If you scroll my #merthur tag, you'll happen upon posts that relate to the fic that I am apparently destined to write -title tbd- where Merthur seems to have adopted poor Mordred + others with the King's himself approval. Merlin's nicknamed Camelot's Queen but it's serious. The post where it all began This can be a stand-alone simply due to the placement of the scene in the timeline.
Behold! Arthur and Merlin do a dance of damsel in distress and feral fae god Emrys.
“Surrender Pendragon! We have your Queen and child. They were easy pickings! How nice of you to leave them unguarded in the forest!”
Arthur erupted into a monster fit of what could be only called cackling. The group of sorcerers looked on in confusion and some were even worried thinking the man had gone insane after hearing the fate that had befallen his love and heir. After a whole 2 minutes of continuous laughing, Arthur finally straightened up and said while wiping his eyes of his tears
“He has you. You took him with Mordred! There’s a whole chapter on why that is a death sentence.” murmurs arose from the group. The leader made an indifferent hum.
“I assure you we are quite capable of dealing with your Queen. He is nothing compared to my war mages.”
Arthur shook his head at this statement, a sly smirk making its way on the prince’s face.
“My Queen is terrifying on his own, but you threatened his First-Claimed. This is your last day in this world.”
There was a moment of silence so still that if a pin had been dropped it would be deafeningly loud.
A small snippet of a huge chunk of text that may be produced differently in the final product :)
While Jecka and Nicole would think that marriage sucks, they'd probably end up getting court married for the benefits. They've been together for awhile. And they do tolerate/care/love(?) each other enough after all the years of dealing with each other's bs.
So, they end up going to the courthouse on a random Wednesday, sign the papers, and everything is official. Great!
Now, Nicole can be under Jecka's health insurance and this also gives Jecka a sigh of relief that she can stay by Nicole's side in the hospital if she were to ever try to off herself again. Unfortunately, simply telling gross and sleazy men that they're married doesn't really keep them away. They don't see a ring, so in their minds, that means Jecka and Nicole aren't taken.
Okay, easy fix.
All Nicole needs to do is buy two rings from some shitty Claire's store on 5th Avenue or whatever to get these guys off their backs. But Jecka protests against it. Not because she's against the idea of wearing fake rings to ward off sleazy men, but because it's at fucking Claire's of all places. She reminds Nicole to have some decorum. They end up going to some random jeweler in the mall to get rings that could appear legit. Nicole just asks for a simple accent ring, while Jecka gets something that's more noticeable but not too gaudy.
They get the rings, and only wear them when they're out in public. When they're home, the ring comes off. Men will still try to pursue either one of them when they're just minding their own business, but it wards off a good chunk of them. As long as they see that ring, these men will assume that either Jecka or Nicole are taken by men. Because, hey! Who gives a fuck about what a woman's opinion?
Either way, it works for the most part. But over time, one of them starts to forget to take their fake wedding ring when they're back home. That little $30-50 accessory starts to mean just a bit more--even if neither party wants to admit it.
After some time, Jecka accidentally loses her's, and she's thinking, damn she has to deal with a higher percentage of men coming onto her again. It's actually perfect timing though, because Nicole had an actual diamond one ready to gift to Jecka.
Nicole says it's no big deal, and that it doesn't mean too much. But hey? The diamond ring will at least tell most other men trying to come onto her that they aren't shit if her "husband" can get her a nice looking ring that makes her look like a millionaire's wife.
Jecka thinks that Nicole stole it at the mall and decided to give it to her. Except she doesn't really give a shit if Nicole did. Because wow, next to getting the counselor away from her (so that Jecka could smoke by herself) in high school, this was probably the second nicest thing anyone has ever done for her.
Thing is, Nicole won't admit to Jecka that she went out of her way to save up enough money (from various odd jobs) to get that ring for her. Maybe she'll tell her. Maybe she won't.
Alas, I do not have a title but!!!!!!!! Kunibramcraft fic with a focus on kunicraft because out of the sub-ships they’re the most underrated (bram is here he just doesn’t talk bc he’s sleeping lawl). This also focuses on my disability hcs for Kunikida, speaking of which there is some internalized ableism on kunikidas part as a small note/heads up
Just like everyday, Kunikida's alarm clock goes off at 6 am, making sure he wakes up.
The difference today is that when consciousness comes to him, he feels pain. Not the pain associated with his job mind you, instead it’s pain that has come with the choices he’s made and the life he’s lived. This isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, but today is especially bad.
Opening his eyes, he becomes aware of the position he’s in; his head in the crook of Lovecraft's neck, his left arm being draped onto Kunikida's waist. Moving his head slightly, he sees Stoker behind Lovecraft, spooning him. Lifting Lovecraft's arm off him with his own, he’s careful to try and move in a way to not wake up his partners, thankfully not being the one in the middle this time (along with Lovecraft's arms not being tentacles at the moment) means he doesn’t have to struggle that much.
After moving himself closer to the edge of their bed, he sits up, sighing.
His shoulder is still messed up from being sliced open during the whole Decay of Angels incident, with Yosano only being able to heal it so much with it already having been in the process of healing on its own.
It’s similar to his leg he supposes, as it’s an old injury that never really healed properly, in part due to him not allowing it to when he had the chance.
He looks over at his cane, the new one that is. Yosano insisted that he needed a new one after the injuries he had received and sustained, with the new one alleviating some of the overall pain he feels in his right arm.
His hands are the worst at the moment. His wrists being in immense pain, with his hands being completely numb, not being able to feel them. Looking at them, he tries to move his fingers. The effort is futile however, as nothing but the usual shakiness happens.
“Damnit…” “Doppo?”
Lovecrafts awake. Kunikida turns his head to face his partner, who is now sitting up. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” He hums, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Hm, not entirely.” Then, he looked at him, and despite not having his glasses on along with Lovecraft sometimes being hard to read, Kunikida could still see the worry in his expression. “I know you're in pain.”
He didn’t know how to respond.
“I’ll be fine.” “I don’t believe that.”
They stay there in silence for a few seconds before Lovecraft sighs and gestures towards himself. “Come here.” After moving closer to his partner, Lovecraft guides his body. Kunikida's head now resting on Lovecraft's shoulder with his hands in his partner’s lap; while Lovecraft's left hand holds his own, his other is holding his right shoulder.
Then, the humming starts.
As soon as Kunikida recognizes that it’s some sort of melody, he finally understands what Lovecraft is doing. Stoker explained this to him before, Lovecraft is capable of the power of suggestion through melodies, he compared them to the songs sirens sang. He also informed him that this power can take different forms, with one of them acting as a temporary pain suppressant.
That must be what he’s doing now.
There’s a certain comfort to the way he’s being held, a song being sung for him. His shoulder doesn’t nearly as much as it did before, he even has some feeling back in his hands. But, as pleasant as this all is, he can’t stay forever.
“I need to get up eventually, I have responsibilities.” The melody doesn’t even stop when Lovecraft responds, like it’s completely separate from him. “Your boss should understand.” “Aya also needs to be taken to school and looked after.” “Bram should be able to take care of her.” At that, Stoker seemed to mumble in his sleep, nuzzling into Lovecraft's side and proceeding to hold his waist tighter. “… When he awakens that is.”
Lovecraft is right, Kunikida knows that, and yet it still feels wrong.
He can’t help but feel useless whenever he’s like this. No matter how often he’s told otherwise by others, he can’t change how he feels.
He hates it.
Lovecraft pulled him closer, his head now resting on Kunikida's own. “You think too much.” “… Sorry.”
The two of them stayed like that for a short time, with only Lovecraft's melody breaking the silence before he spoke again. “When Stoker wakes up, can you tell him to check on Dazai and Katai? I can’t rest well if I don’t know they’re both alright.” “Of course.” “Thank you.”
Then, he closes his eyes, letting the melody bring him to sleep.
It wasn't love. It wasn't a crush either, because Lance had never felt that for anyone before.
Of course, that also meant he had no idea what a crush would feel like, but that wasn't the point.
He didn't have a crush on Andy. Andy was just a…maybe friend that Lance liked and admired. No romantic feelings to be had. Lance could admit that it was strange to look at someone's smile and think 'I want him to smile like that for the rest of our lives', but it was normal to want someone to be happy. It was normal to think people looked good when they were happy.
Right?
Andy walked next to him, fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket while they looked at shoes, of all things. Andy apparently needed dress shoes for Homecoming and he'd invited Lance to go with him. Lance had asked if he'd invited Noah or Lucas, but Andy had said no.
So they were alone. Together.
A current of anxiety seemed to run through all of his maybe-friends even after they'd re-trapped Redfield, but Andy's was the most visible. It made sense. Tom hadn't woken up yet and there was nothing anyone could do to speed up the process. There were no monsters left to punch even though the terror was still there.
Lance hesitantly bumped Andy's shoulder with his own, trying not to let the touch linger, and smiled awkwardly. "So, what color is your suit?"
"Huh?" Andy seemed almost surprised that Lance was there. "Oh, blue. Like a kind of dark blue, I guess."
"Westchester wolf blue?"
Andy wrinkled his nose. "No." Then paused. "Well…" He smiled sheepishly as Lance laughed. "Shut up. It's not my fault our colors are blue and white. Am I supposed to avoid my favorite color forever?"
He picked up a black dress shoe and set it down almost immediately. His eyes seemed to skim over all of the options without really seeing them.
He'd been like that the entire time–fidgeting with his jacket, eyes barely focused on what was in front of him, walking through the aisles seemingly just to move instead of to find something to wear. It was like there was nothing he wanted more than to not be in the shoe store. Unless, he wanted nothing more than to get away from Lance. Which would be rude as hell because he'd invited him, but not out of the question.
Lance was a uniquely annoying person.
He tapped Andy's shoulder. "Do you want to get out of here?"
"Please."
Lance laughed as Andy all but jogged out of the store. He followed him through the glass doors and stopped. Andy basked in the light of the outside world like it'd been 100 years since he'd seen it, tilting his head up toward the sun and Lance's heart tripped in his chest.
It didn't mean anything. It wasn't a crush. Andy was just an objectively good-looking guy and the sight of the sun beaming down on him like a halo would've made anyone stop breathing for a second.
He looked at Lance with a brightness that had been missing all day. "Alright, where to?"
Lance looked back at the shoe store, where their goal resided, but shrugged it off. If Andy wanted to go to Homecoming in his gym shoes that was his business. "Pretzels?"
"Definitely."
The rest of the trip took a better turn. After securing their pretzels, they walked the plaza, ducking into the Halloween pop up store to make fun of the "scary masks" and cheap fake weapons. Andy got a little too into the fake swords and knocked down a row of makeup packs. From there they fled into the video games shop, then a candle store, then the plaza's bookstore and made a game of finding books they'd read as kids, then books with titles that described their current life before being given sharp looks by the employees after Lance broke into a hysterical laughing fit at a book titled, As Good As Dead.
Andy laughed with him as they left the store. "It's really not that funny. Like at all."
Lance wiped his tears and tried to breathe. "Then wh-why are you laughing?"
Andy bumped his shoulder. "I'm laughing at you. How did that get you but nothing else did? I don't even know why I grabbed it."
"If I don't laugh I'll cry. It was way too close."
It would've been so easy, especially considering everything that went wrong during the ritual. Lance still had burn marks on his neck from Mr. Red's strangle hold. The rest of the group hadn't fared much better. They'd stuttered and stumbled and got in lucky shots against the puppets and dirt monsters and it was only by the grace of the universe that they'd managed to lock Redfield away.
Maybe that was why the fear had lingered.
"But, we're here. We won." Andy stopped in the alley between two stores and Lance turned to look at him. He rocked on the balls of his feet before dropping on his heels. "I, um, I have to tell you something."
He'd been working with Redfield. He hated Lance and hadn't meant to invite him. He'd brought Lance there to kill him. He threw Ben at the bear–that one wasn't so bad.
Lance tried to keep his voice calm. "Yeah?"
"I didn't actually need dress shoes. I've got some at home. They even match my suit."
"Oh..kay. Then why–"
"I wanted to hang out with you. And I know you get weird about hanging out with any of us, which is fine, but I thought…" He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. "I wanted to ask you something."
Lance's mind whirled. What the hell was going on?
"Lance…do you wanna go to homecoming with me?"
…
…
What?
"What?"
Andy took a breath and smiled, bright and sparkling and Lance's knees were just the slightest bit weaker than before. He stepped closer to Lance. "Do you want to go to homecoming with me?"
"Like you and me?"
"Well, we'll still be with everyone else, but yeah."
"Like…like a date?"
Andy's face flushed. "Yeah, if that's cool?"
Lance didn't like people. He'd never liked a people in his life. No celebrity crushes or real life crushes or anything, but Andy…
Something was kicking him in the brain to say no. To say no, to not go to homecoming at all, to tell Andy something that would make him stop looking at Lance with so much hope and expectation that Lance would never be able to live up to.
But…Andy was the kid who had hidden bugs in his desk and showed them off to Lance with glee, Andy was the kid who had thrown blankets over Lance to calm him down like a parrot for three years of friendship, Andy was guy who started talking to him in freshman year science and didn't stop even though Lance could only give him one sentence answers, he was the guy who looked like he wanted to kill someone when Lance showed off the dirt monster's bruises, he was the guy looking at him with big brown eyes that shone like gemstones in the blue light of a pool, the fluorescents of the gym, and the sunlight of the people filled plaza.
"It's okay if–"
"Yes!" Lance flinched at his own voice.
"What?" Andy said though a smile was already breaking onto his face.
"Yes, I'll go to homecoming with you."
"Awesome."
Lance laughed and kept laughing as Andy yanked him down into a hug.
Maybe it was a crush. And Lance had no idea what to do with it, but he could learn...Right after he dug around his closet for something to wear to homecoming.
The city lights shimmered dimly as the streets murmured, the occasional sound of laughter floated through the frigid air. Hanging bright above the city the moon cast a silvery glow over the world just below her: her grace no earthly being could rival. For centuries she has witnessed dreamers, wanders, and lovers bask in her glory and tonight was a night not so different from the others.
Tonight, she sees yet another young couple; their hands locked together as they stroll through the city streets. The smaller of the two pulled her wolf along to where a busker was playing a violin; the haunting melody a magnet in an otherwise silent night.
“Dance with me,” The shorter man looked up at her wolf.
He laughed, shaking his head, “In the middle of the street?”
“Why not?” The man tugged her wolf's hands.
For a second, she could see her wolf’s eyes on her. Her light flickered in his eyes, trapped in his silver fur. She held her gaze, steady and soft before turning away to look back at the smaller man.
In her glow she painted every feature she could to nudge her wolf forward into the waiting arms of his lover. Wordlessly, he stepped forward further into her light.
Their steps were hesitant at first, a rhythm the moon matched with her light. When they spun, she followed, when they smiled, she illuminated their faces, when they whispered, she heard.
When the music swelled so did their confidence and her glee. Her thiren grabbed his partner and twirled with him in his arms, the light in their hair shining like spun silver.
She saw how her wolf never took his eyes off his lover, how his hand never left his waist, keeping him steady and guiding him through the movements, how they laughed above the music. She leaned closer to them, her light shielding them from the empty night beyond like a cloak.
As the music started to slow, so did they; their foreheads pressed together as her wolf was holding his lover up to the sky.
She lingered behind while the busker packed up to leave, her glow embracing the couple. She wanted to be sure her child knew this moment was theirs.
No, she could not touch the earth, could not dance nor laugh nor hold another as her children do but she doesn't need to in order to feel the joy that comes from such moments. She doesn't have to touch to be a part of their lives and their stories, being a witness is enough.
The moon continued her silent journey across the sky, a guardian of love, of dreams, of moments too precious to fade into the shadows. She watched, she shone, she loved, in the only way she knew; by offering her light to the world below.
—————————
“Lycaon.”
“Yes, Wise?” Lycaon can't help the love he feels swell in his heart when he sees the way his lover shines in the moonlight.
“Can we dance again sometime?” A hand slyly presses his.
“Of course Wise.”The promise is sealed with a kiss.
Lycaon brushed some hair out of Wise's face as he pulled away.
“Come on,” Wise said after a moment, his voice soft but insistent. “Let’s keep walking. I have a surprise for you.”
“Well then, lead the way.” Lycaon allowed himself to be led away from their stage.
Sorrry if it's not quite what you were expecting, wanted to try a bit of different style of writing this time. Wasn't too big of a fan so I probably won't do this style again. And sorry for the long wait too, personal life was going eh for a bit.
-Turtle
Figured out the spacing issue from copy and pasting google docs + working on things for Ao3 = hopefully good things.
not noted by turtle is her slight confusion over what the difference between domestic fluff and romantic fluff so that was funny
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The 7th chapter to be published, but the first chapter in the timeline! Featuring one chronically overthinking Hyuse Tamakoma-Cronin-Aftokrator as he attends his first day of Meeden high school.
Hilariously enough, my first post for this fic on Tumblr is the point where the chronology of it eats shit and hits the fan.
When Hyuse had agreed to join the Meeden military in exchange for a way home, he’d been under the impression that he’d be dedicating all of his time to work at Border. He was, after all, a hostage soldier, and he had thought that the Meedenites would’ve been sensible enough to take full advantage of his knowledge and abilities.
He had not, unfortunately, factored in going to school.
In Hindsight, It's Not So Bad is a collection of inter-connected one-shots in which Hyuse goes to school, makes friends and gets to do normal teenager stuff (mostly). It's inspired by the series Throw Me to the Wolves by transcendental_youth – it's a fantastic series, and if you enjoy this fic then I implore you to go check it out!
Written for @llamagoddessofficial and to preface this, this was written before Llama wrote the how they met imagine. Just... really felt inspired and wanted some good soft Bog God Skull. <3 Also, I just wanted to feed this bean and give him offerings.
--
You pause at the edge of the bog, looking out into a wasteland of mud, acidic water, and charred trees. The trees make you think of skeletal hands, belonging to giants lost to the black depths of the water, reaching for one last bid for freedom. A freedom they would never have because of the greed of mortals having long since ruined the land, and their connection to a Forest God.
The land was likely beautiful once, but that was before your time. But now it was inhospitable and oppressive. You grew up on tales of how the bog used to be teeming with life of all kinds. They sounded fantastical, and you learned everything you could about the bog not too far from your little village. You had been insatiable in your hunger for knowledge, which is why you were the one person who entered the tepid land most frequently.
The first time you had approached, you had only felt… sad. The Old Spirit who owned this land must be in terrible pain. The air felt saturated with anger and a sense of mourning centuries old. You only hoped that one day, it would heal and not feel this way forever.
With a deep breath in and out, you kneel on the damp, but not yet barren earth outside the boundaries of the Spirit’s bog. As is only polite before entering the Black Wetland, you ask the owner for safe passage, whether or not it could possibly hear you. God, or fae, you should always ask before entering their land. Their home. Especially one who had mortals betray them in the past.
“God of The Black Wetlands,” you begin, “I humbly ask you to allow me to make safe travels through your home. I promise not to disrupt even a pebble of your territory.”
You wait, breathing calmly, slowly. You wait a few moments, and when the bog is as still as it was when you approached, you take it as a sign you are being given permission. Surely, if it did not want to enter, it would react violently. A breeze, roiling water, something. You would have angered it by now otherwise.
“Thank you for allowing me to cross.” With a huff, you haul yourself back to your feet and take your first step onto the path cutting through the bog. Since you were young, people have cautiously whispered: “stay on the paths, so the God of the Black Wetland doesn’t claim you.” And you were always wise to head them.
The trip is fairly uneventful. In a few short hours you’re nearly halfway through.
The air is heavy with moisture and humidity, clinging to your skin uncomfortably, as you trek across the precarious pathways. The scent of decaying plant life, and potentially animal life, is so thick in the air, you can taste it on the back of your tongue. Fog shifts over the water, threatening to become so thick you can barely see your feet.
The brackish water below the bridge is eerily still, but the danger it presents makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The murky quality obscures the muddy bottom, ready to swallow you whole. People disappear in this bog from time to time, and you're determined to not be one of them. But you can’t help but wonder… how many of them are at the bottom of the pools, hidden in sludge-like mud?
A soft splashing from a distance catches your attention. You’ve never heard more than your own footfalls, so curiosity has you whipping around to look.
There, in the distance, is a large creature. It’s hard to tell how large from this distance, but it must be colossal. It’s entirely skeletal in nature with thick bones. Mud cakes the long, tree-trunk limbs as it walks effortlessly through the dangerous waters. It’s spine is curved and spiked, curving up to a thick neck with a long skull. Antlers sprout from its head, reminding you of the moose hunters occasionally bring in. A single burning eye lights one of its sockets, red as a ruby as it sweeps over the land.
Unfortunately, in your haste to see what caused the sound, you slip on the damp wood of the small bridge, and with a startled yelp, you flail a moment to catch yourself. You fall to your hands and knees, but thankfully don’t end up in the black waters below. You sigh in relief, back bowing as you slump under the weight of the panic leaving you.
You sit there a moment, just breathing to regain your composure before lifting your head. You wonder if the creature was still-
You jolt in shock, finding it a good dozen feet from you, staring you down with the intense burning coal in its socket. How did it get so close without making a single sound? It should have made all kinds of noise in the water.
It huffs, eye shrinking and dilating with emotions you can’t place. But it doesn’t appear to be aggressive. Yet.
“You… you move very quickly and silently. That’s very impressive.” You tell it honestly, carefully sitting more upright, but not moving to stand yet. You don’t know if it’ll take the move as a threat.
It shakes its skull at you and rattles its bones, in response, but doesn’t take up any aggravated body language that you can tell. Good so far, then.
You tilt your head at it, and you both quietly observe each other. What kind of creature is this? A Spirit? A Fae? After a moment, you realize what you’re looking at. You’d read so many tales and stories you feel dumb for not realizing it sooner.
“You’re the god of this land.”
They snort and shift their weight.
“Thank you. For always allowing me to pass through safely. I didn’t mean to disrupt you and interrupt whatever business you were attending.” You offer them a smile. “Please allow me to make it up to you.” Carefully, telegraphing your every move, you slide your pack off and open one of the smaller pockets.
They start to growl, which makes you glad the item you’re looking for is on top. You had been planning to have this sweetbread as a rare treat, but… this was better use. You open the wrap covering the bread and the growling abruptly ceases, giving way to snuffling.
You break off a piece and offer it to the god in the palm of your hand. You don’t want to risk it ending up in the water and being inedible, and you had nowhere else to offer it from, so your palm it was.“It’s sweetbread.” You explain, and wait.
The great beast sniffs a couple more times before moving slowly forward. Instead of plucking it from your hand with muddy fingers, like you expect, their great head lowers, and they take the bread from your palm with their large maw. Their fangs don’t even graze you, and you’re surprised by the Spirit’s gentleness.
They eat it, and make a humming sound as they seem to consider how they feel about the offered food. They look between you, and the bread still in your lap and back again. When they do it again pointedly, you smile.
“I’m glad you like it.” You break off a larger piece and offer it to the god like before. Just as gently as the first time, they take the food from your palm. When you have fed them all of the bread, they have the audacity to lick your palm to get all remnants, and then stick their nose in your lap to see if you have any leftover crumbs.
You hold back a snort of amusement, allowing the exploration of your person for more. “That was all I had, sorry.”
The skeletal creature makes a grumbling noise, as if they don't believe you and pushes the cloth wrapping around.
Carefully, so as not to startle them, you lean forward to press your forehead against theirs. The Spirit freezes at the contact, and you’re unsure if it's a good thing or not. Forehead to forehead, you hurry to speak before they can lash out.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry people hurt you so badly. You didn’t deserve that. People got greedy and it caused irreparable damage. Humans were cruel and terrible. I can feel it, every time I enter your land. I can feel the pain and anger and betrayal in the very atmosphere itself. And I hope one day… you can heal. Heal from all the wrongs done to you.”
You’re both still under the weight of your apology.
They suddenly huff a massive sigh and presses into your touch more, prompting you to carefully raise your hands to cup their jaw.
With a voice that sounds as whispery as ash, but as strong as an old oak, the Spirit speaks, “maybe one day.”
And that's enough for you. You might not see the process of their healing, but knowing it might happen is enough to give you hope.
