large pack on your back, but still. 

“Means you're late.” He turned and strode off back to the others, clearly expecting you to follow him. You grit your teeth, momentarily tempted to just walk away. You didn't need a town. You were fine on your own. You could do it, keep on going on your own.

Except the empty windows and yawning doorframes of this town reminded you how hard it was to come across supplies. 

So you grit your teeth and followed him, footsteps light. 

You stepped directly in one of his boot prints, out of curiosity. His feet were much larger than yours. 

You walked a little faster. Just in case. 

Hat guy eyed you and nodded once. “We're taking the truck back,” he said. “You're in back.” 

You almost wanted to object to that, mildly outraged, but, well… all four of these guys was pretty big, in the beefy military esque kind of way. They probably needed the space. 

Still. Jerk. 

“So you're the mechanic, eh? I'm Gaz.” He held out a hand to you, and it took you a moment to remember what a handshake was. 

“Call me Soap.” He was next, quick to fall in on your other side so he and Gaz escorted you to the car. “Ye good with cars?”

“Dunno, you good with that thing?” You nodded to the big gun slung over his shoulder. 

He laughed, grinning at you. “Aye,” he confirmed. “Ye'll do just fine. In ye go.” He opened the back seat to the car you'd almost looted yesterday, ushering you in. Gaz slipped around the other side. 

Not only were they making you sit in the back, but in the middle. It had been a solid year since you'd been on a car, but you remembered how awful it was to sit in the middle seat. 

The only big plus was that the big unfriendly guy was in the front. 

“That's Price,” Gaz told you. “And Ghost.” 

So the big mean guy was Ghost. Easier to avoid him when you knew his name. 

“I'd say nice to meet you but I generally don't say that to people who almost dislocate my shoulder,” you snarked. 

“Shouldn't have messed with the car.” Ghost didn't sound the least bit apologetic. Not that you expected him to. 

Big asshole, for sure. 

“Ye traveled a lot?” Soap interrupted, breaking Some of the tension. 

“Eh. As needed.” You shrugged, uncomfortable as your shoulders rubbed his and Gaz's. “More than I really wanted to. Hard to stay in one place with cannibals around.” 

“Cannibals? Really?” Gaz sounded mildly dubious. 

“Really. Not like food is aplenty out there. Lots of canned goods are gone.” 

“We grow a lot,” Gaz said, glancing at you. 

“Not us,” Soap added with a cheeky grin. “Cannae grow shite, us. But the rest of the town, aye. Got a good lot of skills between us all.” 

“But not a mechanic,” Price interjected. 

“Least I'll have job security,” you joked, leaning back in your seat, refusing to show how uncomfortable you really were with the two men pressed close like this. “At least until everything quits working.” 

“We'll find work for ye,” Soap assured you, grinning. “Plenty to go ‘round.” 

That was not as reassuring as he intended it to be, but you didn't say so. That would just be fucking stupid, and you liked to think you weren't fucking stupid. 

“How'd you end up here?” Gaz asked, expression open, hands relaxed in his lap. Oh, he was good. Could've gone into acting, this one. 

Sure, he was acting all nice, but that was absolutely an interrogation question. 

At least he was being nice, and not threatening to break anything. 

So you told him. The short version. How you'd traveled for a bit with people, ran into cannibals, escaped with your life, and had been running from zombies ever since. 

The end of the world had made most people absolutely bonkers.

All in all, it was a pretty gentle questioning. And you couldn't blame them, not if they really were taking you to a whole town full of people. 

Price finally parked the car about mid-afternoon, and you got out gingerly, stiff from sitting still for so long. You stretched out, groaning softly as your shoulders and upper back popped. 

Ghost stood to one side, watching you. You ignored him, even as you noted yet again just how fucking big he was.

Price invited you inside, leading the way to the house. It looked well kept, at least, windows all intact, a pile of wood just visible to one side. You stepped up into the house, not sure what to expect.

The mouth-watering smell of bread and some kind of stew was not it. 

You swallowed back the obscene sound you wanted to make at just the smell of real cooked food, and wandered further in. A woman in the kitchen turned to greet everyone, smile wide and warm. 

You hadn't seen anywhere so homey, so warm, since… Well. Before the zombies, for sure.

It rather astounded you how fast they folded you into the routine, showing you where to wash up, offering spare clothes, assigning you a seat at the table. Truth be told, it left you a little wrong footed, and you kept quiet through dinner. 

So did Ghost. 

Ghost was the one that showed you to the couch, told you you'd be staying there a few days. You didn't object, still too full and happy from a hot meal. 

If they ended up being cannibals… Well, you'd die full. That wouldn't be so terrible.

[duskfel]

Reference sheet for my au sans, Entropy!

Brief lore introduction beneath the cut <3

In Entropy’s home universe, there is a rarely recorded magic-based phenomenon called “Manifestion” (name is a stand-in). Overly simplified, it’s when a monster wills something into existence just through a deep desire for, or by thinking a lot about something. It’s extremely uncommon, and seems to happen mostly under extreme stress.

This ‘verse’s Gaster, who Entropy (then just called Sans) worked under, realizes he may be able to utilize this power to Manifest a barrier-break. So what does the good doctor do? Puts his bright young assistant Sans in a plain white room and just. Locks him there. One must eliminate variables, after all. No easier way to make sure he’s able to Manifest exactly what he needs than making sure Sans has only one thing to think about, giving Gaster a chance to carve out exactly what he wants from Sans with terrible precision.

Gaster’s plan works, but not in the way he intended.

Alright that’s all you’re getting for now, though questions are always welcome :)

[cometchasinglove]

Starscream and Juniper: Dynamic Rundown

Ah, these two…my main ship for my AU!

Early on, Starscream certainly doesn’t like her, but he doesn’t despite her with a passion either. At least, not as much as he says he does. Starscream, although repulsed by humans, does find value in Juni. He was the one who suggested that Megatron should keep her in the first place. After all, the Autobots use humans to their advantage, don’t they?

Of course, he still complains about her, huffing about how high maintenance she is and the like. Similarly, she frequently scowls at him. She hates it whenever he refers to her as “vermin”, and rightfully calls him out on it. She knows that he can’t do anything to harm her with Megatron around. The two snark at each other constantly, but there’s no genuine malice.

After a mission that went awry, Megatron actually tries to beat Starscream for almost murdering her in the cockpit of his jet mode.

(It’s accidental. Starscream wanted to scare her with loop-de-loops, unaware that she required a g-suit and a helmet).

Before Megatron could punish him too severely, Juniper makes it out of the medical bay at just the right moment to stop him. She brings Starscream to the lab to treat his wounds, and then she stays with him for the rest of the night. The Seeker is absolutely puzzled. He believes that she wants something from him; he cannot fathom the fact that she saved him from the kindness of her heart.

This is a crucial moment in their story. It helps the two change their tune about each other. It’s also brought up again much later, during another significant moment in my AU.

During their MECH Arc/Rogue Arc, the two grow closer together. It’s much easier since they’re both away from Megatron and the Nemesis. Well, at least at that point. Season Three is rough on both of them.

Starscream learns to view Juniper as a friend. The feeling is mutual on her part as well. Sure, there’s some ups and downs, even a tremendous mistake on Starscream’s end (which involves the creation of her scar).

It takes PLENTY of time, devotion, patience, and trust for them to reach a certain level of intimacy and closeness together. It’s difficult, but definitely not impossible.

When the two form a connection, Starscream is SUCH a tease towards her, and Juniprr responds with peeps and blushes, just the way he likes it. However, there are instances where she flips the tables on him to surprise him!

Eventually, Starscream vows to never let her be hurt again, especially by him.

He even has two special names for her! It’s either “Mouse/Little Mouse” or “Comet”. The former refers to her cuteness and smallness, a huge step up from the initial “rodent” meaning. The latter pet name, however, comes from her love for outer space. During their shared arc as rogues, they stargazed and Starscream told her about living Cybertron.

Much like him, Juni calls him “Raptor” or “Dove”. The latter, of course, is used during moments of sweetness without teasing (such as the former).

Starscream becomes possessive and a bit jealous sometimes, such as when Juni hangs out with her best friend, Tayden, or the other bots. Still, her heart continues to stay with the same cybertronian.

Besides Dreadwing, Soundwave, and the predacons, Starscream is the only mech who listens to her sing. Initially, he teases her for it (which sucks). However, he grows to appreciate it. Juniprr can sing pretty damn well actually, she just doesn’t outwardly sing in front of others. She’s too shy. She will, however, hum for Starscream. Maybe even sing so, so very softly for him.

After the war and Cybertron’s revival, the two experience nightmares. It requires comfort from both parties. It’s something soft and gentle, just what they need.

Stargazing is still a common pastime for them! Only now, after she receives her upgrade from Primus (the pink and gold suit) Juniper can fly and keep up with him, too. He finally has a flying buddy!

On Earth, Juniper likes to bring him to the beach. As a former lifeguard, the redhead LOVES to swim. Starscream? Not really, but he admires her in her bathing suit.

Although she forms friendships in unlikely places, she shares her strongest bond with Starscream. It’s not hard to see why. The two go through a lot together, but they preserve, a shared trait between them, and I’m proud of them.

Divider Credit: @/saradika

Art Credit: @/destinysquared

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

ok, i'm being so brave and making the rec post that i told anon i would do like three days ago.

the obligatory caveats. this is not comprehensive—i haven't read all the fic in this fandom, and i've barely looked at anything not in english. my reading habits are pretty broad—i'll read almost any pairing, and am generally willing to suspend my disbelief to do so. i am not usually an au person, though this fandom is doing its absolute damndest to prove me wrong on that point.

also i have…more…fics that i felt i should rec somewhere, so probably this is rec post one, but ten felt like enough and also saying things in public where people can hear me is, it turns out, absolutely excruciating. please no one be mean to me about this post, especially if you wrote one of these fics, because if you are i will simply fill my pockets with rocks and take to the sea, ok? ok.

excited to find out what i manage to do that ruins the formatting, links the wrong fics and/or people, or otherwise breaks things in this post. please tell me if i've fucked up, or if your fic is on this list and you would rather i keep your name out of my mouth, or whatever.

first, a very special mention to the mlc reference guide by @yletylyf. this is such an incredibly comprehensive and generous resource. you want a timeline for this show that does an incredibly poor job of maintaining its own timeline? it's here. you want episode summaries? they're here. you want all the people and places? they're here. if you're writing fic, you want this guide, because it's so much easier and faster than scanning episodes or subs files to figure out the name of one specific guy or whatever. it also means that at least occasionally you work on the thing rather than accidentally rewatching the same scene five times, or hypothetically watching two to four episodes without even really thinking about what you're doing. the reference guide is the unsung mvp of fandom.

beyond porch and portal, difanghua, teen, by willowdream. this is the vampire au that i didn't know i wanted? the author posted it and their note was like 'i'm trying to be the change i want to see in the world,' and i was like ok sure, i'm not really convinced that the change i need is vampire aus, but i'll give it a go, and then i did and was like, oh shit, i'm eating fucking glass about this vampire au, i'm chewing on my own fucking fingers, i'm so fucking normal about this, i need another hundred thousand words of this and also seventeen more vampire aus in my inbox by monday morning. i literally finished reading it and scrolled right back to the top to read it again. i have no idea why this fic hits so hard, but it took me out at the knees. the voices are perfect. something about it is just impossibly compelling.

不安的遠離，再无歸期 | restless distance, without return, fang duobing/qiao wanmian, mature and teen, by @difeisheng. this is technically two fics but they're short and you should read both of them because they're such a brutal, perfect encapsulation of grief, and a really beautiful acknowledgement of the ways that fang duobing and qiao wanmian can be read as reflections of each other, separated by a decade, and it just fucking guts me. i dunno. it's about the grief! it's about the yearning! it's about someone who understands parts of you that you wish didn't exist! i think i've reread this like once a week for the last six weeks and i feel like it gets overlooked because it's not A Ship but like. it could be. it should be.

dance the silence down, fanghua and feihua, explicit, by @momosandlemonsoda. this fic. ugh. ok. i'm breaking my own rules. i had two when i started writing this post: no works in progress, and no reccing things that i haven't left a comment on, like a goddamn grownup. this one fic is breaking both of those rules and i feel bad about it and will hopefully spend like, all day tomorrow just commenting on every chapter or something, but i have to do this. this fic is so good. this fic ruins me. this fic is 63k, still a work in progress, and also if i were losing the whole internet tomorrow and i got to keep one fic in all the world and it was the only fic i could have for the rest of time, it might have to be this one, even as a work in progress. i ignored this fic for so long—by which i mean probably two of the four months since i first watched mysterious lotus casebook—because i was like, i don't like aus, and i especially don't like rock star aus. (or sex work aus, and you're never gonna fucking believe what else this author is writing and what else i absolutely cannot get enough of—this is a sneaky bonus rec for all i wanna do is wrong, another fic that i feel so so so normal about!) but then i was like okkkkkkk but. maybe i'll try it. people seem to be nuts for it. and then i read it and i was like OH HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE FULLY CORRECT TO BE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED ABOUT THIS and normally, honestly, i wouldn't bother posting a rec like this because it's like 'oh haha have you read the five most popular fics in this fandom?' and it feels so redundant, but i know for a fact that a friend of mine who finished watching the show yesterday is reading this post, and even if everyone else has read it, she has not! anyhow as a former music person and a former diner cook, this fic like. i don't know. i feel like it broke me but also fixed me? i literally criticise writing professionally and every time i try to talk about this fic i find myself speechless because it's so perfect to me. i am deeply unwell about this fic. every time a new chapter comes out i sit down and read the whole thing again, yes, all sixty-thousand-plus words of it. some nights you go to bed and you're like 'what's the fucking point?' and then you're like 'no wait, there will eventually be more of dance the silence down,' and somehow that makes things suck a tiny bit less. my wife has made me take out like six sentences from this rec because they're too intense and too weird about it but i need you to understand: you have to read this fic.

in this dream, there is a lover to share this life with, fanghua, g, by @lianhuajing. alternative ending for the end of episode 27, in which li lianhua—precious man who has yet to discover a hill he's not willing to die on—apologises to fang duobing the only way he knows how, and it's wildly upsetting for everyone (but it's ok and it doesn't end miserably, no one panic). this is a delightfully angsty treat, and i love how conflicted fang duobing is in it—i feel like it's not something that i've seen explored a lot, but this poor boy really fuckin goes through it—his best friend and his childhood idol are the same person but are lying to him about it, and his dad's not actually his father and has been lying to him about it, and his best friend/childhood idol may have killed his father, and—yeah, is lying to him about it. like? someone give this poor man a hug and a cup of tea and a snack and a blankie. i love that we get to see some of his internal conflict in this.

quintessence of dust, feihua, teen, by justthereforit. this plays with one of my very most favourite tropes in the world, which is the one where the heart is a physical object and a physical form of trust and control and surrender and—like. this is so good. it's set in episode 13, which is, for me, one of the absolute peak angst points, and it absolutely nails it. di feisheng who's upset and vulnerable and frustrated and angry, li lianhua who knows he's going to die and can't bear the thought that he's going to take anyone else down with him, and they're both just so fucked up. chef kiss. i love it when everyone is emotionally wrecked and continually like 'ok no, i can take one more knife in my soul to protect someone else', and this absolutely delivers on that.

under moonlight, we change our futures yet again, feihua, explicit, by @thesilversun. the wedding room! obviously we have to have a wedding room fic, right? i'm not going to lie: i'm willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for wedding room fics, but in this one, it's actually a wonderfully, horrifyingly plausible setup. it walks a really fine line of keeping people in character, and acknowledging the inherent horror and seriousness of the situation, and also providing some desperately hot sex, and also managing to get the emotional beats of it, too. it has a sequel, which imo really has to be read as the conclusion to this fic, and it's just as good. it's possible that some of what i'm saying here is 'i love vulnerable-inside crusty-outside di feisheng' but like. i do. i love it so much.

what's sealed away, feihua, teen, by @bbcphile. AMNESIA FIC yessssss, a-fei my beloved, fics that handle brain damage/memory issues/amnesia well my beloveddddd. i love the a-fei arc, but i also have had a number of brain injuries and some other stuff that means that my own memory is…not so great, so i sometimes really struggle with how often amnesia in fiction is played off either as nothing to worry about or as a funny thing where everyone's in on the joke except the person who has amnesia. this fic is a great and sometimes very visceral exploration of a horrifying experience, and a really fantastic study of a-fei/di feisheng as a character, as well as the relationship that he has with li lianhua. a-fei trying to balance the trust he has in the sense memory of his body with his understanding of his relationship with li lianhua with li lianhua's reaction to—everything, really—is really well done and wonderful/terrible to read.

我只愿面朝大海 | i wish only to face the sea, g, by foreverstudent. ok so you wanna fuck yourself up some more? go read this. this is canon divergence from episode 39, and fang duobing has learned too well the lessons he's been taught, and sees the shape of things before li lianhua ever touches the wangchuan flower—so he sets about making sure that he won't be able to throw it away. this is agonising and gorgeous and maintains the canon relationships while developing the narrative differently. i wept literal tears. i was like 'ok that's it the worst part is over!' and then i remembered that there was another part coming and then i started crying. anyhow, it is—as ever, with me—about the devotion.

我住長江頭, 君住長江尾 -- i live upstream, you live downstream, fanghua, teen, by @rimbaudofficial. ok so this is Not a fic that i should like, because i am a massive academic failure and despite being in my forties have regular nightmares about having to re-engage with academia for like. any reason. HOWEVER. as noted, i read indiscriminately, even when i'm like 'reading this is a terrible idea and will be upsetting for me personally!', so i was like 'well, how bad of an idea can it possibly be?' and then instead! it was. incredibly charming? it was so fucking cute? the fang duobing characterisation in this is somehow just perfect to me—he's simultaneously confident and vulnerable, and also just so deeply committed to the weird clueless guy who he's decided is meant for him. di feisheng and li lianhua have a perfect weird-bros friendship. i would read another ten chapters of this and i would love it.

[cloudyskiiees]

with the rest of wrong try again plotted out in full, i’ve started plotting out an idea for my next possible long fic. and it’s not a mystery so i can post about it now in case i don’t end up writing it in full!!! yippie!! so here’s my alenoah based superhero au :)

(under the cut cuz it’s a massive post)

i’ve been working on this idea slowly over the last threeish months!!! im happy with the ideas so far and wanna share what’s up to see if ppl are interested :)

the fic would be called “The Masked Mentalist,” in reference to our protag, Noah! he’s considered a villain in this au by society. alejandro is considered a hero.

here’s the characters and their powers i’ve got so far! still subject to change if needed :)

Noah: Villain. “The Masked Mentalist” is his given name by the city, although he doesn’t actually wear a mask. Noah has the powers of “mental manipulation,” stretching to about four different tiers that take more energy depending on how much effort it takes to manipulate the brain.

1: Audio hallucinations. He has a “trademark” of making the world go completely silent for his victim before he attacks. He frequently drops random noises or screams into his opponent’s head to throw them off. It harder to mimic specific voices, which is why he opts to throw ppl off rather than emotionally attack them. Easiest of his powers.

2: Visual hallucinations are harder, but it’s the one noah is the best at. He’s great as messing with people’s appearances, making them see him and other people who may be around as others or sometimes just in horrifying situations. It’s also very simple for him to make someone think they’re trapped in walls or things like that, easy to create objects. He still struggles to completely change the look of an entire location however, which is why he opts to fight in open areas where fake visuals are easier to conjure.

3: Emotions are harder as well, and it can be tricky. he’s very good at pulling emotions from others such as rage or grief, as they’re very easily overpowering emotions. It’s simpler when his opponent is a more emotional/vulnerable person, so he shys away from emotional manipulation in fights usually, especially when he doesn’t know an opponent very well.

4: Memories are hardest, especially if they’re more recent. It’s fairly easy for noah to go and change someone perception on a childhood memory, as it was likely distorted already anyways. The clearer the memory the harder it is to manipulate.

As you can see, all four of these powers have to do with the mind. The way people see or hear things, as well as feel and remember. Noah’s powers allow him to attack any of those in a person.

There’s also technically a fifth one, which Noah figured out to do by himself.

5: The way he figures out how to hypnotize people is through memory AND emotional manipulation. Altering memories and then yanking on certain emotions to pull through, can help him get people to think and even partially act the way he desires. It’s exhausting, and incredibly rare for him to use.

Noah is able to keep his identity hidden by simply altering his appearance to whoever he is fighting. He usually seeks out people when alone, and does his best to not hurt innocents, despite what the public thinks. Everyone who’s fought him/seen him in action describes him differently. Most people aren’t even sure if he even is a “he,” because he makes himself look so drastic sometimes.

He occasionally works with a partner, although they don’t consider themselves to be aligned in general when it comes to crime.

Kaleidoscope is notoriously known for her random crimes and activities. No one can quite figure out her goal or intentions, and so she’s dubbed a vigilante by most.

This of course, being Izzy! When Noah fights with her, he occasionally helps mask her identity from others. She’s a bit reckless, but the two have a history together. A traumatic one at that!

Izzy’s powers are deterioration. She’s able to break/take things apart/crumble things with her mind. Her powers can be as simple or as drastic as she desires.

(She met Noah by saving him from someone attempting to hurt him. By completely destroying their bones from inside their body. Noah was both horrified and grateful.)

Moving on! Alejandro, a “superhero” in our story.

Alejandro doenst have superpowers. At least not in the way our other characters do! Everyone simply assumes he does.

Alejandro is clairvoyant, which is considered a gift, rather than a superpower. His family exploited his talents as a child, so when he was old enough, he fled to be on his own. Nowadays he uses his predictions to help others, being able to foresee certain disasters and small issues. His powers waver depending on their severity, and he has a habit of undoing a certain villains work without even knowing.

He’s dubbed “The Good Samaritan,” when first seen saving people. Over time, the city began to think he had superpowers, and his name changed to “The Physic Samaritan.” Alejandro avoids media and press as much as possible, seeing as it was all he was used to as a child, so no one knows any different. This does not serve him well when real super-powered folk begin to see him as a threat.

Onto our two real superheroes! (so far!!)

Lashawna is the cities main superhero. She’s been protecting citizens for about two years before Noah makes his debut as a villain. She has very standard telekinesis, and is about the most hero looking and sounding hero out there. Her name is “The Golden Hero,” later changed to “The Golden Woman” when she gains a sidekick. Everyone adores her!

Courtney is Lashawna’s sidekick, appearing with her mentor only a few months before Noah shows up. “The Golden Girl,” her powers being one of information absorbing. She’s able to quickly learn anything she needs, simply by skimming words or touching an object… or person.

There’s a bit of a roadrunner scenario for a while between her and Noah, where she’s simply trying to grab him in someway or another, as the action would reveal his real identity to her. Of course, Noah is able to easily evade her, as her powers have little to do with physical superiority. (She’s still incredibly strong and fast. It’s Courtney we’re talking about here.)

Before I talk about our real villain of the story, I’m gonna discuss some plot points!

-Courtney feels incredibly undervalued and overlooked. She thinks if she can manage to reveal the Masked Mentalist’s identity, people would finally start to give her more credit. Lashawna tries to help her calm down, but she’s very fixated on her mission.

-Noah wants control. Deep down he has good intentions, as he’s attempting to dismantle the upcoming “Heroes Program,” starting up in his city, but he loses sight of it for a while. Alejandro becomes a bit of an obsession for him, as he somehow has the entire cities trust while barely being in the public’s eye. It drives him crazy.

-Izzy has so much depth, but acts insane as a defense. She and Noah had very similar upbringings due to their powers, and a fuckton of issues that now stem from it. She hides her pain by acting as though she’s invincible.

-Noah and Izzy have a very deep bond. They truly trust each other more than anyone else, even their civilian friends.

-Team e-scope is very much present! Owen and Eva are humans, and are still best friends with Noah and Izzy. Neither have any clue their two best friends are well known criminals.

Alright actual plot time. And backstory for our super-powered characters!

As usual when it comes to superhuman realities, the powers come from genetic mutations. No one is too sure how it started, but superpowered people have been showing up around the world for the last twenty-ish years.

Children found out to have powers were, of course, taken by the government. At first it was out of fear, but after a few years, the public began retaliating. “Programs,” were then opened, and while it was presented as a choice for parents, it simply was not. If your child had powers and was found out, they would be forced into a program.

Lashawna and Courtney were both placed into a program as young children. Both were released after a number of years to become superheroes. Most children taken are not released.

Both Lashawna and Courtney lack memories from their time in the program. They are conditioned to be perfect superheroes, deemed “safe” for society, due to their powers.

Again, as expected, these “programs” are just ways for scientists to study the mutations in the children. At first there was an attempt to stop it, but nowadays, there’s more of a goal to simply replicate it. Children are treated like animals.

Based on your power, and your behavior, there’s a chance to be released as a hero, such as Lashawna and Courtney, as an example that these programs are a good thing. It’s a way to keep people happy, and keep the more dangerous powers under wraps, at least until they can find a “cure,” or a way to create the gene themselves.

Because each person is different, each mutation acts differently in a person, explaining all the different powers seen. Super powers are still incredibly rare, although they’re widely accepted as a truth nowadays. Two powers acting exactly the same has never been recorded.

Noah and Izzy were never put in a program.

They were smart kids. Noah realized his powers early on in his childhood, and was terrified. Stories of powers had been shown in the news by now, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

His mother discovers it on accident after a year or two of Noah being aware. He panics and attempts to erase her memories of it, failing miserably and only hurting himself in the process.

She promises to keep him safe, just as horrified as he is at the idea of losing her only son. It’s a terrifying childhood for Noah, constantly having to be on the lookout, never being able to openly use his powers, something that so quickly became such a huge part of his identity. He turns to subtly using his powers in public, able to help bring more money and such home for his family. He becomes incredibly talented with his powers as just a teenager.

Izzy never told a soul. She’s had more accidents with her powers than she cares to speak about. She learns of her powers a bit later in childhood, but still before becoming a teenager.

A ten year old accidentally dissolving someone’s skin from their hand when being picked on is a traumatic experience for anyone, but even more so when she kills the other child out of fear. She flees the scene, and loses her shit. She quickly figures out she has a dangerous power, and being just as smart as Noah at such a young age, hides it completely.

She had much less control over her powers for a number of years, being scared of herself.

It isn’t until she sees a man pressing someone clearly struggling to a wall in a dark alley she truly uses her powers for the first time, and makes her first friend. (This friend being Noah, of course.)

Yes very dark backstories for the sillies! They have an insane trauma bond.

With their backstories, you can kinda gather why Noah wants to take down the programs starting up again. They’re much more public this time, and that worries him. He knows nothing good can come from children being forced into such a program, even if he was never in one himself. Izzy is more than willing to help him out for the most part.

The actual plot of the story, of course, is alenoah. This being said, let’s talk about that!

Noah wants Alejandro’s influence on others. Wants the social power the “superhero” holds.

He and Izzy devise a plan to get that influence on their side.

To keep things relatively brief, they corner him, and Noah is able to successfully uses his created hypnosis power on Alejandro, simply getting him to trust Noah, as a civilian.

As soon as the deed is done, he and Izzy pose as his worried friends, claiming he’d fallen and hit his head. When Alejandro questions who they are, Izzy immediately pipes up with “He’s your boyfriend silly!” and Noah. Just. Has to roll with it. He can’t risk changing the narrative so quickly for the boy with the currently muddled memories, and he also can’t berate Izzy right in front of Alejandro. So he agrees.

The two discover after a little bit that he actually is not a superhero, and lacks powers in general. This pisses Noah off greatly, thinking his work was all for nothing. He continues with his plan nonetheless, seeing as no one else knew Alejandro didn’t have powers. That could be an advantage.

Alejandro gradually puts the pieces together over time, never fully recovering his memories, but being able to see through the fog Noah placed over them.

Everything is going pretty well, even with the residual feelings both boy are gaining as they pose as a couple. That is until the real villain of the story shows up.

Duncan! His powers are the ability to create weapons out of thin air, his trademark one being flying knives. The weapons disappear as soon as they hit a target, only being created by his mind, and usually shown as a faint green color. (this is a working idea! still not 100% on it, but i definitely want him to have a weapon related power.)

He was in a program as well, ironically, the same one as Courtney. He was not released, he escaped.

Being dubbed a “dangerous power,” Duncan was set to live the rest of his life out as a lab rat. Of course, being Duncan, he did not like this fate! He’s one of the few children to ever escape, and the only one know to come back as a supervillain.

He’s angry. He’s angry about everything, and with everyone. He’s especially pissed off with Courtney, who he believes simply abandoned him. Courtney doesn’t remember who he is.

No more details for now! (Both because I haven’t planned out enough 100% to post about, and some of it is just for the story!) But I hoped you guys like my silly AU ramblings! I’m having a good time with this idea, so lmk if it’s something you’d like to see more of in the future :)

[floral-force]

Saddle Tramp - Chapter 1

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST

simon "ghost" riley x f!reader - old west/cowboy/western au

summary: Anything is possible in the American West--unless your destiny is predetermined. When your fate as the heiress of a railroad magnate becomes entangled with that of a drifting bounty hunter, you ride into a world of opportunity. Despite your differences, something blooms between you and the masked man that is truly once in a lifetime. Saddle up for a journey west full of rugged terrain, kisses under the stars, smoky saloons, and finding love when you least expect it. (Loosely based on spaghetti westerns and the myth of Hades and Persephone.)

words: 2.7k+

warnings/tags/disclaimers: my work/blog is always 18+ only. I do not own any of the media I reference. alcohol and tobacco use, VERY brief and mild sexual imagery, cowboy ghost does something to me, bounty hunter/cowboy task force 141, references to westerns/media in western settings

a/n: at last...I RETURN!! and I come with the first chapter of a fic that has been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a year. I listened to saddle tramp and I finally fleshed it out. I hope y'all enjoy the ride <3 series masterlist | read on ao3 | join the tag list

The hiss of steam and excited chatter hit your ears as soon as you stepped off the train. The trip from Chicago to Denver was comfortable, but nothing beat stretching tight muscles on solid ground. You ached at the thought of sitting again soon and considered yourself lucky to have such a problem. This trip had been a long time coming, but now that you were standing in Denver and faced with its new terrain and the prospect of your fate, a pit grew in your stomach where a flower should be. The sun late-morning sky and the crisp air refreshed your eyes and lungs after nearly five days of gas lamps and poor ventilation. A luxurious trip came at a cost greater than money, you thought, wincing while rolling your shoulders.

You heard a man call your name and snapped your head to the right as he approached you with the two bulging leather bags you’d packed. You walked towards him, picking up your skirt so you could increase your pace. Despite the cool spring air, beads of sweat formed on your skin as you hurried towards the end of the train. You wiped your dewy forehead with the back of your hand and huffed, hoping nobody could discern your discomfort. You stopped at the middle of the train to meet the man carrying your bags in his crisp blue uniform. As he came into view, you recognized his short brown hair and lean frame—it was Douglas, your father’s assistant.

“Miss, you didn’t need to meet me here!” 

You politely smiled and smoothed out your skirts. “Well, here I am, sir.”

He cleared his throat and looked to his right at the bustling station. “The stage is waiting for you.”

“Here, let me take these off your hands,” you said, reaching for the luggage.

“No, miss, I couldn’t let you carry them! Your father would murder me if he found out.”

You yanked them out of his hands and met his wide green eyes. “He won’t, Mr. Douglas. Now, I’d really love to get the last leg of my trip over with. Traveling is hell for my head.”

“Right this way,” he sighed, motioning for you to follow him through the throng of people.

This wasn’t your first time in Denver, but it was a one-way trip. Your rigorous education groomed you to take over your family’s business, and your father finally decided it was time to begin the hands-on portion of your training. Responsibility made it slightly easier to pack your bags and leave the bustling city you called home, but the expectations on your shoulders weighed your feet down. The only people waiting for you in Denver were Douglas and your father, and you doubted you’d be allowed to visit your aunts and cousins in Chicago within the next six months.

At least Colorado had scenic views and the scent of opportunity. It helped distract you from the bumpy ride in the stagecoach; the first-class passenger train car spoiled you more than you realized. 

“Only a few hours before we reach town, miss.”

“I don’t know how you stand this, Douglas. This is worse for my nausea than a choppy day on the lake or at sea.”

“You’ll adjust in time.”

“I hope so,” you grumbled, “because this is unbearable.”

Finally, the stagecoach came to a stop. Douglas exited and helped you step out, then gestured to the wooden posts framing a dusty main street. 

“Welcome to Steel Run!”

You forced a smile, then grabbed your bags from the driver. Just ahead of the posts, you saw your father speaking with another man on the shaded porch of what you assumed to be the sheriff’s office. Squinting up at the awning, a large sign confirmed your guess. Douglas snatched your bags before you could protest, then urged you to follow him towards your new life.

“Mr. Clarke!”

Your father turned at Douglas’ call, then beamed when he saw you. He abandoned the conversation and walked towards you with his arms out. You fell into his hug and savored the small comfort despite the conflict in your chest. He said your name and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You looked up at him when he pulled away, hoping that your expression gave nothing away.

 “I’m so happy you made it here safely. I trust the journey here was enjoyable?”

“It was, until the ride in the stage.”

He laughed. “You’ll become accustomed to it.”

“That’s what I told her, Mr. Clarke,” Douglas chirped.

“Good man!” 

Your father’s hearty laugh echoed in your head and bounced off the buildings. You leaned to the left and looked past your father’s shoulder at the man standing awkwardly on the porch. He met your eyes, his hair cut short on his head and his clothes perfectly tailored. A badge pinned on his vest glinted when he shifted towards you. You furrowed your brow and nodded your chin at him.

“Who is he?”

“Oh, that fellow?” Your father twisted to look back, then gestured for the man to join your clump. 

When he finally reached your father’s side, he gave you a slight bow. “I’m Phillip Graves. It’s a pleasure, miss.”

You gave him a weak smile. “How do you know my father?”

“My father used some of the profits from his fur trade to fund much of your father’s railroad company. When he passed a month ago, I took over and I’ve been working closely with Mr. Clarke ever since.”

“Phillip, please call me George. We’ll be closer than business partners soon.”

Closer than business partners? What in the hell was your father implying? Your hands grew clammy.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Graves.”

“Please, call me Phillip.”

Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your duties as deputy. I wouldn’t want you to upset Sherriff Ryan.”

“I will see you later then, George.” He gave you a nod and took your hand, kissing your knuckles. “It was a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Phillip turned and marched into the building. Your father watched him, then snapped back to focus his wide grin on you. 

“I apologize for the short notice, but I’m hosting a welcome party for you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Your eyes widened and you groaned. “Father, you cannot be serious. I look a mess and the clothes I packed need to be ironed!”

“I went to the trouble of having the seamstress sew something together for you.”

“You didn’t have to—"

A sudden hug forced the air out of your lungs with an oof. “Consider it a welcome gift.” He pulled back and sighed. “Now, let’s head home.”

As you marched down the road towards your father’s property—no, your new home—Douglas pointed out a few notable storefronts. The seamstress on the right, the general store on the left, the saloon on the corner where a new street intersects the main road—“We named it Providence Street,” your father noted—and the doctor just across the street from it. How convenient, you mused as you passed the door. You peered down the street while you walked through the intersection. Meek dwellings peppered it, the short, small cabins housing hopeful prospectors. The buildings lining the road started to spread apart from each other, only one property claiming the very end of main street. 

Finally, your trio approached the two-story home, its slanted roof and warm brown wood suddenly imposing under high noon. You stopped to stare when your toes reached the brick path leading to a shaded porch, the awning supported by four solemn cedar posts. In the distance, mountains scarred the sky; scattered around the home were the trees you’d watched crawl higher and stretch wider throughout the years. Your eyes flitted over the rope swing you’d abandoned after adolescence as a gentle breeze swayed the wooden seat. Lush green leaves offered shade around the property and wildflowers dotted it with splotches of color—you were glad you’d convinced your father to let nature take its course.

“You’re staring as if you’ve never seen it,” your father chuckled, snapping you out of your daze.

“Just savoring the moment, Papa.”

“There will be plenty of time for that later, my dove. For now, let’s go inside—you’ve had a long journey.”

You nodded and followed him, Douglas trailing behind you. Your father opened the front door and held it open for you with a wide smile. Your knees were weak as you crossed the threshold, the sweat on your skin and soaking into your clothes suddenly overwhelming. Excusing yourself and promising your return soon, you hurried up the plain white staircase with Douglas following in your frantic footsteps.

Immediately to the right at the top of the stairs was the door to your room. You turned to Douglas and held out your hands for your bags; he obliged with a nod and rushed back downstairs.

As soon as you stepped inside your room and shut the creaky door, your bags slipped out of your hands and hit the floor with a thud. Afternoon sun flooded the room through the windows in front of you and to your right, its burning light filtered by sheer white curtains. The chestnut armoire in the middle of the wall on your left faced a matching bed with plush sheets and pillows. A sweet siren song called you over and pulled you onto the mattress, finally relieving the fatigue you’d been fighting since morning. It bounced as you flopped belly-first onto it with a groan and a curse. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed rich purple fabric draped across your reading chair in the corner, and something sparkled on the side table next to it. You decided to investigate later as your eyes fluttered shut, the siren of sleep pulling you into the sea of dreams.

A clang filled Simon’s ears when the bars of the town jail cell closed, the air thick under the bandana hiding half his face. Outside, there was a muffled whinny—probably Johnny’s impatient Pinto, Eejit. On his left stood Price, stroking his beard and watching the sheriff like a hawk as he counted out their reward. Johnny leaned against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket while Gaz looked over the wanted posters nailed into the back wall. The deputy stood over the sheriff’s shoulder across from Simon to observe the transaction. The bounty they’d brought in muttered in the cell, no doubt sending curses their way.

“Eight, nine, one thousand.” The sheriff slid the stack of bills across his desk. He tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, gentlemen.”

“Happy to help,” Price said, pocketing the money.

“Bastards! My men will kill you!” The bounty yelled, knuckles white as he gripped the cell’s iron bars. The unbothered sheriff lit a cigarillo and offered one to the deputy, who turned it down.

“Not if we get to’em first, mate,” Gaz responded. Simon turned to see him rip a few posters off the wall and hand them to Johnny, his careful hands folding them one by one.

Price turned his back to the sheriff. “Let’s go, lads. Saw a pub down th’road.”

The deputy interrupted their exit with a scoff. “The saloon is at the corner across from the general store.”

Simon turned on his heel and sent a hidden scowl his way, eyebrows pressed together. The deputy withered under the searing gaze but to his credit, he barely showed it. 

“I don’ give a fuck what you Yanks call it. If it serves whiskey and I pay for it, it’s a fuckin’ pub.”

He stormed out of the sheriff’s office and joined his group outside. Gaz and Johnny smirked at him as they untied their horses’ reins from the hitching rail, but Price shook his head. He started to count the money out and met Simon’s eyes under his hat when he gave him his cut. Even though no words were said, Simon could hear the older man scolding him for mouthing off. He smirked under his face cloth; Price knew that even a smack with the butt of his pistol wouldn’t change Simon. They joined the other two at their horses, untying them and urging them up the road single file.

A short walk up the road, and they were tying their horses up and then entering the town saloon. Jaunty music paused when Price parted the swinging doors and led the other three men inside, and it resumed once they swung closed behind Simon. Johnny wasted no time sauntering up to the bar and ordering a bottle of whiskey with four glasses while the others staked their claim on a table along the wall across from it. It was livelier than Simon had expected it to be in the late afternoon; the sun could still cut through the hazy, smoky air and shine on their sins. Gaz waved off a saloon girl and settled into the chair facing the wall, making sure not to block Simon’s view of the street outside.

Johnny arrived and set the whiskey and glasses in the center of the table with a grin. “Drink up lads, firs’ one ‘s’on me.” 

Price poured the amber alcohol, and each man took a glass. He raised his in the air and said, “Cheers to a job well done.”

“May the next one be even easier,” Gaz added.

They shared a chuckle and clinked their glasses. The whiskey burnt Simon’s throat, but it was a welcome change from stale canteen water. The longer he lived in the States, the more he got used to their pathetic excuse for whiskey. Johnny refilled his glass as soon as he set it down. Simon raised his eyebrow, and the Scot only shrugged before taking a sip of his refreshed drink. He supposed this was Johnny’s way of telling him to relax—maybe tonight, he would.

But it would take more than a bottle of whiskey, that was for bloody sure.

“I’ll be right back,” Simon flashed his container of tobacco as he stood up.

Gaz looked up quizzically. “Why won’ya smoke in here, Ghost?”

Simon shook his head and pushed his chair in. “Too many people in here starin’.”

He cut off any protest before it could begin with hurried steps back outside and onto the creaky wooden porch. A deep breath of fresh air instantly calmed his nerves. He turned to the right where there was shade and leaned against a sun-bleached post in front of where their posse’s horses were tied up. After calming his flighty eyes, he tugged his face cloth down and under his chin. Finally, he placed a cigarillo he’d rolled just the night prior by the campfire light between his chapped lips and lit it with the steady hand he used to fire the pistol on his hip. The first drag was smoother than the ride into town, an unexpected treat. He was going to make this last and blame the long smoke break on the distant mountains piercing the sky.

He'd be lying if he said American scenery was blander than boiled potatoes.

Shadows grew longer as the sun descended towards the horizon, late-afternoon light trickling over the land. Another deep inhale numbed his mind, a smoky exhale danced towards the blue sky. Two men in crisp suits walked past and glanced at him, then quickly returned to their lively conversation after noticing the holsters on his hips. This town was perfect for a quick bounty and a drink, but not much more, Simon decided, flicking ash on the ground. He watched the smoke rise as the gray bits fluttered down and landed on the porch, robbed of the chance to meet freedom above, doomed to a fate they couldn’t change. He put the rolled tobacco back in his mouth and looked up. 

Then, he saw her.

She stood in front of the general store fiddling with a piece of paper. The cigarillo nearly fell out of his mouth when the clouds parted and doused her in golden rays. She held her hand over her eyes and turned to her right, briefly scanning her surroundings and stopping on him. She returned his stare and made Simon her captive. If she walked over and demanded that he get on his knees and get under her skirt, he’d happily oblige. He shook his head and got the image out of his head—it was wrong to think of a lass like that, even more so when she looked that damn angelic.

When he opened his eyes, she had vanished, and his cigarillo was burnt out. He dropped it to the ground and snuffed it with the toe of his boot until it was ashy mush. He yanked the cloth back up over his nose and pushed the saloon doors open with a bang. His posse turned where they sat, watching him march to their table. His proposition would be a tough sell, but he had money in his pocket and would waste it all on squeaky beds and shitty whiskey if it meant they’d agree to it.

“We have to stay another night, lads.”

next

taglist: @johfaam0 @johfaam @nickangel13 @oliviagreenaway @sinfulsalutations @dheet @tizylish @sofasoap

[rindragon-from-twewy]

Forte swap au character intros part 2!!!

I love these so much genuinely I'm just so happy with where my art style's been at recently!

Ok I have a lot to say so it's under the cut. Remember; Spoilers for the og story!

I'll go from right to left since that's the order I designed them in (buckle in, this is a long one-)

Fubuki now has Spectral Projection. I liked the idea of giving it to her as she and Vivia are basically polar opposites so giving her his forte would really shake things up. Instead of calling her "Princess" and stuff, I think people would rather call her "Sleeping Beauty" and the themes of that fairy tale would end up seeping in to chapter 4, as well as its mystery labyrinth. Her hair flower is now a rose as a further reference to that. I used nightwear as references for her clothes, imagining them mostly being made out of more silky fabrics for that "rich girl" aura. I kept her hair down and messy and really just focused on making her look comfy. After all, if she's sleeping all the time, she should be in the appropriate attire for doing so, no? But thankfully The Chief gave her some wellie boots so she's not running around the city in soggy slippers. Her tattoos are now a string of stars on her collar bones to further emphasise the idea of dreams/sleep and also the "Z" in her name stands for "Zzz" because I thought they'd be funny. The last name "Bramble" is not only another reference to roses and sleeping beauty but also to Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula because yes, the vampire themes have been ripped away from Vivia and given to Fubuki instead!

Moving on to Halara- I knew right away that by giving them Time Leap, I should make them look more like a time traveller. Initially I wanted to try to make them look like they'd fit in well with the line up for the various Doctors in Doctor Who but unfortunately I couldn't figure out a way to do that without just... putting them in one of the outfits. So I instead decided to use steampunk as a main reference. I like to think that they stare at their pocket watch just to ignore people or as a passive aggressive way of telling them that they're wasting time. Their shoulder tattoo is meant to vaguely resemble an hour glass since that seemed appropriate. I had no idea what I wanted to do for their shirt under their coat so I settled on that black turtleneck tank top that makes the fangirls go crazy and made sure to give them Fubuki's necklace so that they can use their forte! The hardest part was deciding to give Halara goggles instead of glasses. They just seemed wrong without their glasses but it was just as wrong to have glasses and goggles? And so I settled on no glasses. (Mostly cuz I forgot to add them in and by then, I was used to looking at their empty face lol-) When they first arrived in Kanai Ward, Chief gave them the frilliest umbrella at the store because it had the same colours as their coat. Lastly, for their name chance, I changed it to "Clocksmith". It's the name of the profession for a watch mender, similar to Clockford and also "Smith" is the last name The Doctor uses when he needs to use a fake human name.

I'll be deadass, I did Vivia's design at like 3am and was running purely on vibes. So there isn't much perpousful intention behind him like the others. His hair now covers his left eye to make using Post Cognition much easier (sometimes it just activates on its own thanks to his eye already being obscured) but just underneath it you can see his tattoo; a big purple tear streak. I think I was watching a fnaf video at the time so. Marionette reference. Now you may be asking: Why is his hoodie so cropped? Why are his trousers so low cut? Idk- because I think it looks cool? I probably should've (and will in future) give him more bandages around his torso cuz looking at it now, that's not really that many. His big sleeves cover his hands and yes, I know that combining those sleeves with that stances just screams "Hatsune miku", that was completely accidental but I'm kinda here for it??? Gave him like 9 belts cuz I like drawing belts and I feel like his suicial ass would've been put in a real straight jacket at least once. People probably aren't sure if he's a real human entity anymore so Shinigami would probably call him a zombie. But nevertheless, The Chief makes sure he eats something at least once a day cuz his rib cage is definitely visible. For his last name, I changed Twilight to Midnight because it's got the "night" from Halara's "Nightmare" while still being a time of day.

And that's about it. Wow that's... a lot. Honestly if I didn't aspire to be a show runner, I'd probably settle for being a character designer. I'm super excited to show off what I've got in store of this AU's storyline but I've still gotta introduce a couple other characters first! ^vO

[honkytonk-hangman]

Water Like a Stone (3/?)

[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 is my first time writing for Orm, I hope you enjoy it!! TY to @hangmanssunnies you are my ROCK!!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.5k

Arthur grins at Orm from across the room. Orm, for his part, ignores him.

“Grace’s really got you domesticated, huh?” he says, grinning wider when the seal pup in his brother’s arms fusses, and Orm shushes her. The blond looks up at his brother, and glares.

“Stop disturbing her, she’s meant to be feeding,” he scolds, turning back to the pup swaddled in his arms like a baby. He adjusts the bottle in his fingers.

“You know, when dad asked me if we had any leftover baby bottles, I was hoping that meant Junior would be getting a playmate,” Arthur tells him jovially.

Orm looks up at him sharply, and frowns.

“He does have a playmate. Mimi,” he nods at the seal in his arms, her round little body nestled in a towel. Arthur chortles, and nods.

“Yeah, she’s definitely a friendly little thing. Who came up with ‘Mimi’, anyway?” Arthur asks, his voice giving away how ridiculous he found the name. Orm straightens some and fixes his brother with a stern look.

“Grace did,” he tells him, his tone even, as if to let his brother know that he’s ready to defend your choice should he have more to say.

Arthur puts his hands up as if in surrender, but he snickers still.

“Mimi,” he says under his breath. Orm ignores him, and focuses on Mimi again as she finishes off the bottle in his hand, and wiggles impatiently.

“There, perhaps that will stop your mewling,” Orm faux complains, readying himself to plop the seal back on the ground when Arthur starts.

“What are you doing man? You have to burp her!”

Orm looks at his brother with a squint, his lips pursing.

“She’s a seal, she does not need to be ‘burped’,” he argues back, but Arthur is already standing, already in front of him, and already holding out his hands. Orm frowns up at him, and hesitates, but before he can make any choice, Arthur has leant down and plucked the pup from his hands. Orm watches as his brother adjusts the towel to hang over his shoulder, manoeuvring Mimi to rest against it.

He pats her back gently, even as the brat continues to wiggle. Orm stands too, unsure of himself, and wishing to be at hand should Mimi require freeing from his brother’s clutches, but before he can ask Arthur to place her down, she lets out a tiny, hearty little belch.

Orm and Arthur stare at one another. They both open their mouths, but neither gets to speak as a creaking from the doorway catches both their attention and they turn to find Tom, phone camera raised.

“Smile!” Tom says.

Arthur grins wide and gives a thumbs up. Orm frowns. The picture is taken and Orm blinks hurriedly, but turns back to Arthur and takes the seal from him, letting her down to scoot her way over to curl around Tom’s feet and bonk her head against his shins. “Now if you two are done getting on each other's nerves, help me bring the groceries in.”

The brothers comply in relatively friendly silence, making their way out to the car, where the trunk has already been opened. Mimi follows, and only manages to get under their feet once or twice, which is the best Orm could ask for, still, he smiles a little when Arthur almost trips. He accepts two heavy bags from his brother, but finds even though he turned to leave first, Arthur has fallen into step beside him quickly anyway.

“So…” Arthur begins, adjusting a package of toilet paper under arm. “How is Grace?” he asks. Orm sniffs a little, but relaxes himself almost immediately. Despite all evidence, he knows Arthur isn’t trying to get under his skin. The teasing is to be expected, natural even, but he calms, knowing Arthur does not ask for any reason other than to be pleasant.

“She is well,” Orm tells him, and oddly finds that contrary to his natural way of keeping his private affairs private, it isn’t hard for him to want to gush about you. “We have been in one another’s company for two months now,” he goes on, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I believe she is happy.”

Arthur, despite the bags in his hands, and the package under his arm, somehow manages to clap him on the shoulder.

“That’s sick, bro. Grace is great, you deserve somebody like that.”

Orm hums, unsure how to respond to that statement.

“Hey, did she ever tell you we went on a date once?” Arthur asks then, more mischief in his voice than before. Orm smiles, a little wickedly, but he looks over at his brother and nods.

“Oh, yes. She did not speak very highly of it,” Orm tells him as they ascend the steps and enter the kitchen door.

“What? Man, come on,” Arthur complains, but is quickly directed by their mother to place the bags on the table, and stow the toilet paper in the laundry.

“Atlanna tells me you gifted Grace a necklace the other day,” Mera lights up when she sees Orm. She stands by the windows, Junior perched on her hip and she bounces him ever so slightly. Orm passes by her to deposit his own bags, and side eyes her evenly as he does.

“I do not remember asking my mother to share such information,” he says pointedly, a little louder than necessary so that his mother, who had busied herself in the pantry can hear. As he passes Mera once more, he uses one of his now free hands to smooth over the top of Junior’s hair.

At the boy's soft little cooing, Orm stops, and raises his other hand so that he may cup Junior’s cheeks, chubby, and pink, and briefly mush them gently. Junior lets out a soft squeal and kicks his feet, using his fat little fingers to grasp and curl around Orm’s own hands. Pulling away, Junior fumbles to stay latched on to his uncle’s pointer, to which Orm shakes it faux warningly in his direction.

“Does she even know what that means?” Arthur asks then, reappearing from the laundry with a slight frown. Despite himself, Orm feels a flush form on his skin, and he wills it to leave.

“She will. I will tell her when the time is right,” Orm quickly says, wishing the conversation to be over. Atlanna pokes her head out of the pantry.

“Grace doesn’t know yet that we aren’t humans,” she explains.

Arthur makes a face, but before Orm can respond, his brother whistles as if the conversation should be over. Orm finds that he’s rather thankful.

“Speaking of not being human, Tylo wanted to see you.” Arthur tells him, clicking his fingers. Orm pushes off the counter he’d come to rest against and perks up.

“He’s out in the bay now?” he asks.

“Well, I told him to wait a bit deeper than that, but yeah,” Arthur tells him.

“You wanna go see him?”

-

“You’re gonna tell Grace soon right?” Arthur asks, a small amount of concern entering his voice. Orm knew he wasn’t lucky enough to have this conversation just be over. The two brothers trudge up the shore, Orm only glancing behind him briefly when he hears Mimi slap up onto the surface behind them.

“I do not enjoy keeping anything from her, I will tell her soon,” Orm assures his brother quietly. Arthur grunts.

“She’s too smart, and if I’m honest brother,” he begins, stopping briefly to turn to Orm as they reach the crest of the small hill they’d climbed. “If she already likes you, I wouldn't worry about the rest.”

Orm stops to face Arthur, and frowns at him.

“Thank you… I think.”

Arthur grins at him, and claps him on the shoulder. Orm grunts a little, but gives his brother a grim smile. Mimi begins vocalising then, barking happily as she squeezes herself between their legs and hurries forth to the grassy lawn outside the lighthouse. Orm hums lowly at her as she goes, frowning once again.

“What’s got into her?” Arthur asks, dropping his hand from the blond’s back. Orm follows Mimi with his eyes, before quickly straightening up and turning away from his brother entirely.

“Grace is here,” he says absently, no longer paying any mind to the man beside him, finding himself following quickly after the seal pup. Behind him, Arthur makes a whooping noise, and vaguely, Orm hears him begin to trot after, making a sound he assumes to be that of a whip.

Orm ignores him.

By the time he reaches you, you’re sitting on the blanket he assumes had been laid out by his mother, across from Mera. You have Junior in your arms, and you coo at him sweetly. When Mimi reaches you, the brat attempts to crawl up into your lap too, and although you acknowledge her with a swift pet of your hand over her head, you do your best to keep the seal away from the baby.

You don’t notice him, until he’s stepping right up beside you, and gathering Mimi in his arms.

“Orm!” you say with a slight shock to your voice. Orm’s eyes haven’t left you since he first spotted you, and while crouched beside you, he leans in, with only a small amount of hesitation, knowing his mother and Mera sit right there, but regardless, he presses his lips to your cheek, earning a small sound of approval from you as he does.

“I had not expected to see you today,” he says, releasing Mimi as you let Mera take Junior back from you and you attempt to stand. Immediately, Orm straightens and offers you his hand, which you take gratefully, and allow him to help you up. He doesn’t release your hand, which makes you smile shyly at him, but he holds fast and steps slightly away from the blanket, gently guiding you with him.

“Grace!” Arthur interrupts just as you open your mouth to speak. You break your gaze with Orm, and smile politely as Arthur approaches. “Long time no see, chickie!” Arthur says, pulling you in by the shoulders. Your hand is pulled from Orm’s, and you fluster a little, but after a moment you hug Arthur back.

“Hey, what have you been saying about our date back in the day!?” Arthur asks suddenly then, pulling back from you and crossing his arms over his chest, almost intimidatingly. Orm’s heckles rise a little, but they’re calmed almost as soon as he registers Arthur’s words, and a sly grin takes its place on his face. You frown and cock your head. The taller man bucks his chin at the blond, but keeps his eyes on you. “Orm says you thought it was bad!” he faux complains. Orm’s smile widens. You look confused between the two brothers, though your eyes catch on Orm’s grin and the glint in his eyes.

“I never said anything like that,” you say slowly, realisation dawning on both you and Arthur, and you snort in amusement. Orm lets out a short, low chortle at the look on his brother’s face and you step back toward him and elbow him softly in his side. Your own smile takes on an impish quality, and you glance back at Arthur.

“If I’m honest, I don’t remember it much at all,” you tell him slyly, which only makes Orm scoff good naturedly.

“That is more damning than anything I implied,” Orm chuckles, slipping his hand down your still crooked elbow to take up your hand once more. Arthur glares. “If you would excuse us, brother,” the blond says then, sidestepping his brother and once more guiding you several steps away.

“Can you believe that guy?” You hear Arthur ask as both Mera and Atlanna hush him, and he sits down on the blanket, and begins cooing at his son.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks, knowing it’s much too formal, especially at this point in your relationship, but also knowing that you quite like his formal tendencies.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, turning your hand over in his to link your fingers. Orm looks down at your joined hands briefly, and his lips quirk up at the corner of his mouth.

“Anything,” he says, and once upon a time he would have scolded himself for replying as such and so quickly, but here and now, he allows himself the chance to be besotted.

You smile at him, clearly taken by his words, and any of his remaining restraint takes its leave of him.

“My father and I usually take a trip out in the bay once or twice a month, he called today and we’re going to go tomorrow,” you tell him, your eyes briefly flickering out to the water, and it’s such a simple thing, but Orm can’t help but feel his heart beat a little heavier in his chest at the clear adoration and joy in your gaze. “I thought maybe you’d like to come.”

The wind blows between you, dislodging some of your hair, which you quickly brush back. Orm watches, enchanted by you, and perhaps for the first time being struck by the thought that he’s glad to have been exiled to the surface, glad that he has the chance to experience such wind, experience the way it serves to highlight things about you he never might have known had he lived his entire life below the water’s surface.

“I would be honoured to accompany you both,” he tells you, not realising how his grip on your hand has tightened. You startle a little, as if you hadn’t expected him to accept your offer.

“Great!” You say excitedly, bopping up on your heels for a moment. Orm’s lips only widen in their smile, and he nods. “Well, we’ll meet you down by the docks in town at around nine,” you say.

“I look forward to it immensely,” Orm says, a light and airy feeling filling his chest at the prospect. You grin at him, but a moment later you blink rapidly and your smile drops a little.

“… My father can be a little strange, so you’ll have to forgive him for that,” you say, sounding a little nervous. Orm can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of him at that.

“I am also strange, am I not?”

You laugh as well, and you squeeze his hand.

“You are, but in a different way,” you say, still smiling, but a small frown creasing your brows. Orm can’t help but recall his brother’s words from only a short while ago, of you being too smart to keep in the dark for much longer. His skin itches uncomfortably as he’s more aware of his dishonesty now than he normally feels cognisant of, and he doesn’t like it.

-

The moment Orm meets Captain Havelock’s eyes, his blood runs cold. Your father looks him over in one swift glance, before meeting his eye again, and Orm feels a sickening feeling settle in his stomach.

He knows.

“Dad!” you say happily as you release Orm’s hand and step forward to where your father waits on the docks, beside the gangway that’s set up. Captain Havelock swivels his gaze away from Orm and to you, where his thick beard twitches and beneath the neatly groomed fuzz, a small smile appears. The pulled tautness of his eyebrows doesn’t disappear, however, despite the sinking feeling Orm has, he gets the distinct impression that is just your father’s face.

“Gracie,” Captain Havelock says gruffly, quickly wrapping you up in a tight bear hug. Orm swallows as you pull back, and your father adjusts to place his hands on his belt, his smile gone now, and he nods in Orm’s direction.

“Whose this, then?” he asks, voice almost entirely unreadable. Orm startles just a little, and despite everything in his body telling him to dive for the water, he steps forward as you gesture for him to do so.

“Dad, this is Orm. Orm, my father,” you introduce simply. Neither man makes to move at first, and Orm practically squirms under the sailor’s intense gaze.

“Call me Phillip,” your father eventually says simply, leaning forward and outstretching his hand. Orm nods, and quickly takes up the offered hand, shaking it firmly. Your father grunts, and after peering at him a moment too long, he nods at Orm.

Despite the cold feeling in his blood, oddly, the reaction seems to assure him. He searches his mind for anything he knows of human sailing culture, and jerks his head in the direction of the boat.

“Permission to come aboard?” he asks awkwardly. His eyes cut across to you just behind your father, and although you smile wide in amusement, you say nothing, your own eyes trailing up to your father, who’s grip on his hand tightens ever so slightly and he shakes it one last time, before he uses his free hand to clap Orm’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Before he releases him, Captain Havelock leans in slightly.

“Did Grace tell you that?” he asks. Orm shakes his head. “Good man, come aboard.”

Your father turns on his heel then and stalks heavily up the gangway and onto the modestly sized boat. You come to his side then, and pat his arm, shooting him an almost sympathetic smile, tinged with amusement.

“He likes you,” you say assertively, taking the hand Orm offers to you as you too mount the walkway, and move confidently over the bridge. Orm frowns and purses his lips.

“I am not so sure of that,” he says, mostly to himself, and follows you when you beckon.

Orm watches on as you and your father work in quiet unison to get ready to make off. He feels a little useless, but follows the tasks curiously with his eyes. He’s watching you lean over the boat to grasp at the mooring line when he perks up and steps around a large tack box in the middle of the small aft deck, placing his hands briefly at your sides to let you know he is there, and allowing you to step away. Orm reaches over and easily unties the knot around the docking post, his muscle memory from his duties at the lighthouse taking over as he begins to wind the rope up neatly.

“Hang it there,” you tell him, pointing to a hook on the inside of the boat, and he obeys, dusting his hands off once he’s done. Looking up, and around at the craft, Orm pauses when from inside the large covered cabin, he spies your father watching him intently, the other man not bothering to look away or act as though he had been doing anything else as the two make eye contact.

Instead, Captain Havelock siddles himself out of the fastened open door, and nods at the two of you.

“Ready to make sail?” he asks, and with an affirmative from the both of you, he returns back inside, and after only a few more moments of lingering by the pier, the boat's engines kick in, and you begin to move.

Orm comes to a quick conclusion that he enjoys being on a boat. It takes him a moment to gain his steadiness, but he finds it not unlike being beneath the waves, and the way Atlanteans are able to stabilise themselves despite the currents and the movement of the water around them. The salty air around him is familiar in a strange way, and despite the ‘foul weather’ (as Tom had called it earlier), he also enjoys the way the sea spits up and splashes against the sides of the boat as you cruise further and further away from the land.

“Why are you nervous?” you ask sometime later, exiting the cabin to find him where he stands on the back deck, looking out over the sea. Orm turns to you, hands clasped behind his back, but before he can unwind a hand to hold out for you, you sidle up to his side and wrap both your hands around his bicep, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. Orm straightens a little, making sure he stands steady for you, and looks back out at the water.

“Your father is not an unintimidating man, and he is your father,” he says truthfully, fighting against all instincts that tell him not to admit such a thing to you.

You chortle softly and lift your head briefly to kiss the top of his arm. He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow, but watches you as you rest your head once more against him.

“I am waiting for the moment in which he gives me, as Arthur called it, ‘the third degree’,” he says. You laugh again, and squeeze his arm a little, running your fingers up and over it.

“That’s not going to happen. You asked to come aboard his boat, trust me,” you tell him. Orm lets out a small scoff, and you lift your head again, this time manoeuvring around to his front, sliding yourself between him and the back of the boat, slipping both your hands up his arms and over his shoulders, before wrapping them around his neck.

“My dad isn’t like that. He’s had to leave for weeks at a time for work throughout my life, he trusts me, he trusts my opinion, and my opinion is that I like you,” you say, and despite this information not being exactly news to him, he feels his heart beat a little faster in his chest anyway. He unclasps his hands at last, and rests them lightly at your waist, smoothing his thumbs up and down over your thick knit sweater. “So his opinion is that he likes you too,” you tell him.

Orm hums, unconvinced, and looks up over your head briefly, before lowering his chin once more to meet your gaze. You roll your eyes some and shrug your head to the side. “Besides,” you say. “He’s the one who gave me my big knife,” you tell him, your voice dipping lower. His hands tighten a little around your middle and your lips curl upwards at his immediate reaction. “I can handle myself if you decide to mess me around,” you say.

Orm does not even give thought to the idea, instead he dips his head forward even more, almost so your faces touch.

“You know how I feel about that knife,” he says, brushing the tip of his nose over yours. You laugh, and kip up on your toes slightly to press a soft, short kiss to his lips. It's over much too soon for his liking, and when you pull away, he can’t help but chase you, resting his forehead against your own. “But I will defer to your opinion on such matters,” he says quietly, his eyes still fixed on your lips, and his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” you say simply, removing your hands from around his neck to cup his cheeks. He can’t help but lean into your touch, comforting as it is for him.

The boat slows, before eventually coming to a stop, and heavy footsteps from behind him make you both break apart slightly, to look over at your father, where he stands now in the doorway of the cabin.

“Orm,” he says roughly, almost barking it out. “Would you like to steer the boat?”

Orm looks back down at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you remove your hands from where they’d come to rest against his collarbones, to tap his arms in encouragement.

“I told you so,” you say. “He never lets anyone drive his boat.”

-

You watch as your father and Orm disappear into the cabin, but quickly you turn your head back out to the waves all around you, scanning the water. The weather may have been overcast and rainy, but it was beautiful out in the bay all the same. You smile when you feel the boat lurch a little, before it begins to move at a steady, slow pace, and you lean against the railing of the aft deck to watch the water.

Normally on these trips you take with your father, you’d expect to see Khan. He recognised your father’s boat, and you would often get updates from him about your finned friend when your father took tourists or the like out, and he’d assure them not to worry about the tiger shark trailing behind them. Sometimes, he’d even throw a fish or two back out to him.

You don’t see Khan, in fact you don’t seem to see any of the sea life you normally would expect to find in water this deep, and you hum to yourself, finally pushing off the railing to return inside. You pause upon entering, finding Orm and your father with their backs to you, Orm’s hands firmly set on the wheel, your father standing beside him, neither speaking, both simply staring out at the ocean ahead. You scoff internally, and roll your eyes.

Of course they’d get along. You knew they would. They were different stripes of strange, but they were both strange nonetheless, and it brings a smile to your face.

“Hey Dad,” you interrupt whatever it is they have going on in here, and your father turns his head back to you, not yet taking his eyes off the water, however. “Have you seen Khan out there today?” you ask. Your father grumbles and shakes his head. He points off to the left, and silently you watch as Orm gently turns the wheel in his hands to follow the wordless direction. You roll your eyes again.

“I haven’t seen the king in several days,” he says to you. Orm’s head twitches slightly to the side, but it’s as if he resists looking away from his work.

“Haven’t seen many fish, either, mind you,” he goes on after a few seconds. You frown.

“What? Really? In this season?” you ask, intrigued. Your father turns back to you at last, standing side on to look between you and the water ahead of the boat.

“Aye… Mighty strange,” he says, gaining a conspiratorial edge to his voice. “Almost as if something bigger has come up closer into the bay. Scaring ‘em all off…”

“Something bigger?” Orm asks, finally looking away from the water to frown at your father.

You watch them, almost appearing to have a silent conversation as they stare at one another, and you almost expect Orm to say something more, but you cock your head when he blinks rapidly, and suddenly looks away. You shake your head. Strange, you think.

Orm clears his throat, and his shoulders square up.

“Well whatever it is, it probably wouldn’t stay in water this shallow for very long,” he says. Your father stares intensely at the side of his face, and you ready yourself to tell him to cut it out.

“Aye, is that so?” he asks. Orm glances back over at him, seemingly anxious, meeting your fathers eye and nodding once.

“That’s what I would imagine,” Orm replies, uncomfortably, and you at last step forward, gaining your father’s attention and giving him a stern look. He lightens up almost immediately, but grunts and turns back to the water.

“We’ll stop over here, see if the lines have any luck.”

-

Orm returns to the lighthouse in the dying evening light, a parcel of trout and striped bass in his hands. He feels a strange mixture of lightness and heaviness swirling around his chest, and he’s glad Tom and Arthur are both sitting at the kitchen table when he enters, closing the backdoor softly behind him.

“How’d it go?” Arthur sing-songs. Orm gently rests the parcel of fish meat on the table and purses his lips.

“He knows. About me. About us,” he says grimly. Tom only lets out a short, sharp chuckle, drawing the blond’s attention, and he frowns at the older man.

“I imagine he does,” he says, as if that is supposed to make him feel better. Arthur only nods along.

“How?” Orm tries not to grind out.

Tom shifts in his seat, pulling out the one beside him, and after only a moment of pause, Orm huffs, and sits down.

“Man spent years at sea, if he didn’t pick up a thing or two about the truth, I’d be worried,” he says lightly, before shrugging his shoulders, conceding. “Besides… he told me a story many years ago, said he fell off a ship once, started sinking real deep in all his gear… but was saved by a man who swam up from the depths, took him back to the surface, then disappeared… tell me that doesn’t sound like an Atlantean, or what-have-you.”

Orm flattens his lips and frowns even deeper.

“Grace never told me that,” he says, wishing he had been able to hear the story from you. Arthur waves his hands and takes a sip of the beer set in front of him.

“She probably wouldn’t. Humans get judgy about stuff like that, and Grace is a Ranger,” he says. “She probably just wants to keep the ‘professional’ trust folks around here have in her. You start talking about mermaids or whatever,” he makes a poof’ing noise and motion with his hands. Orm looks to Tom, who nods solemnly.

Orm startles then and looks back at Arthur.

“He knew Tylo had been out in the bay,” he says hurriedly. “He said ‘something big’ had been scaring off Khan and all the fish, you must make sure he retreats deeper!” Orm tells him firmly. Arthur’s face perks up into a wide grin and he leans forward.

“Khan’s still coming by? Man, I love that guy,” he says, ignoring the point of what his brother is telling him.

“Arthur–” Orm begins again, trying to sound stern, and reasonable, but Arthur only rolls his eyes and waves his hand again.

“I sent him back off to Atlantis this afternoon, stop worrying!” he says. Orm frowns deeper and purses his lips. “Besides,” Arthur goes on. “Maybe all this will finally get you to tell Grace the truth,” he shrugs.

Orm lets out an annoyed grumble and sits back in his chair.

“Why are you so concerned with how I handle my relationship?!” he asks, sounding a little more aggressive and angry than he really means to. Arthur shrugs again, still smiling, clearly pleased with himself for getting under his brother’s skin.

“Just think, no more lying, no more–”

��–I have never lied to Grace,” he growls, offended at the mere idea of doing so. Arthur’s smile falls some and he leans forward, matching Orm’s own aggression now.

“But you haven’t told her the truth, either, have you?” he bites back. Orm has really no recourse for that, and he snarls. “You can’t talk to her, really talk to her about your life, who you are. She won’t ever really know you,” Arthur says angrily. “And the longer you keep it from her, the worse it will be!”

Orm stands suddenly, as does Arthur, but neither man has the opportunity to act or say any more, as their mother appears in the doorway, hands on her hips and with danger in her eyes.

“Arthur! Enough!” she says, and both men are immediately cowed. “Your brother is capable of making his own judgments, and we will not have this discussion again, do you hear?”

A beat of silence passes between the two men, with Arthur huffing under his breath and taking his seat once more. Orm stays standing, but calms himself. He fixes his brother with a piercing look.

“My past is not an easy thing for me to wish to discuss… with anyone, let alone Grace. But I would not keep it from her, she has a right to know who I am, and what I’ve done,” he says heavily. Arthur stares at the table for a moment, before lifting his eyes to meet his brother. “And at that point I imagine she will make a choice to be with me or leave me,” he goes on, sucking in a deep breath. “And I am not ignorant of that fact.”

With that, Orm leaves the dining room entirely, not exactly shrugging off his mother’s hand that she places on his shoulder as he passes, but he certainly does not stay to talk further, trudging up to his room. Mimi wakes from the little bed of throws and cushions someone had made for her on the couch as he passes, and he’s halfway to the second floor before he hears her barking for him pathetically from the foot of the staircase.

Letting out a huff, he stops on the landing, and closes his eyes, before returning back down and picking her up. She mewls into his shoulder as he rests her against his chest, and absently he pets the back of her head as he once more ascends the stairs, and disappears into his room.