Beginning-writer - Don't Know What Type, But I Write Something.

no you have to contribute to your fandom if you don't want it to die. most fandoms die because people say 'it's so sad watching the fandom die when the hype dies' without doing anything about it. I'm not saying you have to push out 100k word slow-burn fic, I'm not saying you have to make fan art or gif sets or edits or anything. I'm just saying we as a community should contribute to our fandom if we don't want it to die, and by contributing, I'm talking about giving kudos, commenting on your favorite fics, reblogging your favorite art and just talking about your favorite characters. that's enough to keep a fandom alive. that's the most effective way to keep a fandom alive in my humble opinion.

fandoms die because people stop talking about it, fandoms die because people stop engaging with fan content once the hype is gone. what I'm saying is, mainstream media's hype may be gone, but our fandom can stay alive and thriving if us as a community don't let it die.

I'm dead. I used my last brain cells in math class today learning the difference between the sum of cubes and squares.

If I take a while to post, know that it's because of math. I hate math 😭

Daniel Sharman is a Doberman and you can't convince me otherwise.

I

See

No

Diference

I will fall for this kind of trope every time so here I am…. can I just…have a spin off with these two :)

@lancedoncrimsonwings Thanks for the tag, plus, why are them so relatable?

I have no specific taste, except they all fantasy or medieval, expect one.

Catarina - Deus Salve o Rei (God Save the King)

Isaac Lahey - Teen wolf

Merida - Brave (Think that's the english name, If not please correct me.)

Bellatrix Lestrange - Harry Potter

Had Hatter - Alice in Wonderland

Natasha Romanoff - Marvel

Clawdeen Wolf - Monster High

@dinogod you next

You: If we're gonna date, you may have to defeat my seven fictional exes. Them: ...seven fictional exes? You: Yeah Them: ...fictional. Is that seriously a thing? You: you can say no. Them: What do I have to do? Tear up a book? *laughs* Okay! You: Don't say I didn't warn you...

so the question is...who are your seven fictional exes?

*Throw Lancelot homosexually thinking about Gawain at you and run.*

It’d been a month since NightPearl had adopted Lancelot as it’s mother. He didn't mind at all, in fact he found the little dragon adorable. It would sneak anywhere it could find, and its favorite place was his lap. The only problem was when it brought a dead rabbit in the tent and he had to throw it away, but other than that it was perfect.

On days like today, when he was lying on his back, NightPearl would come and sprawl on his chest, enjoying every fraction of Lancelot's natural warmth that it could get, while Lancelot caressed its long body and just listened to Squirrel’s nonsense or listened to Gawain's voice. He never really paid attention to what Gawain said, it was usually something boring about what the council was thinking about him or about his wounds, instead he paid attention to his voice, which was much more engaging than what was friendly allowed.

Sometimes Pym would make a joke about how Gawain would be jealous of NightPearl for being able to snuggle into Lancelot's chest while the two of them couldn't even sleep in the same bed. The monk always rolled his eyes and said it didn't make sense, even though his stupid heart beat a little faster every time he heard that. And thank God NightPearl didn't understand what the redhead was saying or it would bite Gawain from head to toe. He and Gawain barely saw each other, nor did they speak to each other properly, since talking was not something that Lancelot was taught to do often. It was not even part of his routine.

The world around Lancelot has never been so calm, and so boring. He was used to leaving very early, around six in the morning, half past six if he was feeling particularly lazy, and going to track the fey by tracks and scents. At ten o'clock he would return to camp and make an oral report of everything achieved, go to the fields to train for two hours, then go for lunch, have lunch, and leave again. After lunch he would go to the already tracked tribes, this time with a group of paladins, and would decimate and burn whatever they found. At sixteen hours he would escape from the rest of the paladins and take a secret bath to remove the excess dirt and blood that bothered his senses and skin. At seventeen o'clock he would be back at church and praying something particularly long, if it were Saturday he would pray a rosary, if it were Sunday he would be at mass. After mass, or pray, there is dinner, but if it were Saturday he would be fasting. Ten or nine o'clock at night he should already be in bed, because it's a few hours before Salt's torture sessions start and he would at least get a good rest if he slept earlier.

There is nothing in his routine about talking to anyone, except about reports and prayer, but only because it was part of his job and he should always seek God daily.

But now, with the fey, his entire meticulously memorized routine were thrown into the fifth of hells. Now his routine consisted of: Waking up, being forced by Gawain to eat breakfast followed by a lecture on why it’s important to eat every meal, then listening to Squirrel tell a story, lunch, Polly, actually now Pym, coming to check on his injuries. And now Pym stayed and told him about something that happened while she was with the Raiders or some new gossip at camp, which is strangely interesting. Squirrel arrives again, tells ‘em about his day. Gawain arrives with dinner for everyone, they talk and Lancelot is grateful for not being included, gods know how much he hates interacting while eating. Dinner ends, Pym and Squirrel go somewhere else, Gawain stays and cleans his injuries. They don't say anything, just stand there in the only alone moment they have. Gawain slowly cleans his broken skin with a wet cloth, his body closer than he had ever let any man or woman get close to him, he could hear his breathing behind him, The drops of water running down his back make him shiver, and he could feel Gawain's intense gaze on him the entire time. His careful hands went all over the length of his back before slowly pulling away. Gawain pulls away and tells Lancelot that it is ten o'clock, his usual bedtime. Lancelot turns and covers himself with the sheet that Squirrel stole for him on the first day, but that doesn't stop him from faintly hearing the other man change his clothes on the other side of the tent. The boots being thrown away, the shirt being taken off and discarded, the belt being left aside, the pants coming down his legs, as well as the new pants being put on, but no sound of the shirt being put on, Gawain did not sleep with his shirt on, and finally the sound of him laying down on the mattress and covering himself. He listens to every movement every night. Not that he was a pervert, he just had no option.

Now, NightPearl always comes and snuggles up to him, which makes his heart progressively slow down. God, what kind of demon did he come to live with to leave him like this? He would embarrass himself by the end of the year at this rate. Damn Gawain for having sounds so- NO! He couldn't think that! They are just tentmates, nothing more. Lancelot would curse Venus and Cupid before going to sleep, they are two motherfuckers for doing this to him.

 And on his worst days, Lancelot would have an unwanted dream about those sounds. But the gods know he would rather cut his own tongue out than say that to anyone.

for data: Venus=Aphrodite; Cupid=Eros.

@lancedoncrimsonwings @dinogod

just had an idea for a weeping monk kinktober fic called came a lot. if u need me i'm edging the weeping monk

I went to the beach today and my mom bought me this:

You can really hear the sea in this, I thought it was incredible. And I bought the tree because I thought it was pretty, it's made of amethyst.