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imaginative-heroes
Don't we all like heroes?
6623press
6623 Press
the-divided-kingdom
The Divided Kingdoms
roseviper02
Ashley/Ash
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I left Tumblr for a while but I'm back with a new crush🩵💙
Swann Arlaud🤌🏻
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Swann Arlaud and Salomé Richard in Baden Baden (2016) dir. Rachel Lang
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Swann Arlaud in Perdrix (2019, Erwan Le Duc)
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Swann Arlaud in The Bare Necessity (Perdrix) 2019
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I genuinely think that Baltimore was the catalyst of Neil and Andrew relationship and if it hadn't happened Andrew would have kept gaslighting himself until Neil pushed for an acknowledgment that this was something more, giving Andrew an excuse to deny his feelings. But Baltimore did happen and Andrew was forced to realize that living without Neil would be worse than the alternative so instead of letting it crash and burn he reconciled with this fact and tried one last time to give himself over to another person, trusting they wouldn't stab him in the back this time. He let Neil in. And I think that just may be one of the bravest things we see a character do in the whole series
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When Quentin Met Eliot
by @nellie-elizabeth for @themagicianshea
illustrated by @aniallating - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 79,910
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker
Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh don’t exactly hit it off the first time they meet. Quentin is in the midst of a characteristic existential sulk, and Eliot is a sophisticate or a snob depending on who you ask, and certainly doesn’t have time for a project. The next time they cross paths, they’re both in serious relationships, and don’t give a second thought to the pleasant hours they spend together on an airplane. The third time? Something finally sticks. Fresh off of heartbreak, the two men discover a best friend in one another, someone to confide in about what they’ve lost. And perhaps someone with whom happiness can once again be found…
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Hell Bent Spoilers!!
no, you don’t understand, she held his soul inside her.
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I don't think we should crown Charles. I think we should have a hunger games style event with the whole royal family and whoever wins gets it.
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arthur knows there is something to be said of the way a man wears his scars.
his father wears his, an angry silver cord right above his eyebrow, with defiant pride. time and time again, he has seen a visiting noble alight their gaze on the mar, and his father's bellicose stare in return, a silent war between them. i have survived this, the king would say without words. i will survive you.
on his father's men, a constellation of pink, raised flesh-- a rope of gnarled skin on sir bedivere's left arm from the slice of a blade; a thick, white tear in the fabric of ector's neck. when arthur's young, he sits by fires and listens to the tales of bandits, beasts, and brethren who leave the marks on the warriors who arthur loves.
and, in time, they come to arthur. a snaking vine on arthur's right hip. a thin slice along his left bicep. none of them grow angry and purple the way he's seen after the battle dust settles. he's lucky, in that regard, that all his settle into the skin like they belong there. a man who wears his scars not without pride, but whose scars wear him with the same reverence.
his new knights collect them with the same wonder arthur first collected his. a memory of a battle well fought. a time where death reached out its hand and missed. i have survived this. i will survive you.
but they never come to merlin.
at first, when he's young and naive to all the things merlin has done for him, it stands to reason that merlin is never scarred. he doesn't do anything. later, when the truth outs, arthur knows that was as foolish a thought as trusting his father blindly.
merlin fights alongside him, now, in their older years. he watches as blade lunges, as arrow pierces, as spear aims-- and yet, merlin walks away from battle without a scratch. surely, arthur thinks, merlin has just been lucky. maybe his scars are like arthur's-- not quite as visible as his father's, as his men's. hidden underneath cloth and armour.
merlin shares his battlefield, his kingdom, and-- on the luckiest night of arthur's life-- decides to share his bed, too.
it's after arthur has run his hands over every inch merlin will allow him that he realises. not once, in the fog of their union, did arthur's fingers ever stumble over raised skin, divots or grooves.
"what's wrong?" merlin asks, his voice quiet, his lips pressed to where their hands are joined. "tell me if you're about to kick me out of your bed, at least, so i can figure out how i am going to walk after all that."
it's a joke to mask how scared merlin must feel. this is a new development, though one as easy as breath, as predictable as the sun rising in the sky. arthur will tell him that later. for now, though--
"you promised," he whispers into merlin's neck, "to keep nothing more from me."
merlin frowns, his brows drawn together. "i haven't? i mean, if you're talking about my affections, surely we can both admit that yours were the more hidden--"
arthur places a hand over the groove of a lower rib. "here," he says, "is where you were almost run through by bandits, a few seasons ago." his fingers trail down to a hip. "here, you intervened in my fight with some beast or another, and i had to watch gaius give you stitches. and here--"
merlin stops his hand, sucks in a breath. "arthur."
"did you use magic to heal?" arthur finds he isn't angry, not in the way he expects. "i understand, merlin. you had to explain away so much; it would make sense--"
"it's a glamour," merlin admits in the space between his words.
arthur frowns. "a glamour."
merlin can only nod.
arthur knows what the word means, sort of, from the magical instruction and history merlin has given him in the time past their-- arthur's-- new found knowledge of their bond. but glamours, as merlin had explained, are oft for the use of enchantment, so as to make one's romantic interest view them as beautiful--
oh.
he rolls merlin onto his back.
"show me." it is a plea more than a command. it is not from merlin's king, but rather, arthur hopes, his heart.
merlin sighs. his eyes glow gold.
like roots spreading through the earth, a tide rippling over sand, his appearance changes. angry pink gnarls. fine, silver cuts. the faint shadow of where a burn once sat. they litter merlin's pale skin, old and new, in places arthur never could have imagined.
he knows his face must show something that makes merlin turn away from him. with a shaking hand, he turns merlin's chin back to him.
"tell me one thing," arthur says. it is a command, now. "were these all for me?"
there is no air in the room as merlin nods.
slowly, arthur draws in breath. he leans down, then, and presses his lips to one at the base of merlin's neck.
"then," he starts, shakily, "this is mine." another kiss, to his ribs, the puckered flesh of a sword wound. "this is mine." to his wrist, where chains must have sat at the behest of his father. "this is mine," and he's choking up, now.
merlin's trembling underneath him, a quaking branch in the wind. arthur spreads his fingers over merlin's heart, takes its beat in his palm, and looks him in his eyes.
"i will love everything you show me," arthur breathes, a promise, "because it is mine."
"as am i," merlin promises back. "as am i."
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NEVER forget when merlin was gone and arthur was pining and everyone was like oh shit oh god and thought the solution was to dress a random guy up like merlin and hope it would fix him
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