#i am so very fine and normal

[ex0rin]

Hughie Campbell | The Boys S02E07

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[lambfromfield]

la mamma morta, andrea chenier | the terror, "The C, the C, the Open C"

[mingkiz]

credit

this video should be illegal cause the things its doing to me

[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. 

[jichanxo]

subjugate your shame (uncropped under the cut)

i like yasu's face too much here to not post it uncropped....

[sallymew4]

i meow is a i am io i do you meow em mewo meow meow you i haeve meow meow meow meow do not so. do do domew do meow

[voxmilia]

Oh Sklonda's righteous fury hits so hard, as a kid who WAS taken advantage of in many ways by her friends when she was in school, and whose mom tried to tell her they were being unkind and who didn't believe her until she got kinder friends

[bearimba]

Silver doesn't need another father. He's already got one of those, technically, but the man turned out to be a weak, cowardly bastard who couldn't face his own problems let alone raise a child. The way he sees it, there's no need to set himself for more disappointment. He's got a roof over his head and food to eat, and that's far more than he could ever depend on in the last... however many years he'd been living on the streets. Lance and Clair are annoying as hell, but while he's training in the Dragon Den, he doesn't exactly have much room to complain. Not out loud, anyways.

Lance doesn't particularly want to be a dad either. He's already got too much responsibility on his plate as Champion, and this kid clearly needs so much more emotional support than he feels like he can provide. Simply convincing him to move into his guest room was enough of a struggle, and it only really worked because Lance had promised Silver he could "earn" his keep. What the hell is up with that, anyways? He's not sure what Silver's past looks like, and he's not about to go prying, but the bare minimum he can do is make sure he doesn't have to rough it out in the woods anymore. At least Clair seems to be having fun training him...

Clair is more than ready to be an aunt. The other two refuse to admit to caring for each other, but unlike them, she's not afraid of something as stupid as her emotions. The brat's slowly but surely been mellowing out during his training, and her idiot cousin has actually been taking care of himself for once in order to be a "good example." Silver has even caught on to calling Lance "old man" like she does, on account of those ugly-ass reading glasses the all-mighty Champion has to wear, and she couldn't be prouder. Best part is, she doesn't have to spend a dime except to treat the kid every so often! That's a win in her book if ever there was one.

[kindahoping4forever]

Nostalgia For A Time That Never Existed in Washington DC - 26 May 2024

[coquelicoq]

adsfkj i have dusted off the cql folder on my computer for the first time since 2021 and i just found a bunch of fic snippets so short i can't even tell what they were supposed to be about. except this one in which i apparently had the lan sect invent hash functions, all so that there could be a dramatic reveal that jiang cheng had never removed wei wuxian from the yunmeng jiang sect records??

Wei Wuxian sighed and slumped back on his heels. It wasn't that he was incapable of being patient, he just didn't want to. Here was an array that could tell a sect if a prospective initiate was currently on another sect's rolls, without actually giving any sect access to the records of another sect. How was it doing that? The applications for this technology were potentially enormous. Wei Wuxian couldn't wait to get his grubby little hands all over the design.

there's also a more extended passage from a different "wei wuxian finds out he's still a member of ymj" concept (feat. jin ling!) which includes the paragraph

"He can't join the Lan sect!" Jin Ling was exclaiming. "He's already in a sect, technically, and you can only be on the official roster for one sect at a time. I should know, my elders have only been hounding me about it since before I could even say the words 'conflict of interest.'"

but the rest of them are just single sentence one-offs like

'Hey‚' Wei Wuxian protests weakly. 'It’s not my fault. I’ve been dead for quite some time.'

and

After customer service‚ there isn’t much an unearthly shriek can do to phase a person.

and then there's this sentence fragment:

The leader of the Jiang Sect‚ who looks like a Sect Leader‚ is dressed like a Sect Leader‚ and‚ most importantly‚ is not stuck in a hole like an idiot‚ therefore behaving with the dignity of a Sect Leader‚

dying to know where i was going with this. and who was the narrator? whoever it is, they are definitely comparing someone unfavorably to jiang cheng. some idiot has fallen in a hole and jiang cheng comes along and the narrator is like now that's what i'm talking about. maybe the narrator is the idiot in question? maybe wei wuxian is the idiot. but then i don't know why i would have been leaning on the sect leader thing since wei wuxian is not a sect leader. 2021 was a long time ago apparently because i have no memory of this.

[arthur-lesters-spinal-cord]

Under the april skies

Based on this post by @allseeingharlequin

Bonus:

He has never been more happy about the fact he owns Arthurs eyes

[animucrystal]

do people really look at arthur and just go “yeah hes allistic” like that is the most autistic man ive ever seen (half joking). arthur is so driven and steadfast in his ideals so when something shakes him it shakes him Hard. its hard for him to regulate emotions well (trauma + autism). he trusts easily, which is funny because he says he doesnt when he so clearly does. hes “dense” at times and doesnt pick up on a lot of subtleties, and when he does he finds it hard to express what he wants to say (again this is both a trauma thing and an autism thing). he fidgets, especially with his mothers ring. theres alot more i could name but thats all i could think of right now

some hcs: he likes routine and this is mostly the reason why he gets annoyed at merlin whenever he unknowingly derails it, i got this one from a fic actually but i think one of his special interests is just like cataloguing and organizing things and when he was younger he liked doing that with bugs and as he grew older he had to focus his attention to more “practical” things (because of uthers insistence) so he does this with weapons as well as like utilizes this skill in directions as well, this guy hates so many textures i feel and all day everyday hes seconds away from a meltdown (which manifests into snappy anger) but he grits through it because he cares more about duty than his “weird brain problem”

i think itd be funny (and sad) to imagine arthur thinking he was probably cursed as a child, then a magic a reveal happens, then after all of that arthur asks merlin if he Is cursed and merlin is like “i think youre just. Like That. but thats okay im also kind of Like That” and arthur realizes that his manservant truly was just a little weirdo and that wasnt just his magic talking and maybe HES also a little weirdo. solidarity

[lapdogchase]

i bring a sort of “obsessive research into childhood abuse and trauma, its warning signs, its effects, and literally anything even remotely adjacent, as an attempt to figure out what happened to me” to every tv show movie book etc ive ever enjoyed that makes me really good at looking at a blorbo and going “this guy was clearly abused as a child”

[rolandkaros]

forever hilarious to me that tennis is promoted as this prestigious highbrow big-brain sport when most tennis fans these days are like. yeah this is my favorite player. yeah i don't know why they're like that. yes they are stupid. no i will not choose somebody else.

[kindahoping4forever]

Luke @ The 5SOS Show Tour Manchester