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

what kind of name is lancelot? what are you lancing a lot? other men? 🤔🤨📸

WIP Wednesday Monday/7 line tag

Danke for the WIP Wednesday tag @holy3cake and the 7 Line tag @aintgonnatakethis

No Pressure tagging @aintgonnatakethis @holy3cake + OPEN TAG

Rules; WIP Wednesday; Share your latest WIP line/s or idea/plot bunnies. 7 Line tag; share 7 lines from a WIP

Giving you guys the 14 lines I just wrote as an "oops I was tagged ages ago and never responded" from my Lancewain Horizons to Battlegrounds WIPs

TWs: Suicidal ideation, injury

"You can't keep going like this, Ashman." Gawain said, quietly. He eyed the blood still seeping between Lancelot's fingers where he pressed them against his side, and the tremour beneath that came in waves as he breathed.

As usual, Lancelot gave no reply. Gawain hadn't expected him to yet the worry gave way to anger that burned up inside him like a righteous flame.

"You do understand, don't you? You're going to die. You must stop this. You must let them help you!"

Grey eyes averted their once searing gaze. Understanding was clear enough in them- Lancelot knew well how dire his situation was, then.

"Or is that what you want?" Gawain pressed, moving into where Lancelot had looked away, forcing him to glance his way for just a moment before he bored holes in the opposite side of the room than before.

Gawain's own understanding dawned like a lead weight suffocating the anger roiling through him.

"Oh…" Gawain breathed. "It is, isn't it?"

Lancelot swallowed. The tremour was worsening, sweat dripped from his brow, which had furrowed at the statement.

"Why do you want to die." Gawain pressed, daring now to reach out, to touch the hand that wasn't still dripping with hot blood. Gawain almost felt bad for the sharp inhale as Lancelot flinched, then flinched again with a pained wince at the movement.

Unspoken words formed on Lancelot's too-pale lips.

reading progressive sex ed caricatures with accurate and detailed and realistic diagrams of sexual organs + shows their variation, but all i can think about is how there is no discussion of what srs is besides the fact that it exists

Doing my nails while learning math because math is hell and painting my nails calms me down

we’re so back w more arthuriana shitposts!!

lancelot

gawain

kay

morgan

galahad

dinadan

agravaine

mordred

arthur

guinevere

They're so gay and sad. I loved It❤️

Hug, beauty and blood

Ok so "hug" is from Chapter 2 cause I struggled to find better than a bulletpoint in my WIPs with it in but yess I love these thank you!

Hug;

The boy hesitantly moved closer, then before Lancelot could say anything else, Squirrel hugged him. Lancelot bit down on a pained yelp, the embrace sending another incredibly sharp surge of torment through his side that made sweat bead up again on his brow, his vision swum and it took more than he cared to admit to stop himself from whimpering. He almost forgot to feel shocked the agony was so intense.

Beauty;

Lancelot's breath was coming in gasps. Gawain realised he too was panting, and he glanced out for just a moment to see they were towards the edge of the dance, but closer to the Bard, who eyed them both with those silver-blue eyes as he continued to sing;

"Where you see weakness, I see wit, Sometimes I fall to pieces, Just to see what bits of me don't fit,"

The piercing stare was too much, too invasive, Gawain turned quickly back to Lancelot. He drunk in the beauty before him.

"... And when I stand, oh, those folks will run, And tell their tales of what I've become..."

And by the Gods, Lancelot was truly beautiful. A man, a Fey, a gentle soul with a tender heart and a battle hardened warrior all at once. His colour swirling skin shone slick with sweat, supple muscles rippling as he moved and swayed with the enticing grace of a deadly predator, jaw tensed, chest heaving ragged breaths.

Blood;

Blood dripped steadily from Lancelot's fingertips. Oozing slowly from the carving upon his left shoulder, it traced rivers of crimson down his arm before collecting between the iron shackle and his skin. So severe were the iron burns, and so close was the metal to his sore, abraised skin that the blood now pooled up and over the outside of the cuff like an overflowing dam. It offered his burned wrist a modicum of relief. Scarlet glistened in the low light as it invariably flowed down down down, following the swell of his knuckles and the length of his fingers to splash into a coagulating puddle on the floor, steadily staining the cold ashen stone into a dirty red.

There's this really, really small, almost non-existent moment in the aromantic comunity people where you realize that for the first time, you are in love. You smile silly, your heart does a strange jump when they talk to you, you really want to smile at everything they say and you can't stop looking at them.

I thought this only happened in books, but no, it's real.

As an aromantic person who is dealing with love for the first time, romantic people, how do I deal with this?