#outside of some of her disciples

[cosmicheartz]

One thing I’ve been kinda stumped on regarding Solange kicking the Nari and the Bishops out of her Flock/Cult is how they’d react

For some additional context she chose to heal the bishops and all that but after she healed the last one ( most likely Shamura ) she straight up tells them that she will be kicking them out of the flock.

She also does not get along with any of them ( maybe Leshy but that’s only bc they can both relate to each other being made gods at a young age ) along with utterly despising Nari

Like on one hand I don’t think any of them really wanted to be in Solanges flock but also I feel like at least one of them would be pissed off

I particularly can’t figure out how Nari would react bc it rlly can go either way with him being pissed off or him being like “ fine I didn’t even wanna be here anyways “

[enslaughts]

@huntalie. . . liked for a starter.

life had stopped making sense to laura lee the moment their plane plummeted from the sky. glimpses, maybe, here and there, shapes in her periphery, but by the second plane raining fire and brimstone upon them, she'd only kept on falling. head over heels far after she'd already hit the water. o thou of little faith. wherefore didst thou doubt ? maybe it was the moment you let us fucking sink. and yet, there is no other word for it but faith, this hellfire reflection in her eye. it devours the cabin, their home, like a lion, leaving nothing but skin and bone to pick through, blacker than black. at least it's warm. it'll be warmer in hell, something certain in her whispers, a root taking hold. a certainty of the un - seen, made seen before their very eyes. faith. the only thing that's made sense to her since the moment their plane plummeted from the sky ; this is judgment. righteous, holy fire for the blasphemers.

but the innocent were always damned with the guilty. firstborns swallowed in the plague. travis didn't deserve to lose his only home now that his brother was dead. lottie didn't deserve it either, akilah, gen, melissa, natalie. they were already suffering, half frozen, half starved, half dead. what more could it want from them, what more could it take ? what more could they give ? a home. their only home, for their only meal. maybe it was a fair trade after all. but no. no, it's only fair the taste of javi is forever turned to ash in their mouths, but not for all of them. travis, natalie— natalie tried. she was going to feed them all, despite lottie's offering, despite their heresy against it, she was going to feed them. heed the altar call and lie down upon it, and now look at her. ram in the thicket made archangel, forged in fire to light their path forward, chosen by the cards, the wilderness, lottie. who was laura lee to question it ?

so she doesn't. she has faith in lottie, and lottie put her faith in natalie. and god saw the light, that it was good : and god divided the light from the darkness. laura lee knows this, if nothing else : natalie is good. and because she's good, she will doubt herself, just as lottie did, and this is why they're good, why they're chosen. their home is in each other. “   you're not alone in this,   ” she whispers, fierce, forcing the glow in her gaze to shine on natalie's. what a way to start a reign. but light will always shine brighter in the dark. “   have faith in lottie. in yourself. we've made it this far.   ” what more could they lose ? where could they go now but up, after they'd already walked through the gates of hell ? doesn't that depend on which way you're going : out, or further in ? “   you got us this far.   ” not only your skill, but your kindness, “   you've been a faithful servant, natalie. now it's our turn. we just have to give it. . . more of the same.   ” here, cold hands find another's, slow, wary as an animal, but holding tight. “   more faith in it. trust, in each other.   ”

[sunderwight]

Demon Saint Shen Yuan.

Luo Binghe had never been relieved to see his shizun suddenly arrive into a situation, but there was a first time for anything. And a bloodthirsty demon invasion was the kind of situation where anyone would want to have an immortal master turn up, even one as intimidating and unfriendly as Shen Qingqiu.

The demons had arrived some hours ago. Luo Binghe himself had only become aware of the situation recently, as panic spread and he and Ning-shijie were caught up in the chaos. He hadn't even been sure that it was a demon invasion, or what that might entail, until he found himself running for his life from a group of horrifying inhuman figures in mismatched armor, wielding fearsome weapons and clashing with the senior Qiong Ding disciples.

Ning-shijie had pulled him to the main pavilion, but that ended up being the central point of the troubles. A nymph-like demoness, who didn't look as though she could be much older than they themselves were, imperiously ordered the other demon warriors to claim Qiong Ding's sign and to beat up any cultivators they came across. She was dressed more scandalously than Luo Binghe had seen anyone dress before in his life. Not even the ladies who stood outside the Warm Red Pavilion had worn so little, her figure barely obscured by scraps of crimson silk and bits of silver jewellery.

To the right of her, there stood a boy who seemed even younger. He was dressed in red as well, but his clothes at least did more to cover him, particularly the large and hooded cloak he wore. The two demons looked very similar, surely close relatives, but where the demoness kept calling out orders and making a display of being in charge, the demon boy was quiet. His pale gaze cut through the crowd and then seemed to land on Luo Binghe. There was such intensity to it, it was almost as if he had been looking for him.

A chill went down Luo Binghe's spine. He wondered if that demon boy would attack him. Why else would a demon be looking for someone like him, except as easy pickings?

Before he could find out, however, Shen Qingqiu descended into the chaos like a gift from the heavens.

Luo Binghe wasn't alone in his relief. Even though his shizun looked deathly pale and murderously enraged, almost everyone seemed to be in a mood to praise his arrival with thanks and cheers. Finally, a peak lord had come! Even the demons had to sit up and take notice of that.

The young demoness came forwards, an assessing glint in her eyes as she looked Shen Qingqiu up and down. The other demons fell into step behind her. Well, sort of? Looking at the motley collection of warriors, Luo Binghe didn't really think they were capable of the sort of orderly formations that human soldiers used. There didn't seem to be any two of them the same size or shape, there was of course no uniform, and there was an atmosphere which implied that even though the little demoness was in charge of them, this was a situation that could change at any given moment.

Despite his fear, Luo Binghe was somewhat curious about the demons. He had heard a lot about such beings, but even at his age he knew that reputation and rumor were not always to be trusted. The demon race was a mystery to him. So these were the people that the righteous world deemed beyond redemption?

As the demoness put forward a challenge to Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe's gaze drifted towards the boy with her.

He couldn't help it. For some reason, that demon boy had not stopped staring at him even once! He had only just glanced at Shen Qingqiu, and then gone right back to looking at Luo Binghe! When Luo Binghe met his gaze, he finally did look away, but again only for a moment. Then it was back to staring, then looking away again, and then staring again. What could possibly be so interesting about Luo Binghe, out of all the people around?

The pattern only ended when Shen Qingqiu moved forward, and Binghe was jolted from his concerns by the realization that his shizun was going to fight.

Despite his master's harsh way with him, he was excited. He had never yet seen his shizun fight, and only knew his prowess by implication and reputation. A one-armed demon came forward to be his challenger. Shen Qingqiu did not wait to even exchange the usual courtesies, instead he moved at once, drawing forth Xiu Ya and sending his sword glint to carve through the air. When the one-armed demon dodged, Shen Qingqiu called up a cloud of dust and hit him directly in the face with it.

Luo Binghe blinked in surprise.

These kinds of tactics... weren't they a little... underhanded? Who was the demon and who was the righteous cultivator?

He probably should not judge. He knew that conventional wisdom held that demons were not truly 'people', and a demonic beast should be promptly dispatched. But the demons here spoke, and looked mostly human, and this match had been agreed to, even if under heavy duress. In a way it wasn't unlike a duel between cultivators. So why was his shizun fighting so dirty?

Regard for his master slipped further. Luo Binghe had been attempting to hold onto it, but he was increasingly convinced that it wasn't worth the effort. Even fighting an opponent who had only one arm, Shen Qingqiu was pressing every advantage he had and then some.

The outcome was lackluster and predictable, though the demoness still looked very displeased as her subordinate was killed. Demons probably weren't as concerned about dirty tactics as righteous cultivators, though, so she only announced that the next match would be against her.

Shen Qingqiu called for volunteers. The demon boy glanced at his senior, then looked out towards the group. His gaze lingered on the Xian Shu peak disciples just a few seconds before Liu Mingyan came forward to answer Shen Qingqiu's call.

Luo Binghe frowned.

Was it a coincidence, or did this demon boy have some kind of clairvoyance?

If so, what did all of his staring at Luo Binghe imply...?

But, no, it couldn't mean anything. Luo Binghe was nothing and nobody, after all. He didn't even have a spiritual weapon, and hadn't received any martial training yet. At this rate he would be lucky if he wasn't kicked off of the peak, and he knew it just as well as everyone else did. Liu Mingyan was just a bit older than him, but the differences between their abilities were like night and day. Luo Binghe was so behind that he could scarcely even comprehend her fight with the demoness. It didn't even seem like they were fighting to him, not really, but Ming Fan seemed to understand it and enthused about it to everyone nearby, and Shen Qingqiu only watched with narrow eyes until finally, it seemed, the disciple from Xian Shu lost.

Luo Binghe tried not to wince. That meant they were one to one, and there were no other peak lords or head disciples present to fight the next match. He glanced around, wondering which of the senior disciples might do. There were a few from Qiong Ding, and some elders from Zui Xian...

The feeling of eyes on him drew his attention back across the pavilion.

That demon boy was staring at him again. Even more unexpectedly, so was his shizun. He felt all the hairs go up on the back of his neck as Shen Qingqiu called out:

"Luo Binghe. Come forward."

His feet rooted him to the spot in genuine shock. That couldn't mean what he thought it did, could it? Why was his shizun calling for him? By name, no less? He couldn't mean for Luo Binghe to fight, could he? He'd lose his match and end up as a meal for demons! He didn’t even have a sword!

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, fierce and more terrifying than any of the demons so far, and before he could consider running away, self-preservation instincts compelled Luo Binghe to go over and bow in acknowledgement.

"Shizun," he said, trying not to shake.

Shen Qingqiu sneered at him.

"Since certain parties have insisted that you have some talent, let's put it to the test. My personal disciple shall go and handle the next match."

Oh.

So.

Shen Qingqiu wanted him dead, then?

At once, Ning-shijie raised her voice in protest. But she petered out as Shen Qingqiu shot her the kind of cutting, quelling look he almost never used on her. Even Ming Fan and some of the other Qing Jing disciples shifted uncomfortably. But to intervene, they'd have to volunteer in Luo Binghe's stead, and none of them would do that. He hadn't managed to endear himself to any of them, so of course they wouldn't stick their necks out for his sake.

"Shizun..." he tried, falteringly. He would die, but also, the sect would lose face. Shen Qingqiu couldn't really mean for that, could he? Maybe he expected Luo Binghe to run away, to leave and rid him of an incompetent student for good, but how could Luo Binghe do such a thing? He had nowhere else to go.

Shen Qingqiu glared impatiently at him.

"Is this the next champion?" the demoness asked, and laughed. "I'd feel too bad siccing one of our elders on the little creature. Hey, Didi! You fight him!"

The demon boy next to her shot her a startled look. It made him seem surprisingly human, even though the slight parting of his lips revealed a sharp set of cute little fangs.

"Me?" he asked, incredulous.

The demoness smirked.

"You don't want to? What, are you afraid of that shrimpy thing? How embarrassing! Our Sha family will never recover from the disgrace!"

The boy looked like he wanted to throttle his older sister for a moment. But instead of backing down, he glanced off to the side. There was nothing there, yet he stared intently at empty space for several seconds. Then his shoulders slumped, just a bit, and he strode forwards.

Standing across from one another in the middle of the impromptu fighting ring, Luo Binghe got a better look at the mysterious demon. Either he was small for his age, or he was in fact even younger than Luo Binghe had initially guessed. He felt almost sympathetic, because the boy was a full head shorter than him and pretty scrawny. Some of the other demons around had arms and legs bigger than him. His long hair was straight and loose but for a single ornament, which was only revealed when he swept the hood of his cloak down. He was dressed in crimson from head to toe, with silver embellishments that matched his pale eyes. Long black nails sprouted from his fingertips, nearly as dark and shiny as his boots. With one hand he motioned and called to his grasp a wicked-looking spear, adorned with red tassels. At his belt were a pair of folded fans. The metal kind used as weapons, rather than the frail type which Shen Qingqiu used to hide his sneers.

After a moment, the younger boy straightened across from Luo Binghe and then, to his surprise, offered him a polite bow of acknowledgement.

"Let's get this over with," he murmured.

Luo Binghe wondered if he would have to face him bare-handed, but someone whistled from off to one side.

Liu Mingyan, to his surprise, tossed him a spare sword from somewhere. It was no spiritual weapon, but it was definitely better than nothing.

He nodded in thanks, then turned back and awkwardly returned the bow to his opponent.

The demon boy let him, and did not charge first. He twirled his spear and circled around, as if assessing Luo Binghe's threat level. I have none, Luo Binghe thought to himself, half-hysterical, but at this point he realized that every second of delay was another second he could still live. He eyed the fans cautiously, knowing just enough to know that he would have no recourse at all over ranged attacks. But the demon did not reach for them.

In the end, it was Binghe's own sense of tension that got the better of him. Just as the demon side were beginning to jeer, he settled the sword as best as he could in his hands and lunged forward.

The demon boy parried him easily. Reflexively, he'd even say. The parry left him staggering and wide open, but instead of pressing the advantage, his opponent backed off.

"Come on," he thought he heard a soft voice murmur. "Get into a proper stance. You've seen them before, you know what it looks like."

Luo Binghe blinked and hesitated, confused.

"Didi, just beat him into the ground already!" the demoness jeered.

The younger boy didn't take his eyes off of Luo Binghe, however.

"If you want me to fight, you have to put up with how I do it," he called back.

His older sister visibly sulked. Even without directly looking at her, the body language was easy to read.

"So boring," she sighed.

They were toying with him. That was it, right? He was being mocked.

Luo Binghe couldn't even blame them, not really. He didn't know what he was doing in this fight either. But he wasn't entirely without some pride. The shame of his own ineptitude made him feel hot and shaky. Swallowing, he took the mockery as advice anyway and focused on himself. He did know, at least in theory, what the Qing Jing sword stance looked like. He'd even tried copying it on his own several times. Without a word he settled his posture into his best approximation of it.

Across from him, his opponent's lips twitched upwards in a baffling hint of a smile.

Luo Binghe decided to try defensiveness again, and settled in to watch and wait.

This time, he was rewarded with an attack. The demon boy circled once more before finally lunging with his spear. The move seemed obvious, almost too slow, but still Luo Binghe struggled to counter it. The edge of the spear slashed across his arm.

The demon boy winced the same time that he did.

There was a slight delay, then another attack.

It was obvious who the better fighter was. Luo Binghe couldn't think of any reason outside of mockery for the fight to draw on, for why he wasn't just being gutted like a fish, but after a few more lunges and awkward attempts at blocking had sent rivulets of blood down his sleeves, he wasn't sure if he was grateful for it or not. His heart picked up, and he decided that his only chance was probably to try and catch his opponent off-guard.

So he switched and went on the offensive again, charging with the sword and trying everything he could think of to just land a hit.

The demon boy evaded him like it was nothing at all, but he also seemed to approve of this approach more than the other.

"That's it," his soft voice said. "If you don't know enough of swordsmanship, you'll just have to use force. You have a lot of talent. It's a shame no one's taught you properly how to use it. But the energy's there, right? Come at me again, come on, there! Like that! You're strong. You are stronger than me. You're taller as well, use it to your advantage..."

Luo Binghe swung with all his might, but at the last moment he realized the blow might actually hit, and in a flurry of panic it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't sure he wanted it to.

He pulled back, tripped, and stumbled into the dirt. The demon boy aborted a wide swing of his own, and somehow ended with the edge of his spear just a hair's breadth from Luo Binghe's throat.

The boy's eyes widened. He paled, as if something about this horrified him.

Luo Binghe closed his own eyes and dropped his sword.

"I yield," he said. Just as Liu Mingyan had done.

"Worthless! Fight until you have won, or don't call yourself my disciple any longer!" Shen Qingqiu snapped at him.

The spear swiftly withdrew. Luo Binghe hung his head. The silence that descended was filled with strange tension. He wasn't even certain he could name everything behind it, or if he even wanted to try. There was a ringing of panic in his ears, but the chief feeling in him was resignation. He couldn't win. He'd lost his place, this home he'd tried to find in the wake of his mother's death. His chance to become a cultivator.

But there was nothing for it. At least this way, he might still walk away with his life.

"No," the demon boy said. "Keep going. You can definitely win."

Luo Binghe blinked at him, bewildered.

Somehow the gaze that met his was earnest. There really did not seem to be a trace of mockery in it, in fact. The demon boy settled the butt of his spear against the floor of the pavilion.

"Didi, what the fuck are you doing?" the demoness called. "You won, just come back over here and we'll claim our spoils!"

"Don't interfere, this matter is between us two men," the little boy called back. Then he extended an arm. A red silk ribbon fluttered out from his sleeve and kicked Luo Binghe's discarded sword into the air, caught the handle, and gently tossed it back towards him.

Luo Binghe just barely caught it.

"What are you playing at?" he asked.

The boy smiled.

"No game," he said. "I just think you can beat me. Don't you want to see if you can? You haven't even really tried."

"But I don't know how to fight..." Luo Binghe protested, unable to keep the helpless despair from his voice.

The boy shook his head.

"Of course you do. Every living thing knows how to fight when it needs to. You need to defeat me, don't you? Your life depends on it. So fight me like it does!"

The spear jerked forwards, a quick flash of gleaming, deadly metal that carved a path across Luo Binghe's cheek. The pain was almost refreshing, somehow. Like a splash of cold, clean water to the face.

Fight like his life depended on it?

But it didn't. Not really. It was clear to him that this boy, strange though he was, demon though he was, harbored no killing intent towards him. Even the demoness hadn’t killed her opponent. Only Shen Qingqiu had done so.

And yet, he wasn't wrong, was he? If Luo Binghe lost this fight, Shen Qingqiu would finally have the excuse to be rid of him. His master must have long regretted choosing him in the first place, though Luo Binghe had no idea why he had done so, or why he had so bitterly despised his every effort afterwards. Regardless, without Qing Jing Peak, what was left for Luo Binghe? He'd be back on the streets, with little hope of making any kind of future for himself. He had lived that life just long enough to know the sorts of things that happened to people like him, and to know he wanted nothing to do with it.

He had loved his mother, but he did not want to live and die the way that she had.

The spear came at him again, and this time Luo Binghe let instincts take over and dodged out of the way.

He really was fighting for his life, wasn't he?

The demon boy pressed him, and his heart beat faster. He found himself answering the moves with less thought, less concern for form or structure. Soon he was smashing his sword against the spear with sheer brute force, animal intensity. He bared his teeth, widened his stance, and listened to the little voice in the back of his head that always wanted to roar.

Though he didn't actually roar. He didn't have the breath for it. His opponent finally wasn't giving him room to hesitate, and oddly enough it seemed to be granting Luo Binghe a strange sort of advantage. The spear had reach, but it was less dangerous when Luo Binghe got in closer. Though getting struck with the shaft was still painful. Red ribbons filled his vision as the demon boy left cuts and bruises in his wake, his clothing seeming to do almost as much fighting as he himself did, and yet Luo Binghe began landing meaningful hits as well. It was like fighting a bird, he thought. A bird and a hurricane. The boy's bones seemed light enough to break, and somehow after several intense minutes of skirmishing, something did break.

His opponent let out a hiss as the blow landed heavily against his arm, and the snap sound was loud in both of their ears. The spear dropped to the ground with a clatter.

Impossibly, Luo Binghe found himself leveling the blade of his sword at the demon boy's throat. Silvery eyes looked up at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that the emotion in them was relief. But that made no sense. Didn't he want to win?

Did he... not approve of this invasion, or something along those lines...?

"I yield," the boy said.

There was the barest flash of visible fear, at last. Wariness. A moment where he seemed unsure if Luo Binghe would let him. It seemed so strange, considering how honorably he'd conducted himself, but then again... why would he expect Luo Binghe to be the same? He'd just seen his master, the lauded Xiu Ya sword, fight like a depraved bandit. According to humans, the demon race were creatures without integrity. Maybe demons told the same sorts of stories about cultivators, though. Brutal creatures with no pity, no mercy, who hunted down even children like animals and spared no courtesy unless threatened into it.

Hastily, Luo Binghe lowered his sword.

He looked back towards his master, and he felt a moment of irrational hope. He had won. He had won! There was no reason for it, and yet he had!

But Shen Qingqiu didn't even look back at him. The man was already moving stiffly away, as if he couldn't even be bothered to ensure the invaders kept their word. With his back turned, any number of demons could have rushed forward to avenge their comrade's loss. Luo Binghe was aware of being both abandoned and surrounded.

When he looked back at his opponent, however, the boy only nodded and then returned to his sister. He retrieved his spear with his off hand, and was careful with the arm that had broken.

As soon as he drew close to Sha Hualing, however, she smacked him sharply across the face. Then she reached to his hair and pulled out a silver ornament, a pretty thing shaped like the demonic huadian on both of their foreheads. Tossing it down, she stomped on it with her bare foot. Even with only the soles of her small feet, the impact was strong enough to break it.

"Useless!" she hissed. "What the fuck was that?"

"It was your stupid idea anyway, I told you I didn’t want to fight," the boy muttered back.

It earned him a hiss, and another smack.

Luo Binghe didn't even realize he'd raised a hand, as if to intervene, until Sha Hualing turned her sharp gaze towards him. He hastily withdrew, unwilling to get into another fight, even if he sympathized with his enemy's treatment. It seemed neither of them would get much in the way of congratulations from their superiors.

Sha Hualing’s expression was assessing, however. As if she too had seen something in him, though Luo Binghe couldn't imagine what.

He didn't have much time to bother trying anyway. His shijie started pulling at him then, visibly anxious. They were still surrounded and outnumbered, and now they were without even the presence of a peak lord to shield them.

Luo Binghe let himself be pulled away, and was moving through the throng of remaining disciples by the time the dishonorable demon hordes finally kept their word, and left.

[dark-elf-writes]

The disciples of Qing Jing Peak weren’t stupid.

They were scholars in training, trained from the moment they had donned their peak’s colors to analyze the world around them. To see every flawless line in a painting. To find deeper meaning in every poem. To pick out each and every note flowing from a qin. They knew how to look, how to listen, how to see under the surface and find deeper meaning without letting their own preconceived notions distract them from what was truly there.

So it was really no wonder that they of all people were the only ones to realize their Shizun was different.

Oh on the outside he was largely unchanged. Still the same careful mask. Still the flowing robes and perfectly arranged hair. Still the ever present fans hiding all but his too sharp eyes.

But they knew how to look deeper.

They knew how to see.

Their new Shizun was a gentler soul than their old one.

It could be seen in the tightness around his eyes whenever one of them got hurt. It could be seen in fleeting smiles his fan wasn’t fast enough to cover when they did something he found amusing or adorable. It could be seen in the rarely granted head pats and gentle praise when one of them did well. His hands were always kind when they corrected sword forms or placements on the strings of a qin. His voice full of warmth as he lectured in front of their classes. His eyes danced with amusement when he teased them with such fondness that they never felt the sting of his words.

He was nothing like their old Shizun.

(And oh how some of them mourned their old teacher. How they pressed wet faces into pillows late in the night and wept silent tears for the man who still walked among them but was someone else entirely. Others spent those long dark nights battling relief and guilt in equal measures, feeling like they were betraying the man who had brought them in to their new home by being grateful they didn’t have to suffer his harshness any longer.

One boy played in a room of the bamboo house and vowed night after night that this new Shizun would have his loyalty at each and every turn.)

Changed as he was he was still theirs.

They had been there, after all, the day he had thrown himself in front of Luo Binghe and been poisoned with Without A Cure. They had been there when he caught one of the shimei’s crying because she missed her home and hugged her, cooing to her like a father to a beloved daughter. They had been there in a million other times when he had chosen them, so really it was only fair that they chose him in return.

Luo Binghe was glad to do most of the day to day care for their Shizun, cooking his meals and cleaning his home, but the rest of them were far from idle.

They trained harder, raising their cultivation levels at speeds unheard of to be strong enough to protect him. They weaved careful coverups and fed clever explanations to him whenever he seemed confused by something mundane. They returned his affection a hundredfold whenever they could get away with it, clinging to his sleeves and pressing against his sides like eager kittens vying for attention whenever he looked lonely.

They also kept a close eye on anyone who seemed too… interested in their beloved teacher, closing ranks and playing interference whether that person was an older disciple of another peak, a Peak Lord, or even the Sect Leader himself.

Their Shizun was not the man he once was, but this new man had chosen them from the very first day he had arrived on their peak. They, as devoted disciples, chose him back each and every day.

[miyaz6ki]

can i request sucking off modern streamer kinich while he’s live? ;3

──── ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა if it's not you !﹒⟢﹒

ᯓ★ ── . summ. when you both miss each other so much, you'll show that it's not mualani he's dating.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ pairings. kinich x gn!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ director's note. hello disciples (sharks), i'm today here vlog with everyone (will be writing a lot today n tomorrw i suppose)

ᯓ★ ── . warnings. nsfw, sucking kinich off, kind of subby!kinich, but he's more of a switch

part 2 here :)

kinich isn't necessarily lively on his streams, but he gets many swoon with his looks, blunt attitude, and sarcastic humor.

often collabing with another streamer; mualani. people often suspect he'd been dating her, their personalities definitely contrasted well.

but the issues only worsened when she came over to his place.

people in his chat always asked "who's the one sitting in the beanbag?!" "is it mualani?!" "oh my gosh he has a partner!!"

he always had ignored them, they didn't really need to know about you yet anyway.

but days pass, and the rumor continues to frequent his chat, especially today's. he couldn't ignore it this time.. the only messages he'd see were asking if him and mualani got together yet.

even the donations were non-stop with the questions. so he decided just to end stream early, the last of us could wait 'till tomorrow anyway.

when he hops into bed with you, he simply buried his head in your chest.

"something wrong, kin'?" you wrap your arms around his back, holding him closer into your warmth. "nothin'. let's sleep."

the next day felt extra lonely, your boyfriend had left for an event, visiting it with none other than mualani. hm.. you couldn't help but be a little jealous, but you did enjoy the silent life, even with your pretty boy being live all the time, you appreciated that he still kept you private, and away from attention.

but at the same time, you wished everyone knew it was you, not mualani. even mualani cheered for you guys! she always denied dating kinich in public eye, but kinich never gave an answer.

so the public took it two different ways; he isn't dating, and he's not confirming it but is dating mualani. they never thought there might be an option outside of it! how damn cruel!!

"so are you dating popular streamer, mualani?!" an interviewer almost shoves the mic up to his mouth. he simply looks around awkwardly, and leaves, he wants to get home as soon as possible. get some rest before the demon hours of streaming begin.

i guess all the missing went elsewhere, down onto his cock of course. it was almost time for him to stream, but he hasn't finished letting you cum for the sixth time yet! fuck..

you offer to suck him off from underneath, so what can he do? he's just a man! (he denied it at first, like a ton of times before reluctantly agreeing.)

he could feel the way your head bobbed down each time, taking his shaft into your throat so well, oh sshit don't gag on him like that, he might cum right in front of the viewers!!

"hnngh- pretty don't choke on it like that.. mmf-" he quickly mutes his mic to take a breather before going on with the next phase of the quest.

bucking his hips into your mouth, he could feel his orgasm build up like blocks. you could feel a grasp of your hair from behind, it was his hand, and he faced his camera away from view.

he bucks his own hips into your throat, oh fuck, don't tease his tip like that while you stroke his cock!! (he wants more)

the more you moaned- it sent vibrations down into the base of his cock, he groaned suddenly arching his back, a blissful hum comes from your mouth once more.

the lustful eye contact you gave him was his last straw, holding on to your other hand that held his he came into your mouth, loudly whining, you show your mouth off to him as you stand up from your original spot underneath the gaming setup; swallowing every last drop of his semen.

his lips eager to reach yours, he kisses you; tasting the saltiness mixed with the taste of your mouth, it was euphoria. everything he could ever ask for. he couldn't wait to show his viewers the ring on your finger after he'll propose tomorrow.

i'll write fluff part 2 of this soon :)

[kitten4sannie]

blinding faith (1)

fall in line now, bow your head

pairings: cult leader! yunho x disciple! reader (fem) x elder! mingi feat. husband! seonghwa

genre: twisted religious romance (if you can even call it that), smut, late 1970s setting

summary: when it’s revealed that you and Seonghwa are having trouble conceiving, the founder graciously offers his own divine solution.

bend your knee, Child of God

w.c: 4k

warnings: aged up dom! yunho, switch! mingi, subby innocent (?) reader, corruption kink, pet names (for mingi too <3), light pain kink, perversion, major sacrilegious vibes and behavior, heavy mxm, mingi sucks cock, breath play (m receiving), light spit/sweat kink, oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, an attempt at impregnation

a/n: this is dedicated to my loveliest lily <333 tho this is just part oneee i hope this helps you see the light if ykwim~ happy birthday babi 💕 so yeah this is pure filth,, like idk something must’ve happened to me when i wrote this but it’s prob bc i’m a yunwhore what can i say 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 oh and thank you all so very much for getting me to 4.6k followers ;; it means the absolute world to me >< anygaysss happy readinggg and please do lemme know if you’re excited for the second part 🖤

song recs: sunshine of your love by cream - starboy by the weeknd - judas by lady gaga (i’m just a Holy Fool, oh baby, it’s so cruel, but i’m still in love with Judas, baby~~)

As a broke, faithless runaway, especially during such a turbulent decade, you didn’t have many options, to say the least. There was no phone that you could use for miles, not a single soul in sight that you could ask for directions or for a dime they could spare, no map to look at to familiarize yourself with your surroundings — not that it mattered. Why would God provide you with what you needed when your existence itself was an accident? Your own flesh and blood didn’t want you, instead dropping you off at some rundown orphanage while you were still coated in your mother’s vernix caseosa, and crying incessantly for her, for someone, to feed you. 

When you were old enough to make rash decisions, you decided that anywhere else was better than that hellish place, tired of waiting for a new pair of faceless parents to force you into their life like a misshapen puzzle piece, instead taking your fate into your own trembling hands. 

That was what led you to come across the small, seemingly abandoned town that was located within the forest that you had been wandering inside for so long. All of the quaint, hand-built houses and buildings surrounded a tall, white picturesque church — one you had recognized from the various postcards that you and some of the other orphans had been handed by someone in a long white robe outside of the orphanage, listening intently to their promises of the love and acceptance you would feel if you joined their cause. 

And that was when you met him, the man that would alter your life forever, taking away what could’ve been, and instead molding it into what He wanted, what God wanted.

He was hammering in the very last nail into the very last board of wood that kept the church together when he heard the sound of your dirty feet shift through the forest foliage behind him. As if he had been waiting for your arrival, he hummed softly and headed into your direction, not giving you the opportunity to escape when his sweaty, calloused hands enveloped yours, inviting you in with his friendly honey brown eyes, his cracked lips twisting upwards into a smile that sent a wave of instinctual fear into your heart, before his soft, warm words lured you in, forever holding you captive. 

“You’ve finally arrived, my child. Welcome home.” 

-

Over the years, you were taught by Yunho, your beloved leader, your savior, your everything, that God allowed those he loved the most, those that remained tied to their earthly bonds, to endure deep suffering and endless tribulations — because within that pain, within that humiliation, laid pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure that sat just below the surface. Yunho took great satisfaction in reaching into the darkness, into the depths, and ripping it out with his silver trimmed talons, always willing to graciously bestow it upon his followers. 

There was no greater joy than to witness the moment his dear flock began to walk in the truth. He savored the sweet sounds of ecstasy that tore out of their sweat-ridden throats, longed for the moment their rosy faces ceased their contortions, their lips, wet with saliva, their unfocused eyes, wet with tears, knowing that another one of his beloved disciples had seen the light. And they would always look up at him with delicious desperation, begging for another chance to catch a glimpse of heaven once more. And, only because of his unending benevolence and boundless love, he brought them back, expecting nothing in return, except for their undying loyalty. 

Yet, none of them were ever as loyal as you, even after you met a lovely man within the congregation to wed. You were still his angel from above. If only he had clipped your wings sooner.  

There you were, sitting inside the garden with the other couples, the prettiest flower of them all, just waiting to be plucked, with your husband’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his hands resting gently against your stomach, your hands over his, your head hung downwards, a small, sullen frown gracing your lovely face. Why was his sweetest lily wilting the way she was, instead of holding herself high, closer to the sun, to his everlasting love?

As soon as Yunho made his presence known within the bountiful garden that he had planted with his own two hands so many years ago, his followers grew quiet and offered him their full attention. He basked in it as he made his way in your direction, offering his touch to many of the people nearby, allowing them the privilege of bringing his jewelry-adorned hands up to their cheeks, which he caressed, or their trembling lips, which he brushed gently with his thumbs. 

The warmth and light of the sun on your face suddenly disappeared, causing you to look up, your reddened eyes growing wide upon the sight of your savior standing before you. You watched with bated breath as he reached his hand out from behind his back and brought it up to your face, placing a small flower behind your ear. “Savior…”

“Savior, what have we done to be blessed with your presence?” Seonghwa asked, nuzzling his cheek into Yunho’s rough palm once he offered it to him. 

“I wanted to check on the progress of your union.” Yunho smiled kindly down at Seonghwa, before returning his attention to you, who continued to gaze up longingly in his direction. “Are you with child, my dearest Y/N?” 

You bit down into your bottom lip, your eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Savior….We’ve been trying our hardest to contribute to your beautiful congregation, yet I remain barren.” You shook your head out of frustration, a stream of tears spilling down your cheeks. “We don’t understand why God has not graced us.” 

“Oh, my sweet child. Do not ever allow yourself to cry for sorrow, or pain, but out of joy, of pleasure,” Yunho taught, angling his head down further to gaze at your deliciously distraught expression, unable to keep himself from running his tongue across his bottom set of teeth, pressing one talon underneath your chin, so that you obediently angled it upwards without him having to tell you.

“Yes, Savior…” you whispered, gasping softly at the feeling of the cult leader’s sharpened fingers carefully wiping your remaining tears away, your admiration and love for him sprouting more and more within your beating heart. 

Humming, Yunho lowered himself to his knees in front of the both of you, pressing his hands into your stomach through your thin garments. His benevolent smile deepened, his eyes displaying a darkness neither of you could see, not with the allusive veil he had placed over your own. “I will assist you in bearing offspring, my dear. Please come to my bedchambers after supper, and I will show you the true meaning of faith.” 

“We offer you a thousand thanks for your grace, Savior…” Seonghwa bowed his head to Yunho, just before he pressed his lips lovingly against your cheek, which you reciprocated without hesitation. Your dear husband sighed with great relief, resting his temple on yours, his long, curled locks tickling your face, his hands returning to your stomach, placing them over Yunho’s this time around. 

Despite the tranquility you felt, the sun still shining, a gentle breeze cooling your warm skin, the comforting smell of earth and flowers keeping you grounded, the sound of birds chirping in the trees above your head — there was still something else that you couldn’t quite shake off, something that sat just below the surface of your distorted mind. If you truly wanted to see what it was, you would have to get your hands dirty and dig it up yourself. But, for now, you would live in bliss, in heaven, feeding off of the love and mercy your savior offered you.

Yunho tilted his head to the side, reaching up to adjust the flower that began to fall from your ear, pushing a few strands of hair behind it. He studied your suddenly unreadable gaze from underneath his wispy lashes, his tongue just barely slipping past his curled lips to lick at them. “Is there something on your mind, my lily?”

You simply smiled back at him, your eyelids lowering, batting your own lashes at him. “I’m just admiring my savior and the safe haven he created for us. Makes me want to cry those tears of joy.” You briefly mirrored the perversion he had let slip out only a moment ago. “Of pleasure.” 

It was then that Yunho began to grow stiff from beneath his heavy garments, biting at his lip as an attempt to keep himself grounded. This was why you were his favorite. You were his flower to water, to grow, and to tear away from your roots as he pleased. Everything in the garden was his, after all. God told him so. 

-

“My love, my heart, my dearest angel, why do you look at me this way?  With those tears in your eyes? With such devotion?” Yunho sighed out against your flushed cheek, his body flush against yours, the cold metal of his rosary splayed across your hot skin. You simply couldn’t speak, not with the way he was spilling inside you yet again. 

The corners of his lips quirked up into a sadistic smile, his warm, uneven puffs of breath hitting the bottom of your jaw, as he clutched your slick, trembling thighs, holding them farther apart to ensure that he could continue accessing the heaven you kept in between them, the hot, wet haven you allowed your savior to access. “Is it because I’m filling you with my own devotion? Does knowing that my seed will soon grant new life inside of you bring you to tears, Y/N?”

You gazed up at your savior past your wet lashes, reaching down to press your hands into your stomach, feeling the outline of his pulsing cock that twitched inside of you and dribbled a few more beads of cum into your womb, a lust-struck expression carved into your flushed features. “It would be an honor to carry your young, Savior. I’d do anything to carry on your legacy of love.” 

“Anything, my dear?” Yunho whispered carefully near your ear, as though he were testing you, before running his tongue along your jaw to get a taste of your essence, slowly making his way down your body, unable to keep himself from tasting your salty skin along the way. “Even though Seonghwa is your beloved husband?” 

“Anything. I might be his wife, but you’re my savior, Yunho,” you sighed lovingly as a delightful shiver shot down your spine, not a single doubt present within your meticulously molded mind. Your ideas of the world, your life, its purpose — your saving grace had always been Yunho. How could he not be? Considering he built you himself, with great precision and care. You were the intricate tapestry he painstakingly sewed together year by year, each painful jab of his silver needle acting as a reminder of his divine love for you. 

“Say my name again,” Yunho exhaled, his lips ghosting along your abdomen to your navel, unable to keep himself from tonguing it for his own pleasure, his talons leaving red streaks along your skin. 

“Yunho,” you repeated, watching as the older man settled in between your thighs, his lips and tongue already exploring your slick entrance, gasping at the sensation of him lapping up his own release once it dribbled out of you.

“Again,” he commanded, his sharp eyes boring into yours from below, pinching your clit in between his teeth, his talons digging into your thighs. 

“Yunho..!” You looked down at him with such sincerity, it had the potential to touch Yunho’s corrupted heart, your fingers sifting through his sweat-soaked raven locks, tugging on it once he filled you with his long tongue. You were growing feverish, losing sight of why you were there in the first place. “Don’t stop, Savior…Need more...”

Yunho dragged his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, blowing on it just to make you shudder. “Is that what you tell your husband when you want his cock? What else do you tell him?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling your cunt pulse. “Am I selfish for wanting more of your love? Am I a sinner for wanting you to fill me? I’ll go to hell a thousand times if it means I can have my savior’s love inside me once more...”

The seasoned cult leader’s long-lasting poison was far stronger, far more potent than your sincerities, especially when he administered it to his favorite prey in the most pleasurable, most effective way — with his sweet, saccharine lies that poured out like honey past his shiny, pointed teeth and rough, curled tongue that continued its ministrations on your puffy, used cunt.  “Oh, please don’t say things like that, angel. You’ll ruin me for everyone else.” 

In reality, you were the one he was ruining, corrupting, defiling — and all in the name of God. It made the cult leader so stiff, he could hardly keep his composure. 

You whined softly, shuddering underneath his touch, your hand forming a fist, gripping Yunho’s hair tighter and tighter, the longer he licked at your slit and sucked on your clit like a starved man. “Yunho, please…I won’t last much longer….” 

“Would that be such a sin, angel? If you released onto my tongue?” Yunho asked in between lingering licks, his tongue hot and heavy against your leaking cunt, using two fingers to keep your fluttering hole on display for his viewing pleasure, his silver talons gently pressing into your soft flesh. He wondered if he should continue admiring the mess of cum he painted your walls with, or use his saliva-streaked tongue and lips to slurp it out of you, his free hand attempting to milk his slick, throbbing cock. Decisions, decisions. 

Yunho wouldn’t have the time to make one, because just then, the cult leader’s most trusted confidant, Song Mingi, knocked on the door and entered without being granted permission, very aware of the privileges he had as a respected elder. The white-haired man saw the nude, disheveled state you were in, your white ceremonial garments laying in a pile on the floor, the love-struck look in your teary, doe eyes, your trembling, marked-up legs still obediently spread open wide for your savior, knowing you’d let Yunho fill and abuse your poor cunt until he saw fit. 

“Elder Song, are you going to continue standing there drooling like a dog or are you going to come here?” Yunho asked gruffly, rubbing the pad of his thumb relentlessly into your clit, all while he glowered at the younger man over his shoulder. 

Mingi quickly strided over to his leader’s side, sinking to his knees, looking up at him with his apologetic, round eyes. “I…have news, sir. It is of great importance.” 

Yunho shook his head slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “The news can wait, Mingi,” the cult leader began softly, reaching over to caress the other man’s cheek, making sure the younger man’s gaze was fixed solely on him. “Can I ask you for something?” 

Mingi nodded intently, his lips parted, taking short breaths, as if he was waiting with great anticipation. “Anything, Savior. What do you need from me?” 

It was then that Yunho brought the tip of his reddened cock to Mingi’s mouth, drops of pre-cum getting onto his plump, parted lips, his once softened gaze contorting into one of pure perversion. “Can you be a good boy and open up? Hm, princess?” 

Mingi closed his eyes, as an attempt to hide the way they rolled underneath his eyelids and the influx of arousal that had spread throughout his body like a virus, his sudden heavy breathing and flushed cheeks betraying him. “Yes, savior,” he moaned out, just as Yunho’s stiff cock filled up his drooling mouth, trying his best not to choke as he repeatedly took it down his tight throat. 

Yunho tossed his head back, a few drops of sweat sliding along his straining jaw and staining the bed below, gripping the back of Mingi’s head to make sure he didn’t stop worshiping his cock. “That’s it, princess. You’re taking it so well.” 

Mingi groaned wantonly, beginning to grind his own leaking cock against the side of the bed, not even caring that his knees began to ache from being pressed into the hardwood floor below. He found himself gazing down at you, his body on fire from being watched by his savior’s favorite angel, beginning to gag around Yunho’s thick length once he began ramming it down his throat with abandon. 

When you let out a small whine from witnessing such a visceral display of power and submission taking place right in front of you, Yunho reminded you with shaky words, “Don’t worry, my angel, this is all for you. Mingi here is going to transfer my love to you once I…Oh, God–”

Mingi’s gaze returned to his savior above, a few tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, his jaw aching from the way Yunho bottomed out completely inside his bulging throat, only to find his oxygen supply suddenly being cut off when the older man pinched his nose. 

“You trust me, don’t you, princess?” Yunho asked in an eerily calm tone, not bothering to hide his sadistic tendencies in that moment, throbbing inside the young man’s throat upon seeing his small nods and hearing the tiny, breathless squeaks he made. It was then that he held Mingi completely still until his face began to grow red. 

Just when he thought he might pass out, his vision sporting a fuzziness around the edges that reminded him of the television set Yunho had put inside the community room, his throat had finally become unblocked. As he gasped for air, he watched Yunho’s eyes roll into his skull, hot, white ropes of cum splattering onto Mingi’s lolled-out tongue. Before he could swallow, Yunho grabbed his chin and guided him in between your legs. 

“Impregnate her, princess. For me,” Yunho whispered into Mingi’s ear, his digits forming a V against your pulsing cunt, spreading you open for Elder Song. 

Not letting a drop go to waste, Mingi pursed his lips and sent a wad of cum directly into you, before shoving his tongue in as deep as it would go. He fucked the warm milkiness into you, with sloppy desperation, like the demon dog he was. He looked up to you for approval, which you gave, through your cries of pleasure and your fingers suddenly tugging at his snow white hair. He didn’t even realize he had lost his own composure, until he was whining and whimpering against your slick cunt, soiling his once pristine garments with his sticky load.   

Once Yunho watched Mingi pull his tongue out, a few strands of milky saliva connecting his plump lips to your cunt, the cult leader tapped your puffy pussy. “Good boy. Can you fill her up with those thick fingers of yours now?” 

Mingi huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath, his pupils blown wide when he looked to Yunho for guidance. “Two? Three? How many, sir?” 

“As many as you need to make sure my seed reaches her womb,” Yunho reassured in a gravelly voice, watching as Mingi hovered over you, drops of saliva falling from his open mouth and onto your pleasured face, easily slipping in three fingers up to his knuckles. 

Yunho leisurely flicked, squeezed, and rolled your puffy clit, admiring Mingi’s relentless pursuit in finger-fucking you into a state of pure ecstasy, throbbing at the sight of his precious loads dripping down along the other man’s straining wrist and along his veined forearm. “Very good, princess. She’ll be nice and round soon, thanks to your support. Your hard work won’t go unnoticed.” 

Mingi bit down into his bottom lip, a few groans slipping out, despite his effort to conceal just how much his leader’s praise affected him. “Thank you, Savior. Now, I’ll make your angel cry out to the Lord,” he began breathily, locking eyes with Yunho for a moment, their digits working in tandem to send you over the edge, their focus returning to you. “Let it be done.” 

“Amen,” Yunho sighed, bringing his precious rosary up to his mouth to kiss, the metal cold against his warm lips. 

When you began to writhe around, your focus shifting to the various crosses that were nailed to the wall, your forceful release causing your bruised body to seize up, the cult leader suddenly grabbed your chin with his talons, the tips of them stabbing into your skin, drawing blood, making you whimper. His crazed eyes bored into your barely open ones, looking as if he was about to come undone himself, despite not touching himself. “You see it, don’t you, Y/N? Heaven? Isn’t it beautiful?” 

It was all too much. The pain. The pleasure. Elder Song watching closely as your squirt soaked his tan skin and the mattress underneath your jolting body, a demonic smile painting his sharp, seraphic face. Your savior clutching you so tight that you bled, his seed blossoming within your womb. It was then that you fell unconscious, your body falling limp against the feather-filled quilt. 

Yunho ran his jewelry-adorned fingers along your jaw, letting them graze your neck, down to the cross necklace that laid against your chest. “What did you need to tell me, Mingi?” 

Mingi pushed his sweaty bangs back, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to find his composure. “We have two new visitors. They mentioned Y/N by name, and claimed that they grew up in the same orphanage as her. They were hoping to find her here, so that they could…” 

Yunho turned his head to glare at Mingi, his gaze alone making Mingi cower. “They want to take her away from me, don’t they? From us? From God?” 

Mingi began to scratch at his neck, leaving red streaks behind. “They believe that they can provide her with a better life.” 

“And what life could be better than one of enlightenment? Of purity? What could those heathens possibly offer my Y/N that I can’t?” Yunho suddenly erupted, his anger being directed towards Mingi, who lowered his head down, staring at the cross that hung past his chest. 

Yunho’s face twitched slightly, his once rage-filled expression dissipating as soon as it had surfaced, as if it had never been there in the first place. It was a simple trick of the light. He placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, until the unusually timid man found the courage to meet his gaze. “Mingi.” 

“Sir?” 

Yunho hummed to himself, catching onto the way your breath hitched, as if you had suddenly held it, his honey brown eyes gleaming with pride, and something else, something indistinguishable. “Offer them a room and dinner, oh, and invite our guests to the annual communion on Sunday.” 

“Right away, sir,” Mingi replied, getting up from the bed and exiting the room. He pressed his back into the mahogany door and shut his eyes, carefully sliding his fingers into his drooling mouth to savor the taste of his savior’s seed and his angel’s release. 

Once he was alone with you, Yunho reached down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes, smiling knowingly at the sight of them opening. “How much did you hear, sweet girl?”

“Enough,” you whispered carefully, as if you were testing him. You might have been the flower inside his clutches, but you still had thorns. 

Yunho began to chuckle softly, before it grew louder and louder, his pleased laughter ringing out through the halls. 

One of your threads was beginning to come undone. Nothing a little stitching couldn’t fix. 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Devil in a Dark Wood

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader Historical AU

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Witch AU, Historical AU, early colonial America, Puritanism, biblical themes & scripture, suggestive themes, brief descriptions of injury, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, brief descriptions of sex, horror/suspense

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Requested by @ferns-fics for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Witch AU) A/N (2): Enjoy my religious trauma!

Arriving to new shores a married woman, you find happiness with the man you're betrothed to without ever first meeting him. But beyond the place you call home is a dark wood. And in that dark wood, something waits for the perfect opportunity.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Pendle, Massachusetts, Late April, 1662

The earth speaks to you.

Back home, the ground is alive with the song of faeries, elves dwell within the trees, and kelpies call from the waters. Nature is alive there. A buzzing that wraps around all living things.

But it is different here in the New World.

Here—there is an echo. There are no nymphs. No sweet songs to lull the wayward wanderer into dancing.

There are teeth here. Teeth in the dirt. Teeth in the bark of the trees.

And a thrumming.

A thrumming that sounds like a thunderous heartbeat.

You hear your name. It is called like a command by a stern, male voice. Eyes opening, you disconnect from the unyielding noise of the ground, and focus on the man in front of you.

A man of the cloth. Reverend Shepherd—if the letter in your haversack is correct.

There is no smile on his face but a sternness etched into every crease and wrinkle. His mouth is a thin line turned downwards, with a balding head, and a slight swell to his belly that reminds you of the one your father grew when he began favoring drink.

Your father.

The reason you’re here.

The reason you stand on the very edge of the New World a newly married woman.

"Reverend Shepherd?" you ask, inclining your head in submission.

The motion is painful. You are not like him. You are not like the people who have settled here. You were raised to be wild and barefoot. Raised by a woman who taught you to listen. To put your ear to the ground. To sense the world sitting just on the other side.

“Child,” he says, gaze narrowing. “Your hair.”

Frowning, you reach up. Some of your hair pokes out from beneath your white cap. “Pray pardon me,” you murmur, discreetly tucking it back.

“I am Reverend Shepherd,” he confirms with a brief nod. “I bid you welcome to Pendle.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“And the journey?”

“Pleasant,” you reply, keeping your gaze downcast. “Calm seas.”

“A blessed crossing then. God’s favor came with you. Pray that it stays.”

Your stomach twists at the jab. It is clear what Reverend Shepherd means. You are an outsider. An unknown factor. A disciple that he believes may not fall in line. God’s chosen are already here, and you do not belong.

“Are you to be my escort?”

“Indeed,” he sighs as if the notion bothers him. “And we have much yet to walk. God favors a quick step. We best be off.”

Clutching the haversack to your chest, you nod. “Of course, Reverend.”

This is just an exchange, a way for your father to rid himself of you and to pay off his drinking debts. Your father is no man of God. Wives are needed in the New World. The crown paid handsomely to bring you and other women to these shores.

Grief is a sour thing.

It is a weight upon the living.

Your mother, a woman so wonderful that the world couldn’t contain her, sent herself up to the stars, leaving you with only your father for company.

He is just a man.

Simple. Kind.

And then a poison.

Grief wove its way between bone and blood until he no longer wanted to see your face. The remembrance pained him. And that pain led to long nights away, only for him to return with liquor on the breath and empty pockets.

It is why you were sent away, why you were sent far across the sea. Sold off to a husband you’ve never met. All because of a man who cannot control his grief.

How will your memory be written?

Are you simply your father’s daughter in the King’s ledger? Not even a name. Just…daughter.

Perhaps. That is how it is after all. A history of a woman is rarely written.

Reverend Shepherd turns away and starts walking. You almost slip in the mud as you follow. He passes the docks, moving further away from the center of Pendle.

“Are we not to stay in town?”

“In town?” Reverend Shepherd’s frown deepens. “No, child. Your husband lives beyond the township.”

“How far, pray tell? Are we not to take horses?” you ask, a little breathless.

Reverend Shepherd scoffs. "Why should you require such a convenience? Walking allows for reflection and penance. Do you know your prayers?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Child?” prompts Reverend Shepherd.

“I do,” you nearly bite out.

“Let me hear them. A good wife can recite the Lord’s prayers when prompted. Scripture will help us pass the time.”

As the two of you walk, your voice becomes monotone, reciting but not listening. Every word is like an empty scallop shell. Mud sucks at your boots, threatening to relieve you of your shoes. Reverend Shepherd remains ahead. Never slowing down. Always keeping a few paces forward.

“Good,” says Reverend Shepherd. “Now, I shall begin and you shall continue. I have no master but You. Now law but Your—”

“You’ve yet to speak of my husband,” you interrupt, frustration growing by the lack of information.

It’s not in you to be obedient, especially around bothersome men.

Reverend Shepherd turns abruptly, the middle of his brow creased in severe displeasure. “Prayer, child. I have no master—”

“His name, Reverend. At least allow me that.”

“Disobedience of woman is an act against God. Your father assured me of your obedience. Of your purity and piety. Is he mistaken?”

Yes. I do not belong here.

“He is not,” you mutter.

Reverend Shepherd holds your gaze until you turn yours downward. When he sets out again, you scowl at the back of his head, reciting perfectly all that you were taught before departing for different shores.

Outside Pendle, the road twists between clumps of trees. Farms stand between, but Reverend Shepherd stops at none of them. He rattles off scripture, keeping his back to you as he does so. It only dampens your mood.

"The Lord is my—"

At the bend in the road, you pause your recitations. A peaceful buzzing surfaces up from the ground, slithering into the soles of your feet, traveling upward into the crown of your head. A sturdy wooden fence lines the road, sectioning off the homestead from travelers. The main gate sits open, a dirt path leading inward toward the cottage. Corn lines the path, and you hear the gentle bleat of a goat in the distance.

Reverend Shepherd turns, his mouth pursed in annoyance.

"Pray pardon, Reverend," you say before the chastisement can leave his lips. "Is this..."

The irritation retreats slightly, his gaze turning passive. "Is it home? Indeed." Reverend Shepherd glances across the farmstead. "The Riley family owns this land. The eldest son, Simon, tends to it."

Simon.

Your husband's name.

Only a name. Nothing else.

The entire journey across the sea was rife with your swirling imagination. What kind of man did your father sell you off to? What might he look like?

Reverend Shepherd presses on. "The younger son lives in town."

You don't reply. It's best not to. Women are expected to be seen and not heard, and you have already overstepped your limits.

Following at the proper distance, you keep silent. Reverend Shepherd walks quickly, eager to be rid of you.

The thwack of an axe piercing wood echoes in the air, drowning out the bleating goats. You clutch the haversack against your chest, the weight of it finally catching up, arms heavy with the load. Reverend Shepherd moves with purpose, following the sound of the thwack and the subsequent clatter of splitting wood.

Beyond the cottage, divided by another wooden fence, is the forest. The trees are tall, towering over everything, pointing toward the grey sky like arrow points. From them, you hear whispers, faint and unclear. A soft chill cools your skin, and you shiver, the whispers disappearing as you and Reverend Shepherd walk around the side of the cottage.

The two of you come to a stop next to a large pile of wood.

Before you is a man with no shirt or doublet to be seen. His back is to the both of you, and your breath catches at seeing so much bare skin. Old scars mark his flesh, yet you're unsure if they're from some accident or from grislier means. The man's shoulders are broad, giving way to muscled arms and a tall frame. Of what you can observe, his figure is thick, honed from hard labor.

Lifting the axe above his head, he brings it down on the log in front of him. The wood splits cleanly.

"Simon." Reverend Shepherd's voice is smooth with authority.

At the sound of his voice, Simon straightens as if struck. Just his head turns, glancing over his shoulder, gaze sweeping over Reverend Shepherd and then landing on you. His eyes widen slightly, and then he fully pivots in your direction, giving you a clear view of his face.

Simon has scars here but they only add to his features. He is handsome with a strong jaw and prominent nose, and his eyes are a golden brown that remind you of sun rays through amber. The hair on his head is slightly askew from the gentle wind.

"Reverend," greets Simon.

While your husband addresses Shepherd, his gaze is entirely fixed on you. There is no smile, but there isn't a frown. You're unsure of Simon's first impression or what he might be thinking.

"Your wife arrived."

Reverend Shepherd makes you out to be little more than an object. A thing delivered.

"Thank you for escorting her here," replies Simon. "Had I known, I would have fetched her myself."

Reverend Shepherd holds up a hand. "Think nothing of it. The Lord values hard work, and her delivery is but His reward for all you do."

The corner of Simon's mouth twitches. He's still holding on to the axe. "Allow me to see you off, Reverend."

"I can see myself. A blessed day to you, Simon. And to an... easy marriage."

Easy. Obedient. Subservient.

You are to bow your head and grovel at your husband's feet for the rest of your days.

"God go with you, Reverend," replies Simon, taking a step forward in your direction.

The two of you silently watch Reverend Shepherd disappear beyond the cottage and down the path. Neither of you speaks, the air heavy with an unresolved tension. The wind kicks up, and you smell pine. A goat bleats, and you shift on your feet.

"Good morrow, Simon," you murmur, arms tightening around the haversack.

Simon blinks, shoulders relaxing, a warm smiling spreading across his face. It's genuine—full of kindness. Even the edges of his cheeks darken with color.

"Good morrow," he replies. "I—" He glances down at himself. "Forgive me. My appearance is unbecoming. Not how a husband greets his wife upon their first meeting."

You take in all the exposed skin and an itch forms in the tips of your fingers. A carnal desire floods upward, seizing your heart and mind. The urge you feel begs you to touch, to step forward and run your hands over that slick flesh. This man is your husband now. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

The Reverend would beat these thoughts out of you if he could read your mind.

But he cannot. The Good Reverend isn't here.

And your husband is half-undressed and blushing before you.

"Unexpected," you say slowly. "But nice."

His blush deepens.

Perhaps God has sent you someone you can be yourself with. Not completely,as any mention of the voices from the trees or the teeth in the ground would send you straight to a pyre, but someone who might listen. Truly, kindness and patience are all you want. If Simon is that, then you'll be happy.

Flustered further, Simon glances around like he can't quite look at you. Running his fingers through his hair with his free hand, he finally settles, resting the axe against the stump.

"I should bathe," he says, but not in response to you, more like he's simply speaking to the air.

You take a step forward, moving toward him, taking in more of his muscles. It is clear he has not been without. His largeness isn't from hard labor alone. Simon is eating well and often.

"Allow me." In seconds, Simon is before you, hands grasping the haversack.

"Thank you," you murmur softly as he tucks your belongings under his arm like it weighs nothing at all.

"Would you like to stay here? I won't be long."

"Where are you off to?"

Simon heads for the cottage and you follow. "Just on the other side of the fence is a stream."

You glance beyond the fence line. "May I join you?"

Somehow, Simon's face grows brighter. "I—join me?"

"The ship—"

"Of course," he says quickly. "I imagine there are few opportunities to bathe aboard a vessel. Fewer even for privacy."

You follow Simon to the door of the cottage. He enters but you linger a moment, hesitation halting your momentum.

Like a thunderous stampede, reality comes crashing down around you. There is no ship take you back. No mornings spent in the mist. This place is your home now, this man responsible for you until your death or his.

Simon emerges, shirt on but doublet unbuttoned. In his arms is a small basket. "This way," he says with a grin.

At the back of the property, Simon opens up a small gate and leads you to the stream. The forest is just beyond. Now that you're closer to the towering trees, that thrumming from earlier returns, and a sense of gnashing as if a wolf nips at your heels comes with it. Your gaze narrows as a dark shape moves between the trees. It is tall, and at first, you mistake it for another tree. Whispers rise up again, and is that—horns?

"I do not know your name."

You inhale sharply, hand pressed to your chest as Simon holds the small basket in front of him. You tell him, and then glance back at the forest.

"Something amiss?" he asks, matching your stare.

"No—I." You lick your lips. "The forest feels strange."

Simon nods. "It is. Most avoid it."

"Do you?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. Rosie always wanders off. Wish she'd just go down the road to John's but she favors the forest."

"Rosie?"

Simon laughs. "Apologies. Rosie is one of the goats."

"I see," you giggle.

"She’s a sweet thing. Sanderson favors her."

"Is that another goat?" you ask with a smile, reaching back to untie your apron.

"It is. John gave him to me as a kid. Raised him myself. He's a strong buck now. Hates everyone but me." He shrugs, and then leans forward as if to tell you a juicy secret. "Once bit Reverend Shepherd in the arse."

You burst out laughing, and then quickly cover your mouth. "I should not. God will punish me."

Simon's grin is wide and sweet. "In death, maybe. But as your husband, it's my responsibility to punish you."

"And pray tell, what would befit such a punishment?" you tease, undoing the buttons of your waistcoat.

Simon's smile falters, his gaze lingering on your chest. Your waistcoat hangs open, and the ties at the top of your shift are loose, revealing bare skin. Simon swallows, clearly enraptured by this small reveal of flesh.

A nervousness slips in, but it's not fear. A desire swirls low in your belly, a feeling you haven't felt since you were a young woman and a village boy you favored gifted you flowers.

This is your husband. He will know all of you eventually. You will share the same bed and give him as many children as your body is capable of. There is no need to be nervous.

"Simon?" you prompt, removing your waistcoat.

He coughs, clears his throat. "You're correct. The forest is strange. You are not to go in unless I'm with you." His change in demeanor briefly startles you.

"Is it dangerous?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. But folks in town are…fearful of what they don't understand. I don't want—I don't want anyone believing things about you that aren't true."

Witch.

"Why would they?" you whisper.

Witch.

"There's a tree,” continues Simon. “Large. Dark bark. Not like any other tree in the forest. At least none that we've seen. Reverend Shepherd and his wife wanted it cut down. Said it was a sign of the Devil. But Pendle's blacksmith took axe to tree. The blade broke upon impact. Not a scratch on the bark." Simon sighs and offers you soap from the basket. "Rosie tends to wander near it."

"Woods always hold strange things. Might be a nearby plant she likes chewing on."

"Perhaps. But I'll go after her if she does. It's not a place for you."

The water in the stream is incredibly clear, flowing steadily. Simon produces two washing cloths, offering you one before taking his, dipping it into the stream. It is not truly bathing, but it is refreshing, the cool water a calming entity against the slight burning beneath your skin.

There is silence afterward, and once clean, the two of you return to the cottage. Simon shows you your new home, already built to accommodate a family. There is a small barn for the animals, and coop for the chickens. You meet Rosie, an all-white beauty that constantly chews on your apron. Sanderson is big, black beast of a buck with grey horns curled backward and away from his head with eyes so pale they’re almost white.

Sanderson does not bite you, but he follows Simon around the homestead, lightly tapping Simon’s outer thigh with his horn like he wants attention.

The first night—that very night—Simon does not touch you. At least, not at first. He allows you your space, keeping his distance. But he observers silently, his gaze lingering on those flashes of bare skin. There is nothing harmful in his gaze, only a deep appreciation, and a longing you can’t quite place.

From what you were told to prepare you for this moment, you expect Simon to flop on top of you. For you to remain silent and still. To thank him afterward whether or not you enjoyed yourself.

Simon is patient. He is gentle. And above all, kind.

“May I touch you?”

You slip into bed in nothing but your shift. Simon is without, only wearing loose breeches that have seen better years.

You curl up next to Simon, facing him. Reaching out, Simon’s fingers lightly brush the curve of your bottom lip and then your jaw. Descending, his fingers find your throat. Then collarbone. He traces the neckline of your shift, and then his fingers tangle in the ties at the front, pulling them loose until your shift opens further.

“Do I tread too far?” he asks, softly.

His touch is awakening something. You sense a tingling, coiling outward.

“No,” you reply. “Continue.”

Simon’s hand slips between shift and your body. His palm is warm, and then he’s guiding it over one shoulder, exposing it to the cool air. Leaning in, Simon’s lips press to the curve of the joint. It is a small thing, but this one bit of contact causes you to shiver, for the tingling to further travel outward.

As he draws back, you tilt your head. Then it is Simon kissing you, and you accepting him. He is not forceful here. There is no claiming. It is exploration, and you find yourself reaching out, hands gliding over his chest.

He is all hardness, and yet nothing about him terrifies. Strength resides within him, but he is ever so gentle. Taking his time. Savoring.

The shift lowers as Simon pulls it downward. He palms one breast, and you gasp, breaking the kiss.

With a soft groan, Simon’s head dips, trailing kisses along your neck, moving over collarbone, descending down until his mouth explores the valley between your breasts, and then further still.

The tingling explodes outward into the tips of your fingers and toes. You are buzzing—the restlessness of the world coming with you.

The shift is over your hips. Down your thighs.

Gone.

Utterly gone.

Your legs part as Simon continues to trail kisses downward. His hands squeeze your thighs, and then he’s kissing you between your legs, lingering there as the buzzing ascends into a crackling that sucks all air from your lungs.

“Simon,” you gasp, fisting his hair.

He abruptly lifts his head, lips shiny in the light of the hearth. “Have I harmed you?”

Harmed you? No. Hardly.

“No,” you gasp. “I—this is unexpected.”

Simon places a kiss to the inside of your thigh before leaning on an elbow. “My understanding came from observing the farm animals.” A small smile spreads across his face. “But after service one Sunday, Reverend Shepherd rounded up all the unwed men. Told us the King was sending us wives.”

“Were you happy when he told you?”

“No,” chuckles Simon, absently stroking your thigh. “I was scared.”

“And now?”

“Still scared.”

“Do I terrify you?”

Simon gives a small shake of his head. “No. I am scared of how my heart feels.” You gently place your hand against his cheek. Simon turns into the touch. “Reverend Shepherd explained. Made this sound like a duty. A chore.” He sighs. “But I do not see how.”

Shifting, Simon drapes himself over you, gaze intense. “My heart is full but my mind is confused. God demands duty but I see no duty here.” He closes the distance, lips brushing over yours. “A wife is not a chore.”

Your fingers find the band of his breeches. They surrender easily under your touch. Legs widening, Simon settles between. There is a small tangle—a clumsy back and forth as the two of you adjust. It stings at first, but quickly fades, leaving you boneless as your bodies meet repeatedly.

You whisper his name, and Simon groans yours.

He shudders, burying his face against your next. Warmth and wetness blooms in your womb. You tangle yourself around him, holding Simon close.

Inside your chest, something cracks. Splits. Fractures.

Part of you believes it is just this moment between husband and wife, but a whisper runs beneath, and a slithering like that of a serpent. The forest is creeping in—pushing in. Making room where there is none.

But it is quick, and it is fleeting.

It is after the first night that the two of you truly begin to explore. Simon starts with simple touches, and you accept them all, wanting to understand to be close to someone. He is happy you’re here with him, and you’re happy to be his.

Unlike the rest of the men in town, Simon listens, and values your opinion. His jokes are terrible, and his willingness to subvert and ignore Reverend Shepherd’s doctrine makes him the pariah. The only time the two of you make it into town is for Sunday service, and while townsfolk are friendly, they don’t interact with him unless they have to.

Between it all, you help out on the farm, tending to the animals, and whispering sweet encouragement to the crops when Simon isn’t looking. They all flourish under your care, the land bountiful and beautiful. When others suffer, you and Simon’s land remains strong and steadfast. He is quick to share in the wealth—to take care of others.

A home is built.

Love flourishes.

And for three years, life is peaceful.

The forest hardly whispers. The teeth do not gnash. There is quiet in the wood, and you see no glance of horns.

Simon's hand rests upon your stomach. He turns on his side, pressing a kiss to a spot just above your navel. As he descends, you playfully shove his head away.

"I cannot," you laugh. "I am sore everywhere."

Simon grins and then pushes up, stealing a kiss before rolling over you and heading to the mantel above the hearth. Retrieving his bible, Simon returns, settling back in beside you. The leather cover is worn in places.

His gaze takes in your nakedness. “Stay like that for me.”

You are uncovered and bare before him. Simon’s seed rests heavy between your thighs.

Opening the bible does not result in reading scripture. Simon picks up a charcoal stick. Turning the bible vertically, Simon starts to sketch.

Neither of you read from it. There is nothing to be read. The pages are covered with Simon’s sketches. Most of them are of you—of pieces of you—even the place that is well-loved even now. There are less lewd images etches across the parchment. All of the animals are there. So is the cottage.

If someone—anyone—were to discover these drawings, they’d blame you.

A hex. A curse. A spell.

You have turned him from God.

But Simon doesn’t think so, and you care not. God has given you nothing but this man. Everything the two of you are is only because of the effort and love the two of you have brought. God did nothing but drop you at Simon’s feet.

You thank Him for it, but nothing else. And if that will send you into hellfire, then that is where you will reside.

In silence, you observe your husband. Simon’s gaze darts from the page to you and back again. His bottom lip is between his teeth, and the middle of his brow is creased with concentration. You remain as you are until he turns the bible around to show you.

There you are, sketched over a page of Leviticus.

“Your talents are lost on farming.”

Simon chuckles and then he closes the bible, placing it upon the small bedside table before returning to you. His hands explore, reaching. Then you're opening again, allowing him in.

Sleep is peaceful, and Simon does not wake you in the morning when he leaves to check on the animals.

It is his firm hand shaking you awake.

“Simon?” You rub at your eyes, yawning.

“Rosie is gone.”

“Again,” you groan, digging around in the bedding to find your discarded shift. “That’s the third time this week, Simon.” Finding it, you slip it over your head, retrieving your stockings.

“Keep finding her near the tree.”

A whisper of a voice brushes against your ear and you swat at it like a pesky fly.

You frown. “All three times?”

Simon sighs, and nods. “I’ll go for a look.” Kissing the top of your head, Simon retrieves his musket. “Be back before supper.”

Simon does not come back before supper.

The food grows cold.

And when it’s entirely dark, and the whispers from the wood become overwhelming, you take a lantern, and rush up to road to John Price’s homestead.

John takes a horse to town. Returns with a small party of men.

“It’s best you not go with us. Won’t know what we’ll find.”

“He’s my husband, John. I’m going.”

With lanterns lit, and hunting dogs are your heels, you enter the woods.

The moon is swallowed up as if eaten by a beast, plunging everything around you into utter darkness. The only light you have is that of your lantern and of the other lanterns carried by the menfolk.

And yet, it does not seem like enough.

The darkness here is eternal, and all around you is a dreadful silence.

“Simon!”

“Can you hear us, Simon!”

The only response is the echoing of your collective voices. No insect buzzing. No owls hoot. Nothing scurries underfoot. Even the leaves and twigs you step on are absent of sound.

The forest is consuming, eating away all noise until the only thing you hear are the thoughts in your head.

At the back of the pack, you do not see the tree. Don’t hear the cries for help.

It isn’t until John is approaching you, urging you away that you know something is wrong. Dreadfully and utterly wrong.

There are teeth in the New World. Teeth in the ground.

Jaws. A maw.

It has eaten your heart.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Licked the tips of its fingers.

The forest has devoured. Consumed your husband for a meal.

Reverend Sheperd prays for three days over Simon's body. When he leaves, the women gather around you. Each day, one or two depart, and by the end of the second week, there is no one but you holding vigil.

Simon does not stir though his breathing remains steady. The town likely whispers of the Devil's work, that Simon's long sleep is a curse.

Do they blame you?

Perhaps.

Maybe.

You cannot form enough resolve to care what the townspeople think. If they do blame you, they'd have to drag you from your home by the hair. You’ll draw blood and break bone if anyone attempts to remove you from Simon’s side.

Tucking the blanket in, you curl up next to your husband, cheek resting against his shoulder. He smells of the forest—damp leaves, crushed berries, and sharp pine. Breathing deep, you commit your husband's scent to memory.

Life is a fragile, fickle thing. The thought of growing old here, of giving Simon children, of watching them grow and have families of their own filled you with such purpose again after your father’s betrayal. It is not the future you expected for yourself, but it is the one you’ve found happiness with.

"Come back to me," you murmur, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. They fall, dampening Simon's skin. "Come back, my love. Come back."

Simon remains silent and still.

Night arrives and then departs, bringing the morning with it. No one comes to visit. No one comes to check on either of you. Responsibility is on your shoulders now. Without your guiding hand, the farm will fall into decay, the fencing will rot, weeds will overtake the crops, and animals will starve. A part of you wants to hand it over to God, to allow him to lead.

But God did not protect your husband. He looked away, leaving Simon to his fate.

A deep sigh escapes you, gracing the air with your accepted reluctance. Slowly, you lift your head from Simon's shoulder. He has not changed in these two weeks. Without food or water, Simon should show signs of wasting. But there is no hint there is anything amiss.

"I will fix this," you say, addressing Simon as if he'll answer.

You rest your palm against the side of his face. Warmth radiates from him, but your touch does not rouse him from his sleep.

A sharp howl pierces the air.

It is not a wolf or dog. This sounds like agony. Like despair. Like a dark creature pulling itself from the earth.

Turning abruptly toward the door, every limb solidifies, turning your blood to stone.

Something is out there. Something that does not belong.

Slipping on your shoes, you creep toward Simon's hunting musket. Grasping it, you reach for the blackpower and musket balls, preparing it like Simon showed you. The howl ceases, but your blood remains chilled like morning frost. The hunting musket is heavy, and the sweat in your palms makes holding it difficult. You can hardly keep it upright.

Grasping it, you hold it in the way he showed you, heading for the door. Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. Not a sound.

Reaching out, you unlatch the door, guiding it open just enough to point the barrel outward and to glimpse the morning.

Nothing stirs. Nothing moves but the tall grass and the corn stalks.

Opening the door wider, you cautiously step outside. Your gaze scans the dirt. No footprints of animal or man.

The air vibrates, and beneath your feet, you sense a creeping static. Tilting your head, you listen—not with your ears but with all your senses, tapping into the ground like your mother taught you.

A tug comes. A gentle pull that lulls your attention leftward.

You take a step in the direction of the feeling, the creeping static intensifying until it suddenly disappears, as if pulled from existence.

"Child." The voice—no, voices—speak with two tongues. "How fares thy husband?"

Turning slowly, you glimpse not man or animal but a combination of the two. The creature stands at nearly twice your height on two cloven hooves. Its head is that of a black goat with red eyes and horns so dark they resemble the night sky. Draped in black robes, and hands clasped in front, you notice they aren't hands at all.

Not human hands, but claws. Talons. Long and spindly like thin twigs.

"Devil," you whisper, because what else could this creature be but a servant of Satan.

The creature only blinks. "To the Good Reverend Shepherd and his flock, I am devil and demon," it says, imitating the voice of the stern religious leader. Switching back to its natural voice, the creature continues. "To others, a guardian. A friend. A god."

You aim the firing end toward the creature. "How do you know of my husband?”

"He came to my tree looking for his goat." The creature’s head cocks to the side as if listening for something. “Rosie. That is the name he called before all went silent.”

The tree.

The one made of dark bark.

The one that breaks the axe on first strike.

"Was it you that harmed him?" you accuse, voice shaking. Sweat pools in your palms, the metal of the musket slippery in your hand.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" it purrs.

“Answer me! Was it you that put hands upon my husband?”

"It is not Godly to accuse thy neighbor of treachery when proof is lacking.”

"But you don't deny it?" you snap.

The creature is silent for a long moment as if frozen in ice. “No,” it finally says. "I did not cull your husband.”

"Who?" When he doesn't answer, you ask again. "Who?"

“A man of flesh.”

“Which man?”

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" the creature repeats, the dual voices reverberating in your chest.

“Answer me, demon. Or be gone.”

“Does my appearance offend?” it asks slowly. “You…puritans seem bent on burning.” It unclasps its spindle-fingers. “Would you prefer a change?”

"Whether devil or guardian or beast, my ears do not wish to hear more. Be gone."

"No."

No.

Startled, you hesitate. And then your resolve bleeds back into bone. Raising the weapon higher, you plant your feet into the ground, squaring your shoulders. "I said—"

The creature raises its hand, palm upward, forming a fist. The barrel of the weapon bends skyward. Fires. Smoke and ash fill the air.

Blinded, you cry out, falling upon the ground, arm over your eyes protectively. The musket falls from your arms.

"Again, child," comes its voice—a whisper in your ear. "Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You swing your arm outward and only meet air. With a touch of hysteria, you swipe your arms out and around you, expecting to meet solid flesh.

There is nothing. Nothing.

"Be calm, child. Calm."

Chest heaving, you blink through the pain, searching for the house.

Simon. You need to go to him. To protect him.

The world is in color but it is fuzzy. Unclear. The dirt beneath your palms is rough as you crawl, digging into your skin, stinging until you know blood blooms in the wounds.

"Go away," you whisper. The creature does not answer. "Leave. Leave my husband and I in peace."

As your vision clears, a dark shape steps in front of you. The creature towers, hands outstretched placatingly. "Listen, child. Listen."

"Simon," you whisper, every limb shaking as you try to push yourself up to a seated position.

"God abandoned Simon. Abandoned you."

Your arms give out, and you collapse. With every remaining morsel of resolve, you start to drag yourself through the dirt.

"Simon."

"A shadow darkens your door. Not that of any devil—but of human suspicion. Townsfolk consume gossip like plague consumes a newborn babe."

Dirt collects under your nails.

“Suspicion. Godly suspicion. Devil-spun no doubt but by human tongue.”

You drag yourself a little further.

“Witch.”

“Leave us,” you murmur, voice weak and cracked.

Your vision clears a bit more—the sting receding. It is enough to push up to your knees.

“I hear all,” the creature says. “No wooden board or stone or packed dirt can hide a whispered word.”

Witch.

Witch.

“There is nothing the Godly despise more than a woman alone in the world.”

Its words cut deep. They tear into you, ripping out the dreaded truth. The townsfolk will lay blame. And what a perfect perpetrator you are. Why would Simon Riley, one of their own flock, befall such a fate unless someone had done it to him.

Witch.

On shaky legs, you face the creature before you. Its red eyes have softened. Pity rests there, and you do not know what to make of it.

The goat head shifts, gaze moving to somewhere within the house. You glance behind you and only see the open door. When you glance back, the creature is gone.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You spin and find the goat standing inside the doorway. He's too large to fit. He's bent in half, peering out at you.

"Get out of my home, demon."

It only blinks, and steps out of view. You rush toward the door, charging inside, finding no one. The room spins as you head for Simon. All you want is to be beside him. If this is a punishment, then so be it, but you will weather it at his side.

Kneeling beside your bed, you grasp Simon’s hand. You bring it to your lips, placing a kiss against his knuckles.

"I'm seeing things, Simon," you whisper.

Spindle-fingers slide over your shoulder, the creature’s palm coming to rest against the joint. It is no hallucination. There is no iciness, but warmth. Not hot—not an inferno as Reverend Shepherd always preaches—but a comforting one. Like a burning hearth in the middle of winter.

Closing your eyes, you listen.

There is no static. What assails your senses is this creature’s age. There are stars and dust in his aura—of sleeping beneath mountains—of a time before trees when there were only teeth.

“I can heal him,” comes its two-toned voice. “Make him whole.”

In this, you hear the truth. There are no lies. The words weave around you, spinning and encasing you like angel wings.

“Pray tell me, stranger. What price for such an offer?”

“Stranger,” muses the creature. “Thou hast named me.”

“What price?” you prompt.

A beat.

“You.”

“Me?”

Stranger bends until it’s crouched next to you. “I shall heal your husband. Ward him from harm and illness. He will live to an old age. Pass peacefully in his sleep.”

“A nice thought,” you murmur, gazing on Simon’s face.

“But in return, you shall come with me.”

You turn to face Stranger. It gazes at you intently, waiting for a response. As you peer into its red depths, something dark—tentacle-like—slithers in the red and promptly disappears.

“I have nothing to offer.”

Removing its twig-like claws from your shoulder, it presses the point of one to your forehead. At contact, the air comes alive, coursing through vein and bone until your skin glows with a deep radiance of brilliant white light.

“A blessing doth dwell,” its two voices sing. The power surges and then recedes as Stranger removes its claw. “Join me. Be my bride. Walk the forests.”

“Agreements are not freely given. I come from a world where the Fae walk. Bargains favor wing and wit. Not mortal flesh.”

“I am Elder,” purrs Stranger. “Trickery is foul tasting.”

“But after you heal him? After I agree to go with you? What then?”

“You shall see him not. Never know his touch. All memory of you will be erased. He nor the townsfolk will remember you. A hint, maybe. A feeling. But it shall always slip away.”

A life without Simon. A life without his gentle touches and drawings by candlelight. You will bear him no children. Never again enjoy the carnal rite that is your most sacred vow.

Yet, he will live.

Simon will thrive.

You detect no deception. The air is still and calm. No tension.

“What must I do?”

Stranger turns and you follow its gaze.

Upon the table is a large book. Ornate. Shiny. Gold-plated. Open.

You swallow. “I’m…poor with my letters.”

“It needs not names but blood. Just a drop.” Stranger elongates. Still too small for the space, it bends its upper half to accommodate, its back scraping against the ceiling. “Sign the book,” he prompts.

“Forgive me, Simon.”

Pressing your lips to the back of Simon’s hand, you send forth a silent prayer. Pushing up, and leaning over him, you place a second kiss to his forehead. You breathe him in, infusing the memory until it resembles vines, tangling the essence of Simon into your brain.

Retreating, you offer up your palm, splaying your fingers in extension.

Stranger gently takes it, bringing it over the golden book.

Pointed claw meets human flesh.

A sharp sting.

A pause.

A bead of blood wells.

Hovering. Hovering.

Then—

The dark bead lingers on the blank page.

Silence.

And then a sucking sound as the parchment absorbs the blood.

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[red-garden]

Unfortunately, Google (or Baidu) does not exist in xianxia. Shen Yuan cringes, thinking of all the questions the poor disciples peak wide should be able to look up in the privacy of their own laptops, free from embarrassment. Of course, there’s an obvious solution; Shen Yuan just needs to become the new google.

Leaving a sign and message box outside of the Qing Jing Library, Shen Yuan invites members of every peak to slip in their questions anonymously to be sorted and answered by Qing Jing’s scholars. What use is reading all those books if you don’t do anything with the knowledge?

Many of the questions are simple. What is the property of this beast, where does this grass grow, etc. Some are more…. Unconventional. These Shen Yuan saves to answer personally.

Here’s a spread from this week he’s yet to respond to:

How do you get your Shizun to acknowledge you more when you’re already a high ranking disciple? No matter what I do, my Shizun always favors the junior disciples over me… -🐜

I think I like girls (I’m a girl) and I don’t know how to ask out the girl I have a crush on. She’s from another peak, and like half of the sect wants to ask her out! What do I do???-🎀

How to subtly hint that you’re trying to court someone? -⚔️

How to convey the depths of your regret? -🐕‍🦺

I’m a disciple from Xian Shu, and I also only like girls, but I like to write stories about men in love. While my brother likes men, I don’t want to ask him about this sort of thing, and I have no other male friends. What is the sensory experience like to take it up the ass when you’re a man? -📒

How to ask someone to stop hitting you while conveying it’s actually hot and you would be into it if they asked? -🐹

One of my martial family members has an absurdly thin face, making it nearly impossible for me to do my duty as a member of Qian Cao. How do you make someone understand that they need to tell thier doctor everything, and there’s no need to be embarrassed? -💊

Are demons bad? Like, obviously we had that demon invasion, but are they all bad? Shizun says they have cultural differences to us, but those cultural differences seem violent and sinister. -🐑

There’s this one hookup I’ve linked up with for years, going on a decade. Usually it’s great, just fantastic sex and occasional fortune telling, but I think I want to marry her? What are you supposed to do when you catch feelings? -✂️

I love my wife soo so so much. She’s my world, my evrrytgibg I lorvve her. I want to make her a custom scalpel set but I don’t know what designs handle well for doctors? It need to be perfect she is my world I lobe herr. -⚒️

How do you propose to humans someone? -❄️

How to know if your are uniquely terrible -🐦‍🔥

(Once again pushing my mtf Mu Qingfang agenda)

[cosmica-galaxy]

♣--Ex!SMC Underling!Reader x Pure Vanilla Cookie--♣

Genre: Can be Romantic or Platonic Warnings: Manipulative/Partially Abusive SMC Word Count: 3,173 Words

You’re tired. You are so…so…tired. You have tried everything to please your master and you never found anything that could ever bring him any happiness nor praise. What were you doing wrong…?

You were loyal to Shadow Milk even before he fell from grace as the Sage of Truth. You weren’t some…nobody welp that he happened to take in from off the streets. You were there when he fell…when he became the beast of deceit. His large web of lies spread chaos in the surrounding region…and you were a minion that was destined to spread it as far as you could across Earthbread. It wasn’t just you that served as a minion, but you also had two fellow loyalists that would help do Shadow Milk’s bidding. Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie. Black Sapphire Cookie would spread rumors far and wide, cause couples to fall apart or fight, and would break apart friendships and relationships with such grace…and your lord would give him so much praise for his deeds. Candy Apple Cookie would deceive, assassinate, and infiltrate so many places to deal with any forms of resistance to your lord’s rule with such savagery and devotion…and he would praise her as well. Then…when you went out and performed so many deeds in the name of deceit ...you have told so many lies, broken so many friendships, and even had kingdoms fight one another over petty lies and deceitful tactics to please your lord. But…he would barely look your way. However, he would always take notice of your mistakes rather than your accomplishments. The moment you messed up, he would berate you. Shadow Milk would always comment about how you were such a worthless minion and how he could literally replace you with a puppet and have better results. But that was him on his good days. On his bad days, it was worse for you. He would physically abuse you for your failures by forcing you to act out plays as a puppet. Strings would pull you roughly around the stage, forcing you into painful positions, and you would take very real attacks from other members of his ‘cast’ during his tales. Beaten, battered, wounded, and breathless…Shadow Milk would laugh at you, as well as the “audience” he would conjure up. Among the crowd were his two disciples, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. While Candy Apple Cookie seemed to enjoy your torment, Black Sapphire seemed to be more…reserved in his reactions. “Aww…are you all done? Learned your lesson yet?” Shadow Milk would taunt from above your entangled form. Yet, like a beaten submissive dog, you would always crawl back to your master. Agreeing and begging for more chances to prove your worth time and time again. Much to your master’s dramatic disgust-filled reaction, and then he would drop you from his strings. Then Shadow Milk would bring up the statues in the spire courtyard…all the time. Always telling you that if you wanted the empty pedestal to be filled with your stony visage, you had to earn it like Black Sapphire and Candy Apple did. And you would always try so hard to do as he demanded. To earn your place in the garden of deceit and to finally be recognized as a valuable member of his following. But, that was during the time of the Beasts’ reign over the continent you once called home. When the Witches intervened and your lord was broken and sealed away in the seal guarded by a silver sapling, you waited for your master to return with such eagerness. But many springs…summers…autumns…and winters passed. Many moons later…you suddenly find yourself doubting why you were waiting in this forsaken spire for your lord to return. His sealing had given you plenty of time to think and wonder…just…why? What were you doing wrong? Then, one fateful moonless night…you had an epiphany while staring at the empty pedestal in the garden of deceit just outside of the spire. You…were never going to get recognized as an honorary minion of deceit.

Only during that moment on the moonless night did you finally understand the truth…you were being constantly deceived…and you felt it in all of its cruel irony. Shadow Milk Cookie cared for you less than his other underlings…but you were useful for all the hard work and labor that the other members didn’t feel like doing. You were just being strung along by Shadow Milk…like a puppet on a string. He would dangle the carrot in front of you and you would pursue it relentlessly, and would get no closer to your goal. Your world became shaken and suddenly…your devotion in your lord of lies…waned. You and the other minions of deceit would regularly talk or hang out at the spire during your master’s absence–until after that night. You began to shut both of them out of your life slowly and steadily. You would stay away from them at dinner, hide in your room all day, and you even swapped your sleeping schedule to avoid them entirely. Candy Apple wasn’t as bothered by your sudden isolation, but Black Sapphire Cookie would always try to check up on you at least once in a while. Yet, you refused to reach out or indulge in the rumor spreader when he came knocking on your door. He always asked if it was about Shadow Milk Cookie being imprisoned…but you would never reply. If only he could understand the betrayal and heartache you were enduring because of your revelation in the garden that night. Then one full moon night, after all those tear-filled sleepless nights and silent suffering of what you were going to do that you endured, you decided to make the difficult choice to leave the spire entirely…to leave the chaos of deceit that you had grown to know for so long behind. You had packed your bags with all of the necessities, packed food and drinks, and opened the window to the outside. Your demon-like wings spread wide and your bag close to your side. You could only look back at the room that once served as your home one last time before you turned around and flew out the window. You slipped away to the far borders of the Beast of Deciet’s territory. Stopping on a moonlit hill to look over what used to be your kingdom and your place of residence. There was only one thing left to do. You look at the insignia you wore, the crest with the slitted eye that held your pledge to the lord of deceit himself, and you ripped it off. You stare at it with a mix of uncertainty, fear, and hatred.

For a moment, you hesitate. But…you already came this far. 

There was no going back now…besides…what would await you at the spire anyway? An abusive lord that would eventually return to give you more empty promises? A life of never being good enough for him? An empty statue pedestal that would never be filled? 

You were no longer going to be some Beast’s loyal little puppet. You raise your hand up high…and you sling the deceitful jem that held your pledge towards the ground with force. It shatters. With the shattering came the pain of you being severed from the powers of the dark side of the moon, the otherworld, and even your own master of deceit. 

You wince and grit your teeth as your corrupted form is burned away from existence by a golden light and you could only let out breathless gasps when you finally feel the weight of your pledge of servitude that was marked upon your very soul be lifted away from you–like a heavy ball and chain that was finally cut from your leg and how that allowed you to fly away freely. You have done it. You had freed yourself from the Beast and liberated your soul from his influence. You had the chance to be reborn anew. Your wings remained, but they now held a different shape, and you took that as a small blessing from your shift away from the path of deceit. You gathered up your things and finally turned away from the place that served as your cage for the last time. You disappear into the jungle of Beast-Yeast and never look back towards the spire ever again. . . .

That was years ago now.

You had taken on a different name, a different appearance, and began to travel the continent of Beast-Yeast for a majority of years.

You became known as a rather talented traveler. Going from place to place and seeing all that Beast-Yeast had to offer…until the day of the Dark Flour War.

You had remembered when the skies had darkened, the moon turned red, and the continent itself shook with such fury. You won’t lie…you hid away for most of that era, as it reminded you of the time when you used to serve…him. How kingdoms would fall, how lies would reap what was sowed, and how easily others crumbled when pushed to certain limits. But…the war had passed and life continued on like not much had happened. You continued with your own soul searching journey that you undertook in solitude. Traveling, meeting other cookies, fighting dangerous beasts, and finally getting to a point where you felt like you could cross the licorice sea and discover what lied beyond this land that you had now explored over the years. Plus…you would do anything to get farther away from the hellhole you crawled out of. You managed to make a decent boat, cross the sea during the calm season, and then you began your explorations in the land of Crispia. You explored the mighty mountains of the dark cacao kingdom, drank the fine berry juice in the dragon-ruled Hollyberry Kingdom, sampled the various delicious cheeses of the parmesan desert (apparently there used to be a kingdom here…but it got wiped out long ago), and finally you began to make your way over to a rather far away kingdom. However, you were surprised that you got ambushed during your walk through the chasms that supposedly led to a fabled “vanilla kingdom” by a Cookie who used raisin crows as companions. She tossed raisin buns at you, which you caught and began to eat without hesitation. “Thank you! I was quite famished!” You had exclaimed and continued to eat the raisin bun, much to the Cookie’s surprise. “You…aren’t from around here. Who are you? Where did you come from?” The cookie interrogates, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Me? I’m just a traveler. Going from place to place and meeting all types of cookies. As for where I came from…well, it’s pretty far away. It doesn’t really matter where I came from…since I didn’t belong there anyway.” You explained. “I promise that I mean you no harm, unlike those unfriendly waffle robots I ran into a little while ago…” “The waffle bots attacked you as well?! . . .I see that you are injured. You said that you have no home, right…? . . . Follow me, I know someone who can help heal your injuries.” That was how you met him.

At the time, he was known as “Blind Healer Cookie”. A cookie that helped heal a group of injured and famished cookies. You have never met someone so…kind before. He was the polar opposite of your old master, the one you had deserted so many moons ago. The moment that Black Raisin Cookie lead you into his tent, you felt a strange feeling of nostalgia. Regardless, the cookie smiled at you while he healed the sick and injured in his tent. “Oh? Who is this?” The kind cookie inquired and he welcomed you into his tent after spotting your injuries. “Oh my, you’re hurt…please come in and have a seat. I will be with you in a moment!” You had sat down obediently and waited patiently. Thankfully, your injuries weren’t as nearly as severe as some of the cookies in the tent. You could afford to wait for your treatment. “This is a drifter. They claim to hail from a far away land…and that they don’t have a home. Like most of us.” Raisin Cookie explains in your place. “Oh…that’s a shame.” The friendly cookie smiles warmly at you. “Do you at least have a name?” You tell the cookie your name. “What a lovely name! I can see you now, please allow me to assess your injuries.” “Oh…they’re not that bad. If someone needs assistance, you can help them first!” “. . .Traveler, your arm is leaking strawberry jam with a deep gash! How can that possibly be a not that bad?” The healer cookie had asked you in worry. “. . . I’ve had worse.” You mutter out and look away as the healer looks at your deep injury with concern. “Goodness…you must have had quite the journey to get this far…” “Well…I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I was on my way to the vanilla kingdom, but I just ran into trouble on the way there and those waffle bots gave me this nasty cut. I will probably move on after I heal so I don’t use up too much of your resources.” “Nonsense! If you ever need a place to rest your head, you are free to stay here in the village with Raisin Cookie and I. Any cookie is welcome here!” “. . . Thank you, Healer Cookie.”

From that moment on, you stayed with the healer cookie in the small unimpressive village. You truly had no reason to stay, but you didn’t want to travel with such an injury for a while. Yet, the longer you stayed…the less you wanted to leave. Especially if Healer Cookie wasn’t going to go with you. Instead, when you got well enough, you began to help Black Raisin Cookie defend the village from the onslaught of waffle bots that would come every red moon. Your survival and combat skills have served you well over the years, as it has kept many a cakehound, cake wolf, and even a ferocious ridge lion from devouring you. Many of the villager cookies have even taken up calling you a “knight”. You also tried to help understand where the robots were coming from, and they seem to be originating from the island floating in the sky. Which you later found out to be the fabled Vanilla Kingdom…but why would a kingdom send down so many robots to hurt cookies specifically? You wouldn’t get an answer to that until a ragtag bunch of Cookies by the name of Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookies came hurtling into town. One thing led to another and the next thing you know, you’re helping fight off an invading force of cake monsters that had taken over Healer Cookie–no…Pure Vanilla Cookie’s old kingdom. Your sword skills served the group well and you never strayed too far from Pure Vanilla Cookie until he was separated from your group during a fight in the bedroom. Once Dark Enchantress Cookie revealed herself, and your imprisoned friend, you flew into a rage that you haven’t ever felt before. The team joined you in your assault on the Cake Witch and you all sent the beast reeling. Pure Vanilla even broke out of his confinement and assisted you all  when you needed it the most. In the end, the enchantress and her unwanted lackeys fled the kingdom that now rightfully belongs to Pure Vanilla Cookie and the Villagers that housed you while you healed. You could only feel delighted when you see Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard cookie off as they continue on their journey across Crispia to bring the letters that were written by Pure Vanilla to the other surviving ancient heroes. Then, you get an unexpected proposal from the king himself as he addressed you by your name to get your attention. “I was wondering if you would accept this offer of mine. You see, I think you would make a great knight for our kingdom. If you want to…would you like to become the first Vanilla Royal Knight?” You could only blink in response and your wings fluttered slightly in excitement.

Admittedly, it took a lot of time for you to start opening up to anyone at all. Let alone to learn to trust again after your abandonment of the Beast of Deceit. But something about Pure Vanilla just made you feel…warm and safe. Maybe it was his kind demeanor or his devotion to his subjects that made you feel this way…or maybe it was because he was so willing to give what you were craving so much from Shadow Milk Cookie.

A sense that you belonged. “. . .I would…I-I…” “Ah?! Are you okay?! You’re crying…” “I…am I?? My apologies…I just…do I deserve it…? Have I earned my place h-here?” “Shh…” Pure Vanilla Cooke quickly embraces you and strokes your trembling back lovingly. “Of course! Why wouldn’t you belong here? We all love you very much and the only thing we would hate about you…is if we had to see you go.” For the first time in your ancient life…you lean into a figure that was giving you the affection and recognition that you seeked so desperately from the Beast you used to serve. “So…will you stay?” “. . .Yes, my king.” From that moment on, you had fully shed your past life as a follower of deceit. 

You have taken on a new identity, a new title, and now…a new kingdom to call home and a new king to follow, Not a king of deceit…but a king of truth.

You served as his strongest knight that fought off any lingering waffle bot threats and guarded the edges of the floating kingdom with your wings serving as your method of transportation. You now wear a signature vanilla kingdom set of armor that was crafted for you specifically, dressing your once tattered clothes into a fine suit of armor. Not only that, but you were given a powerful sword to replace your old and worn one. 

Now you spend your days standing protectively at his side as Pure Vanilla went about his business in the kingdom. Whether or not he was in a meeting, checking on his devoted villagers, or even watering the vanilla flowers in the garden.

You were always nearby and watching over his kingdom with rigorous and unshakable loyalty. You were no longer a pawn of some puppeteer to tug around and be forced to dance for entertainment. Though, you do wonder from time to time how Black Sapphire is doing…but he and Candy Apple Cookie were in the past…and that is where they can stay. You have changed.

You now reside as a resident of the new vanilla kingdom and a servant to a king who actually deserves your loyalty, tenacity, and devotion to your duties. And the king would return your effort with so much kindness, praise, and words that always reassured you… That you would always belong here with him.

[phoenixcatch7]

Something that always bugs me is that the way fanfic authors have it, there's absolutely nothing between 'beloved son treated and raised precisely the same as the two blood siblings in the blood based ruling lineage' and 'despised and excluded indentured servant psychologically manipulated into having no self worth cut off from any emotional support'. This is, historically, a very, VERY recent binary, as the fostering system outgrows things like orphanages and the idea of the nuclear family is cemented.

There is a whole range of different statuses that exist between those two extremes just in Western society, and more than that outside of what I already know. Wardship, for example. Fostering without adoption. Room and board apprenticeship.

Wwx is older than jc. Him being adopted and legitimised, despite not being jiang, would cause a succession crisis. By rights, as the eldest male (and prodigious and well liked besides) he would be first to inherit in some people's eyes. Being adopted formally in this way would cause those rumours of bastardry madame yu was always banging on about (though I'm never convinced those rumours were as prevalent as she believed). Jfm would lose reputation and status, yzy would take a tremendous hit to her reputation, jc's place as heir would suddenly be cast into uncertainty, coming under intense scrutiny as people suddenly feel as though they had a choice in who to support, and wwx would be forced into a role and potential future he has absolutely no desire for. And by putting him in a position where he could become head of jiang, there's the risk that he might assassinate jc to become the undisputed heir, something impossible if he isn't brought into the family officially. Would wwx ever dream of doing so? No! Not even slightly! But it is a valid fear of the time and culture, jgy just proves that worst case scenario.

Instead of being the child prodigy coming out of nowhere, the son of respected rogue cultivators so generously taken in the jiang and well trained, suddenly he'd be 'proof' of infidelity, both families involved would become scandals, even post-humeously. As jgy and mxy prove, being a bastard is a lower social status than the right hand man of the sect heir, head disciple of a major sect. Now wrapped in gossip and scandal, they would no longer be called the prides of yunmeng.

And then of course that kind of divisive succession would backfire horrendously when lotus pier is burned and jc tries to rebuild the clan while wwx goes demonic cultivator! It would be DISASTROUS for the jiang, jc having lost a lot of his legitimacy and political support, wwx's now filthy reputation being tied even tighter to the clan, reflecting on them so much more. Worst case gossip would be that the jiang as a whole are turning to demonic cultivation. People who wanted wwx for heir would be in a very dangerous position! People who disliked jc as heir would make it even harder for him! Not that the jiangs would/could have predicted the war and the burning of the sect but fr it would have made an already nigh impossible situation even harder and more volatile.

And it's not like wwx is treated purely like a servant! He isn't going round fetching tea and carrying jcs sword and keeping one step behind. He eats every meal with them, he gets pocket money from them, he is openly and pretty universally considered siblings with the other two, and nobody except yzy acts like it's weird, or he's acting above his station for it (though people like the wens and jin aren't above trying to use that 'son of a servant' thing when they're targeting him to get their own way).

Yes, yzy is deeply insecure and blames him, yes during their goodbyes jc gets hugs and wwx gets orders. They're far from perfect. That's the most affection jc ever got from either of them. Jyl got nothing, she wasn't there. Which is pretty representative of her treatment from her parents, ngl. But wwx had support from jc, had sorta paternal support and a safe authority figure in jfm, had maternal support and care from jyl (though she shouldn't have had to, but that's a different conversation). There are actual family servants (yzy's twins) who grew up with her and were trained for it and they act very differently to wwx. For all yzy throws her weight around and jfm is a bit of a doormat, wwx grew up well cared for and well loved.

The fact that the family as a whole was pretty messed up and his part in it made it worse? That's on the family members themselves. His never arriving would not have fixed that family. For wwx, genuinely, there really wasn't anywhere else he could really go once he was orphaned. If he hadn't died on the streets perhaps he could have made it as a civilian working for someone else, dabbling in cultivation because we know him.

The wen and jin would have eaten him alive. The lans? Don't make me laugh. I love a good 'wwx gets betrothed to lwj as teens and he moves to gusu and Fixes Everything' as much as the next person but let's not kid ourselves, canon wwx would have ended up whipped to death or expelled with the way he is. As a visiting disciple he got so many punishments and kicked out not even halfway through the year! Him living there with lwj as adults is due to him 'redeeming' himself through mystery solving and lwj being fully, openly ready to ditch the sect for him. Even then they're constantly on the road night hunting and lwj being the lightning rod of all of wwx's trouble making tendencies (and being 100% down to breaking the rules with him without enacting punishment). They might accept him now but it would not have happened without lwj doing it first (and the juniors all loving him lol).

The nie? Maybe, but that would have left NHS in pretty much the exact same position as jc: inferior second fiddle, unskilled, constantly compared to him. Wwx would be in the exact same position of being pressured to tone himself down and keep his dangerous ideas to himself, and NHS would have double the fear of inevitably losing both his brothers. And of course, the nie aren't exactly as patient and laid back as the jiang sect as a whole, with their hyper aggressive murder resentment swords. The first sign of wwx acting 'outside' of the clans best interests and getting risky and he's going straight down those stairs the same way as jgy.

Tldr: there's more options to raise a kid than full adoption or abused servitude, even today, and though officially adopting wwx would have made everything SO much worse, his other options would not have survived him. He deserved better with the jiangs but frankly so did the blood kids (and the mother and the father). All three were emotionally neglected and adoption would not have fixed that.

This is why I believe that if wwx had been even a day younger than jc everyone would have been so much happier.

[khattikeri]

one of my favorite things about mdzs is that for how heavily its plot involves politics of classism and misogyny... even the characters most directly impacted by it can't and don't free themselves from it. literally the closest exception is mianmian.

meng yao being the "son of a whore" wasn't some sort of commie awakening for him that led him to wanting everyone to be socially equal. he played the political game, climbed the ladders, sucked up to and backstabbed and murdered people, including other prostitutes who actually had nothing to do with how he and his mother were treated at the brothel he grew up in.

he put in so much extra excessive effort for even a fraction of the same respect that members of gentry cultivation clans got. and he did deserve to be treated more humanely! but he feeds into the exact same system that created him, leading to his own undoing.

his efforts were for a fragile upward mobility that was never going to hold up. he never surpassed his origins nor did he empower others in similar stations, because the society he lives in is not one that would accept that.

the second he got caught and all those crimes exposed, he was scapegoated to hell and back, replacing wei wuxian as society's terrible one-sidedly evil boogeyman overnight.

speaking of not-quite male gentry, i think it's interesting that wei wuxian explicitly doesn't try to climb the ladders in BOTH lives, knowing full well that anything he does will be punished just for the sheer fact that he is wei wuxian.

wei wuxian is scolded for giving intelligent and correct answers in school. lan wangji does the same and is praised.

wei wuxian occasionally lounges around with fellow disciples and is punished. jiang cheng does the same and mostly escapes.

wei wuxian refuses to carry his sword around in public (after losing his golden core, which nobody knows) and is scorned as an arrogant upstart. nie huaisang has been doing the EXACT SAME THING for YEARS and nobody bats an eye.

unlike jin guangyao, wei wuxian knew subconsciously from the start that his acceptance was superficial and that he could be cast out any time. when he was 10 and recently taken in by the jiangs, he canonically would not eat or use "too much" food and water because he thought they'd find him a nuisance for "wasting their things" and kick him back out.

now away from just the classism, yu ziyuan is a proud and strong noblewoman in a society that belittles and derides women for everything they do. her strong cultivation doesn't matter. she's victim to the vicious rumors of her husband loving another woman who is strong like her but apparently had a more likeable personality.

it doesn't matter even if jiang fengmian didn't cheat or that wei wuxian is wei changze's son with cangse sanren; yu ziyuan can't bear with the humiliation of herself (and by extension her children) not being "good enough". she's ridiculed for "failing" in that one duty as a wife, mother, and woman.

she lashes out and takes out that anger on everyone present for years, giving her children lasting trauma and also being a key element in how the jiang family and yunmeng jiang sect are effectively wiped out at the hands of the wen clan.

madam jin doesn't even have a name outside of the fact that she's married to jin guangshan. i don't even remember reading anything that indicates if she's a strong or weak cultivator, or what, which in itself proves that to most people, it doesn't matter. she's "just" a woman.

of course she's angry at her husband's affairs and all the bastard children they bring in. but she also can't do anything about them, so she lashes out at the few people she can: servants. non-cultivators, probably. those very same bastard children.

shoutout to meng yao getting shoved down a flight of stairs at age fourteen, because if madam jin tried that move against her husband instead, it would make her lose even more face, which as a noblewoman she'd never do.

and that's not getting into how jiang yanli is consistently sidelined for being physically weak.

that's not getting into how mianmian was actually a good cultivator, but was mocked by everyone around her for trying to stand up for wei wuxian when everyone was turning on him. how everyone scoffed at luo qingyang's words as "just some lovesick woman" who "obviously wants to marry or bed him since he saved her".

luo qingyang is the only one of these characters who HASN'T died. she didn't play society's games like jin guangyao. she didn't dig her heels in confidence of her own abilities like wei wuxian.

she didn't bitterly lash out like yu ziyuan and madam jin. she didn't gently accept it like jiang yanli.

she just LEFT.

she married an ordinary merchant and cultivates separately from mainstream cultivation society, and therein found her own peace and happiness.

mxtx doesn't bother with particularly class conscious or feminist vocabulary to hand-hold readers into understanding these disparities, but that choice highlights them & the deeply entrenched politics of their society even more. i really love it.

[optimisticmosquito]

Guys hear me out on this svsss au idea.

Sower Shen yuan. SY transmigrating into a young sower child and having to learn sower and demon culture. One large difference to his old life is that his diet now consists of rotten flesh. He has a lot of feelings about that. It's raw flesh! It's rotting! It's the worst every world has to offer!

Curse you system for placing him here! He must be the unluckiest transmigrator to ever exist! Or maybe not the unluckiest, he could have been transmigrating into some low iq villain and destined to be killed off by the protagonist. His new life is definitely preferable to that! Barely.

He might grumble but he's learning a lot of new things that were never mentioned in PIDW! After all cultivators don't know much about sowers, and higher demons don't care about what's going on in sower society as long as they follow orders.

They are natural scavengers, their food needing to be at least somewhat deteriorated for them to digest it properly. Every sower is born with the ability to rot flesh, it's kinda needed after all if you want to survive. But as they age sowers can cultivate their ability, creating faster ways to rot flesh, or methods that are more effective on different types of flesh. The most talented ones are even able to create diseases that can affect and rot still living flesh.

Of course the better one's technique is, the easier it is to get food. So most sowers would be hesitant to share their techniques outside direct family. This would create sower lineages with uniquely cultivated diseases.

It's all very interesting! SY would be vibrating with excitement if he didn't have to experience it firsthand.

This all without mentioning human meat as a delicacy among demons. SY refuses to participate, but even he can't decline when his caring grandma was able to procure some just for her beloved grandkids, as a rare treat.

The worst part is his body actually likes the taste, despite how revolting it looks. He has a lot if internal crises about it.

You could of course spin this into a bingyuan. Luo Binghe just out of the endless abyss meeting this nice sower and falling head over heels. Making a lowly sower his empress after he takes over the demon realm.

But I'm thinking of going another direction, either jiuyuan or liushen.

SY's forced to go into the human side of the borderlands because of food scarcity on the demon side. He's not stupid about it! He knows some cultivators patrol the area so he's gotten himself a bracelet of disguise to hide his demonic traits.

While there he comes across a head disciple from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and ends up entangled in their mission. They help eachother out, shares laughs and near death moments, creating a bond that should surely last even after the mission ends.

If not for the fact SY is a demon. He desperately hides his identity, making sure his new friend doesn't touch his skin by accident as he has cultivated enough for his touch to be dangerous to normal humans. He isn't sure it would be dangerous to cultivator disciples, but he doesn't want to take any chances.

And then the worst happens, he is revealed as a sower and his new friend mistakenly assumes he was tricking them so he could kill and eat them later. Angry with themselves over being tricked, disgusted by any good feelings still harbored towards a man-eating demon. Only a moment of quick thinking on SYs part saves them from having to kill SY. SY returns home heartbroken and without any food for his family, abd stays listless and sad for a long time.

Years later he'll come across a peak lord, looking for a cure to a deadly sower disease spread on behalf of the old demon emperor.

If anyone feels inspired please write it! I'd really want to read a sower!SY au as well!

[sunderwight]

Fic where Su Xiyan lives but she's like, a huge asshole about it.

Tianlang Jun still gets stuck under the mountain, see, and Su Xiyan's been thoroughly betrayed by her own master, and seemingly not just him but also all the other major sects too. They all sided against her and against her lover based on prejudice. The fact that they were tricked likely wouldn't be known to her, from the outside it would just look as though they all readily dogpiled on at the first opportunity to take down a heavenly demon, even though he never did anything wrong.

Plus her own reputation has been ground to dust, going from the respected head disciple of the second greatest sect to being slandered as a honeypot who seduced a demon emperor in order to bring him down. She was used to destroy the man she loves, she almost died trying to keep her baby, her cultivation's probably taken a massive hit and she has no chance of getting to that mountain and digging her lover out from under it. Even if she could, he believes she betrayed him, so what kind of reception could she hope for?

Not that this will stop her from trying to dig him out anyway, but it's not like she can just snap her fingers and get him out. There's a whole mountain on him, and she's on the run with an infant.

So she decides she's going to make this everyone's problem as much as she can.

For a couple of years she lays low, just trying to rebuild her cultivation and look after the baby. If she's being honest, she's not great at it. She loves her son but maternal instincts don't really kick in, he's kind of a shriveled ball of misery and mess, and she doesn't really see the appeal. It gets better as he starts to get bigger and more of a personality asserts itself, and she can start treating him more like a small human than a wailing parasite that's latched onto her tit.

She would still hire someone else to look after him at the first possible opportunity, but she's paranoid about some aspect of his seal slipping and giving them away. With no body ever recovered, Huan Hua Palace is still looking for her. So she's stuck with childcare and she hates every minute of it and spends most of her time changing diapers just seething about dropping her old shifu into a mountain of shit and watching him suffocate.

Once Binghe is big enough to walk, and Su Xiyan is well enough to fight, they make for the borderlands. Su Xiyan starts teaching her son the earliest forms of cultivation he can learn, but his demon heritage is still sealed and right now he's too weak and small to risk unsealing it. So she focuses on herself, on rebuilding her own strength, turning to demonic methods and forbidden techniques (why not, when one has already been tarred and feathered and was never particularly precious about righteousness to begin with?) and hunting other cultivators just as often as demonic beasts.

Time passes and Su Xiyan begins to build a reputation even worse than Wu Yanzi's. A deadly rogue cultivator known only by some epithet or other who kills even powerful disciples of mighty sects. She experiments with what it would take to destroy a mountain, how much force, and what could provide it. Sacrificial arrays that feed off of the energy of cultivators or demons. Rituals and artifacts that demand high prices. Ways to summon demons or open gateways for them to possess others. She even considers using her son -- his blood is heavenly demon blood, his body is the closest thing she has to a suitable vessel for Tianlang Jun.

It would probably work, is the thing.

As the thought turns around her mind and she washes the blood from her hands, she decides that she's got to send her son away, actually. He's too weak and burdensome (and the fact she'd even consider using him such a way means that not even she is fully safe for him to be around any longer, not with the kinds of things she's doing, not with the kind of creature she's becoming). Now that he's big enough to survive on his own, she can ditch him somewhere to level up and bring him back once he's got enough strength to actually make himself useful.

So she sends him off, tells him not to come back until he's strong, ignores the tears and the hands gripping her robes until she finally has to wrench them away and strand the boy in a city far enough from her hunting grounds that he can't easily get back on his own.

Of course, he does still try, but he's lost and doesn't know where he's going. A kindly washerwoman takes pity on him and takes him in. The now-named Luo Binghe (his mother only ever called him 'son') isn't sure what he's supposed to be doing, but he suspects it's not just keeping house with his new caretaker. However, at the ripe old age of five he doesn't really know what else to do, so he stays and gradually the memories of the cold-eyed woman he called mother start to fade, until he wonders how much of it was merely a dream.

When his second mother dies and encourages him to go become a cultivator, Binghe decides that sounds right, so he goes to the Cang Qiong entrance exams and gets taken in. There's something familiar about his new shizun. Not in his looks, really, but in the way he acts, how he snaps and sneers, how he seems to hate Binghe but also claims him. Luo Binghe finds himself utterly desperate for the man's approval, even though he can't completely explain why. But it feels like, if he could just get this person to love him, the world might make sense.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't love him, though, if anything he hates him, and that only seems to change at random after a qi deviation. Which at first drives Luo Binghe slightly mad trying to figure out what he did and guarantee he can keep it, but gradually his thoughts and feelings on his master start to shift as, it seems, the man becomes someone completely different.

Meanwhile Su Xiyan has built up enough strength and information that she has a plan to move a mountain using a legendary blade that can open portals. She's also gradually begun to infiltrate her old sect again, using dark techniques to turn some of her former shidimei into puppets. By the time the Immortal Alliance Conference comes around, she's built the underpinnings to take the entire sect out from under her old master, and the chaos of the conference provides the perfect opportunity.

Shen Yuan has no idea what he did to cause the Huan Hua Palace Master to get ripped apart by demons during the invasion, and he's even more confused by the woman who materializes during the final hour and does him the favor of throwing Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss herself, saying something about needing him to fetch a sword for her before she'll welcome him back to her side.

[lu-is-not-ok]

Thoughts on the new Jia candidate? They seem to be at the very least related to Iori, considering their execution of that one guy and the red snake skin wrapped around himself and his companion(?). Makes me wonder if Iori or her disciples are going to make a physical appearance in the Canto.

Alright, let me put things under the cut for the spoiler warning for literally the last two cutscenes in this Intervallo.

When it comes to Jia Qiu, I don't have many thoughts on his place in the world or wider story as of yet.

It's clear that he's a figure that's meant to have quite a lot of renown, one that can be easily believed as being the one people sing about in the Backstreets. One that is so sure of his position in the world that he doesn't even bother finishing off Xichun or Hong Lu due to knowing they don't pose even the tiniest bit of a threat to him.

It's also interesting how he's described. There's a lot of similarities between him and Hong Lu in that way. He's shown to be always serene, almost intimidatingly so. The way he looks at the Sinners, "as though he was gazing upon the clouds or blades of grass", is a direct reflection of how Hong Lu is described earlier in the same Intervallo. In fact, that confident calmness of his is shown to be what makes him so intimidating.

As for the Iori connection... Well, first of all it's made kind of unclear who Actually kills Shi Yihua. Before the execution happens, Zigong comments on the presence of "a serpent", while Jia Qiu tells her to "leave it". After Yihua is killed, Qiu once again repeats to leave this serpent alone, this time directing the order to Zilu.

This, I think, implies that whoever killed Yihua is not actually affiliated with Jia Qiu at all. That 'serpent' who killed him was an outsider, a spy of some kind that Jia Qiu deemed unimportant enough to let live despite the sudden seemingly hostile action.

It's also important to note that the furry trio from the Prologue all have specifically Purple accessories. While Iori's connection with snakes and serpents is an important part of her identity, what's often more important and identifying is the color Purple due to it being a direct part of her Fixer title.

Thus, personally, I believe the serpent could have some connection to Iori, as it has both the purple and the snake imagery to tie it to her.

Jia Qiu and his posse on the other hand not only are implied to not be affiliated with that serpent, but also only have the snakeskin motive, not the color. It's kind of like the Rabbits of R corp and Hares of the Heishou Pack - they're based on similar animals, but are at their core extremely different and unaffiliated.

But. That's not really what I want to talk about.

No, what I want to talk about is what I think Jia Qiu's narrative role might be.

See, here's the thing about Jia Qiu and his posse. Neither him nor anyone following him are directly named after any DOTRC characters.

However, another source for specifically Zilu and Zigong has already been found - they're named after Confucius's disciples. The reason why that's important is that Confucianism plays a major role in DOTRC, with one of the ways it comes up being a notable part of the reason why Baoyu is abused by his father - as Jia Zheng is a Confucian scholar that tries to live by those values, while Baoyu is anything but.

Thus, there are now two camps I see when it comes to theories on who Jia Qiu is meant to be based on.

There is the camp that believes Jia Qiu might be PM's reinterpretation of Jia Zhu, Baoyu's older brother who dies before the events of DOTRC.

There is also the other camp that looks at the references to Confucius's disciples and believes that Jia Qiu is just straight up Confucius himself.

My take? I think he's both. I think he's a composite character of both Jia Zhu and Confucius. And I even have a sound reason for why PM would do that.

Remember how I mentioned that Confucian values are part of the reason why Baoyu is targeted and abused by his father so much? Well, Jia Zhu is the other part of the reason. Jia Zhu, when he was alive, was exactly the kind of son and heir that Jia Zheng wanted. So, when he died, all of those expectations fell onto Baoyu. There's even a point where Baoyu's mother has a moment where she laments that she wishes Baoyu was the one to die instead of Zhu, as Zhu wouldn't have angered his father nearly as much.

I believe that Jia Qiu is meant to represent everything that Hong Lu's family wishes he could be. Everything that Hong Lu can't truly be no matter how much he tries. A combination of the creator behind the values forced upon everyone in the family, and of the family son who was perfect for the role in his family. The ideal heir, the template Hong Lu was meant to fit but never could.

Something tells me he's not going to survive for long.

[gusu-emilu]

Really caught up lately on how Songxiao are a parallel to Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Both are known as a set, at least for a period of time: The Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze, the Distant Snow and Cold Frost. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng (the extent to which they act as a set is another story).

Both Songxiao and Yunmeng Bros have one member who is more embedded in the cultivation world / clan system and one who has fewer ties to the clan system + some relation to Baoshan Sanren (i.e. allowing them to more easily escape the constraints of the cultivation world--though not always the consequences).

Song Lan is from Baixue Temple, while Xiao Xingchen is from Baoshan Sanren’s mountain. SL still has people he cares about at Baixue Temple (and because SL still has ties to them, their safety is put at risk from XY, as it turns out), but Xiao Xingchen does not have ties to anyone but SL. Although both are rogue cultivators, XXC fully originates from outside the clan system and struggles to accept how it functions.

Jiang Cheng is heir to the Jiang Clan. He was never escaping that responsibility. WWX is the son of one of BSSR's disciples and was taken in as a Jiang disciple. His birth status already has him sitting farther removed from the clan system than JC--he isn't bound to the Jiang Clan the way that JC is, and JC will be the first to tell you that WWX sure does act like it.

And then there's the parallel between the golden core transfer and XXC giving his eyes to SL (this is the part that really drives me insane)

Both JC and SL lose an essential part of themselves because of their counterparts. JC gets his golden core melted because he saved WWX. SL is blinded because XY wanted revenge on XXC.

The golden core transfer and the Songxiao eye transfer (lol?) are both mediated by BSSR, either physically or metaphorically (since in JC's case he only thinks BSSR is the one healing him). And both relationships undergo immense damage following the transfer of golden core / eyes.

After the Baixue Temple massacre, SL searches the jianghu for XXC for what we know to be at least a few years. After WWX's death, JC hunted for him down for 13-16 years depending on which canon you prefer. SL and JC refuse to believe that their counterpart is gone forever--SL's goal following the Yi City arc is to heal XXC's fractured spirit, and JC seemed to always believe that WWX was either still somewhere out there or was bound to come back.

In general, this is one aspect of MXTX's work where I really feel like her genius shines through--her ability to craft parallels between characters that make me want to eat rocks

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi there did they ever just consider putting a backpack leash on y/n in the Demon Child AU JTTW gang? Also did y/n ever kid kidnapped and held for ransom by many demons to try to get the monk by saying we'll let her go in Exchange for him( I also know he had alot of demon um demon suiters that instead of wanting to eat him apparently wanted marriage dam the monk got accidentally rizz)

Taken Aboard: Restraints

It’s not impossible that the gang would decide to to utilize some form of restraint after enough troublemaking by Y/N- in place of a leash, though, I imagine that Tang Sanzang would actually use a length of fabric to swaddle Y/N.

The event that caused him to decide you needed such extreme supervision?

(He was not happy.)

“Little demon,” he calls, looking down at you expectantly. “Hurry along now- you know what is expected of you before we enter a town.”

“…Master, this is embarrassing.”

“Please hurry, little one. We’ve so much to do, and I would like to get on with it right away.”

And after a little bit of huffing and puffing, you do as requested- and use the 72 Transformation to assume the form of a helpless babe, your mass-displaced form falling snug into his arms.

The Great Monk wraps you in a length of silk that he affixes around his torso and shoulders, leaving your now squishy body squashed against his soft chest.

Not only does this (frankly humiliating) transformation allow Sanzang to sneak you about without scaring any villagers, it also prevents you from running off to cause trouble.

Jokes on him, though- every last bachelorette from the village has one response to a very pretty man bundling around a cute baby:

As for getting kidnapped… yeah, the Journeyfam isn’t putting up with that shit. Not when their master gets snatched up every other day and nearly sautéed and stewed. I mean, operating on the thought that Y/N is very explicitly a demon- horns, fangs, tail, etc- the child has at least some means of self-defense.

If they do get snatched, I can’t imagine there’s a situation where Y/N doesn’t at least leave their assailant battered and scarred, which doesn’t help the demon when three angry demons and a furious dragon break down the door. And Tang Sanzang; to his credit, makes a fair effort to soothe his disciples and quell their fury… but it’s going to be much too late for anyone who decided to lay their hands on the honorary little sibling of all these furious souls.

Outside of kidnapping? I’d like to imagine that Y/N, as a child (potentially female, depending on you or your OC’s gender) in Medieval China, might be eyed up by more… unsavory individuals.

“How much?”

Sanzang turns to find the source of a casual voice, looking at a sweat-stained farmer leaning over a fresh chicken corpse. The laborer takes a moment to wipe his bloody hands, then folds his thick arms.

“How much for the kid? Seems strong, and has some muscle. I could use another pair of hands on the farm.”

And Sanzang is so genuinely appalled at the simple manner in which genuine slavery is being spoken of here, as though you are a commodity and not a thinking, breathing thing all your own. He offers no retort or reprimand, instead choosing to take you by the hand and hurry off into the crowd- not that Wukong won’t have a few “words” to share with the would-be purchaser.

But that’s not even the worst possible scenario for the gang to face-

No, the worst is proposed child marriage.

All it takes is one rich man/woman to decide that they want an “exotic” spouse, and that the little demon child with a pair of magical restraints is their “safest” way to get it.

I don’t even think Sanzang would have time to comprehend what his disciples were doing before it was over- he’s too busy reeling over being offered literal bricks of gold in return for an actual child.

And obviously his answer is a hundred firm “nos” and a dozen chants of “go to your nearest monastery and pray!”, each one delivered with increasing fervor…

Or, it would be- if his disciples hadn’t solved the matter themselves before he had regained the use of his tongue.