#you are my heaven fic

[idliketobeatree]

listening to Too Sweet for the first time and, damn, Crowley never got his flat back, did he? can't believe he's been crashing on Hozier's couch all this time drinking booze and waxing lamentations about his angel. strange world we live in

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[red-pearl-white-flower]

For you I'll Become Invincible is COMPLETE!

This feels surreal!! I'm in tears!!!

Xie Lian finds a devoted ghost to assist him after the night in the Temple. They fall in love. WuMing’s soul is still dispersed. Now, with a new shackle cursing him with abysmal luck, Xie Lian wanders, looking for his very last believer who he is sure will return. What he finds in his travels is a sharp, kind little scholar by the name of He Xuan, whose luck might even rival his own. They become fast friends. It changes everything. Canon divergence divided in ten arcs.

[artingstarvist]

Chapter 20 / 20 "No Regrets"

Summary: Xie Lian wakes up on a straw mat.

Additional Tags: Coffin Rescue, Coffin AU, AU - Canon Divergence, AU - Different First Meeting, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Revenge Plot, POV Alternating, Blood and Injury, Dream-Reality Confusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Hua Cheng AND Xie Lian have Self Esteem issues, Hua Cheng & Xie Lian Invented Love, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Hua Cheng bout to make it 34 gods

That's all folks! Until I inevitably write the sequel

(It's coming, but don't hold your breath. I'm so tired).

Anyhow, thanks for coming on this experimental little journey with me! I've appreciated every comment (or keyboard smash). I'm so glad I gave fic writing a shot, it's been so much fun! I hope you find the ending satisfactory!

Also, huge shoutout again to my beta readers (@lildoodlecat @afanbeingatheart & @crystalsamethyst) who had to deal with my insane weekly deadline for literally four months. XL has something to say:

[lazycranberrydoodles]

oooooh you want to read my huaxuan hookup fic sooooo bad

bonus :P

[incorporealbombchelle]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr. Reed x Fem! Reader (mid-20s) (18+)

[A/N: this part picks up immediately after Part 1 and will not make sense without that context. Check my blog's pinned post for all 3 parts in order.]

Synopsis: Pt. 2- (y/n) gets to know her host a bit better...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy, Catholicism Mentions, Heavy Condescension, Some Degradation, Possible Drugging, Alcohol Consumption, Crude Language, Possible Vague and Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Manipulation, Gaslighting, POV Oral Sex (Male Recipient), Female Masturbation, General Smut.

"Alright," He humors me "So you view your orgasm as some sort of.... divine intervention, then? Is that it?"

"Well, no-"

"Are you so significant, (y/n)," he mocks  "that every time a tingle runs through your hot little cunt, God himself descends to provide you ecstasy on demand? Or was that me?"

I feel goosebumps all over my still-bare body at his words, and my nipples stiffen as I grip the pillow I hide myself with a bit tighter.

"I-I wasn't trying to come off as self-important, I'm sorry Mr. Reed, I just... it felt so... different, than when I'm alone. So good. I'm imagining Heaven as that feeling, the one you gave me, but...constant."  I blink up at him.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiling down at me. "Oh, it can very easily become constant, I assure you." He murmurs, snatching the pillow from my arms, tossing it at the headboard haphazardly.

He cups the side of my face, his tongue tracing over his lower lip as his gaze focuses in on my mouth. He leans toward me.

As Mr. Reed's mouth captures mine, I feel myself melt. His lips are soft and his hands are powerful as he caresses the back of my neck, pulling me closer and  parting my lips with his tongue to explore my mouth eagerly. I try and fail to suppress a moan, and in response he scoops his hands under my thighs and lifts me onto his lap so I'm straddling him. I tangle my fingers in his hair, kissing him hungrily, aggressively, and he hums into my mouth.

"Mmmm," he snakes his fingers into my hair and harshly yanks my head back from his. I pant, heaving as I attempt to regain some sense. "Now then," he wipes my spit from the corner of his mouth. "let's not rush a good thing, hm? Why don't you climb into that pile of pillows and relax for me? I'll be along in a minute. We need sustenance, yeah?"

"Sure," I heave, my head swimming. I detach from him and crawl further onto the bed as he ambles downstairs.

Collapsing into the pillows with a heavy sigh, I attempt to ignore the way my body throbs for him. A few moments pass. I take a few slow, deep breaths, attempting to wind myself down. I let my fingertips wander down my neck, my chest, to my torso... a bit further down as I let my eyes flutter shut. I'm wet, and I'm desperate now, and a litany of possibilities spring to mind. Me, on my knees for Mister Reed, letting him take my mouth... I hum...

Me, bouncing effortlessly on Mr. Reed's cock and playing with myself... Yes... Mr. Reed, licking my clit while he fingers me...

And I. Am. There.

"fffuck me! Oh my god!" I cry out as I come, convulsing almost painfully as I feel myself unravel, and-

A scoff.

"Well I intend to, especially after that little performance..."

I freeze, my eyes snapping open and locking on Him. A self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he  leans against the doorframe.  He's holding a beautifully arranged charcuterie board, a bottle of wine under one arm... and two glasses.

I am caught.

"Idle hands, eh?" He chuckles, setting the offerings down on a small table near the door.  He makes his way over to the bed where I sit, slack, against the headboard. He presses a small kiss into my forehead. "Glad to see you've made yourself at home... get up then."

"Why?"

"Per your request, (y/n), we are fucking."

"But don't we need to be on the bed for-"

"Not that way," he corrects me before I can finish my thought.

"Come on, center of the room, up and at 'em," he instructs.

I shakily pad to the center of the room like he said, standing with my arms at my sides. Mr. Reed stands before me, untying his robe and removing its belt. "Turn." I do as I'm told, and feel him collect my wrists, using the belt to secure them.

"Wunderbar, and again..." I turn back around to face him, searching his face for any indication of what he's planning to do with me.

"Right. Knees, lets get you on them, should feel familiar." He winks.

I kneel before him slowly, my eyes on his.

He takes in a deep breath, tilting my chin upward and grazing his thumb over my lower lip.

"Open." I do.

His thumb enters my mouth, circling over my tongue, "Suck."

I close my lips around it and let my eyes flutter closed as I lick and suck hungrily, a soft moan escaping me as I feel him step closer, heat radiating from his body.

I look up to see Mr. Reed staring intently down at me, desire apparent on his face. He brushes his robe aside with the hand that isn't occupying my mouth, wrapping it around his cock and giving a few strokes before taking back his thumb.

"Open...Wide." And I do. He eagerly fills my mouth, hands weaving into my hair. He lets out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan as his length hits the back of my throat and I gag, blinking up at him.

He gives me a moment to think before starting to gently rock his hips, fucking my mouth as he holds me steady with one hand in my hair and the other on my shoulder.

"Such..a good...girl..." he murmurs, and my face grows hot as I gag again, reflexively swallowing as he dips into the back of my throat a couple more times. My core twitches and I groan around him. I feel tears well up in my eyes but blink them away, and he quickens his pace "So innocent... my own... blessed...virgin..." he slows down, pulling almost all the way out of my mouth before slamming back into my throat and I retch, swallowing again.  I feel my stomach flip as a dribble of spit leaks from the corner of my mouth and down my chin but Mr. Reed doesn't stop.

"My madonna and my whore..." he rumbles, bucking steadily, and I feel him twitch against my tongue, taking in a sharp breath. I hear him snap a couple times and look up to meet his gaze.

"There you are, eyes on me, pretty girl..." he groans and his pace picks up again, breath coming in ragged gasps now as my eyes afix, unwavering, to his.

After a few more quick thrusts, an almost primal moan rips from him and he forces my head all the way down on him as he comes, his hand gripping my hair painfully while his seed pulses out rhythmically into the back of my throat.

"Christ," he wheezes.

I swallow it and he removes himself from my mouth, his breath shaky as he gingerly pats the top of my head, bending over me to untie my improvised restraints.

My head swims and as I taste him on the back of my tongue, I'm practically vibrating, breathing in quick, trembling pants as I come down from the intensity of the moment.

He yanks his boxers back up his legs, then wraps and re-ties the robe around himself, sighing heavily.

"Stay right there, don't. move. an inch," he warns, ambling out of the room again and reappearing a moment later with a doused washcloth.

"Oh, you dont have to-"

"But I do."

I sit, silent as Mr. Reed kneels at my side and runs the warm cloth over my temples, cheeks, lips, to my neck, then my breasts and on, gently scrubbing away down my body. It's awkward, having him wash me, but I let him -- I am a gracious houseguest.

He scours the front and back of each of my thighs, my ass, then reverently, slowly, dabs at my center.  He looks me over, contented, then leans in to give me a peck on the cheek.

"That was phenomenal." He whispers.

As he stands, discarding the washcloth in a nearby hamper, he takes my hand in his and guides me to the bed, grabbing the wine and both glasses on his way. We settle in atop the comforter side by side as he uncorks the bottle and pours a glass.

"Uhm, I don't know if I should..."

"Just a taste, then. This is a 2019 Willamette Valley pinot noir, it's excellent.... " he takes a sip, offering his glass and I shake my head no. "No? No 'blood of christ?' (Y/n), are you sure you're actually catholic?" He chortles.

"I am, don't get me wrong, I do drink, sometimes, it's just-"

"You don't want to get tipsy or -god forbid-...  drunk with the strange man you allowed to deflower and defile you on a house call you made in the name of the church. Boundaries... I get it." He nods, smiling warmly, as he takes another sip of his wine.

I bristle.

"Mr. Reed, I'm not some type of like, slut or something, it's-"

"Like, aren't you?" He taunts.

"Wh-"

"You come here, albeit of pure intent, I'll give you that. You want to help the agoraphobe, give him something to live for, something outside his anxieties through which he can be 'sanctified' just in time to croak, hm? And you'll have have been the one to rescue his eternal soul, good catholic girl that you are, gold star!"

"I-" he holds up a finger, silencing me.

"But you also come here wearing no bra under that tight little sweater, the one crumpled on my floor right now, I mean. You wear a thong under that long black skirt for christ sake. You come here, and you hear the arsenal of locks I have on the front door, but when I tell you they're timed, magnetized, that you're stuck with me for 24 hours, that you will not be leaving in the time you had planned to, do you question me? Barely. Do you...Run? No. You don't fight, you don't flee, and you. Don't. Freeze."

"Mist-" a finger. His lips are wine-stained and his tongue flicks over them as he continues,

"And when I deconstruct your faith's flimsy, archaic tenets, do you push back? No. Instead, you allow me, an old, neurotic man, one you barely know by the way, to touch you. Any. way. I please. To take your virginity." A look of disgust crosses his features, "And really, (y/n), if it came about that easily, maybe that was because you wanted it to." He holds up his hands in mock defense, brow raised, giving me a tight lipped smile. He picks up his glass again, swirling the wine around before finishing what's left in a single gulp and setting it on the nightstand.

I feel myself flush as his words set in. I wish it wasn't true. But it is. All of it. I was weak. I did not resist. I broke my covenant in the face of temptation. And even now, all I want is to taste him again. The tears stream down my cheeks before I can stop them, the conflict in my mind too much to bear.

"I don't- I didn't-" I sputter, ashamed and unable to find the right words.

His eyes soften. He gives me a look of pity and unties his robe again, wrapping it around me tightly as he uses one of the sleeves to dry my tears, and pressing a kiss into my forehead. "Oh, come now petal, you are human, none of this is unique. You're meant to fuck up." he mumbles, resting his chin on my head. Mr. Reed heads to the dresser and fishes out a pair of blue and green flannel pajama pants from one of its drawers. He slips them on over his boxers, tying the strings into a bow, before tugging on a  cotton t-shirt.

I watch him wordlessly make his way to a vinyl player across the room. He thumbs along a nearby shelf and eventually selects an album. It has a black and white cover from which I can make out the words 'THE STRANGER' and the image of a man sitting on a bed.

He sets the pace and allows the needle to drop on a particular song, air-drumming and bopping his head along as it starts ; "Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait, you catholic girls start much too late, but sooner or later it comes down to fate... I might as well be the one," he winks at me, singing along with the record as he shimmies his way back to the bed. I can't help the laugh that escapes me at his corny, dated attempts at dancing.

"So I'll ask again," he picks up the bottle, his eyes piercing mine.

"Would. You. Like. Some wine ?" An amiable grin. 

But I know it isn't a question, and I take the glass this time when he hands it to me, testing a sip. Its deep, tart flavor coats my tongue and he was right, it is ambrosian.  "That is fantastic, actually." I smile.

He nods, accustomed to having his good taste affirmed.

I take another, longer swalllow, breathing deeply through my nostrils as a bright eyed young Billy Joel gleefully informs us that 'only the good die young'.

"Mr. Reed?"

"Yes, Ms. (y/n?)"

"The bathroom is...where?"

"Through there, " he points to a dark blue door, and I get up and head towards it, feeling slightly unsteady on my feet.

"And when you come back, you owe me a dance young lady!" I hear him call after me.

As I close and lock the door behind me, I'm met with a charming bathroom containing a mosaic vanity, porcelain bathtub, glass-walled shower stall, and finally, a toilet. I take in my appearance, looking for any physical symptoms or marks that may have formed as a result of me losing my virginity. I expect to be marked in some way, somehow physically branded as a non-viable partner to my future husband, whoever he may be, but... Nothing has changed. I'm...normal. I do look extremely tired though. I make a quick detour to the toilet before washing my hands, splashing my face with water, and heading back to the bedroom to  --dance?-- to dance with him.

He plays a few other records that I can tell are formative and sentimental to him, and we shake, shimmy, dance, twirl, laugh...and drink.

I keep my sips small and infrequent, but before long I'm tipsy, and spent from all the movement, and I flop onto the bed with a sigh, with Mr. Reed following closely behind.

We just lay for a couple minutes, panting, regaining composure, until he pulls me flush against him in the middle of the bed and kisses me.

He tastes like wine and figs and his arms are warm and strong as they wrap securely around me.

Breaking the kiss, he huffs "(y/n), you should know I find you entirely seraphic..."

I attempt to bite back a grin "I don't think I've ever met anyone like you, Mister Reed." I beam.

"Sure you have."

I furrow my brow at him, confused.

"Oh come on now, (y/n). Boring older man who likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much for anyone's own good? You meet a carbon copy of me every Sunday." He laughs.

"Those are priests, though, they're different.  They carry the ability to absolve sin and remove spiritual burden. They cleanse impure souls."

"Oh, like yours?" a chuckle.

"What?"

"Nothing, more wine?"

"Just a splash, please."

He rolls his eyes and pours me a quarter-glass.

As I prop myself against the headboard and gulp down the wine, my breathing shallows. I look around the room and the edges of the paintings and stained-glass murals go fuzzy... I blink a few times, trying to get my eyes to refocus. Instead they cloud further, feeling dry and irritable. I try to open and close them slowly to get some, any moisture back.

My body suddenly feels heavy, and when I try to lift my arm for another sip of wine, it doesn't move.

"Mr. Reed, whatsss..." I slur, my brain refusing words

"Mis-"

He lifts the glass from my hand and sets it aside, inching a bit closer. "What's wrong, dove?" He pouts, cupping the side of my face, looking concerned as he runs a thumb over my lower lip.

"Whenn will the tt-imer unl-ock the locksss?"  I manage, my throat tightening.

He plucks his watch off the nightstand, squinting at it "Why, have you stopped enjoying yourself?" He mumbles flatly, pulling a pencil and notebook from his nightstand to jot something down.

"Nine-teen hours; not. long. now..."

He states this almost clinically, eyes flitting between my face and the watch, an expectant smirk on his lips.

"Two... One.... Zero... .... Negative One..."

and before I can ask what he's just written or why he's counting down, everything goes dark .

[goodlucktai]

gently in the cold dark earth

scum villain's self saving system word count: 2k canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem

title borrowed from work song by hozier

read on ao3

x

The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain. 

With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.

Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him. 

“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”

He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face. 

Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought. 

Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side. 

——

He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.   

The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.

If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay. 

All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache. 

Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.

He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better. 

He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt. 

Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down. 

I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you. 

——

Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again. 

Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though  eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers. 

Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget. 

The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. 

And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—

He’s there. 

In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?

A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly. 

“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. 

“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”

Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’ 

Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.” 

He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely. 

For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without. 

And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale. 

Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger. 

Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again. 

“Shixiong.”

The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely. 

He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.

“Binghe?”  

“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly. 

There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you. 

Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”

Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both. 

His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.  

Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful. 

He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there. 

“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”

“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”

“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield. 

“Now.” 

“No, shizun.”

“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”

Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”

Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge. 

“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”

Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership. 

Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own. 

But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read. 

Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen. 

If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.

Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met. 

That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:

Mine. 

[fyoht]

season 2 + nods to 'crowley was raphael' truthers

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Request idea! Baldwin falling in love with a reader who sings in the chorus during mass and secretly meeting with her to court her. Tooth-rotting romance, please! Thank you <3

♡ Heaven In Your Voice - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you for this beautiful request, I hope it's what you had in mind! As always this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy

It was a peaceful Sunday morning in Jerusalem when the royal officials filed into the church for mass.

Baldwin took his seat, waiting for the service to begin as usual when he heard a few people behind him speaking.

“Have you seen that young lady in the chorus?” one said.

“Ah yes. She is the new singer, I hear she is one of the best singers in the kingdom! Shame she is only in the chorus”

Baldwin paid no mind to this, continuing to stare ahead of him to pass the time.

Finally, the service began.

The crowd rose as the choir began their hymns. But there was something different. A voice, a new voice that the king had not heard before.

He looked up to scan the choir, and that's when he saw her. The most gorgeous woman he had ever seen in his life.

Dressed in white robes, she looked like an angel with a voice to match. He could tell her voice appart easily from the rest of the singers. It was softer, sweeter, and far more beautiful.

His eyes widened and a soft breath escaped his masked lips at the sight of her. Just when he believed the moment could not get any more perfect, she looked at him.

She must have felt his intense gaze, he thought.

Their eyes met, sending a wave of nervous excitement through the young king's body.

The lady smiled as she continued singing and turned her eyes forward once again, leaving Baldwin frozen and bashful.

Like a teenage boy.

For the rest of the service, his eyes did not leave her once. He simply could not look away.

She had him encapsulated at first glance and he didn't even know her name. Baldwin assumed that she was the new choir member that the men behind him spoken of, but he wasn't quite sure.

He simply had to know. 

------------------

As the service proceeded, Baldwin came to the conclusion that he needed to see the young lady privately.

He desperately wanted to know who she was. She had him completly, and she didn't even know it.

As for y/n, meeting the young king's gaze was most definitely a pleasent surprise. She had been welcomed to the choir after years of practice and this would be her first time singing the chorus in church.

She was as excited as she was nervous, especially since she would be singing in front of royalty for the first time. When y/n noticed Baldwin looking directly at her, a surge of excitement washed over her.

But also confusion.

Why was he looking at her of all people? Y/n knew that she was a beautiful woman, she had been made aware of it by many men desperately attempting to court her to ask for her hand in marriage and she had refused each and every one.

But so beautiful that she would attract the eyes of a king? She did not think so.

So why would he be looking at her? It was a mystery. But then again, he was too. The iron mask concealed his identity entirely, leaving his expression unknown as well as his appearance. 

During the brief moments when Baldwin was not looking at her, y/n would look at him.

She tried very hard to not allow a smile creep onto her face. She couldn't help herself but find him attractive.

Even with the mask, he was.. cute. Yes, that was it.

He was handsome, yes, but the innocent blue eyes that peered out from underneath his mask were very cute. Beautiful even.

She longed to speak with him, hear his voice, know his thoughts. But that would be impossible. He was the king! That would not be permitted by any means. 

------------------

As the service concluded and everybody left the church, Baldwin was left wondering about the young woman.

He wondered if she lived in the kingdom or somewhere else. Perhaps outside of the city.

Either way, he had to see her. He simply couldn't go another minute without knowing her name at the very least.

But he had a plan.

He would send a letter, instructing her to meet him in a specific place at the dead of night.

Baldwin hoped that she would accept more than he had ever wanted anything. He desired so desperately to meet her properly. Perhaps even court her soon if things worked out.

The moment he was back in the royal chambers, Baldwin sat down at his desk and began to write. 

To the beautiful young woman who has stolen my heart,

I do not even know your name and yet you have entranced me. Your beauty is mesmerizing and your voice is that of an angel. I long to meet you. 

If you are willing to accept my offer, please meet me outside of the castle gates at midnight and make sure you are alone. 

Allow me this one chance to see you if anything at all. 

With love, King Baldwin IV.

Sealing the letter, Baldwin sat back in his chair. He stared at the piece of paper on his desk and sighed.

Perhaps she would decline his offer? Perhaps this was a bad idea?

He shook his head and picked up the letter, telling himself to stop overthinking it. He handed the letter to a servant and told him to take it to the newest female member of the church choir.

Baldwin then decided to take a short nap. If he was going to be awake until midnight, he didn't want to be tired.

As he laid down on the large bed, Baldwin’s thoughts never once drifted from the young woman. He removed his iron mask and placed it on the bedside table.

All he could see when he closed his eyes was her beautiful face. The image of her eyes looking back at him was the last thing Baldwin saw before he drifted into a light sleep.

------------------

A few hours later, the young king was awoken by a knock at the door. Baldwin sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes as the room came into view.

“Come in” he called out as he reached for his mask, slipping it back onto his mottled face.

“Good afternoon my lord” the servant he had sent earlier said softly, stepping into the room with a low bow. “I have a letter from the young woman you sent me to this morning”.

Baldwin's heart leapt at the servant's words, any drowsiness leaving him immediately as he climbed off the bed to take the letter.

He thanked the servant who scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. Baldwin sat down at his desk, the feeling of nervous excitement returning to his body as he held the letter in his shaking hands.

He peeled it open slowly, not willing to rush the moment but also craving the knowledge of her response. 

My dearest King,

I thank you deeply for your touching letter and would be honored to meet with you tonight.

As per your request, I will be outside the palace gates at midnight this evening. I can not wait to see you.

With much love, y/n.

Baldwin's heart leapt and a wide grin spread across his face. He simply could not believe what he was reading.

The young king hugged the letter to his chest and he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of pure joy.

He could not wait for the hour to arrive.

-----------------

When it did, he was beyond ready.

Dressed in the warmest robes he owned, Baldwin clutched the candle holder in his bandaged hand as he slipped out of the royal chambers, careful not to make a sound as he went. 

As he exited the castle, cool night air hit him instantly, causing him to shiver.

Y/n herself waited with anxious anticipation at the castle gates. Much like Baldwin, she was as nervous as she was excited.

She held a candle in her gloved hands as she waited with her back pressed against the wall beside the gate.

“Hello?” a kind voice called out softly causing her to jump a little.

When y/n turned around to the gate, her eyes met the same gorgeous blue eyes from the church.

“My lord” she whispered underneath her breath, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting her.

“I can't believe you came!” Baldwin said happily, attempting to keep his voice lowered despite the excitement in his tone.

A large grin spread across y/n’s face as she got closer to the gate until they were face to face, merely inches apart.

“Of course I did. How could I refuse such an offer from such a beautiful young man” y/n replied, the grin not once leaving her face.

Baldwin was grateful for the mask concealing his face as blush rose to his cheeks.

“You're too kind, my lady,” he said softly.

Y/n’s heart melted at his reaction.

They spoke for what felt like hours underneath the gentle glow of the moonlight. The two agreed to meet again the following night and said their goodnight's before returning to their respective living spaces.

Neither could stop grinning for the rest of their waking hours that night.

The overjoyed and bashful emotions consumed both of them, each in great anticipation of the following night that was to come.

[oneshotgremlin]

Up and Down

Thoughts on how beings generally perceive their world one spatial dimension lower than the dimensionality of the space they inhabit:

In the flatlands, the way people perceive the world around them is through lines, and so visual receptors HAVE to be on the edges of their shapes

Otherwise by all accounts the person would be effectively blind

So Mrs.Red and Mr.Blue have this strange yellow boy

Who appears to be born with no eyes

(It’s directly in his center, but without tests and doctors nobody can see it)

And for all intents and purposes, the boy is blind

He has to feel his way around buildings and people (in his hand a black cane that his parents bought to aid him)

And he doesn’t know what his parents look like, and only knows them by their voice as they guide him

They love him all the same, regardless

(Meanwhile, he stares up at the infinite expanse of the night sky. But the thing about infinity is that it makes where you stand so infinitesimally tiny in comparison, and no matter how far you run side to side the stars do not move an inch for you. And if they’re all someone sees, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn is that where they are is unspeakably, claustrophobically small)

(It doesn’t matter if the kids at school bully him and the adults look at him with pity and disdain that he can’t even see, because don’t they know how SMALL they are? Don’t they know how small EVERYTHING is?)

And so, with years and years and nowhere else to go, Bill reaches UP

(And no-one else has tried before, because why would they? There is no up or down to conceive, only forwards and backwards and left and right.)

It takes unimaginable amounts of energy to punch a rift into a dimension. In a time and space unmeasurably far away, a six fingered man and his five fingered twin would learn that lesson well

In the flatlands, it’s less of an interdimensional portal looming ominously in a metal room and more of a calculation

l is for length. w is for width. h is for height

And like a computer told to divide by zero, everything falls apart

Did you know that when energetic particles that erupt from the stars collide with a sufficiently nitrogen rich atmosphere, it produces the color blue?

Did you know the only reason the flatlanders didn’t drift off into the freezing cold yet boiling hot void of space, despite not having a planet with the volume and mass needed to produce a gravitational field, is their dimension’s lack of third dimensionality?

Like insects pinned underneath glass, yet the glass protected their corpses from falling apart?

They scream. He cries. He laughs. They die.

It’s an old saying: “When gravity falls and earth becomes sky beware the beast with just one eye”

And when little Billy looks away from the stars, looks down to finally see his tiny, minuscule home

For the first and last time, he sees a blue triangle with a hat, and a red triangle with a bow.

[idiopathicsmile]

*crawls out from under a table* listen. i thought i was doing pretty well against seasonal affective disorder this year—making strides, learning new coping mechanisms, internalizing strategies—but it turns out what i was actually doing was enjoying the benefits of an unseasonable sunny spell. now where i live it is cloudy and dark and it has been unremittingly cloudy and dark for days on end and i have forgotten the feeling of natural light on my skin. my brain is missing an ingredient. my soul itself has rickets. is it possible to apply fish oil directly to the personality? can you shine a light therapy lamp bright enough to reach my shriveling heart? it is so dark outside. it is so dark. i can feel myself starting to transform into a goddamn tim burton character. fucking feed me to that weird snake creature from beetlejuice. not in a vore way.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

I don’t always make Feng Xin suffer, but when I do? God do I make that man suffer. He’s just my little meow meow and I want to see him cry 🥸

[beastsovrevelation]

Archangel Michael in Good Omens (2.02)

[artingstarvist]

Chapter 1 / 14

Fandom: Tiān Guān Cì Fú / Heaven Official's Blessing

Relationships: Hua Cheng / Xie Lian, Xie Lian & Lang Qianqiu

Characters: Xie Lian, Hua Cheng, Yin Yu, He Xuan, Lang Qianqiu

Additional Tags: Coffin Rescue, Coffin AU, AU - Canon Divergence, AU - Different First Meeting, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Revenge Plot, POV Alternating, Blood and Injury, Dream-Reality Confusion, Suicidal Thoughts, Non-Graphic Violence, Hua Cheng AND Xie Lian have Self Esteem issues, Hualian Invented Love, Hua Cheng bout to make it 34 gods

So I wrote a coffin rescue fic! First draft of the whole thing is nearly done actually, but it needs editing so I'll probably post chapters weekly. I actually sketched the illustration first and it kind of inspired me to give writing a try since I kept thinking about what my take on a coffin fic would be. I may or may not add more art as I go along.

Also ty @lildoodlecat for proofreading for me! <3

[lazycranberrydoodles]

🔊 audio on! 🔊/ based off the tags of this post / find this on youtube / follow to see if hua cheng’s suffering will ever end

[nebbyy]

Can you make more head canons for Baldwin? Like what would he do if you two got into an argument etc etc.

King Baldwin x reader - Arguing with you

A/N: Sure thing sweetie!! I must apologize though, I only did the argument part because I didn't really have much time left and I didn't know what else to add. Hope you'll still like it though!

As always, painting is King Lear, Act I, Scene I by Edwin Austin Abbey :))

Warning: none, literally. Should f!reader a warning? If yes then there's that

Firs of all, Baldwin does not argue with you. He's a pacifist at heart, he always prefers talking things through and negotiate to get out of hard situations. To him, that is a form of respect, the desire to talk as equals and not trying to impose his own will on the other

And since he does that with his enemies, how could he not give you the same treatment? You, who lighten his days darkened by his duties and his sickness, you who save him from the burden of his own thoughts

And even if you tended to be more on the aggressive/prone to arguments side, he still wouldn't budge, and just keep on talking but most of all LISTENING, Baldwin respects you more than anyone else, your thoughts are sacred to him and should be treated as such!

If the argument is about something that he did to upset you, be it an unpleasant comment or a forgotten appointment (only happened once and it was because he had been kept busy by his counselors), he will do anything to make you feel any better

If the argument is about his tendencies to neglect his own health, then good luck with that because his own moral code physically prevents him from letting go of his duties to favor resting and trying to better his condition. Still, he will reassure you with gentle touches and soft words that he understands your worries, and you are the sweetest angel to care so much about him

But he cannot let his kingdom to fend for itself just because of a bad day for his leper body, he will have to wait until the evening to be reunited with you and finally let himself rest, your own anger at his stubborness long gone as you cradle his head on your lap. You still appreciate his soft apologies as you caress his mangled face, though

Now, speaking about what he'll do to make it up to you for any argument- or mostly, things that he did that upset you since he doesn't really argue with you

First of all, he will excuse himself for having upset you in the first place, listening to your every word to understand precisely what exactly it is that he did that he will avoid making again

Then, he will try to get any form of physical contact with you. He needs it, desperately, having been so isolated from any human touch for years other than his physicians'

Hell, he might even kneel for you if it meant having your forgiveness, if it meant being able to hug your legs like the supplicants of the ancient books he read about

If you'll let him get close to you, he'll kiss you all over while he'll keep apologizing and openly reflect on the things that he will change to make it up properly. Kinda reminds me of Gomez and Morticia on that scene (hence the painting I chose)

And after you will have forgiven him, that night he'll hold you a little closer, whispering sweet apologies while you sleep soundly, unaware of how dedicated your husband is to learn from his mistakes

All in all, I really don't see Baldwin as someone you'd ever argue with, but that doesn't stop him from making up for his every mistake like he'd caused you the worst of wrongs

You're his Heaven, and he'll treat you as such