Headcanon That Isaac Has Chronic Pain From His Fucked Up Childhood, But Doesn't Know It Because He Was

No Longer You waltzing animatic, this wasn't supposed to be a serious thing but oh well

I beat myself up for taking 4-5 months for this next chapter to come out but then I remember at least I'm not using AI

SFX make up done by Lucy Rowley for the @NetflixUK series @CursedNetflix last year on Daniel Sharman. Designed by Erika Okvist (source)

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

First of all, thanks for the tag @lancedoncrimsonwings! So this is a bunny plot I've been having for a long time, so it's time to put it on paper! But this will need a little context first.

France were considered a Latin country because of its language, nowadays it is no longer, but what does that mean? I looked for old French and the religion before Christianity, and discovered that they have heritage from three peoples: Celtic (Gauls), Germanic (Franks), and Latin (Romans). So that gives me three options for ancient religions for Lancelot: Celtic mythology (which would be the same as Gawain), Germanic/Norse mythology, and Greco-Roman mythology. But let's be honest, I really want to mix 'em and make the ash folk worship Hestia, Vesta in Roman, goddess of primordial and sacred fire; Belive that it's okay to die in battle because he'll go to Valhalla if that happens; And that he should be careful with nature at all costs because this is a manifestation of the gods. Gawain have Celtic mythology as his religion and worships many gods, but most importantly he worships Dune, as with all fey folks, because she is the mother Goddess of Celtic mythology.

Having explained that, what follows may be short and is much lighter than what I usually write.

It took some time for Lancelot to get used to the lack of restrictions of religion, or to the fact that he had no religion at all now. He became bored with everyday life very quickly now that he didn't have the christianity routine to follow. Finding himself sleeping without even being tired during the day quite oftenly, eating without praying first anymore, and willingly not fasting on sundays or doing frequent prayers.

He missed talking to God when he needed to, he never responded, but it was good to talk and let everything out. Deceiving himself that he was listening hurt, but it was also the only time he could let it out and allow himself to feel.

The months passed and they managed to settle in an abandoned place, they called it New Nemos, a very uncreative name for a place with so many heads. He still shared the house with Gawain and Squirrel, but something was out of place. Lancelot felt strange every time he passed through the entrance or the small living room, something had been bothering him since they arrived, and they had only been here for three days.

He felt a dull discomfort throughout his body and in his heart, a tightness in his throat that made him frown. He didn't realize what it was until he sat down to read and try to forget and accommodate, it was only then that something came to him. A smell of smoke, but there was no fire anywhere in the house, he checked- oh… It's only then that his brain ring the bells.

Lancelot was no longer a christian, but before he was forced into christianity, he and his folk worshiped Vesta, the goddess of fire, and it was tradition to light a sacred fire in the hearth whenever they moved or built something new as a symbol of the goddess and her protection. The discomfort he felt and the smell of smoke was Vestia asking him to light the hearth  like he used to do before.

Lancelot goes to the hearth and lights it with fey fire that he made from his own bare hands. "Better now?" He asks, looking at the hearth, and an almost imperceptible smile appears at the corner of his lips, his marks turn bright red, his eyes shine slightly when he sees the fire move and sway upwards, as if it were smiling and talking to him.

Maybe Vesta wanted him back. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought. His heart fills and the discomfort disappears, a sigh leaving his nostrils. Perhaps his gods still considered him their child.

Having a scenario ready in your head and having it written down are also two very, very different things. But I wish they were the same thing.

unfortunately, I will write this fic and I am writing this fic are two very different things

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.

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

CURSED 15 DAY CHALLENGE

Day 4: Favorite Ship→ Pym & the Red Spear

- You try me, healer. And that isn’t hard to do when I can’t find any bloody gold! - Maybe you should try raiding the Red Paladins. - You speak again! - Well, you’ve been stealing from the thrice-robbed. I mean, these towns, they’ve already been sacked by the Red Paladins. If it’s gold you’re after, strike their camps. They’ve got wagons full. - You’re a shit healer. [to the crew] Relay that order! Stay on Beggars’ Coast!