#{mayregina}

[laperlina]

🍓 (for @travmsoldat 😈)

let me say nice things about you. ♡

i made sure to yap about you first before i got to this one !!! uno reversing me like the sweetheart you areeee.

time to force myself to say nice things about my portrayal i guess ?? of the little lion prince phillip. iiiii ... clearly have a lot of world building i've built for him, a grand epic on the evils of imperialism, the beauty of how indomitable the human spirit is, society's definition of masculinity and the burdens that come with it, the loss across cultures of mysticism and real magic ... and i did all that for a canon character with very little characterization all on my own, in a way i feel like is both easy to understand as a fairytale but can get really deep the farther you want to explore. and pulling that off requires a lot of like. Dungeon Master information architecture thinking, the ability to connect small details with big picture while driving a whole narrative in clear, coherent, unique, and engaging ways. and the fact that ppl respond to it i think does show my ability to create somewhat compelling narratives maybeee.

i like that i feel i really took hints of his character in the movie and made him his own thing, and put layers upon the prince charming trope that make him feel real and mythical all at once? that feeling you get when you watch Old Hollywood men on screen? i think i really did figure out a formula to replicate that in my style over there.

he's a very charismatic character like adella, and i do feel like i can pull off charismatic characters both convincingly and in a way that's really unique to me. i feel, i hope anyway, that i have a pretty discernable brand and style for my characters and world building etc. ?? that i don't think can be truly replicated and that's a good feeling. @misericordiis said recently ' no one is doing it like you and it's important you remember that ' (in a way that meant i'm my own thing and special in my own way). and that made me wanna cry because maybe one day i can actually deeply feel in my heart that that's true; that my brand and style and stories are my own and that's because iiiiiiiiii worked hard to make it that way, that it didn't just happen out of thin air, and that i can be proud of that.

[archaeval]

@mayregina ;;

TIME WORKED STRANGELY IN THE WEFT BETWEEN WORLDS. In Ironside, it marched along dutifully, one day coming after another, the sun always rising when it should, and night always coming after evening. But in Fairyside, there was no such order. One day in the Archaeval Realm would be one hour, or three days, or three hundred years in the world of men, and so Ruby could only guess whether or not the man she sought still lived.

She had thrown her glamour over her shoulders, assuming the shape of an imperious, yet very nearly human, woman. There were flaws in every fairy costume, even hers, but it would do as she walked into the throne room, ornate cane clicking on the stone with every step.

"I wish you health and good heart," Ruby said, paying perfunctory respects with a nod of her head. She could not curtsy if she wanted to, not with these two legs. "I have come to call on the knight Lancelot, so he might uphold his end of our bargain. Tell me, pray: is he here?"

[marchenbuch-a]

@mayregina liked for a tiny starter and gets floran

"i apologise for the poor reception , your highness - i fear we did not recieve your letter until it was too late. there has been trouble on the roads." the emperor is putting it likely ( for he had come very close to losing his only son the other day. )

[drachnslayer]

𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

@mayregina : ❛ why have you killed these beautiful flowers? ❜

❛ it's . . . a remedy, ❜ he says defiantly as he holds the tip of a small branch into a nearby fire. of course the queen herself had to find him in this moment of all moments. and so early in the morning. once there is a small flame burning at the end of the branch, he holds it into a little bowl in his other hand, where some herbs and flowers have been crushed roughly. they do make for a sad sight, still showing so clearly what they once were. before they swiftly burn to ashes. but siegfried often has little time and little patience for detailed work. his talents lie in the brutish, bigger things. he snuffles, not looking up at her. the smoke already irritates his nostrils. ❛ to calm the nerves. ❜

a mixture that his nightmare elf, ironically, had taught him how to concoct. while simultaneously the foul creature crawls into his dreams each night, tainting them and making siegfried wake up with a jerk each morning.

❛ i'd share, of course. ❜ he coughs, throwing the branch into the fire and giving her a small, partly forced and partly genuine smile.

[eynsavalow]

guinevere + lancelot for the kid meme?

Name: Alanus or Alan

Gender: Male in some abstract technical sense

General Appearance: Very much takes after his mother in terms of appearance.

Personality: He gets his appearance from his mom but his mannerisms are very much Lancelot's. He's also fairly spoiled having essentially three parents to spoil him.

Special Talents: Will be the center of attention at any given social function.

Who they like better: Whoever gives him what he wants at any given moment.

Who they take after more: Takes an equal amount from both, the rest is his own problem.

Personal Head canon: Is a stereotypical rich kid. He didn't grow up during the same political turmoil as Arthur or have the same drive as Lancelot to prove himself so he comes across as a bit feckless. In a way he's very similar to his Aunt Morgause in that both are more than capable, he just chooses not to be.

Face Claim: Vassili Schneider

[bachlach]

quite the house plant. / to the lord!!

interview with the vampire.

For a fraction of a second, there is a strange look on his face, a defensive narrowing of the eyes, a tightened grasp on his chalice of wine. It immediately melts away when he follows her gaze.

The pomegranate tree in the great hall IS a thing of wonder. They do not thrive in Prydain. Certainly not here in the windswept rocky moels of Hautdesert. This magnificent specimen has beaten all the odds, flourishing in the gigantic Roman urn it has been potted in, branches heavy with handsome unblemished fruit, as tall as a man but not nearly as tall as Sir Bredbeddle. Winter is fast approaching but the leaves remain just as lush and full as on a mild summer’s day. He is proud of her and it shows on his face.

❝ Aye. She’s my wife’s work. ❞ A lie. Rhiannell lacks any ambition towards botanical pursuits outside of her overgrown herb garden, she wouldn’t have the patience to brood over a plant so COMPLICATED and DEMANDING. Kore is his tree. Has been since she sprouted in the rubbish heap and called out for help. He’d fussed over her for years, loved her like a father, taken her inside every fall when her leaves began to change and she began to express longing for the sun and heat of her native home, moved her from dish to pot to olive urn as her roots trailed out and she asked for space, gently bound her branches with linen so his wife could reach the fruit even when Kore came into her prime.

Why had he lied? He couldn’t say for certain. It did not feel right, felt incongruous to the role he had been playing. It’s a SOPHISTICATED thing, isn’t it? Delicate work, the cultivation of foreign fruit trees. It takes a desire to learn and grow with the tree itself. Sir Bredbeddle is a simple man. A man of violence, a man of honor, a man who has survived through his might alone. A man who might work a plow if necessary but would NEVER waste years nurturing a single pampered pomegranate tree.

Bredbeddle stands from his place at the table, moves away from the dais and toward his HOUSE PLANT, as his queen had called her. He carefully selects the ripest pomegranate and plucks it from the branch with a gentle twist. Kore doesn’t mind giving up her fruit. Some trees get precious about it. She seems to understand that any offspring she could create would suffer in this climate and be pleased enough knowing her hard work is put to good use in other ways.

❝ The fruit keeps and there is plenty of it. ❞ He places the ruby red treat in front of Guinevere. A gift. An offering. A bridge. ❝ If it pleases you, pick it at your leisure. She doesn’t mind. ❞

[llallwgan]

i am enamored with ALLL of your portrayals. you got me thinking of characters I never much considered before and now am obsessed with. you've caused me to view arthuriana through a different lens; you have managed that balance of clearly making the characters your own while still respecting the popular/common narrative so they are easy to interact with in that originality. I adore you!!! 🥺 💕

how is my portrayal?

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! Seeing your blog interacting with my mutuals was actually what made me want to start writing Arthuriana. I’d been obsessed with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight for like 5 years at that point but Arthurian legend as a whole seemed so daunting and so difficult to parse and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do the characters justice. The unique narrative you wove around your Arthur made me think ‘That looks fun. I want to do something like that.’ if that makes sense? Anyway, I love writing with you.

[llallwgan]

@mayregina encountered the wizard.

Pennyroyal. It smells lovely. Not like him. Fresh, minty. There are others he has seen used in this procedure, mugwort, rue, silphium, moss inserted in a place moss does not belong. Sometimes these remedies kill more than the thing inside the patient, that last one has a particularly high mortality count. Septicemia wasn’t just a result of injuries sustained in the childbed. She has been searching. He knows that. No one is ever as discrete as they think they are. She has been searching so it is safe to assume she does not know what she is doing. That is how they get hurt. He fears Arthur would follow her to the grave if she went before her time. That must not happen.

They are finally alone. It is interesting, he thinks, how everyone has made a concerted effort not to leave him alone with Guinevere since she arrived in this place. He gets the feeling it is not a lack of trust, not borne out of a suspicion he will attempt to seduce her or do great harm her. BITE HER, maybe. Not physically, he is rarely crazed enough to start biting and he doubts Guinevere would ever be the subject of his physical ire. It is his words they fear, words that could make her bolt or begin to fall apart at the seams. That sort of wounding takes more than linen strips to mend. She will know him sooner or later, hopefully she will learn to like him and the blows will be softened by that. Today is as good a day as any to make the connection. He is not in a snappish state this morning, he feels well but not SUSPICIOUSLY so. His mind is as clear as it has ever been. His mission is one of mercy.

❝ Drink the tea on an empty stomach. Follow it with wine, if it pleases you. No other sustenance until the bleeding is underway. ❞ Merlin’s words are quiet, his voice is often soft but it is now dropped to a whisper. This is a private matter, not fit for court gossip. He presses the linen bag of fragrant herbs into her palm VERY CAREFULLY, looking at her with that strange mismatched mongrel dog gaze. There is knowing in there. Perhaps she won’t trust him, that will be to her detriment but he can leave this matter knowing he attempted to facilitate a satisfactory and relatively painless resolution. ❝ Rest until it stops. You must rest. If the bleeding is frightening or the pain is great, seek me. Do not tell Arthur what you have done. ❞