Okay. I Hear The Shippers, I Really Do. But This Beautiful Man Could Act Across From A Rubber House Plant

Saw this on Pinterest and remembered the Weeping Mink.

@lancedoncrimsonwings

Squirrel: Almost giving his dads a heart attack

Weeping Mink (angrily praying): Vesta, Goddess of sacred fire, family and househood. Give me strength not to kill that pest of a boy today.

Ma'am... Never mind. Keep going.

I got better. I'm gonna post a new chapter? No. I'm going to do more random scenarios with a head-canon that's not mine.

So found out i was not really sick, i was passing through emotional fever. Which is when you are not physically sick, but when you receive some horrible stimulus - like fear; sadness; anger; anxiety; etc. - excessively, and your brain gets sick. What affects your body and makes you feel symptoms such as fever, headache and etc. I stayed like that for about three days and now i'm better. What am i gonna do? More scenarios whit Tova's head-canon.

Galahad’s pov.

Galahad always knew who his father was, the horrible weeping monk, his mother made sure of making that clear to him, even if he didn't really know why. When he heard that his father was a horrible man, he thought it was because he was an ugly person. It was far from his head about the things his father did.

He didn't know about the atrocities his father committed until two springs ago, when he asked his mother and grandfather to let him spend some time at his house, and his mother went completely crazy. She started saying how bad the idea was and tried to persuade him to stay with her, when she saw that it wasn't working she threw everything she could. Mom was desperate, she seemed possessed by something, and began to scream in tears that he was a horrible man who killed and tortured his own kind and that Galahad should not go to his house, or he would suffer until he left there.

He got terrified and ran to his room to escape his overprotective mother's tears. He couldn't believe it, he thought the horrible man his father was was just because he didn't look good, not that.

Now, two springs later, he was brought into the fey resistance when he lost from his mother, and was living with his father; a boy the same age as him, but much more energetic and who wouldn't shut up, he liked him, the name his was Squirrel, but his father called him Percival when he did something wrong; And another man, older than his father, he is dark-skinned, and with a bit of fat under his big muscles. Galahad thinks he swears excessively and drinks too much, but he is very nice and admirable. His name is Gawain, he is the hero fey, the green knight. But the only green thing about him is his eyes.

It has been three lunar cycles since they all began living under the same roof, and Galahad had taken note of a few things. Squirrel has a very light hand, so I have to keep my things well; Gawain is gluttonous and shows a lot of physical affection towards my father, but they are not lovers; And my father is nothing like i believed.

His father wasn't an ugly man, in fact really pretty, and he looked much more like him than with his mother. He had few tear marks, but Galahad didn't have any either, so it didn't matter much. His hair was still auburn, so he probably wasn't even in his thirties, which meant he became a father at a very young age. His real name was Lancelot, which in their fey mother-language meant “To Protect/Serve” or “Earth’s fire.”

Lancelot did not deny that he committed horrible things against his own kind that he would never forgive himself or expect to be forgiven. Gawain kept saying that if the gods forgive him, he should forgive himself, but that doesn't mean much into Ash culture. The gods are not always right, they make mistakes, like we do.

He learned many things about his father, and things he likes to do with him. Very often people question whether his father is really his father, he doesn't know the conditions under which he was conceived, but he’s sure he is Lancelot's son. They have the same blue eyes, the same golden streaks among the red in their hair, except that his father's hair is darker due to age, the same body type, the same smile. The only things he inherited from his mother were his facial shape and skin tone. But other people didn't know that, so their dialogue most of the time went like this:

“Who’s your parents?” Someone asks

“My father’s Lancelot.” I respond, and the confusion rises in their faces

“... Like… in the weeping monk?” 

“Former weeping monk.” I promptly defend. That wasn't my father's title, so I don't see why people should insist on using it.

“Are you-”

“Yes.”

“But you two-”

“We’re gonna look more alike when I grow.”

“You have-”

“I’m gonna get my marks when my first rituals are done.”

“...”

“Stop questioning it. He is my father.”

“... okay. Sorry.”

They were always the same questions. They didn't even need to go beyond two words for me to know what they were going to say. Sometimes I even joked that no, he wasn't my father and I was just a child that he kidnapped and started taking care of, and then denied it. But it didn't matter what anyone else thought or said, Lancelot is my father. And he had a feeling he was starting to really like it.

His mother didn't have time to braid his hair every night before bed, he didn’t balme her, she was a single mom. His father on the other hand. Today he did a simple braid, the kind that didn't squeeze his head, his hair was always curly in the morning. He might not be the best dad, but he was trying. And now he has a brother! He was noisy, but still, he loved him. He loved his new family in every detail. Well, maybe not the murderous part, but that’s aside.

Ashfolk red-heads are my love now. So sorry, but i'll keep stelling this very often. @lancedoncrimsonwings

Me trying to beat the messy artist accusations

My really small art corner:

So i was feeling strangely horny this days and i did what any normal person would do. Called on my boyfriend? No. I wrote a completely new one shot of Gawain and Lancelot having sex without much lore instead of finishing the fic I'm writing.

One of them is a virgin.

And.

It's not.

Gawain.

Continuation from the last post. See? Totally just sleeping :) 

Lancelot by James Bridie | More quotes at Arthuriana Daily

WIP Wednesday Saturday tag

Damn i completaly forgot to post this thing, school is eating me out alive. Anyways, thank you @lancedoncrimsonwings.

Things went by very quickly, months passed and it was already February. It was still damn winter, but everyone always tried to convince him that it wasn't that bad. And in the midst of the cold, the fey obtained resources and a willpower that Lancelot particularly envied and asked so that they could have a Lupercalia festivity. He remembers the three days of lupercalia where they held feasts for healing and fertility and drank with the fauns. It was also when lovers declared themselves to each other in a way he never forgot.

At the birth of Aphrodite or Venus, Goddess of love and beauty, she is created from sea foam and walked through the sand to find the other Olympians, consequently her symbol is a shell. Centuries ago, it was realized that when sand is exposed to a certain temperature, it crystallizes, and as Ashes have fire in their blood, handling this would not be as difficult just as with other metals.

Every Lupercalia celebration, couples or lovers go to the beaches, light a fire and look for the shell that most reminds them of their partner, and then return to their loved one's side. Then they gathered a handful of sand in their hands with the shell in the middle and heated it until the sand melted into a crystal. They made flowers with the crystal, usually the favorites of their loved ones, each one was unique due to the way it was made and the shell inside it, the shells were exchanged and then they spent the night celebrating and loving each other. On the next day, the previous year's flower was buried in the gardens or temples of goddesses related to love or fertility. They were called love-forges.

Many women appeared pregnant after the celebration. And in fact that's how he gained a younger brother.

When Lancelot was a child, he remembered seeing his father and two mothers making these flowers for each other and exchanging them among themselves, and then they decorated the house with them until the following year, where they buried them in the garden of the goddesses.

Now Lancelot is almost thirty years old and has never made a love-forge for anyone. He thought he would never do it until a jerk with green eyes came into his life last autumn.

Now the monk suddenly finds himself waking up at dawn and voluntarily going out in the cold to go to the nearest beach and walk along the sea coast looking for the shell that most reminded him of his best friend. But how could a single shell remind him of someone like Gawain? It wasn't possible. Gawain would never be someone who could be described in a single, small shell.

After a good few minutes of walking along the coast, Lancelot's eyes fall on something small, bright green that almost immediately reminds him of his best friend, and suspiciously to his stupid heart, desired lover.

A small, flat, chubby shell, with a spiral shape as captivating as his green eyes. Its color was a vibrant light green, the base was greener than its center, which was turning white, the marks caused by the spirals looked golden, and it was so beautiful in the moonlight that it made his heart beat faster. How could something so small remind him of such an important person? The shell did not remembered him any other than Gawain. It was only as perfect as him.

Lancelot takes the shell between his hands and returns to the sand, taking a small handful between his hands. His heart was racing too fast to be considered normal, but at least it kept him warm. He places the small shell in the middle, burying it with more sand and blowing fire several times, melting the sand until it forms a malleable crystal. His hands work to create the petals, round and large, leaving the shell in the middle.

He delicately made each petal, each one held something he liked about his friend, or a moment of them together. The smell of his hair, the captivating eyes holding him as he talks, the hands helping him put his clothes back on when his ribs were broken, the way their lips almost touch when they whisper secrets to each other, the stolen clothes and teasing at breakfast. Everything that reminded him of him as each round petal was placed delicately and slowly on a gardenia, a flower that signified secret love. He finishes the flower as in tradition, a kiss on the petals on the shell.

"What is that?" Suddenly Gawain's voice sounds behind him, scaring him and making him look over his shoulder to where the other man is looking at him. Gods, was he so distracted that he didn't hear or feel Gawain nearby?

“Just a flower. It was a tradition of my people and I wanted to do it now that I, well, came back.” He responds, the heart accelerating the closer Gawain comes, until he sits next to him, but much closer than is friendly permitted.

He turns his face away from the flower to look at Gawain, their lips almost touching for a moment and both men take a few seconds to compose themselves and stop looking at each other's lips. “Does it always end with a kiss like that?” Gawain whispered, sliding his eyes to the crystal gardenia in his friend's hand. "Yes." The other responds without turns.

The green-eyed man extends his hand, touching Lancelot's and holding the gardenia with him, and speeding up both their hearts even more. “May I?” He asks, and Lancelot nods, sure that he's talking about the flower, but is surprised when suddenly his best friend's lips are on his. It's just a peck, a press of lips, but it makes the blue-eyed man's brain stop and it takes a few seconds before he responds to the kiss with a press of lips of his own.

Gawain's lips were as soft as he imagined, and Lancelot knows that his marks are glowing with the amount of happiness and passion he feels in that moment. The kiss seems to last forever, even though it was only a few long seconds. They break the kiss, both looking at each other and again the other man is the first to speak. “We should get back to the tent, before you freeze from lack of heat.” The man nods and they both get up with each other's help, but Lancelot is surprised again when Gawain pulls him to his chest and whispers in his ear. “I’ll cuddle you all night so you don’t get cold.” Lancelot feels his marks glowing brighter, his cheeks heat up and he probably looks like a tomato judging by the way his love laughed triumphantly and walked away, while he stood still for a while before following him back to the camp with the flower in his hands.

That man was still going to give him a heart attack.

Here is the inspiration for the shell and what a gardenia looks like:

This was inspired by me and the person i like showing that we like each other through origami of our favorite flowers. My heart skipped a beat when they said that they have each of the lilies I gave them in a different house. And since Lancelot has no idea how to show love I decided to put this on him too.

Happy valentines day, also late.