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Allthehumanflaws - AlL THe HuMaN FLaWs - Tumblr Blog
AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES:
1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. (@magsalecs)
2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). (@alexshenry)
3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. (@tylerposey)
4. How your hands look when you play piano. (@nostalgiaisabitchhuh)
5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. (@userstede)
6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you're a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. (@magsalecs)
7. Your ability to recite Keats. (@magsalecs)
8. Your ability to recite Bernadette's "Don't let it drag you down" monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. (@darwinsfinchesx)
9. How hard you try. (@sheisraging)
10. How hard you've always tried. (@stevenrogered)
11. How determined you are to keep trying. (@simon-eriksson)
12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. (@magsalecs)
13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). (@sheisraging)
14. The way you look when you first wake up. (@magsalecs)
15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. (@gay-bucky-barnes)
16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. (@thomasbrodiesandwich)
17. Your equally huge dick. (@tylerposey)
18. The face you just made when you read that last one. (@uglygreenjacket)
19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). (@magsalecs)
20. The fact that you loved me all along. (@magsalecs)
— I can't match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list.
Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (2019) and Matthew Lopez (2023)
Credit to all the gif makers and editors, the real heroes of the fandom.
And in the end Thetis sat and listened to the man she hated so much and she heard him talk of her son so amazingly and beautifully
She finally learned everything about her son who he was how he was what he felt how he did and to honor him she carved on his tomb what felt most right she carved what made Achilles Achilles
She wrote Patroclus
My 50+ orthodox father who rarely acknowledges the existence of the LGBTQ+ (not in a homophobic way) has just asked me to explain him in detail the plotline of "The Song of Achilles"
So yes i do need an assassin for me thank you-
"Madness is the inability to communicate your ideas. It's as if you were in a foreign country, able to see and understand everything that's going on around you, but incapable of explaining what you need to know of of being helped, because you don't understand the language they speak there. "
reblog if you think sign language should be taught as a language in schools.
🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣
u don't understand they literally ARE soldier, poet, king
Scars
Torture me Maim me Mutilate me For I will take that pain happily Tear me apart limb by limb Throw me to the wolves Slit my wrist or Hang me from a noose For these scars will show won't they These will show the world I hurt Pain courses through my veins Emotional scars don't matter much do they They never signify pain It's all in your head they say Those scars don't even hurt Then why does the shatter of the heart resound louder than that of glass Why do these mental scars bleed so much more than those on my hands They don't matter much But they hurt so much more Why would you worry about something that doesn't even show So hurt me physically In all the ways I've been hurt emotionally To see if they would care then And till that day comes I'll sit here in the pool Of my imaginary blood Hoping for a day They care about a broken heart As much as they care about a broken bone
She talked about love
She praised it so much
And i knew i felt it too
And i know i felt it for you
But somehow i couldn't bring myself
To just exprrss myself
To tell you how i feel
And in the mess of it all
I lost you on the way
And never have i regretted something more
Falling in love is falling in love
It isn't a sin
It isn't an act if virtue
It's love
It's always been that
06.07.22
Ohkay ohkay just
Here's a thought
What if Arthur was meant to die? The uniter of Albion does also mean the uniter of all those with magic and those without
Merlin is magic and Arthur is made of magic. Merlin is rhe most powerful sorcerer to have walked the Earth. He IS magic which means he can control and command all forms of magic. And he can yeah all apart from Arthur's. Now where technically is Arthur's magic? His soul I'm presuming...
So what if he had to die so his soul could unite with that of Emrys?? Unite the soul of magic
What if Arthur had to die so magic could live on? So that Merlin could live on?
Two sides of the same coin so one has to face down for the other to face up...
The cruelest thing God did was making me the most creative person (I have ideas and visions of what I want to make) with absolutely no skill or motivation
OKAY TUMBLR. IT'S TIME TO SETTLE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL.
Reblog this if you pronounce “.gif” as “GIF.”
NOT JIF,
GIF.
And here is the link for the opposite.
WE SHALL SEE WHICH ONE PREVAILS.
I have always eyed love as something nonexistent
Something that belonged in fairytales
Let alone a love that lasts forever
I didn't believe in love at all
Love is still something quite nonexistent
But now that I've seen him
Will I feel the same
I don't love him
Obviously not
But there's a flutter in my heart
That I may not love him now
But I may someday
And then I jolt awake
It's a dream after all
There is no love here
All a mystical dream
Love is something we humans made
To help us see things through
For those who go find this as the purpose
Who have nothing other to do
It's nonexistent
Love is like a star for me
I may see it
But it's long-dead
Long gone
Never to be seen again
Love is hope for other
But hope is a thing with feathers
In your heart's cage
So maybe the one is just a key
Love is just a thing with feathers
Locked in my heart's cage
Trying to fly...
But I don't believe in the thousand skies
So locked is how it will be
I've seen him now
But never again
For fate is something just for books
And fairytales are something nonexistent
so apparently me crying for 4 hours straight is not of as much concern as me not being happy my friend got good grades on a test they were dreading-
Reblog if you think fanfiction is a legitimate form of creative writing.
Sanctuary
Merlin knew that, by any normal standards, he was a useless manservant. He did not bow and scrape and flatter Arthur. His head was big enough already; he didn't need any assistance with that. He rarely bothered to get him out of bed in time, and he did not keep the Prince's chambers in an immaculate state of cleanliness. He answered back and called Arthur by his given name whenever he thought he could get away with it. He stole food from his plate and disobeyed his orders more often than not.
What no one ever seemed to grasp was that Merlin did it on purpose.
It had taken him a day to realise there was far more to Arthur than the prattish prince he had met in the market place. Within a week he had figured out that Arthur cared less about the state of his rooms and far more about the repair of his armour. Before the first month was out, it had become blatantly obvious that Arthur needed better friends than the sycophants that surrounded him, and not long after that, Merlin was finally able to put the problem into words.
Arthur was the Prince of Camelot. He was Uther's son. He was the heir to the throne and the kingdom's best and bravest warrior. He was under almost constant scrutiny by everyone, from commoners all the way up to the King, and yet none of them saw him. Not really. None of them saw Arthur.
None of them treated him like a human being, either. He was expected to be perfect and infallible. That constant judgement would wear away at anyone, whittling them down to a shadow of an individual. He might be a cabbagehead, but Arthur deserved better than that.
It wasn't the kind of thing that changed overnight. He couldn't just magic up loyal knights and good friends for Arthur: people who would give him the strength to grow into the king Merlin knew he could be. Still, with a gentle nudge here and there, he began to fix things.
He started small. Arthur did not need his chambers to be bland and stark and royal. He needed comfort, not neatness. He might never admit it out loud, but Merlin always noted the way that Arthur's shoulders lost their tension when he stepped through those doors.
When he first came into his service, he suspected Arthur's bedchambers were a place he slept and little more. It was part of the reason Merlin didn't take up the side-room, as was expected of him. It should be Arthur's space, as private as he could make it within the public arena of the citadel, though he still drew the line at knocking on the door. He needed to keep Arthur on his toes somehow.
In a hundred little ways, Merlin tried to remind him that he wasn't special, at least, not because he was a prince. He pinched his food to prove that he wasn't afraid of him. He insulted him for pretty much the same reason, and it was glorious to see Arthur snipe back, stepping out of the shadows of court to come alive in response to Merlin's gentle jibes and subtle care.
And it worked. It took time, as all things did, but day-by-day, as the year turned, those small differences built a strong foundation. Arthur gathered good knights around him, and with their help, he gained a better sense of who he was outside of the expectations of court.
In turn, those men – who became his friends with the occasional nudge on Merlin's part – helped him weather the storm of finding out about both Merlin and Morgana's magic. When some of Arthur’s fundamental truths were rattled on their foundations, it was Lancelot, Gwaine and the others who steadied him.
So it was that the trust he and Merlin shared, briefly shattered by those revelations, had the opportunity to reform stronger than ever before.
Now, months later, Merlin sprawled in the chair by the fire, his legs thrown over one arm and his back propped against the other, comfortable in the deep furs that covered the furniture's sturdy frame. A book on healing magic lay open in his palms, and subtle wards laced the door to warn him of anyone's approach.
The flames crackled happily in the grate, filling the room with warmth and comfort as the scratch of Arthur's quill over parchment added to the general air of tranquillity. It was not the frantic scrawl of him working through something urgent, but a slower, steadier sound, as if he were doodling while he lost himself to his thoughts.
Merlin treasured moments like this, and not just because it was rare that Camelot itself was so calm. It settled something deep in his chest to share Arthur's company without any secrets casting their shadows between them. He had not known how much it hurt to hide who he was from Arthur's gaze until it was no longer necessary, and the lack of that burden was a beautiful blessing.
Of course, it stood to reason that Arthur would find it necessary to disturb that tranquillity only a moment later.
'Thank you.'
'Hmmm?' Merlin tilted his head but did not take his eyes off the page, only half-listening.
There was a faint sigh as Arthur rose from his seat, his socked feet quiet over the flagstones as he approached. That was another sign that Arthur felt safe and content here. No sword, no boots and no wretched royal masks. The thick rug before the hearthstone silenced his passage further, and Merlin looked up in surprise as Arthur plonked himself on the floor, watching the fire dance in the grate as he started to speak.
'Did you think I wouldn't notice?' Arthur looked over his shoulder, a wry smile caught on his lips. 'All the things you've done for me, right from the start?'
Merlin wrinkled his nose, letting his doubt make itself known in the slant of his expression. It was not that he thought Arthur stupid, but the man was horribly self-absorbed, sometimes.
'Not straight away, maybe,' Arthur grudgingly acknowledged, 'but I got there eventually.'
'I didn't do much.' Merlin closed the book and tucked it down beside him.
'You did the things that mattered.' Arthur's fingers picked idly at the rug, the ring on his finger gleaming in the firelight. 'Not to Camelot, but to me. That's more than anyone else has ever attempted. Also, you –' He pursed his lips, as if he thought he might be saying too much. 'You stayed, Merlin. Even when I threw things at your head and acted like a prat. You didn't go anywhere.' Arthur pulled a face. 'Though what that says about your intelligence...'
Merlin cuffed him gently around the back of his head, grinning as Arthur merely ducked out of the way, reaching up to catch Merlin's hand in his. He expected a brief touch and nothing more, yet Arthur's thumb swept over the back of his knuckles, tentative and hypnotising. The caress made Merlin's next breath catch in his throat as delicate heat bloomed under his ribs, and he sternly told his foolish heart not to read too much into it. Arthur was grateful, that was all.
Except that when Arthur shuffled around to face him fully, rising onto his knees, the emotion that writ itself upon his face looked too intense to be mere gratitude. The fire lit him from behind, turning that golden hair into a gleaming halo, but it was the light in Arthur's eyes that held Merlin enraptured. He did not think that he'd ever seen Arthur look at anyone like that before: all breathless, eager hope.
'You don't – I –' Arthur sucked in a breath, biting his lip as if he were trying to hold back a battalion of words. His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh, sandy lashes dipping to hide his gaze from view as, very slowly, Arthur lifted their entwined grasp to his lips and brushed a kiss against the back of Merlin's hand.
It was sweet and shy and courtly, and Merlin briefly wondered if he had fallen asleep in front of the fire and was dreaming. This moment seemed far more likely to be a fantasy conjured by his stupid, hopeless heart than anything real, except that no amount of blinking shattered the illusion. Arthur was really there, sitting on the floor in front of Merlin like a penitent before their king.
When had everything changed?
Belatedly, Merlin's stunned thoughts began to pick up speed, flashing up memories for his consideration. When he had found out about his magic, Arthur had stopped touching him. There were no more playful fights and punched shoulders and headlocks. Instead, he kept his distance, and Merlin hated how it felt like a punishment.
But then, when Arthur had reached out again, things were different. He let his shoulder knock against Merlin's when they stood side-by side, or reached out a hand to steady him as they traipsed through the woods after game. He sought him out, too, less because there was some chore to be done and more because Arthur seemed out of sorts when they were apart. Even if they were still in the same room, Merlin had felt Arthur's gaze on him more often than ever before.
Maybe Arthur wasn't the only one who could be self-absorbed. Merlin had been so wrapped up in his quiet, unacknowledged love for Arthur that he had never stopped to notice the tiny clues that maybe, just maybe, Arthur felt the same way about him.
'I'm sorry.' Arthur's voice was rough as he moved to withdraw, misreading Merlin's shock. 'I shouldn't have –'
'Stop!' Merlin's hand tightened around Arthur's, holding him in place as he all but fell out of his chair. The rug saved his knees from a bruising collision with the flagstones, but Merlin wouldn't have noticed either way. All his attention was on Arthur and the hollow, pale look that had replaced the softness in his face, as if he thought he'd overstepped and was berating himself for it. 'Arthur, please. Look at me?'
He reached out with his other hand, resting his palm against Arthur's cheek as he guided his head up. Arthur faced down monsters and furious sorcerers without so much as flinching, but it seemed matters of the heart were different. 'You took me by surprise, that's all. I didn't realise...' Merlin swallowed, pushing aside his excuses. Maybe Arthur had the right of it. Words felt imprecise and clumsy in his mouth, too prone to misunderstanding. Instead, he shifted his grip on Arthur's hand, bringing it hesitantly to his own lips.
He did not close his eyes as his kiss whispered over Arthur's skin, preferring to watch the way Arthur's eyes darkened. A hint of a flush graced his cheeks, and desire flashed its demands down Merlin's spine to clench between his legs. Yet this was about more than just a quick tumble. He could read that much in Arthur's gaze even as he felt its certainty right at the core of him. They could never be fleeting lovers, and not because of something so trite as destiny. Instead, Merlin realised, this was what they had been building to all along.
A moment when all the shifting aspects of their relationship settled into something firm and resolute, hot and yearning.
'You're sure?' Arthur murmured, his words little more than a breath given shape. 'This isn't some duty or obligation, Merlin. This is not something you owe me. It's not another way for you to make me – comfortable.'
'Clotpole.' Merlin's reply was soft and fond as he straightened up. There were a thousand soft reassurances waiting to be spoken, but he held them back. Instead, there was really only one answer that mattered. 'I'm sure.'
Arthur's arm was a warm, firm band around his waist, tugging him close as their lips met: dizzying and breathless. It was heat and longing, and Merlin's scattered thoughts could only coalesce around one notion.
Nothing in the world had ever felt so right.
This room was not just Arthur's sanctuary, it was theirs: a place for them to peel away the masks the citadel forced upon them and simply be themselves. Servant and prince, sorcerer and knight.
Merlin and Arthur. Now, and always.
There isn't a single soul who 'doesn't dance'
You're just not playing their music
If you had the choice…
Would you change all of it? If you had the choice, would you erase me from all your memories? Would you befriend someone else? Would you walk a different lane? Would you have never picked up my call that day? Would you not ask me to accompany you to classes? Would you never have talked to me in school? Would you never have walked home with me? Would you have just cycled past me instead of walking along? Would you never have asked me a hundred questions a day? Would you never have texted me? Would you have drenched in the rain instead of sharing my umbrella? Would you never have shown me your new EarPods that evening? Would you never have shared your playlist with me? Would you never have said you liked mine a lot? Would you not have shared your secrets with me? Would you not have asked me for mine? Would you never have made up a game for just the two of us to play? Would you never have been my friend? Would you never have… Or you would never have listened to the others? Or you'd never have ignored me for a month? Would you not have pushed me away? Would you never have gone out of your way to cut me off? Would you never have given that shitty reason for it? Would you never have lied about making amends?
Or would you have done it differently? Or you would have let it flow the way it did? Or you wouldn't have changed a thing? Would you let us go down the same road again?
If you had the choice…
on the worst of my nights when I'm crying in my room alone
I like to imagine you there comforting me ever so softly shushing me saying you hate my tears running your hand through my hair trying to soothe me
I like to imagine you holding me close to your heart rocking back and forth hoping i would focus on that just for a moment and forget the rest
I like to imagine your hands holding tightly onto mine as you listen intently to me ramble on trying to give good advice by the end of it or even just make me laugh
on the worst of my nights when I'm crying in my room alone
I like to imagine you....
is it so terrible a thing, for me to want you to have eyes for only me? like it’s a sin to look at anyone else the same way you look at me?
I'm never gonna let you close to me Even though you mean the most to me 'Cause every time I open up, it hurts So, I'm never gonna get too close to you Even when I mean the most to you In case you go and leave me in the dirt
-Sam Smith