#this is eternity ok: <_______________________._______________________>
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Hiiiii Hippo 💕💕💕
Buddie fic title:
If only I knew you had electric fingerprints
-❤️🪐
Hiiii Saturn!!!! So lovely to see you here! You said Buddie. Please know you have my eternal gratitude for forgiving my slip into Diaz Family Feels. 💞🦛
After the debacle of broken salad bowls, 'I think you should go home' and 'This is your mess now', Eddie thought that he and Chris had worked through the biggest tangles of dating in the Diaz household. Introducing Marisol was almost a non-event. Eddie might even go so far as to call it a success.
He will now admit that line of thinking was more than a bit premature and naïve on his part.
Maybe it was his own growth and evolutions in the relationship department that led him to assume Christopher wouldn't face the same issues. And, well, technically he didn't. No, Eddie's son dealt him an entirely new, foreign set of tribulations. A one-eighty of Eddie's nesting instincts where Christopher is leading on five different girls. Five!
Wasn't it just last year they were discussing how much shirt sleeve was acceptable to show? What the hell happened?
And, OK, it's a new world with new methods of communication and apps and how teenagers interact with each other. Eddie likes to think he isn't completely stupid, because he tries to stay informed about current trends that he would honestly rather not know about. But no article or discussion with the school guidance counselor - or Frank - could have prepared him for tonight. No tips, tricks, signs to watch for could have fortified him for the devastating blow of 'We loved her and she left us anyway' and 'I can't remember her voice anymore'.
When Buck emerges from Chris's room, Eddie is still leaning against the wall, crushed under the weight of a thousand emotions and questions, attempting to prevent his heart from spilling past the walls of his chest. To keep it from slipping through the makeshift cage where his fingers press bruises into his skin, just below his collarbone.
Buck squeezes Eddie's shoulder before wordlessly leading them to the kitchen where he pours them both a glass of water and he waits. Waits for Eddie to speak, because it's what they do. They don't press. And maybe they should - more or earlier - but that's another thought for another day. For another version of Eddie that doesn't feel like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him.
"I don't- How am I supposed to-" Eddie blows out a harsh breath, frustrated that he can't form a complete question. That there is no entry in the non-existent Parenting Handbook for how to tackle this scenario.
"Eds," Buck says the nickname so carefully, so gently, like his tongue is shaping it from the most fragile glass. His hand tentatively slides across the tabletop until it's resting on top of Eddie's own. "You don't need to have all the answers or know exactly what to do."
"I know I don't. It's just-" He cuts himself off, huffing out an unamused chuckle. Because he doesn't know.
And, look, Eddie is fully aware that he doesn't have to be one hundred percent in control all the time, but it doesn't make him hate whatever this is any less. This combination of lost and thrown off course; of sad, bitter anger muddled together with desperation. His own eagerness to bargain for a way to make this situation more palatable. A pathetic yearning for the chance to go back. To never enlist and close himself off. To splurge on the digital camera with video recorder so he could capture a truly ludicrous amount of everyday, mundane moments.
How many hours of footage might they have collected? Of simple things like Shannon chopping vegetables or putting on makeup before a night out. Her and Eddie slow dancing in the backyard to music only they could hear. Or her laughing, bright and bold, as she smudged dirt and filth across Eddie's cheek after he showed her how to change the oil in her car. The way he pulled her in with his own grimy hands, pressing their mouths together so he could swallow the sound.
He blinks rapidly to keep tears from falling as he wonders how many instances would have featured her rolling her eyes - exactly the way Christopher does now - and shoving her palm in front of the lens.
But he'll never know because he's stuck with the choices he made. That they made. He can tell their son stories, bring him for graveside visits, and offer small souvenirs of the time Shannon had on earth, but that's all Eddie can do. He can't replicate what it was like to be in her presence. He can't convey how she was soft and gentle and all the things Eddie isn't, while also being sharp and spirited. How she smelled like peonies and summer rain.
Whatever he has to offer is two dimensional. Framed photographs, memories stored in his mind. Some of them also stored in Chris's though Eddie suspects in a completely different way. Hopefully in a way that doesn't taste as much like guilt and regret for things left unfinished and words left unsaid. Words like-
Dear Christopher.
He swallows hard around the phantom taste of sea spray from the Pacific Ocean, has the urge to claw at damp, sun-warmed sand that isn't there. And god only knows how his best friend has any idea what's scratching at Eddie's brain, but he does. And Eddie is so, so grateful when Buck rubs his thumb across Eddie's knuckles and asks if he should stay or would Eddie rather it just be him and Chris.
As much as Eddie would like Buck to be present as an extra layer of protection, he knows this is something he has to do himself. Even though, as he walks Buck to the front door, promising to call later, he gets the distinct feeling he won't actually be alone.
In the low lighting currently casting shadows around his bedroom, Eddie's fingers tremble as he reaches for the small safe in the back of his closet. A simple design meant to hold important, precious things. The metal dial is cool under his fingertips, easily manipulated as he rotates it right and left and right again until the door pulls open.
It's been years since he read the words written in Shannon's flowing script, but he knows them like he knows his own name. He traces over her loops and arches, wishing, like always, that he had more time. That he could put off performing this errand for a few more years, decades, lifetimes. Even if he knows it's only for selfish reasons. Because he owes this to Chris and to Shannon. It's on him to follow her instructions and deliver this remaining link between mother and son.
He holds the folded pieces of paper in his hands, feeling something familiar wrap around him that isn’t the usual despair. Something that's more like spun gold flowing between the note and his skin.
Eddie bites back a sob as it dives beneath the surface to wind its way around nerves and spill through blood vessels on its way to his heart. As a calm takes root, anchoring in all four chambers, unfurling and flourishing. As the room, that typically smells like lavender fabric softener and the fancy vanilla linen spray Pepa bought for him, is permeated by the overwhelming scent of Texas nights - filled with crackling humidity wrapped in silvery starlight - and velvety pink peonies.
He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing it in, inhaling deeply to his core like it might allow him to hold onto this moment forever. When at last his lungs protest, forcing him to exhale, his eyes flutter open again.
Eddie closes the door to the safe, hearing it shut with a satisfying click.
"Thank you," he whispers, letting his gaze drift to the letter once more before he walks down the hall to pass it to its rightful owner. His son. Their son. A living, breathing tether between past, present and future.
He knocks on the doorframe, briefly saddened by the sight of Shannon and Christopher’s picture turned face down on the desk. It only makes him more sure he’s doing the right thing.
“Hey, buddy…”
For additional Feels™️ may I recommend
#hippo gets mail#jfc i must go cry now#eddie diaz#christopher diaz#shannon diaz#saturn tag 🪐#7x1 coda#i guess?#hippo writes#fic title ask
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Ok so I’ve been getting a few questions about the ending of redrawn, to most I’ve replied saying I don’t really have one planned yet. But I’ve come up with a little concept;
So there’s the boss fight with bendy and henry defeats him with the reel (or something else I haven’t thought about it much), afterwards the exit is drawn for henry or it just builds itself, henry approaches it and opens the door.
He enters his home, and notices that he’s no longer a toon anymore, and is soon greeted by Linda. She tells him how much she’s missed him and that she’s so happy to see him all ok blah blah blah, then at a point she’s like “Oh honey, you can’t leave just yet.” Henry’s confused and like “Wh-what? What do you mean I can’t leave?”. She then says “Don’t you know you’re a star?”. Her smile gets all crooked and her body gets more distorted (maybe she morphs into bendy?). Henry then looks down at his hands and sees that he’s a toon again. There’s a shot of his face which then pans out to a reveal scene like this; a hoard of cult members watching henry from a tv screen with bendy looming over them.
Maybe like bendy doesn’t want to enter the real world anymore or it’s revealed the curse can’t be broken by Henry, so now he gets to torment the man who put the pen to paper and created him in the first place, for eternity?
some things might change (sum of it is inspired by another au, tho I’m unsure if the ending is canon anymore) but the basic idea is there ig
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YouTube Clickbait Faces
Inspired by this post by @wolflyndraws :3
wc: 1727
Teagan has been out of the hospital for a week, and Dream has realized he has no photos of her with George.
He's taken pictures of her while she was in the hospital. He took pictures of George in the hospital.
But he doesn't have any of them together.
Which, to be fair to him, isn't really his own fault. For the first week or so of her being in the hospital, they weren't allowed to hold her at all.
And in the time they were allowed to hold her, they were both more focused her and spending time together than they were about taking photos.
As a result, the closest thing to a photo of George and Teagan he has is one of George watching her in her little incubator.
It's a good photo. A great photo even. But it makes Dream sad.
He needs more pictures of the two that will make him happy.
It's this thought process that leads him to pull out his phone during a moment of downtime.
He aims the camera at where George is laying, flat on his back with Teagan lays on his chest.
The shirt George is wearing is dumb. In the best way possible.
It says "Spawn Point" in cluncky, pixelated letters. It was a gag gift from Sapnap but George, like the nerd he is, immediately fell in love with it and has taken to wearing it constantly.
He says it's comfortable, and Teagan seems to agree with the way she's clutching the fabric in her small fists as she sleeps.
George himself looks asleep, eyes closed and breathing even, but Dream can tell he's not from the uneven pattern of his breaths.
He manages to snap two quick photos before George peaks his eyes open to look at him.
George rolls his eyes and smiles.
Dream prepares to take another photo, wanting to capture George's fond smile.
However, as he's clicking the button, George drops his mouth open. He brings his hands up and presses them against his cheeks as he widens his eyes in faux shock.
It's the typical YouTube thumbnail face.
The photo is taken.
"George, what the hell." He asks, voice incredulous.
George is giggling to himself, clearly amused by his own antics.
"I was trying to get cute pictures. Not whatever that was." Dream whines, not actually upset.
"L." George responds through his seemingly endless laughter.
The shifting of George's chest as his laughter rouses Teagan. She squirms as she wakes, letting out a soft whimper.
George stops laughing in an instant. He turns his attention to where Teagan has continued whimpering quietly.
"Oh, baby... " He coos. "You're ok. Go back to sleep, sweetheart."
Dream takes another picture as George works soothe Teagan back to sleep.
☆
As Teagan is getting older waking up in the morning is getting easier.
She's not quite sleeping through the night yet but she's getting close. Close enough that Dream and George are able to get enough sleep that they don't feel completely dead.
This also means that they, George especially, are in much better mood first things in the morning.
Dream is eternally grateful for this fact when he walks into the kitchen.
George is already up with Teagan, having gotten up when she did.
Currently, He's holding her in his arms. He's swaying back and forth and bouncing in circles.
He's humming under his breath as he does so. When Dream listens in a little harder he recognizes the tune of Kind of Love. The knowledge makes him feel fuzzy.
Teagan is giggling like mad, her little face lit up with joy.
He pulls out his phone. He wants to capture the moment so he can play it on repeat whenever he's sad or mad or even just if he wants to.
He manages to record in silence for thirty seconds before Teagan's loud laughter causes him to laugh. He's not able to contain it, the joy of the two people he loves more than anyone else bringing him joy.
The noise causes George to whip his head around. The smile on his grows when he sees Dream.
George turns his body towards him and holds Teagan out in front of him as if he's handing her to him.
There's still a large smile on her face and the sight of her daddy makes her kick her feet and squeal excitedly.
Dream ends the video and takes a quick photo.
At the sound of the camera shutter George's jaw drops open and he widens his eyes.
"George," He mutters, exasperated. "Stop making YouTube click bait faces when I'm trying to take a picture."
George drops the face long enough to say "Just take the picture, idiot." before returning to the face.
Dream rolls his eyes and takes the picture.
After he does so George rushes forward. He hands Teagan to Dream and snatches Dream's phone from his hand.
"Good morning, Tea Cup." He mumbles to her as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
George let's out a laugh.
"This is epic." He mutters, looking at the photos. He turns to show the phone to Reagan. "Look, baby! That's you!"
☆
For the past week or so, Teagan has been attempting to stand on her own.
She's gotten pretty close, managing to use the couch or a chair or just about anything she can get her tiny hands on to pull herself on her feet.
That's about as far as she can get though. The second she let's go she falls on her butt.
She doesn't let it discourage her, simply letting out a frustrated huff before trying again.
It both excites and terrifies Dream.
Excites because it's a new mile stone. She's growing up and learning new things!
But also she's growing up. She's growing so quick and before long she won't be his tiny little baby anymore.
There's also the added factor of how much more potential mischief she'll be able to get into once she's not longer restrained to crawling.
Him and George are watching her attempt now. She's already tried four times and she's getting increasingly frustrated each time.
As time goes on, he's getting increasingly worried that she's going to work herself into a tantrum.
As he watches her slowly pull herself up, he decides that if she falls again he's going to scoop her up and distract her. Redirect her attention until she's calm enough to try again.
He watches as Teagan pulls herself to her feet. She wobbles for a moment before she's able to use her grip on the couch to stabilize herself.
She looks to Dream and George for approval.
"You've got this, baby." George says to her.
She looks back and forth between her feet and the couch. After a moment of contemplation she let's out a determined huff.
Distantly, Dream is amused by the theatrics of their child. It shouldn't be that shocking though, considering how dramatic both he and George can be.
She let's go of the couch and Dream holds his breath as he watches her wobble.
Teagan continues to struggle with balancing herself for a moment before she manages to plant her feet and stand firm.
When she does so she looks back up at them and let's out a soft "ah" of excitement as she bounces gently in place.
George stands up before squatting down beside her. He looks up at dream and says "Take a picture." Before making the thumbnail face.
"Are you serious?" "Yes! This is a big moment take the picture!"
Dream scoffs out a fond laugh as he does as he was told.
After he does it George turns to Teagan and scoops her into his arms. He holds her up above his head. She squeals in excitement.
Dream takes a picture of that too.
☆
Dream has been on the verge of tears all day.
Teagan, his baby girl, has just graduated high school. As in, just walked across the stage and gotten her diploma fifteen minutes ago.
Now Him, George, Sapnap, and the rest of their family are pushing through the crowd looking for her.
Her graduating class is nearly three hundred kids. That combined with all of the parents and family who came means there's a lot of people to sift through.
Thankfully, after just another minute of searching, they find her.
Or really she finds them.
As Dream is scanning the crowd he hears a distant "Dad!" called through the groups of people.
He turns just in time to catch Teagan as she basically throws herself at him.
The two lock into a tight embrace. When he pulls away he cups her face in his palms.
"I'm so proud of you, Tea Cup." He whispers to her as he presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Thanks, dad." She whispers back, tears in her eyes.
The two pull away and she turns her attention to George.
George throws his arms around her shoulders and pulls her close.
He doesn't hear what George says to her but when they pull away their faces are both wet with tears.
Sapnap is up next and her pulls her into a bear hug and ruffles her hair.
She's so much taller than him now. When did that happen? He remembers when her head was just barely past his hip.
After everyone gets their hugs they decide it's time for photos.
When everyone herds Dream, George, and Teagan together they get a few normal ones before George and Teagan make eye contact.
Mischievous grins take over their faces.
"Do the face with us." Teagan says.
Dream rolls his eyes fondly.
Ever since Teagan was old enough to take directions, George has had her doing the click bait face.
It's as amusing as it is infuriating.
He never participated, having decided years ago that it was a mommy and daughter activity that he didn't encroach on.
Now though? With both of the people he loves more than anything looking at him with pleading eyes?
"Fine." He relents, fondly laughing as his daughter and husband cheer at their victory.
With a sigh he places the palms of his hands on his face and barely contains his laughter as he pulls a shocked face.
By the time all of the cameras are put away, all three of them are laughing.
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Hi Pal is it OK if you can do mr. Puzzles x reader more romantic I just really am into romance and stuff sorry if you don’t feel very comfortable or not
Sure!
Tw: Low self esteem and depression
You stared into the mirror, you were crying for at least an hour, but felt like an eternity to you. You go to the weight scale and stand on it. Only 120. You kick it in frustration, hurting your toes in the process and you curl up in a ball. You sob into you knees once again, you felt miserable and useless. You pulled at your hair and bawled your eyes out, you struggled to even breathe from how hard you were crying. Then someone started knocking on the door very loudly. "Oh Y/N! You've been in there for a while! Are you done, dear?" Mr. Puzzles yelled through the door. You weren't ready, you were never ready. You weren't ready for this. You managed to mutter a no and put your face in your knees. He must've heard you crying, or maybe it was the tone of that "no", cause he kicked down the door immediately. This wasn't exactly a surprise, he would always kick down the door if he wanted something from you. He saw the state you were in and kneeled down, he picked you and held you in his arms. You tried to resist, but he was far to strong. And let's be honest. You are very, very tiny compared to him.
"Starlight, what's wrong?" Mr. Puzzles said as he cleaned your tears, you remained quiet and didn't respond. Which made him even more anxious and concerned about you. "Were the dresses not to your liking? Did you not like the food? Was it something I said or did? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Please tell me what's wrong, darling." He said, desperately trying to get to the root of your problem. You sniffled and managed to make him let go of you. You held his hand and took him to the weight scale, you stood on it and pointed to the number. Mr. Puzzles understood the problem almost immediately and picked you up again. You started crying again, you buried your face into his chest and hugged him tightly.
"Baby, you are beautiful just the way you are. I don't care how your body looks, you are amazing just the way you are, sweetheart." Mr. Puzzles said, rubbing your back and kissing you on the forehead (which just felt like glass gently pressing on your forehead but whatever), he carried you princess style into your dressing room. He put you down and snapped his fingers, he changed you from your formal attire into your maroon colored nightgown. Floating hands grabbed your hair brush and products, they started doing your hair for you. Other hands came over and started massaging your shoulders. And other hands started giving you a manicure.
Mr. Puzzles changed into a blue robe with a nightcap and slippers, as you were getting pampered, he made sure the bed was to your liking and even changed the sheets. Once you were done, he carried you to the bed and laid you down gently. You both snuggled up together, you had your head on his chest, using him like a pillow. Puzzles kissed you in the head and whispered sweet nothings to you. You began to get tired and before you went sleepytime, you said thank you to Mr. Puzzles. He smiled and caressed you cheek.
"You're welcome, mi amor."
#smg4 mr puzzles#mr puzzles x reader#mr puzzles#smg4 fanfic#smg4 fandom#smg4 ships#smg4 puzzlevision#puzzlevision arc#smg4
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what if i decided i'm straight up not posting any new art publicly until that family's GFM in my pinned is at least Halfway to its goal
(even half my followers donating 5 bucks each would do that btw)
#i dont know them i just want to focus efforts and secure at least one 'at least this fam conclusively got help' i want to do SOMETHING OK??#extrwemely time senstiive GFMs that linger in limbo eternally are heartbreaking#i might post writing and reblog pre-posted things so the blogs not dead but mmmmmm
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Does anyone want to be friends or to maybe fall in love with me so deeply that we find each other in the next life and every life after that bc our connection is unbreakable across lifetimes
#not just romantically btw bc my heart legit aches when I think of some of the friends I made#lover friend idc I just want to find you in the next life#in this eternity and forevermore ok sorry#text
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eveline is back AU
#ethan winters#eveline re7#eveline is back au#resident evil#resident evil fanart#rebhfun#resident evil village#resident evil 8#re8#resident evil 7#re7#resident evil biohazard#she would kill everyone for him#and i think its sweet#dad why r u crying should i torture them for eternity#no sweetie its ok
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the three body problem / omniscient reader's viewpoint
#esha.txt#orv#yoohankim#ok do you see my vision. goodbye#long post#isnt it so funny. silly. haha. even. that a solution to the 3 body problem is shaped like an infinity/ETERNITY symbol. :|#omniscient reader's viewpoint
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Anyway. Tristamp Punisher references because hell yeah. [x]
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man i am cursed to forever make refs huh. here's clay and branch au style
#trolls#trolls 3#trolls band together#trolls au#trolls branch#trolls clay#sketch's sketches#putt putt branch au#branch will eternally throw down with any creatures no hesitation#i feel like he's kinda goofy but also a lot more feral in this#given the opportunity he'd wrestle a gator no questions#ah the tag is fucked up today ok cool
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so many expressions in one small bean 🥰
#admiring his eternal beauty#AND YES I THINK HE IS JUST BEAUTIFUL OK#tutti thursday#tender father#tobias forge#ghost#ghost band#copia#papa emeritus#myedit#ghesties#the band ghost#ghost sweden#papa emeritus iv
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my lovely bug girl
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ponykatas and long haired toshis from a while ago
#SOMEONE SAVE ME FROM MY ETERNAL HELL (FINALS)#im just dumping old doodles i don’t have the energy to finish lol fjdnfmmdmf#augh#i miss him sm omg#hijikata toushirou#gintama#ok bye
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these freaks AGAIN? when will i be free..
#dsmp#c!wilbur#c!quackity#c!karl#c!sapnap#karlnapity#quackbur#tntduo#fanart#smoking tw#ok off the bat I DONT SUPPORT IRL WILBUR ANYMORE. OBVIOUSLY. anyways with that out of the way#what if they were all happy little freaks together. what then#karlnapity all have wedding rings btw but i specifically showed wil's hand to show he does not have one#hes part of the polycule but in a more like. distant/surface level way. karlnapity are married and then wilbur is also there.#as q's eternal boytoy or something. and that works for them. thumbs up
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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.
#scum villian self saving system#svsss#bingyuan#bingqiu#luo binghe#shen yuan#my writing#svsss fic#sy transmigrates into a blank role in a world where his favorite character exists#and he's supposed to - what ? NOT fulfill his personal fantasy of being lbh's best friend ?? ok 🙄#naturally binghe has been obsessed since the moment this pretty boy first smiled at him#bingbing i love you you deserve a good shixiong / future wife and i'm here to deliver#ALSO sy's sword name is (yǒng) meaning perpetual ; eternal ; forever#and 亮 (liàng) meaning bright ; clear ; to show ; to shine#in my mind's eye zheng yang is golden so yong liang's silvery white is the perfect compliment#YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO THE SUN & MOON SHIP DYNAMIC 🫵#heaven and hell were words to me
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Some colored Elden Ring sketches
#my art#ok imma stop procrastinating now!#elden ring#queen marika the eternal#marika#radagon of the golden order#elden ring radagon#maliketh#maliketh the black blade#sketches
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