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bedlamsbardI don't know if it says more about me, fandom, or the set-up of The Lion King that in a genderfuck version, I'm pretty sure Timon and Pumbaa would have formed their very own lesbian separatist commune.
*mulls on that for a moment*
Dude, if anyone writes that, I will...write Lion King drabbles for you.
When Nala wakes up, Simba's nowhere in sight. She leaps down softly from the rock she's been sleeping on, padding between the sleeping lionesses, ignoring Pumbaa's and Timon's loud snores. It's a measure of their trust in Simba that they're willing to sleep among a pride of nearly-starving lionesses; Nala's not sure she'd be nearly so trusting if she was prey instead of predator.
"Simba?" she calls, once she's left the caves. "Are you out here?"
The sound of dry retching is her only answer, and she takes that as an affirmative, following it back to its source. She finds Simba standing behind a tall rock, every muscle tense as he vomits up last night's dinner.
"Are you all right?"
He jumps. "What the -- oh. It's you," he says, rudely, and then coughs up a hairball, wincing.
"Are you all right?" Nala repeats patiently, trying to check her worry. If Simba's sick --
"I'm, um --" He sits down heavily, tail twitching. "Nala, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"
"Probably," she decides after a thoughtful moment, wondering what it is he's going to ask. A few of the lionesses are already muttering about how un-lionlike he's become, and Sarabi's more worried than she lets on around Simba. Nala's caught her swiftly interrogating Timon and Pumbaa more than once about Simba's childhood.
"Was last night's dinner someone I've met?"
Nala stares at him. "Is that a joke?"
"No! Why would I joke about something like that? I -- what, is this lion humor or something? Oh, look, Simba can't eat meat!" He mocks a lioness's voice mercilessly, his voice rising. "He doesn't have the stomach."
"Simba, that's not --"
"Forget it," he says bitterly. "I'm going to go find something to eat. Something real lions won't eat." He leaps away.
"Simba!" Nala calls, following him as he leaps from rock to rock, his tail lashing. "That's not what I meant! Come back here --"
But he's too fast for her, and she slips for a moment on a small rock still damp with this morning's dew, and when she gets her footing again, he's gone.
*weakly* My Simba has issues, and I want to write them from Nala's POV. Oh gods.
*mulls on that for a moment*
Dude, if anyone writes that, I will...write Lion King drabbles for you.
When Nala wakes up, Simba's nowhere in sight. She leaps down softly from the rock she's been sleeping on, padding between the sleeping lionesses, ignoring Pumbaa's and Timon's loud snores. It's a measure of their trust in Simba that they're willing to sleep among a pride of nearly-starving lionesses; Nala's not sure she'd be nearly so trusting if she was prey instead of predator.
"Simba?" she calls, once she's left the caves. "Are you out here?"
The sound of dry retching is her only answer, and she takes that as an affirmative, following it back to its source. She finds Simba standing behind a tall rock, every muscle tense as he vomits up last night's dinner.
"Are you all right?"
He jumps. "What the -- oh. It's you," he says, rudely, and then coughs up a hairball, wincing.
"Are you all right?" Nala repeats patiently, trying to check her worry. If Simba's sick --
"I'm, um --" He sits down heavily, tail twitching. "Nala, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"
"Probably," she decides after a thoughtful moment, wondering what it is he's going to ask. A few of the lionesses are already muttering about how un-lionlike he's become, and Sarabi's more worried than she lets on around Simba. Nala's caught her swiftly interrogating Timon and Pumbaa more than once about Simba's childhood.
"Was last night's dinner someone I've met?"
Nala stares at him. "Is that a joke?"
"No! Why would I joke about something like that? I -- what, is this lion humor or something? Oh, look, Simba can't eat meat!" He mocks a lioness's voice mercilessly, his voice rising. "He doesn't have the stomach."
"Simba, that's not --"
"Forget it," he says bitterly. "I'm going to go find something to eat. Something real lions won't eat." He leaps away.
"Simba!" Nala calls, following him as he leaps from rock to rock, his tail lashing. "That's not what I meant! Come back here --"
But he's too fast for her, and she slips for a moment on a small rock still damp with this morning's dew, and when she gets her footing again, he's gone.
*weakly* My Simba has issues, and I want to write them from Nala's POV. Oh gods.