Horizons To Battlegrounds

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Cursed: What Happened Next To Nimue In The Book

Nimue's story didn't end with Cursed season 1.

Well... It's 2024 and still no news about the book sequel...

Reblog if you write fan fiction

Doesn’t matter if you write in a frequent basis, or once in a blue moon, just how many of us are there?

I love turning on notifications for my favorite blogs. I think it's so cool to get notifications when they reblog or post something new, because it can range from comically big shit to something you have to use the 'i swear I'm a writer' excuse. Or it could just be something very gay or queer-related.

I love seeing what kind of shit people reblog. Like, what's on your for you that can range from sexual jokes to extremely specific facts to heavy gore?

@lancedoncrimsonwings @rabbit-flaying @holy3cake @grail-lifesupport This is about you.

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.

Okay then, this is the drawing I did as a test for the Weeping monk's face. The drawing isn't that good because I'm not very good at drawing faces and also because it's a test drawing so I wasn't that worried about how well it would turn out or not.

The proportions are wrong; the eyes are the wrong shape and have no pupils, and the tears are worse; the mouth looks weird; I don't like the beard; he's bald; It's definitely one of the drafts I liked the least, but I'll let it go because I did it at dawn surviving on coffee.

First of all, thanks for the tag!

So, i decided that, yes, i'm going to do the reformatory an definitive arc in my fanfic. So consider this a small peak in what i'm trying to do.

The faces the ashman saw were not unfamiliar to him. From inside his own cell, he could see several souls that he previously knew, but that were now nothing more than bodies cursed with life. Lancelot was tied from head to toe with chains created specially and specifically tailored to his measurements. The piece of metal that wrapped around his neck and was attached to the walls was measured, tight enough to contain him but not tight enough to kill him. His wrists were tied to the floor along with his ankles, chained with the more resistant and thickest metal they had. Their goal was to pin him to the ground, make him vulnerable and less possibility to resist or escape. The poor man felt like a caged fighting dog. In the cell in front of his was a person not yet so disfigured, a face he could still describe as one of the fey paladins he grew up with. Nyx. A star-dust folk, considered to be from the same family as moonwings, coming from the Americas. He looked at him with those big starry eyes as if Lancelot were an abused puppy… Maybe he looked like one now. The boy had beautiful long hair as dark as the night, big eyes with stars and excessively pale skin, his hands and feet were painted like constellations in the sky. He was beautiful, but there was something missing in his appearance. Two days ago, Nyx was dragged out of the cell and taken to a different place upstairs, we thought it was just another dosing session to keep him in line. We couldn't be more wrong.

Within a few minutes we all heard the agonizing sound of Nyx's scream. He didn't went to be dosed, they took him to have the remaining base of his wings ripped off. Without any kind of thing to ease the pain of poor stardust. We heard the agonizing screams and cries for help for hours, every time he begged them to stop and they just wouldn't... He smelled it. The smell of blood, of despair, of the almost death of his childhood friend. And he couldn't do anything. Those who were still allowed to be out, the complete freaks who could no longer be called themselves, like lady Arachne, helped the poor fey as much as they could. The cleanest bandages they had, water, anything that could help him sleep. Nyx was the one who was tortured and almost killed, but he looked at Lancelot as if he were a living corpse, even if the one who had been on the verge of death wasn't him... He would give his life for his if necessary, even if his life wasn't. meant nothing. Devil’s nightmare was messing not only with their head, but with the soul of both of them and everyone there. Since no one would come to his rescue, Lancelot was sure that in a short time he would be a freak like the others...

@lancedoncrimsonwings

Next: @rabbit-flaying

WIP LateDay

Idk what day it is anymore but I know it isn't Wednesday whoops.

Danke @holy3cake for the tag

No Pressure tagging @aintgonnatakethis @beginning-writer + OPEN TAG FOR ALL to share a WIP, snippet or idea

Here, have another random snippet for Horizons that I wrote last night at 1:30am. No idea if I'll even include this but for now, enjoy!

Gawain's POV;

Night had long since come when Gawain found himself sat by the fire, watching Lancelot. The man's eyes were open and stairing sightlessly into the boughs above him, sometimes screwing shut whilst he bared his teeth into a snarl. Small movements of his body and the occasional gasp and choked moan betrayed how much he was suffering, clearly utterly unable to rest for the pain.

It had been several hours of this, and Gawain had had enough. He knew Lancelot would never ask for aid, yet he also knew that in this state, the man couldn't stop Gawain helping him either.

Grey eyes dulled from exhaustion followed his movement as Gawain got to his feet and circled round the fire to Lancelot's side.

"I must go and gather some herbs. Theres a willow tree by the river, the bark is good for pain," Gawain explained quickly. "I shan't be long, alright?"

"Are you well?" Lancelot croaked, eying Gawain up and down as if searching for an injury.

"Aye, I--"Gawain began, then chuckled to himself when he saw Lancelot crane his neck towards Squirrel then wince at the movement.

"--the boy is fine, Ashman. You're suffering, let me help you."

Predictably, then came the most unconvincing "I'm fine" Gawain had ever heard in his entire life. Lancelot now looked worse than ever, skin pale against his markings, sweat and blood glinting in the firelight, shaking knuckles clenching around bloodstained fabric.

I've seen dead men that looked healthier than he.

"Uh-huh. Aye, and I'm the King of Mercia" Gawain scoffed, shaking his head at the blatant lie.

"Whatever you say, my Liege…" Lancelot replied immediately, an odd tone to his voice that was only punctuated by the breathy way in which the pain caused him to speak.

Gawain scoffed again, but it was effort to stop himself from laughing. A small part of him he darent give voice to liked the way he'd purred the words a little too much…

"I will be off, now. I told you so you'd know where I had gone." Gawain said. He tried to halt his mind's traitorous musings.

"If you needed… time alone, you only had to… ask"

Gawain was certain he had imagined the wink, that there was no way Lancelot was teasing him like this. Surely not. Gawain managed to hold it together enough to raise an eyebrow in reply, shaking his head, about to come up with what would have been a truly witty retort when Lancelot spoke up again;

"Don't forget to… polish your crown, while you're out there."

And at that Gawain's brain damn near short circuited. There was no mistaking the meaning in his tone, the slight smirk, though ruined only slightly by a pained grimace and half gasp of pain. Did Lancelot truly mean the innuendo in the words, had he really meant to flirt?

"Only if you help." Gawain thought back, eyes widening when he heard a snicker then a groan.

Arawn's cock. Had he… Had he said that aloud?

"Your wish is my command, Sire." Lancelot whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Gawain shook his head, sure now that he must be dreaming. Yes, he must have fallen asleep, or he must be in dire need of it and hearing things.

Or if the Ashman truly was flirting with him, then Lancelot was worse off than he'd imagined and clearly delirious from pain.

Either way. Willow Bark and Feverfew. Yes. They were good things to focus on.

That, and decidedly not the idea of Lancelot…polishing his crown with those too-pale lips of his, made warm and plump by…

Willow-bark and Feverfew, Willow and Feverfew, WillowandFeverfewWillowand--

Gawain repeated the list in his head like a mantra, not once turning to look back as he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way down the hill onto the moors.

Hear me out wheel! C: If you don’t know who someone is just look em up and vote based on vibes

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

Thanks for the tag @lancedoncrimsonwings, and also i felt so happy and a lil shy to read i was sunlight. That made my day, thank you.

I honestly think you are street light.

Because it lights up the night and is so serene, depending on the color. It's cozy and I have good memories with street light, and it makes you feel at home. That's what I felt when I found this lost little piece of Lancewain in the sea fandom that only ships Nimulot.

And it reminds me of old movies where murders happen in a dark alley and the killer walks under the lights like nothing happened after killing someone. And gay kisses in the rain without an umbrella in England. Everyone knows that these are the best kisses to watch. And that's exactly you.

And @moyavince you're Starlight, If i need to explain myself on this one let me know. I'll gladly explain why to you.

And tagging anyone who sees this