#blame ao3

[sara-likes-things]

[thefourfan]

I've given in

I think it's time for me to make a buttonblossom shipkid because we need more of them (I have a really cool idea for their design too ^^)

[themysterioustaria]

Me on the outside: =|

Me on the inside:

[spoonmoment69420]

heyyy

i wanted ask this for a while

is trucy canon in world of creechers? if she is, what her relationship with sam would be?

ive only played the trilogy so i dont really know trucy all that well, but i have seen fanart and read fanfics so if theyre at all accurate i think that trucy and sam would get along really well ^_^ like sam would get invited to girls night and stuff and theyd like gossip n shit yknow just be a couple of devious little troublemakers

[taggen96]

Rough night… 🦌🍎

Some radioapple angst that was supposed to be sweet, but then somehow turned dark along the way. Oops…

Just imagine Luci waking up from a horrific nightmare about his fall and Alastor trying to comfort him…

[drabsyo]

me? shipping another rare pair wlw in a fandom i'm 16 yrs late to? just another tuesday

[miguxadraws]

Cw: gore below!

girl loves her with all her heart

uncesored version here

au by @spitinsideme

[skyrigel]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader ( 1k )

Enemies with benefits, get's smutty later.

It's a misty memory, like swirl of silvery glow when you first saw Mattheo, he was nervous and perhaps that was the first and last time you saw him like that, his shy eyes, his nervous steps, his lips perched in a thin line. He was like any other eleven year old, but then something changed the very next moment.

‘ Slytherin ’ the hat roared, barely even brushing his hair and his lazy mouth curved in a smirk that was forever plastered on his face. His jaw hardened, eyes sharpened, brows arched, everything almost changed except the dark glint of that night and the smile that you had engraved forever in your memory.

People chose soulmates, picked lovers but that night, Mattheo Riddle decided one thing, he's going to hate you so much. You were unaware of his intentions until the next day you found a dead spider in your rucksack. If there were any doubt left, then it became crystal clear when he dropped mandrakes crushed roots in your cauldron, eyes locked with you and by the time you could react, the cauldron bursted into thousand orbs.

All grey became white and black when you spent a month worth in detention with sadist Professor Snape, who made you clean every cauldron with bare hand, made you stock all those sticky vile ingredients in glassy jars.

“ Having fun y/n ? ” Mattheo snarled, Draco on his shoulder and Pancy chewing a gum while she checked you out lazily.

You said nothing, you had no energy to, sweat trickled down your forehead, feeling your hands dirty and uniform ragged, you turned away, hurrying to your dorm.

You decided one thing that night, you were going to hate Mattheo Riddle so much.

_

The potency of Professor's words didn't quite leave you when you stumbled dreamily in the room of requirments, eyes red with insomnia and stomach lurching with only coffee contents you had the luxury of.

“ You look like shit.” Mattheo didn't look up form his textbook, her hands scripting away the ancient text like it was a David Bowie song.

“ Thankyou.” you said, sitting down and opening the potion essay you were due on, Snape was going to kill you.

“ wait—” you jerked you head at his direction, within seconds you shot a hex, flying at him.

He was quick too, like waiting to be noticed by you, ducking the hex away with a swish of his wand.

“ Good morning to you too.” he joked, you were in no mood for jokes. After what his friends and ofcourse him too, did to Hannah.

“ Fuck off. ” you shot another and another, feeling anger boil inside you. He's so selfish, he's so bratty, he's so blemished, he's so—

“ Stupe—”

“ Expelliarmus! ’’ you screamed, beating him and his wand aflew away, a small sound followed with your breath leveling.

It was victory, you had won at last, but then your eyes met with him, he was staring too hard, not blinking, as he was too still, like he was made up of marble.

The stillness broke when he took a step, you blinked and when you opened your eyes again, all the world dropped dead.

Your back hit the wall with thud, your bones crackling with ache, like swindling out of reality, his arms pinning your shoulder back, breath warm on your skin, tingling.

“ wha—”

“ Shhh.” and you were quiet, it was hard not to, his mouth was too close, he was so close and then he looked up, that glint still there, that smile too— before his lips crashed with yours, setting fireworks off.

You have kissed, you knew how it felt, but this wasn't just kiss, it was shearing, it was breaking, it was trembling and all that gone, it was burning, twisting and coiling like snake inside you, this kiss was the one you could fall asleep and wake up to, painful, sinful, sweet and spicy, it was everything at once.

But that's not excuse, you kissed him back, as hungrily as he kissed you, you were pathetic, he kissed you and you what ?! Just gave in !

“ you...you..” you fumbled between words, lip trembling and you dared not look him in the eyes.

“ No.” Mattheo said, he shaked his hand, groaning inside but then his thumb came up, pressing at the corner of your mouth.

And oh, you felt your insides tighten at the sensation, you hated him, you hated yourself.

“ No ? ” you words came shaky and dazed but you didn't care, was it just a dream ? Did you ever thought about kissing Mattheo ? Was it always there in your subconscious mind ? He bullied you all your life and—

All thoughts melted when his mouth connected with yours again, it was better than the last time, like his mouth knew yours all his life. While the first one was like there's no time, this is it, like storm, this was slow and sweet, like pouring rain, like there were lifetimes waiting for you and him.

And then you found yourself fighting his tongue, his hands were hesitant, resting at the either sides of your face, you had yours thrown up, pressed on the wall, knuckles scrapping against the wood.

And Mattheo was loud, who could have tell that for a boy who walked like feather, all graceful swagger and hard jaw. Merlin, he kissed so good. His body was sending heat waves, like a furnace, his warmth radiated inside your body and each sound that he made low in his chest was enough to release the tension building inside you.

He pulled away, breathing hard but that wasn't the hardest thing about him. You tore your gaze away from his trousers, tenting at his middle, his desire in proof.

“ I...” He sighed, covering his face, flushed and red and that would the second time you saw Mattheo like that.

“ Come here tommorow, same time.” he said, not bothering to look back at you, stumbling footsteps that echoed after him, shy eyes and swollen beaming lips, having a smear of your lip gloss.

Everything was grey, again.

[erinwantstowrite]

this halloween fic is like. hey did you know you were supposed to be 3000 words,,,, why am i like this im not even done,,,, it was supposed to be a short one shot,,,, why,,,,,

[vitreouspositive]

i find it both a shame and a blessing that their ship name is mainly known as skystar instead of jetstar because imagine constantly having to see your ship having the same name as that accursed aussie airline

[mahoganyrust]

Lord Pitchiner

Who is this DIVA? 💅🔥

[platossoulmates]

hyper fixation too strong… life going too well… may have to pick up the pen and go back to ao3

[panevanbuckley]

a constant struggle as a multi-shipper is not only having to decide which fic to read next but also which ship 😭

[gothamite-rambler]

Without knocking, Wally dashed into the room, squeezing between a naked Kori and Dick.

Wally (grinning mischievously): We've all heard of top or bottom, but what about middle? Hi! I think we can make this work.

Dick groaned, covering his face with a pillow and screaming into it.

Wally (playfully): All right, one of you is already on board.

Dick (voice muffled, frustrated): Stop trying to make this a throuple! And how did you get into my house?

Wally (holding up a key with a cheeky grin): Spare key.

Dick (exasperated, peeking out from under the pillow): I knew giving you that was a mistake.

Kori (smiling softly): Wally, as much fun as we've had with you in the past, we stand by our decision to not have a throuple.

Wally (pouting): Aww man… All right, I respect your decision.

Kori (nodding, relieved): Thank you. See, Dick? It was that easy.

Dick (keeping his face covered, voice tight): Wally, finish the sentence.

Wally (perking up): Can we do it together tonight?

Dick (eyes widening in horror): Oh my God! If I say maybe can you leave my house?

Wally (excited, already darting toward the exit): Yes!

Wally sped out of the room, a planner marked with the date already in hand, leaving Kori and Dick in bed.

Kori (giggling as she snuggled closer to Dick): I'm not against having him as an option for you, but the three way relationship has never been a thing for me.

Dick (sighing, yet amused): Thank you. He's really persistent about it after the first time we brought him in.

Kori (playfully): This might sound odd, but are you flattered? I kind of am.

Dick (chuckling): Shush.

[quietly-sleeping]

Shen Qingqiu wanted to kill one of his fellow Peak Lords. 

At least, that was what the rumors swirling around Cang Qiong said. The disciples couldn’t seem to agree on who the Qing Jing Peak Lord wanted to kill; just that he had sent his disciples out with an order to retrieve. 

Shang Qinghua was the first of the Peak Lords to hear the rumors, his disciples had gotten more chatty than usual, the typical workload for anyone on the peak not leaving much energy to do much of anything. Other than gossip, as it turns out.

“Shizun,” His poor, overworked Head Disciple spoke up while they were sorting out yet another tower of papers into only mildly less intimidating stacks. “This disciple was wondering, has Shen-shibo said anything…worrying lately?” 

“In what way, Wu Xiaoli?” Shang Qinghua didn’t stop his work, he really couldn’t, he barely had any time at all to himself after working to the bone every day, if he stopped at all he’d have to forgo sleep to get it all done. “In a murderous way?” Wu Xiaoli was hesitant as she said this, her hands barely slowing as well, what a good disciple. 

“Your Shen-shibo is almost always like that, is something specific supposed to be happening?” Shang Qinghua glanced over at her, her prolonged silence stretching for a moment more before she spoke again. “In the way that most of Cang Qiong believes he is trying to capture and then kill one of his martial siblings.” Wu Xiaoli let that sit in the air for a moment before adding, “It should be fine, right Shizun?” 

Shang Qinghua really regretted being reborn. “Yes, you could say that Wu Xiaoli.” He felt faint. The paperwork, just the thought of the paperwork a murder like that would spawn nearly sent Shang Qinghua into a panic attack, nausea starting to build in his throat already. 

Which would lead to a visit from Mu-shidi, who while nice, was still trying to drug him with anxiety meds that Shang Qinghua did not need, thank you very much. He could feel Wu Xiaoli staring at him as he pondered how viable throwing himself off the mountain would be for knocking him unconscious, very viable, with only a mild threat of death, before she looked out the window and jolted. 

“Forgive this disciple, Shizun, Tan-shijie requested a meeting about the salary allotted for building a new garden on Qiong Ding.” Wu Xiaoli hurriedly sorted the last few papers in her hands before standing and nervously brushing at her yellow robes. 

“Don’t get scammed too badly this time.” Shang Qinghua said around the lump in his throat as he fished another very late work order for Bai Zhan, thank you Liu-shidi. Wu Xiaoli pouted for a moment, looking ten years old rather than nineteen before turning on her heel and marching out the door. “This disciple will try her best, Shizun!” She called out behind her.

Shang Qinghua did not hold back on the panicked sobs of dread now that his disciple was gone. He was more open with his sobbing response to issues when she was younger, but that led to a good year or so when Mu-shidi was very blatant in drugging his food and tea with anxiety meds. 

The despondent Peak Lord angled himself so any tears wouldn’t hit the delicate paper covered in ink. He may have to appear red and puffy later, but by the gods that had forsaken him, he would not ruin his paperwork.

Qi Qingqi was the next to hear about the rumors. Her usually on-top-of-things Head Disciple, Shi Fa, was distracted by the adorable new addition to their Peak, little Liu Mingyan. The four-year-old giving the poor girl a run for her money. 

It was amusing, but it did prove that perhaps Shi Fa wouldn’t be a great fit for Peak Lord. Which was an utter shame, the girl was perfect in every other aspect, Qi Qingqi mused on the issue for a moment before nodding to herself, a Hall Master then. 

They’d do better only interacting with the students in a more detached manner, still there to advise or support the Peak Lord’s decisions. Qi Qingqi looked back down at the report that had made its way onto her desk, the handwriting hurried with ink blotches and missed strokes. 

Shi Fa had heard the rumor while attempting to track down Liu Mingyan on Bai Zhan and extract her from the feral child colony that populated the Peak. One of the eldest of the feral children had been hired by a disciple of Qing Jing, needing their help since they had left the sect more often and to varied places. 

Shi Fa had located Liu Mingyan and managed to contain the delightful ball of fury while gathering more information, Shen Qingqiu had ordered a fetch mission on a martial sibling. None of the Qing Jing disciples actually fessed up to which martial sibling it was, but Qi Qingqi was certain it was not one of the Peak Lords. 

Since a murder had not happened during the last Peak Lord meeting, and Shen Qingqiu had been no more nasty than usual. The true question was, out of the martial siblings wandering the world, which had managed to offend Shen Qinqiu so deeply while having not stepped foot into Cang Qiong in roughly ten years at this point? 

Truly, what an amusing situation, Qi Qingqi could barely keep herself from giggling like a young maiden at the possible reasons this whole situation played out. Her darling wife would suggest something along the lines of a romantic falling out, which Qi Qingqi would normally agree with, as her wife was always right, but it was Shen Qingqiu they were talking about. 

Honestly, the man wouldn’t know romance if it bit him in the ass. 

Shen Qingqiu heard the rumors and felt deep distaste for his gossiping martial siblings. They must be the ones to fuel this, the rumors wouldn’t have spiraled out of such control that they suggested he was hunting down a romantic partner that had scorned him. 

Truly, the imagination in his disciples was utilized in everything other than their studies. He’d be much more comfortable in sending his disciples out into the world if he didn’t have to read multiple poems about bamboo after every assignment. 

Other plants existed on Qing Jing, they had gardens, and they didn’t have to write about Qing Jing specifically. He could only read so many synonyms of the color green before he began to feel a deep frustration at the mere mention of poetry. 

However, there had been progress, of a kind. Sightings of his wayward shidi were documented in various areas along the border between the Human and Demon realms. Shen Qingqiu was reluctant to mark them as true sightings, at least the sightings given to him by his disciples. 

His network of spies, at the very least, gave more reliable sightings. He’s thrown out so many reports in the last year of a tall man with dark hair and some sort of pet. They fit the most basic description of his shidi but lacked any truly distinctive markers. 

It was infuriating. Shen Qingqiu knew that his shidi wasn’t hiding on purpose at least not anymore, his shidi probably wasn’t even aware he had forgotten about their meeting. A broken promise, Shen Qingqiu seethed. 

The only thing keeping Shen Qingqiu from actually ordering his spies to hunt his stupid, airheaded shidi down was that it would freak the man out, drive him into actually hiding himself. It had happened before, roughly around the time of the Qing’s ascension. The previous Ling You Peak Lord had ordered a manhunt of their youngest shidi. 

The forgetful man had hidden so deeply that the previous Peak Lords were half certain he’d died in some remote hidden realm. Of course, anytime Shen Qingqiu felt like vanishing for a while, he was always dragged back. 

If this continued for much longer, Shen Qingqiu might have to, with deep disgust, call in the brute to track down his shidi. Shen Qingqiu shuffled through the papers stacked neatly on top of his desk, however, other measures could be implemented before he had to rely on the brute. 

He paused, long fingers tapping on the paper he was holding as he hummed thoughtfully. This could do. Qi Qingqi certainly had contacts of her own, even the sniveling rodent of An Ding had his channels. A polite request for tea from his shimei was certainly unexpected, ah her wife must be coming along. 

Shen Qingqiu felt the corner of his lips twitch slightly, for a woman of such brutal background, Qi-shimei’s wife was such a stickler for formalities. 

Yue Qingyuan, despite the pains he went to keep an ear and eye on his Xiao Jiu, couldn’t keep track of everything the strategist did. So when Wei-shidi mumbled over his cup of tea about a manhunt, Yue Qingyuan felt a deep twist in his gut. 

He knew that Xiao Jiu had his reasons, but his Xiao Jiu had grown even more reticent since the ascension, but that had never stopped Yue Qingyuan. Wei-shidi had fled quickly, muttering about checking on a volatile sword, but the sect leader barely heard him, just nodding with a small polite smile. 

Blankly he stared at the wall for a moment, lost, before he called out. “Tan Liu?” Soft steps walked towards the office, “Yes, Shizun?” Tan Liu was the oldest of the Head Disciples and her command over her shidi and shimei made Yuq Qingyuan certain she knew about what was going on. 

“What is this about a manhunt?” He asked, his thumb rubbing along the teacup. Tan Liu hesitated for the barest moment before she straightened, “Shen-shishu issued a retrieval order for a martial sibling of the Qing generation. The general description has made its way to this disciple's ears, but not the name. I apologize.” 

Yue Qingyuan hummed for a moment, gently setting his teacup down on the low table. Tan Liu scuffed her feet gently on the wooden boards before speaking up again, “This one knows she should have reported this earlier to Shizun, however, this one felt she didn’t have enough information or evidence.” Yue Qingyuan glanced over at her with a small smile, “This master understands, the description?” 

Tan Liu relaxed slightly, before reciting the short description she had made sure to memorize. “A taller man of slight build, favors lighter colors such as white and pale blues and greens, wears a simple hairstyle, typically braided, dark green eyes, with a slightly crooked nose.” Tan Liu paused a moment before continuing, “Likely to be spotted with a creature of some sort, the creature will be tame, likely rare. Will take requests regardless of reward or how simple the request may be.” 

Yue Qingyuan closed his eyes as his Head Disciple’s voice tapered out. He knew exactly who his Xiao Jiu was hunting. The man was difficult to pin down, even harder to keep in one place, the only person who had succeeded before was the man’s own Shizun, who had defaulted to tracking talismans. 

“Good. Thank you, Tan Liu.” Yue Qingyuan didn’t look over at the woman as he waved his hand. They both had paperwork to return to, and she didn’t need to be standing around waiting for him to come to a decision. He heard her soft footfalls as she left the room, the door shutting behind her. 

Yue Qingyuan sat in silence for a long moment, a deep exhaustion beginning to form deep within his eyes, Xiao Jiu was certainly hunting someone. Their youngest shidi in fact, someone they hadn’t managed to track down before their ascension, his courtesy name still sealed within a final letter from the Previous Ling You Peak Lord. 

It had been ten years, perhaps the man had slipped out of hiding, his guard falling enough for them to herd him back to the sect. If Xiao Jiu didn’t bring this up at the Peak Lord Meeting next week, Yue Qingyuan would, if only to bring their shidi and shimei into the hunt. 

Shen Yuan, the missing Ling You Peak Lord, and the youngest shidi of the Qing generation. He was still out there, at the very least, Shen Qingqiu believed he was, which knowing the man, was probably as good of evidence as Yue Qingyuan would get. A soft sigh left his mouth before he stood, his paperwork was still waiting for him, and if he was going to be ascending another Peak Lord soon, he’d need his schedule as free as possible to plan a ceremony. 

part two

ao3

[mochiwrites]

gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny. 

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him. 

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home. 

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him. 

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown. 

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger. 

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person. 

His son. 

His little Pitta. 

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now. 

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft. 

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him. 

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him. 

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down. 

The very thought makes him nauseous. 

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace. 

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son. 

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave. 

Does he even know how to be a father? 

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked. 

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in. 

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum. 

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats. 

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders. 

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been. 

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch. 

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods. 

Not in the way it matters, at least. 

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him. 

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love. 

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up. 

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?” 

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie. 

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?” 

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.”  Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never.