#disciple making movement

[disciplemakingchurches]

Disciple Making Australia: Inspiring a New Generation of Disciples

Centred on the urgent goal to know God and make Him known, disciple making australia is a thriving network of organic, Acts-based house churches across Australia. This movement is centered around simple gatherings—people coming together to worship, pray, study Scripture, share communion, and listen for the Holy Spirit's guidance—rather than structures or initiatives.

Acts 2:36–37, which includes prayer, baptism, Word-reading, worship, fellowship, spiritual gifting, giving, servant leadership, and purposeful disciple-making, serves as the foundation for the Healthy Church Circle. Every member is prepared to participate, from baptism and repentance to producing spiritual fruit and bringing others to the "harvest."

Through relational, missional, and replicable practices—rather than programs—this movement enables believers of all ages to deepen their faith. From Adelaide to Brisbane, Fremantle to Hobart, communities congregate in homes, parks, and cafés to provide accessible spiritual development in which everyone are welcome to take part.

Disciple Making Australia prepares followers to mentor, lead, and multiply disciples in daily life with an emphasis on spiritual multiplication. This movement, which has its roots in Scripture and genuine spiritual engagement, encourages genuine faith, community, and mission. Discover how the basic church can change lives by empowering regular people to make disciples.

[deikshen]

Shen Jiu—father of a little Shen Yuan—who never joined CQMS after saving Qi-ge's life, both father and son rogue cultivators now. Shen Yuan is a curious child who quickly turns into a nosy teenager, and Shen Jiu enjoys spending time doing small cultivation jobs, helping his brothel Jiejie, and having a peaceful life with his son.

Over time, Shen Yuan grows large enough to be indistinguishable from Shen Jiu. Just a little bit of their eyes and expressions can differentiate them at a glance. The Meimei in the brothel who don't know them for a long time often refer to them as the Cultivator Twins, and that is a bit of the reputation they have. They are not important enough to attract the attention of large sects, and their low profile keeps them working without problems. Shen Jiu is in charge of making talismans, fighting monsters, and making medicines!! Shen Yuan transcribes manuals, compiles bestiaries, and sells information. Almost any time it comes to gathering plants, herbs or mushrooms, or working with some beast, Shen Yuan will be there to do it!

Eventually and under some circumstances, Shen Yuan ends up poisoning himself with Without-a-Cure- He swears it wasn't his fault!! It was an unforeseen accident, it could happen to anyone! But his cultivation base is damaged, and the only person Shen Jiu knows to help with the poison and create a treatment, is the Peak Lord of Qian Cao, Mu Qingfang.

However, Shen Jiu refuses to introduce him as his son!! He even refuses to get too close to the sect of his own. What's more, even so, he urges Shen Yuan to show up at Cang Qiong Mountain, impersonate him to the Sect Leader and demand that medical help be provided.

... Shen Yuan doesn't believe it will work. But apparently, it really does! Because Zhangmen-shixiong turns pale when he sees him, and he orbits around him as if he wants to hug him, but without making any sudden movements. Shen Yuan does his best imitation of his father, being sullen, hostile, rude and demanding, and it works beautifully. He is sent to receive medical care. Mu Qingfang prepares tonics and medicines, and he will need to visit Qian Cao Peak once every three weeks to have his meridians cleansed.

And, while in Qian Cao, Shen Yuan meets Luo Binghe.

He is a young disciple of Bai Zhan! Cute as a bun, but apparently, he had defeated at least ten of his martial brothers in battle!! So powerful!! Shen Yuan is not surprised to see him sometimes, when he visits Qian Cao for his meridian cleansings; Luo Binghe shines like a wounded sun, and seems to want to get closer to Shen Yuan more and more, always talking, asking, wanting to talk to him. Even if Shen Yuan has to force himself to imitate his father, can't help but smile behind his fan! He's a good, adorable boy!!

The boy is exceptionally intrigued by Shen Yuan, where he comes from, how he became infected with the Without-a-Cure. The boy also seems to be waiting for him, looking at him with barely concealed curiosity, doing meaningless things as if he were waiting for a reaction from him. He pours tea for him and looks at him expectantly, he drops his tray and stands still as if expecting a harsh scolding. But even if he could, Shen Yuan would never scold him! Luo Binghe is a wonderful boy.

Shen Yuan greatly enjoys visiting Cang Qiong just to see him, even if he has to hide his emotions behind his father's mask. Even if he's supposed to be hostile or not too nice. He... He really enjoys the company of the young disciple Luo Binghe. And maybe... Maybe he's considering telling him the truth. He's kind of like, a friend! Right? He thinks he can tell him the truth... At some point. Perhaps after the Immortal Conference Alliance, so that Luo Binghe can fully concentrate on that and emerge triumphant!

(What Shen Yuan doesn't know is that this adorable boy is not a simple young disciple. Luo Binghe was once the Emperor of the Three Realms, a ferocious heavenly demon... who had perished after a fierce qi deviation. Horror! And he had become aware just before Cang Qiong's disciple selection. A cycle of torture repeated endlessly!

But there was no Shen Qingqiu to select him. Instead, he was selected for Bai Zhan by Liu Qingge; Qing Jing's Peak Lord was not even Shen Qingqiu.

... And Luo Binghe is freaking lost. Where is that horrible Shizun of his? He's raised through fights, through steady cultivation, through... friends? Through a good Shizun. He's having a nice new life. It's not like the life he had, but, he thinks, maybe it's retribution from the universe? Giving him what he should have had, not forcing him into a life of suffering and hatred. Luo Binghe is not going to complain about it.

Then, Shen Qingqiu appears. Well, not Shen Qingqiu. Shen Jiu.

Even though he's hostile, there's something... different about him. He's softer. His cutting comments aren't entirely poisonous, and when Luo Binghe speaks, he... listens. He looks at him as if he sees him as an equal, and more than once he found him smiling!!! Behind his fan, yes, but he was smiling!! Luo Binghe doesn't understand. Could this be... the same kind Shizun whose glimpse he managed to get in that other world? Did the universe put him before him, for him, in this world where Luo Binghe is not suffering? In this world, so that Luo Binghe doesn't have so much pain and can instead find peace?

Luo Binghe doesn't know. He only hopes that at the Immortal Alliance Conference, the Abyss won't open up and swallow him up. ... Or just let it happen. Then he can return as a Demon Lord to see if this No-Shizun really still sees him as an equal. If he remains kind, if he continues to smile behind his fan, if his face continues to light up at the sight of him even when he becomes a monster upon exiting the Endless Abyss... Luo Binghe isn't sure what he'll do, but he doesn't think a harem is necessary this time. His No-Shizun alone would suffice.)

(For his part, oh. Shen Jiu has also died and woken up in his own loop of suffering watching the flames of the Qiu estate. And he remembers everything.

This time, however, he welcomed into his the life that Qi-ge had unknowingly given him after a chance encounter, and allowed this life to exist far away instead of joining Qing Jing. He will never go near that cursed sect, nor its demonic disciple, nor all the horrible martial brothers who abandoned him to his fate to be tortured.

Shen Jiu will stay safe. He will survive. It's more than he could do before.

He doesn't mind reliving the past. He doesn't mind sneaking away. He will stay alive, and he will keep his son safe, no matter what he has to do.)

[red-garden]

Picture if you will, a Shen Yuan who upon entering the world of PIDW, decides he must focus on his martial skills to train Binghe to better survive the abyss. No cultivation, no qi, pure fists. He absolutely hates it at first but his adorable disciples say he looks cool and the praise is going to his head. When the Bai Zhan kids come looking for trouble, he fucking suplexes one.

When it comes time for seclusion in the caves, he handily subdues and and helps a deviating Liu Qingge. LQG doesn’t remember the fight after the fact, and does not believe that SQQ of all people could beat him hand to hand, regardless of what the gossip on the peaks is. He challenges SQQ to a spar- no weapons, no time limit, no mercy.

The peaks are freaking out. The war god vs Qing Jing’s brawler? SQQ has never beaten LQG in the past but he’s so different now, who knows what will happen!

A crowd gathers around the training field. SQQ and LQG stand in the middle of it, dressed down for a fight. When the bout begins, it’s hard to make either man’s movements- both are going too fast to see! As the fighters begin to slow, the moves becoming clearer… that can’t be right… SQQ is pushing the war god back?!

LQG can’t believe it. Not only is SQQ not resorting to tricks, he also keeps flashing this stunning sincere smile which MUST be some sort of special technique.

A combination grin and sweep to the leg and the war god goes down! SQQ is straddling him, forearm against his neck, panting hard. LQG is tomatoe red- definitely from the exertion and NOTHING ELSE.

The crowd erupts- some cheering, most shouting in confusion. SQQ gets up, offering LQG and hand and clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Nice fight!’ He says, as true as the sun rises in the east with his eyes in happy crescents, sweat on his brow, pink dusting his cheeks.

LQG qi deviates right there on the field.

[nottswitch]

꒰ you give cult leader!theo a blowjob during a sermon ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, cult dynamics (duh), power imbalance, religious terminology, public blowjob, mentions of gagging, praise

a/n: hello, hi. here i am, with probably my favourite and the most challenging to write au. hoping that y’all will match my freak with this one.

⋆˚꩜｡

the whole main area of the temple is taut with anticipation as soon as teacher theodore walks onto his podium. he sits down onto his black leather chair, raising his hand to silence everyone, although it’s already pretty quiet – but now even the smallest of whispers die down. his calm gaze slowly drifts over the room, making every single one of your fellow believers shiver, and you’re no exception. you watch with awe as the man scans the room, and eventually, his fascinating blue eyes land on you.

"you, my dear," he drawls, his voice enveloping you like the warmest blanket and simultaneously igniting a fire inside your body that not a single soul can put out except for him. "come here."

excitement nearly bubbles over in your stomach as you stand up from the floor, trying to keep your legs from trembling – you have to show him that his choice tonight is worth it, that you’re worth the grace he’s shown you. as you approach him, you can feel the stares of others burning into your back, but you don’t mind them, you barely even notice – your entire being is filled with theodore, him, him, him.

your reverent eyes never leave his face as you kneel between his spread legs and kiss the back of his hand, your hands obediently resting on your thighs as you wait for your cue. you can’t help clutching the fabric of your white robe just a little as you feel the heat starting to spread in your stomach – but it’s all about him right now, and it always is.

theodore looks down at you, his gaze lingering on your awestruck face, and nods. giving your best to staying collected, you nod in return and lift your hands up to unbuckle the belt of his trousers. theodore watches you for a moment longer, and then his attention shifts to the room filled with the rest of the disciples. his soothing voice begins to waft through the air like silk and honey combined, and you try not to get completely lost in it. you have to focus. you have a task.

as quietly as you can, you pull the zipper down, then his trousers and briefs. his cock is already half-hard, which makes you simultaneously salivate, and your chest fill with pride – usually, the other girls and guys have to work a bit to get him to this state. you don’t know if it’s your luck, but you wouldn’t dream of questioning it; it’s your first time being picked for the pleasure purpose, and you’re determined to make a good impression in hopes of becoming a new favourite.

you lean in, your breath ghosting over theodore’s skin, and notice his cock twitch at the sensation. even the smallest movement makes you preen, but you try not to get lost to your selfishness. your hand comes up to grab him at the base, and you feel him harden more, his cock now standing straight in your hold. he’s so big – you’ve been dying to get a taste ever since you first saw it, but have been patiently waiting for your turn until now.

your tongue sticks out to lick a wet stripe up to the tip, where your lips wrap around it. you give an almost tentative swirl, knowing that you can’t rush – the sermon can last up to an hour, and you have to draw it out until the very end. you don’t want to disappoint the teacher. you starts sucking in the tip, and your mind fills with the overwhelming sense of adoration – you still can’t believe that you’re the one given the honor of pleasing theodore tonight.

you fail to register the words he’s saying, which makes your cheeks heat up with shame – just because you’ve been chosen doesn’t excuse you from taking in the preachings. yet you can’t help yourself – his cock fits too good in your mouth, like it was made to slide right in and out. as you take him deeper, the tip hot and pulsating against the roof of your mouth, a wave of tingles washes over your belly. your hand itches to drop down between your legs, but you’re fully aware it’s not allowed. if you’re good and lucky enough, teacher theodore will give you release after the sermon is over. until then, he’s the center of your world.

as the minutes pass, your jaw starts to hurt a little from being stretched to its absolute limit around theodore’s thickness. your head slowly bobs up and down, the slick sounds of your saliva coating his cock quiet enough not to disturb the sermon, yet you’re sure the entire temple can hear them. this knowledge makes you proud of yourself yet again – they know, they should know that you’re the one making theodore feel good at this moment. you know you shouldn’t feel possessive of your teacher, yet you allow yourself the weakness, even if only deep inside your soul.

when theodore’s hand lands on the top of your head, you know it’s a sign. the sermon is close to an end, which means you have to speed up. a bit too excited, you take him in fully, making the tip of his cock suddenly hit the back of your throat. you gag, immediately knowing that you shouldn’t have – your eyes flicker up, meeting theodore’s ocean blue ones, and his eyebrow is raised. you’re unsure if it’s a sign of disapproval or amusement, for his expression is usually hard to read. you can’t apologize – you’re filled with him to the brim, but when his attention shifts back to the crowd behind you, you take it as a sign to continue.

you taste the saltiness of precum soon enough, and you can only hope that the timing is right. theodore’s hand tightens a bit in your hair, signifying the fact that he’s close – and he doesn’t stop you, meaning you’re doing a good job. your pace picks up, saliva dripping out of the corners of your mouth as his length disappears into the tightness of your mouth over and over again. you gag again, yet at this point it doesn’t really matter – theodore’s cock starts throbbing, and the warmth of his seed coats the walls of your throat. his voice never falters above you, but you can feel the way his fingers dig into your scalp, and it’s the most pleasant sting you have ever felt on your body.

as you lick him through the orgasm, throughly cleaning him up, theodore closes the sermon, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. you don’t dare to pull away until he tugs at your hair, his other hand softly caressing your chin, lifting up your face. you look up, your eyes filled with endless devotion. theodore takes in the sight of your swollen lips, your jaw which hangs slack due to being open for so long, your glassy eyes that are nearly tearing up, and his gaze softens.

"you did well, darling. very well," he murmurs, and your heart grows a few sizes too big for your chest. you did well. his praise is all you could ask for yet could never dream of.

"meet me in my room in ten minutes. you deserve a reward, my dear."

if you weren’t on your knees already, they would surely buckle. you nod, accepting his invitation for what it is; you know the others will notice you heading to his house on the grounds later, and it fills you with a sense of accomplishment. it’s rare to earn yourself an honor of getting a reward from the teacher, and it certainly feels like a win. maybe, just maybe you could become a new favourite, after all.

au. more.

[astrologysaysno]

[Hi, Hello, like 8 people wanted more of what I wrote about Strange Omega Qinghua so I guess I'm delivering on that]

[The Prequel]

To Shang Qinghua, scenting is a useless phenomena.

He understands it theoretically. It's the process in which an item is marked with the pheromones of an individual to indicate an underlying social context.

The problem is, he has no idea what it's actually like.

Despite his omega status for his secondary gender, he has never actually participated in the process. Being scent blind, the smell of pheromones is something he is unaffected by, and as something that's so key in the use of social interactions, it forces Shang Qinghua to really be able to understand other cues to give a tell on how things work.

For the major characters, he doesn't need a tell. He has wrote them down with painstaking detail, dedicating chapters and paragraphs and enough words that it would make a novel feel like a drabble in comparison. He can see the twitch in Liu Qingge's hand whenever he wants to hunt, the movement Shen Jiu's fan does when he's pissed, and the way Yue Qingyuan's smile becomes a little more lifeless whenever the Qing Jing Peak Lord passes him silently.

For the characters he didn't write, he sometimes fumble. He can't smell them sometimes when they hide their anger but after years of practice, he can tell when they're mad.

It was what made him advantageous when it came to deals. Though he could never tell when a merchant was happy with the deal or not, he would be unable to be intimidated by scent. The scent of particularly aggressive suppliers who uses their scent to pressure their business partners into agreeing to a more lucrative agreement find trouble with Shang Qinghua, he simply sits casually, as if the room that is heavily intoxicated with the scent of danger was only a figment of your imagination.

But scenting itself is an instinct, an instinct that Qinghua does not have. Sure, he can emit pheromones, but it's a rocky attempt at best, and uncontrollable at worst, with the scent of these pheromones coming out at random with no clear way to start or stop. Scenting is an intentional process that relies on a person's innate ability to imbue an object with the smell of them.

It's not like he can smell it anyway.

It's why, despite his Omega status, he has never shared his scent with other omegas. it would be impossible to properly practice normal omegaverse customs without the capabilities to do so.

In my idea of the Omegaverse, people give and mark their scents to each other regularly to indicate their belonging to a pack, whether it be something such as a family, or an organization like Cang Qiong. Many have tried to gift Shang Qinghua these in the form of pillowcases, robes, or accessories.

But ignorant to his own place in the world and the way people feel about him, he takes this as his role on An Ding to be inadvertently assigned as an outer disciple in charge of the laundry; and being charged with the task of becoming the Peak Lord of An Ding by the system, he swallow his pride to take it in stride, washing vigorously and returning them back to the person in pristine and sterile condition.

This has caused strain and even a punch to the face for Qinghua, with him wrongly assuming it was simply his destiny to be mistreated. Of course he's treated like dirt, ut's probably why he became a traitor in the first place. Time passes, and he slowly gets less and less of these gifts and continues his unprecedented distance to the people of his peak.

Maybe it was why it was so easy for the people in the caravan to throw him to the man who would one day be his demise, a sacrifice for a world that values the people of their pack so highly, that seems to place such a significant weight over protecting their own.

(He hears the whispers that pity him, that suspect him, that makes guesses on why he survived, all of which center around his distance. That the demon had came for Cang Qiong specifically and his detachment gave him an out to lie about his allegiance and pass himself off as a bystander who was just unfortunate enough to be there. He seems pitiful enough, why not let him live.)

Maybe it's also why Mobei-jun has such a hard time trusting him for so long. You would assume from a man that said he would dedicate his entire life to you, that he would give everything to be your servant, he would be unashamed in being part of your pack. That he would show a visible attempt at indicating that. Pride for your pack is important in such a territorial world.

He's grated that his subordinate seemingly refuses to show his loyalty by keeping his scent, that whatever he has marked will be scrubbed into sterility.

(Shang Qinghua was once asked by his fellow disciple what that scent was, and it clicked pretty fast that Mobei-jun was marking his things. He stays up late and scrubs and replaces everything regularly, praying that the system gives him a hand if it wants the plot to stay on course.)

[xi4oyan]

Hello, good morning or goodnight?

I have a request for you if it is okay?

Lmk/JTTW (you choose whatever feel better to write) X Isekai'd! Reader. Reader is from our world and whom watched/read multiple times lmk/JTTW, and so when they got Isekai'd, they decided to stay far away from the main cast, as to not disturb the story..., but they get to the shenanigans of the show/book and they become a little 'suspicious' to other, Reader act like a mysterious 'Oracle' seemingly knowing what would happen, they do stay in the back and now this is the story of how things happen??? Maybe have something about 'coming' back to their world? Oh! Could they be a mythology fan? Idk, I let you decide!

Hope you like ♡

You were never supposed to be here.

Not in the middle of lands that only existed in yellowed pages and glowing screens, nor among names that were merely words woven into ancient stories. But when the light shattered and the ground beneath your feet ceased to be solid, you knew that the impossible had torn itself open before your eyes.

And now you were here, in the world you had read and watched countless times. The universe of Journey to the West unfolded before you, along with the unsettling certainty that you should not interfere.

That’s why you stayed away.

The journey of the monk Tang Sanzang and his disciples was not yours to shape. Sun Wukong, Bajie, and Sha Wujing had their paths set, and any interference from you could be a disaster.

But the world is not kind to those who know too much.

Rumors began to spread. A traveler who belonged to no known kingdom, who whispered prophecies into the wind, predicting disasters and twists with impossible accuracy. People called you "Oracle" a name you did not choose, but one that was given to you like a crown of thorns.

You never introduced yourself to the protagonists, yet circumstances seemed to pull you into the threads of the narrative, as if destiny itself refused to be avoided. Small interactions became inevitable—a veiled warning to a merchant about an impending storm, a subtle piece of advice to a soldier about to make a fatal decision. Small deviations, yet enough to draw suspicious eyes.

And then, a pair of golden eyes finally met yours.

Sun Wukong was not one to accept unresolved mysteries. A king wise in his cunning, a warrior impossible to deceive. He watched you from a distance, like a predator studying its prey, trying to decipher what you were.

"Who are you?" he asked when he finally closed the distance between you.

And that was the question you feared the most. You were an echo of a world that did not belong here. A foreigner among legends.

But Sun Wukong was not someone who accepted evasive answers. He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting with challenge and curiosity.

"Why do you keep running from me?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Always at the margins, always watching. You knew this village would be attacked before the bandits even arrived. How?"

You opened your mouth, but no answer seemed right. How could you explain that you knew this story better than the very land beneath your feet? That every detail, every movement of his, was already familiar to you from another life?

"Maybe I'm just good at noticing patterns" you tried, averting your gaze.

Sun Wukong laughed, a sharp, wild sound. "Patterns, huh? Then tell me... what will my next move be?"

The challenge was set. You knew him too well not to predict his natural impulse to test limits. And despite all the caution you had taken, you couldn't stop the quiet laugh that escaped your lips.

"You’re going to try to catch me off guard," you said, crossing your arms. "You'll move fast, trying to throw me off balance. But I already know that."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a blur of movement, Sun Wukong lunged. You felt the wind split around you, but already expecting the attack, you dodged by a hair’s breadth. He stopped just a few steps away, his expression flickering between surprise and satisfaction.

"Interesting," he murmured, a smile forming. "I think I like you, Oracle. Let’s see just how far your 'wisdom' can take you."

You let out a sigh, trying to ignore the sharp gaze studying you with renewed intensity. "It’s not wisdom, it’s observation."

"Ah, but observation is also power." Sun Wukong leaned in closer, his tail lazily swaying behind him. "And you seem to have plenty of that power. Maybe even too much."

The tone was playful, but there was a thread of seriousness behind his words. You weren’t sure if he was provoking you or probing your mind like a swordsman testing his blade against an unknown opponent.

"And what if I don’t want to play your game?" you asked, crossing your arms.

His smile widened, sharp and challenging. "Then you’ve already lost."

Before you could respond, he turned on his heels and started walking, glancing over his shoulder. "Come, Oracle. I have many questions, and you have some answers. Who knows? We might even have some fun in the process."

You hesitated. The wind tugged at your cloak as if urging you forward, whispering that you had already crossed the threshold—that there was no turning back now.

Sun Wukong didn’t wait. His steps were light but deliberate, each one echoing a thousand years of rebellion and triumph. You followed, not because he asked, but because something deeper—older—pulled you in his direction.

He led you through a winding path that skirted the village’s edge, where the trees grew denser and the world seemed to hush. The golden light of late afternoon filtered through the leaves, casting him in warm, shifting patterns of sun and shadow.

"Do you always walk like you carry the weight of fate on your shoulders?" he asked suddenly, glancing sideways without stopping.

You gave him a dry look. "Do you always talk like you're trying to get under someone's skin?"

He grinned. "Only when the skin is worth getting under."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a faint smile.

As the trees parted, you saw a small clearing ahead, where the grass grew tall and wildflowers leaned lazily toward the sun. Wukong dropped to the ground with all the grace of a falling leaf and gestured for you to sit.

"So," he said, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. "You know things you shouldn't. You speak like a scholar, fight like a shadow, and dodge questions better than demons dodge heaven’s wrath."

You sat opposite him, legs crossed, fingers absently brushing the ground. "And yet here I am, being interrogated by a monkey king in a field of flowers."

His laughter was low and amused. "You’re not what I expected. Most people either revere me or fear me. You look like you’re trying very hard to do neither."

"Respect doesn’t require worship," you replied. "And fear only works when I don’t already know how the story ends."

That silenced him for a moment. His golden eyes narrowed, the playfulness flickering into something more thoughtful.

"You really *do* know how this all ends, don’t you?"

You looked away, letting your gaze rest on a single bloom swaying in the breeze. "I know the shape of it. But stories are like rivers. They follow a path—until something changes the current."

"And you," he said, voice softer now, "are the current."

You met his eyes again. "So are you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you stretched taut with something unspoken—recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

Then Wukong leaned back on his elbows, smiling like the sun itself had whispered a secret in his ear. "Alright, Oracle. Let’s play this game of yours. Tell me what happens next."

You raised an eyebrow. "You won’t like it."

"Since when have I ever cared about that?" he replied.

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder his request with the weight of a thousand stars.

"Alright," you said slowly. "Next, you try to impress me with some exaggerated tale of your past heroics."

Wukong blinked. "Exaggerated? *Me*? I am the pinnacle of truth and modesty."

You snorted. "Sure. And I’m a silent monk."

"Then this is clearly a miracle," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "A monk who talks back? Truly, the heavens must be shifting."

You shook your head, but laughter escaped you before you could stop it. He beamed at the sound.

"There it is," he said. "That laugh. I was beginning to think the Oracle was carved from stone."

"Just trying to maintain the mystery," you replied, smirking.

"You’re doing terribly at it."

The breeze danced around you, the sunlight weaving gold into his hair. For a moment, he looked less like the fabled Monkey King and more like a boy caught mid-mischief, glowing with the satisfaction of making you smile.

"Tell me something, Oracle," he said, voice dipping a little lower. "Do you always hide behind riddles and half-truths? Or is that just for me?"

You hesitated, surprised by the shift in tone.

"Maybe I just like keeping you guessing," you murmured, suddenly aware of how close he’d leaned.

Wukong’s grin turned lopsided, his eyes gleaming. "You’re lucky I like puzzles. Especially the ones that talk back and smell like stardust."

You stared. "...Did you just flirt with me using the phrase smell like stardust?"

"I did," he said proudly. "Was it effective?"

You covered your face with both hands. "This is the exact chaos I was trying to avoid."

"And yet, here we are."

He plucked a flower from the grass and offered it to you with a dramatic bow.

"For you, my mysterious stardust-scented puzzle. May your prophecies remain vague, and your smiles frequent."

You took the flower with a reluctant smile. "You’re impossible."

"I am legend," he corrected with a wink.

You laughed again—louder this time—and in that moment, the world felt lighter. Maybe fate wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was something you could laugh with. Or at.

Especially if it came wearing a golden crown and a grin too sharp to be trusted.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Ah, there you are!"

Bajie’s voice echoed across the field, loud and impatient, like someone who had just lost a bet. The pig-warrior was trudging up the hill with the expression of someone thoroughly unimpressed by the scenery—or the company.

"Sun Wukong, you disappeared again! The master’s getting restless."

"He survived five hundred years without me. He can wait five more minutes," Wukong replied without even turning around. "Besides, I found something interesting."

Bajie’s gaze landed on you. He frowned. Then raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. *This* is the mysterious figure everyone’s whispering about? The one that speaks prophecies to the wind and appears from the shadows?"

You opened your mouth to deny it—but Wukong beat you to it.

"Yes. And she also knows when you’re about to steal Master’s buns again. Spoiler: he’s going to catch you this time."

Bajie paled. "How does she know that?!"

You crossed your arms. "I have ways."

"That’s witchcraft" Bajie declared, taking a half step back and making a protective gesture with his fingers.

"It’s observation," Wukong corrected with a smirk. "Or maybe enchantment. I don’t know anymore. I am enchanted, for sure."

"Here we go…" Sha Wujing muttered, appearing beside Bajie like a calm shadow.

Tang Sanzang followed closely behind, riding Yulong, the white dragon horse who stared with an expression of quiet judgment. When the monk’s gaze settled on you, there was a pause. He dismounted with serene posture and hands folded, as though he had long been pondering this inevitable meeting.

"So you are the Oracle," he said gently. "The one the villages speak of. The one who knows too much."

You felt the weight of the entire group on your shoulders—the inquisitive gaze of Wujing, Bajie’s suspicion, Yulong’s silent curiosity… and Wukong, beside you, watching with the gleam of someone who had already taken your side.

"I’m not a threat," you said firmly. "I just… observe."

Tang Sanzang nodded slowly. "Then observe by our side. But know this: the road we walk does not accept bystanders. All who travel with us are tested."

"Test number one" Wukong said, spinning on his heels, "survive Bajie snoring."

"Hey!"

"Test number two" Sha Wujing added calmly, "accept that nine out of ten stops will not have hot tea."

"Test number three," Yulong said, speaking for the first time and briefly shifting into his dragon form with a cruel smile, "learn to cope with the constant feeling that we’re all about to die."

You blinked. "...This sounds less like a spiritual journey and more like a cursed adventuring party."

"That’s exactly what it is" Bajie grumbled.

Wukong stepped closer again, leaning toward you with a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

"And yet, you seem like you want to stay."

You looked up at the sky for a moment, as if you could still see the world you came from hidden behind the clouds. Then your gaze returned to the group… and to him.

"Maybe I really am where I’m meant to be."

"Finally" Wukong said with a victorious smile. "Someone sensible in this group of lunatics."

"You are the worst of us all!" Bajie yelled, but by then you were already walking again—toward whatever chaos fate (or you) had in store next.

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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[artificialroux]

maddie swallowed hard, staring at the blood on her hands. if this was survival, then why did it feel like they were already dead?

notes and lore about my yellowjackets oc, she's still currently in development as i wait for s3 to be finished. post layout heavily inspired by @puppybutcher.

MADELINE "MADDIE" SHEPHERD ( lamb drawn to the slaughter. )

played by olivia scott welch

PRE-CRASH

born madeline annabelle shepard, first name derived from the greek name magdalenē, which is associated with mary magdalene, a disciple of jesus who came from magdala.

maddie grew up in wiskayok, in a busy but loving household as the middle child of three sisters, constantly overshadowed by their academic and athletic achievements.

she was raised surrounded by faith. church on sundays, whispered prayers before bed, the quiet presence of religious symbols in her childhood home. it was something her parents believed in fiercely even if they weren't at church every day of the week. something that was supposed to make sense, supposed to make her feel safe, but for maddie faith was never simple.

she wanted to believe—really, truly believe—but it never settled into her bones the way it did for others. she tried. god knows, she tried. she went through the motions, clasped her hands together in prayer, recited the words with everyone else. but deep down, she always had questions. what if god wasn’t really listening? what if he was, and he just didn’t care? what if there was nothing at all? doubt crept into the quiet spaces of her mind, but she never spoke it aloud. because faith was supposed to be unshakable. and maddie? she was always shaking.

at age 12 maddie was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, right as she was entering middle school. it had been building up for years—stomachaches before big events, trouble sleeping, overthinking every little mistake—but it wasn’t until she started having more frequent panic attacks and struggling to focus in class that her parents took her to a doctor.

the diagnosis made sense to her, but it didn’t necessarily make things easier. she wasn’t the type to talk about it much, not wanting to be seen as fragile or difficult. she learned to manage it in her own ways—through routines, distractions, and throwing herself into hobbies—but it was always there, a quiet weight she carried.

spirit in her step, fire in her smile—wiskayok’s heartbeat on the sidelines.

from a young age, maddie was drawn to cheerleading. she loved the way it made her feel—like she belonged to something bigger than herself. she wasn’t the loudest or most outgoing cheerleader, but she had a natural talent for movement and rhythm, and she worked hard to perfect her routines. her sisters would sometimes help her practice, holding her steady as she tried out new stunts or braiding her hair before competitions.

on game days, she especially loved cheering for the girls' soccer team, the energy of the field fueling her own as she called out chants and pushed herself to keep up with the intensity of the game.

the weight of representing wiskayok was pressing on her shoulders—but even then, she never imagined it would be the last time cheerleading truly felt like her world.

maddie hadn’t expected to go to nationals. only a few of the senior cheerleaders were chosen to accompany the soccer team, and with so many girls ahead of her, she figured she’d be cheering from home. but when the final list was announced, her name was there. it felt unreal—one last big trip with the team before graduation, a chance to prove herself on a bigger stage.

she was nervous, excited, ready. boarding that plane, all she could think about was the game, the routine, the thrill of it all. she never imagined none of it would matter.

WILDERNESS

i don't belong here.

the first thing maddie registers is the heat. it rolls over her in waves, thick with smoke, stinging her eyes before she even opens them. something heavy is pressing into her chest, making it hard to breathe. the air smells like burnt plastic and fuel—and blood, and she hears muffled screams all around her. she blinks, vision swimming. everything is sideways. the world has tilted. the seatbelt digs into her ribs, keeping her suspended at an unnatural angle. maddie chokes back a sob, throat tightening with panic.

the screaming is getting louder. she has to move. her hands fumble with the seatbelt, fingers numb and shaking. the buckle won’t—fucking—budge. her breath comes too fast, too shallow, she can’t breathe, she can’t—then it snaps open. she falls forward, catching herself against the seat in front of her. her limbs feel like they belong to someone else, unsteady and sluggish as she stumbles into the aisle. bodies. so many bodies. some still, some barely moving, some missing parts that should be there.

after the crash, most of the few cheer members were killed on impact because they were sitting towards the front of the plane, either from the plane breaking apart, being thrown from their seats, or being crushed under wreckage. maddie stands frozen in shock after running out from the plane—she now was completely alone in a group that wasn’t hers to begin with.

she saw reminders of the other cheerleaders in the wreckage—a stray pompom, a crushed megaphone, a jacket that belonged to one of them—and it made her queasy. this makes her relationships with the soccer girls more complicated. she has no one who truly understands her old world, so she either has to integrate with them or be left behind. it pushes her toward lottie’s influence later on—looking for purpose in all the senseless loss.

maddie clung to scraps of warmth as the wilderness unraveled her.

maddie becomes closest to lottie in the wilderness. while she connects with others, lottie is the one who soothes her anxieties in a way no one else does, offering a strange but undeniable sense of comfort. their bond deepens during doomcoming when lottie quietly braids some strands of maddie’s hair—just like her sisters used to do for her. it’s a small but intimate gesture, one that makes maddie feel seen in a way she hasn’t since the crash.

after the crash, her faith became something else entirely. at first, she prayed like never before. desperate. hollow. raw. she begged for a rescue, for warmth, for safety, late at night when no one could hear. she prayed for the souls of the ones they lost, even the ones they had to eat. but the more time passed, the more survival demanded of them, the more god felt like silence. she watched as lottie’s influence grew, filling the void where faith had once lived.

maddie wanted to resist, wanted to hold onto what little she had left of the faith she grew up with. but she was tired. she was hungry. and she was afraid that if she let go, she’d have nothing left. so she followed. not blindly—not like the others—but because she needed something to hold onto. maybe lottie was right. maybe there was something in the wilderness watching over them. maybe faith wasn’t about god at all. maybe it was about survival.

but even then, doubt never fully left her. it was always there, lingering beneath the surface. a quiet, gnawing thing in the back of her mind. because if there really was something out there—if something was listening—then why did it demand so much from them? and if it wasn’t god, then what the hell was it?

the lamb wasn't ready, but the wilderness was.

after weeks of winter, food runs dangerously low, and the group begins to truly fear starvation. the tension has been building for weeks, whispers of sacrifice hanging in the cold air. maddie, already weighed down by guilt and a growing sense of detachment, starts to believe she is meant to be the one to go. she tells herself it would be easier this way—that if she gives herself up, maybe the others will survive, maybe the wilderness will be satisfied. she offers herself to be eaten instead of participating in the hunt. the guilt of survival, the desperation, and lottie’s growing influence all collide in that moment—she truly believes it’s the only way to atone.

but when the others refuse, when even lottie hesitates, she’s forced to keep living, to reconcile with the fact that she’s not ready to die. because now, she isn’t just surviving—she’s waiting. for what, she isn’t sure. but the wilderness isn’t finished with her yet. this changes her, deepens the conflict within her—between faith and fear, between surrender and survival.

ADULT TIMELINE

played by victoria pedretti

she tried to outrun the wilderness, but in the end, it was always waiting to take her back.

maddie had spent years convincing herself she’d left the wilderness behind. she built a life that was quiet, structured—something she could control. a career helping children, a marriage she thought was love, a world where the past couldn’t reach her. she had been young when she married him, blinded by devotion, desperate for something safe, something certain. but love turned to control, affection to manipulation, and soon she found herself trapped in a life that felt just as suffocating as the wilderness.

by the time the yellowjackets returned to her life, so had the unraveling of everything she had tried to build. the divorce was already in motion, a bitter, drawn-out fight that left her feeling hollow. but that emptiness was nothing compared to what came next. the hunt. the blood. the whispers of the forest that had never really let her go.

at first, she tried to hold on, to remind herself that she wasn’t that girl anymore. but the more the past unraveled around her, the more she felt it creeping back in. the fear. the hunger. the aching knowledge that some things were never meant to stay buried.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Implied Murder, Captivity, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Undressing, Bathing Together

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You've learned to count how long Moze takes to wash his hands when he returns home.

A minute, and everything is fine. At least as fine as things can be, considering the bizarre circumstances you're living in. Sometimes you pinch yourself at random, believing you must be living in some everlasting nightmare—the man you met only in brief, fleeting moments over the course of months kidnapped you.

It could be worse, you think to yourself as you begin ticking off the seconds. One, two, three, four, five...

When Moze took more than one minute to wash his hands, you began to let your mind sail off into seas of uncertainty. Perhaps he was sent on a mission to dispatch some Disciples of Sanctus Medicus or clear out the remaining Borisin.

Maybe he killed a friend or relative.

When thoughts like those come, you try to clear them from your head like grime from your hand, but the ideas are like blood from a deep, chronic wound. No matter how much you washed and scrubbed, trying to clear your thoughts, you couldn't escape the constant trickling anxiety.

...thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one...

Giving up on quelling your dread, you slide off the bedside you're sitting on and walk over to a small shelf on the opposite side of the room. A row of random books lie on the wooden shelf, ranging from traditional Xianzhou poetry to encyclopedias of espionage. When you had woken up in the bedroom, there had been nothing. It wasn't until a few weeks into your confinement that Moze brought a stack of books home, silently depositing them on a small table in the kitchen.

It would have been a kind gesture, if you hadn't been blubbering the previous day about how terrified you were, and how you felt you were going crazy with nothing to do. So fearful that you were talking to nobody. Or so you thought.

...eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine...

The sound of flowing water suddenly ceases. In a moment, Moze has entered the room, not even making the hardwood floors creak as he steps. "I've brought you dinner. Beef noodle soup." Moze's eyes scan you from head to toe with a surgical precision, one that makes you want to shrink away from him. "Wash your hands, and then we can eat."

You nod, and tentatively step towards the door. Moze makes no movements as you walk past, letting your fingertips accidentally graze against his. He smells of nothing, save for the faint, metallic tang of blood.

As you wash your hands, you can see Moze standing behind you in the bathroom mirror, supervising you as you scrub your already-clean skin with a slow, methodical precision. You've learned to spend at least thirty seconds washing your hands, moving over every finger and knuckle with extreme focus. If you didn't, Moze would walk over, chest pressed against your back, and take your hands in his and wash them for you.

Even when you washed your hands as perfect as could be, sometimes the man still insisted on "helping" you.

Dinner is a silent affair. You pick away at your food, ignoring how Moze's eyes are piercing into your skull. Sometimes, you can't help but wonder what pushed him to do all of this. For a man who you've come to regard as extremely efficient and forward, his decision to take you prisoner is quite contrary to his personality. Not only that, but he refuses to tell you why he's done it. You've tried to decipher any sort of plausible answer to that question, to the point where you've wondered if you accidentally committed some sort of unforgivable crime, and this—the everlasting dread—is your punishment.

After dinner comes bath time. When he had first corralled you to the bathroom and began to run the water, you thought you were finally being put out of your misery. Granted, the thought of death by drowning made you start to tear up with fear, but at least you knew what was happening. Or, at least you thought you knew. Instead, after filling up the tub with water, Moze's hands went to the hem of your shirt. With a single, fluid motion, the assassin lifted the shirt over your head. Despite how you shrieked, Moze simply folded the shirt into a neat square and placed it on a counter.

Tonight follows a similar pattern, though you don't shriek, and your body trembles less as Moze's hands slowly strip you of protection. He gives you a small mercy in how his eyes remain staring into yours, but it doesn't suppress how vulnerable you feel as he lowers you into the warm water.

His hands, calloused with scars, reverently scrub at your skin with a luxurious bodywash, scented a sweet and floral jasmine. Your favorite. Moze says nothing as he continues to wash you. You'd come to understand that he didn't speak to you often unless you spoke to him first.

Part of you wishes he would speak more. Your life feels like it's shrouded in a thick mist, and maybe if Moze would speak a little more, you would have more answers to your questions. But the thought of speaking up makes you nauseous with anxiety. So, you continue to let Moze bathe you in silence.

After deeming you satisfactorily clean, Moze lifts you out of the tub and hands you a fluffy towel. He takes another towel for himself and gets dressed in simple, comfortable sleepwear. Then, he helps you get dressed and leads you through your nighttime hygiene routine. After finishing up getting ready for bed, Moze takes your hand and walks you back to your shared bedroom. Turning the lights off, he settles close to your side. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his gaze pressing against your head like a sharp blade against tender skin.

After what feels like hours, you feel something soft press against the crown of your head. "Goodnight, my dear." The words are whispered, yet they drown out any thoughts floating in your mind. Quickly, you piece together that the sensation you felt was a kiss.

Moze kissed you.

You spend the rest of the night awake, trying to understand why.

[anachronismstellar]

SQH x Original Goods SQQ ;>

ooooooh wait, WAIT I have to think this one

Let's all pretend is not 4 am shhhh

I feel like OG SQQ would be attracted by SQH competence, like a game of cat and mouse or or OH WAIT I KNOW

------

The black and white pieces were carefully organized over the wooden board, the game paused as both peak lords took their time to consider the possible strategies. Shen Qingqiu had been the last one to make a move, capturing one of Shang Qinghua's stones, turning it between his fingers as he took the opportunity to observe the An Ding Peak Lord.

He didn't know how they ended up in this situation. If someone asked Shen Qingqiu when he had started observing Shang Qinghua, he had no exact answer. He knew it hadn’t been during their Head Disciple days, then Shang Qinghua had blended so completely against the wall of yellow robes that Shen Qingqiu could barely remember him during his missions. His best bet would be one of the first meetings as peak lords, Yue Qingyuan still trying to organize twelve egotistical cultivators as each of them tried to grab more missions and more resources for their own peak.

Hah, he would have more luck shoving twelve cats in a bag.

But then, the An Ding Peak Lord stood up, slamming a pile of papers so high it had been a miracle it didn’t fall all over their table.

"May I speak, Zhangmen-Shixiong?" Shang Qinghua had asked after a short but respectful bow, flipping his sleeves in a circular motion to wrap them around his arms in a graceful movement. The he proceeded to metaphorically and literally grab all of them by the scruff of their necks, organizing their speaking order, cutting their speeches short with a no nonsense "Thank you" every time they spoke beyond their scheduled time.

"We can stop here for today," Yue Qingyuan said with his brows slightly up, not able to hide his surprise when they finished things before dinner time. "Thank you, Shang-Shidi, for your help."

"Of course, Zhangmen-Shixiong," Shang Qinghua answered, but Shen Qingqiu could see his mind was already somewhere else, rushing to get to the door before anyone else.

Since then he couldn't help but keep an eye on yellow robes passing by, eager to hold the other for a conversation, to pick on his brain.

He blinked, coming back to his bamboo house by the soft sound of rustling silk and jade against wood as Shang Qinghua made his move, holding back a frown.

"Either play properly or leave," Shen Qingqiu said as he took another white stone from the board, putting it a bit too forcefully on his little pile on the table.

"Ah sorry, sorry, Shen-Shixiong, I'm having issues with a special ink shipment, and then Mu-shidi asked for a flower that I know he knows it only grows during winter and it's summer-"

"Stop blabling," he sighed as he looked up, glaring at his ceiling to pray to Heavens for patience. Last time he had lost his temper with Shang-shidi the man had vanished for weeks, leaving Shen Qingqiu without a decent Go player and a bad taste on his mouth. "I have no patience for your mental games today."

And as if by magic the man in front of him transformed, the suck up smile sliding from his face as Shang Qinghua straightened up his posture, the small man growing twice his size as broad shoulders filled his robes properly. "This one apologizes for testing Shen-Shixiong's patience," Then Shang Qinghua slowly twisted his head to the side, cracking his neck followed by a sigh. "I had to spend the morning dealing with Zhangmen-Shixiong, and you know how it is."

Shen Qingqiu let a bitter chuckle escape, sliding his fan open to hide half of his face, knowing full well how good his eyes looked over the painted paper.

"What? Sucking his dick isn't solving the problem?"

The effect was immediate. Shang Qinghua that had decided to take a sip of his tea almost chocked on it, gasping for air for a good minute, face so red one could think he had never written porn in his life.

Oh yes, Shen Qingqiu knew about his little stories too. Shang Qinghua wasn't the only one with spies all over the mountains.

"I- We- It's not-"

"Oh, spare me," Shen Qingqiu scoffed, lazily fanning himself, as he gave one last glance at the board, mourning their forgotten game. Shame, it was so difficult for them to meet up for a match. Of course Yue Qingyuan had to spoil even this for him. "You might be able to lie to those buffoons Wei Qingwei and Liu Qingge, but I have two perfectly functioning eyes. Also, there are so many late night meetings one must attend before it gets excessive."

It was good to see that red suited Shang Qinghua just as much as yellow. And Shen Qingqiu had to use all his will to not laugh as the other peak lord did his best to recompose himself, all in vain.

"My real question is... And I know I will regret the answer," Shen Qinggiu raised his hand to stop the new barrel of excuses so he could finish speaking. "How ih the all realms did that start. Did he offered you a holiday of some kind? Or maybe he wanted to thank you for dealing with Liu Qingge last stunt, Heavens knows you deserve a raise for that."

Again, Shen Qingqiu wasn't expecting a real answer. In fact, he wasn't expecting an answer at all, the way Shang Qinghua was blushing, the An Ding peak lord was about to faint or run away before Shen Qinggiu could snap his fan closed.

What he did get, however, was a muffled string of words, followed by a groan and a whine. Peharps he had hit the mark with one of his hypothesis? Now, things have gotten even more interesting.

"Speak plainly, Shidi, you know I can't stand mumbling."

"He complimented my hands!" Shang Qinghua squaked, his voice so high it had scared the poor birds on the garden.

There was a beat of silence as Shen Qingqiu waited for the rest of the explanation, barking a laugh when nothing came.

"That's it? Is it that easy to make you open your legs?"

"Oh shut up, Shixiong, you say that as if you wouldn't do it too!"

That, was crossing a line.

Shen Qingqiu never had to explain himself or his hatred for Yue Qingyuan to the other peak lord, it was if Shang Qinghua knew somehow that they shared a past. That was another thing that drove them together, the fact that Shang Qinghua was able to keep his mouth shut, even when he could use it for his own gain.

"Shixiong, I'm so sorry I-"

"Do tell," he interrupted what was for sure about to be an emotional moment for both of them, lips pressed thin in a frown, making sure to send his best murder glare to the man in front of him. "What compliment did our steemed Zhangmen-Shixiong could have used to conquer the slippery An Ding Peak Lord?"

He could see Shang Qinghua's brain working a way to escape the situation, his eyes darting left and right, checking all the exists of the small house. He could also see the moment Shang Qinghua had resigned himself to his fate, shrugging and waving his hands, buying himself time before answering:

"He said I had nimble fingers? And then I panicked and asked if he wanted to see how nimble they were or something, I don't remember and then, well, we, uh-"

"Well?"

"W-Well what?"

"How nimble they are?"

It finally clicked, Shang Qinghua's face going from embarassed to surprised, then interessed as he made a point of putting both hands on the table, slowly tapping his fingers on the top of it, the little tease.

"Would Shen-Shinxiong like to find out for himself?"

Shen Qingqiu felt his mouth drying as a shiver went up his spine. He wanted to scream at himself, to throw Shang Qinghua out of his house and hit him with the Go board on his way out, just out of spite.

On the other hand, he couldn't deny that Shang Qinghua was a handsome man when he put on some effort. Specially when he was commanding a room of peak lords, giving orders left and right, so sure of his information and knowledge that they had no other choice but follow.

How would that be...

"Follow me, Shidi," he got up in a measured movement, holding back his excitement as he guided them towards his room. Time to see if not only what those fingers could do, but also to put that smart mouth for better use than fumbling excuses.

And just as he had done many times before, Shang Qinghua surprised him once again, making Shen Qingqiu scare the birds with an entirely other type of screams.

------

This got,,,, Insanely long holy shit.

Also, it's kinda a continuation of the SQH/YQY ask?? dshiufhdsuifhui

I hope you liked!!! Thank you for the ask it was a blast to write it!!! :DDDD

[disciplemakingchurches]

How Micro Churches Help People Grow in Discipleship

Discipleship allows individuals to stay connected on the spiritual path by believing in Jesus Christ's teaching. The micro church basically is a church form that is built by discipleship to lead the faith of God in everybody's life. Having the micro church in everybody's life makes life easier by believing in faith and humanity.

In Microchurch, there is a small community of people who promote spiritual beliefs in everybody's life. These churches believe that any individual can believe in a spiritual movement by putting in all their effort. In this blog, we will discuss some of the roles of discipleship and microchurch.

How Discipleship Raises The Attention Of Micro Chruch

Discipleship helps the individual to grow on the path of spirituality and follow the teachings of Jesus Christ, which make a positive impact on daily life. Discipleship focuses on building a small community.

Provide Personalised Attention: The disciple provides one-to-one attention towards the person and makes a positive impact by giving personalised attention by conducting the session micro church.

Focus On Mission

The discipline focuses on their goals to provide full services to the person, change their perspective regarding life, and deliver a speech that motivates and focuses on their point regarding life.

Emphasis On Spiritual Growth

The discipleship believes in following the path and delivers in believing to continue the practice of staying connected with God all the time. The discipleship movement helps to deal with emotional health. Discipleship helps individuals positively deal with difficult times.

Another significant aspect of the discipleship movement is its emphasis on outreach and mission work. As disciples grow in their faith, they are encouraged to share the gospel with others, both locally and globally. This outward focus not only expands the church’s influence but also fosters a sense of purpose and mission among its members. Engaging in service projects, community events, and mission trips allows disciples to put their faith into action, resulting in transformed lives and communities.

Benefits of Discipleship

The process of discipleship is rewarding as it brings positivity to a person's life, enabling them to manage the situation easily.

Sharing the Gospel

Discipleship means sharing the gospel and telling others to believe in Jesus Christ by providing the necessary knowledge about the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Build Strong Connection

Discipleship believes in building a strong connection with the community. They provide moral support to others by providing the best guidance and teaching of Jesus.

Transformation And Growth

Disciples truly transform the way of living, as they believe in praying to God. Follow the truth path and navigate through the path of teaching to get peace and a deep relationship.

Supportive Environment

The disciple provides a supportive environment to help other people. It allows people to believe in providing the best results by managing their issues and guiding them to follow the path of Jesus.

Helps in overcoming The Challenge.

It can be challenging to maintain consistency in discipleship while following spiritual growth. To overcome such a problem, discipleship allows clear and focused goals always to follow the path of teaching.

Humility

Discipleship becomes humble to provide the necessary goals and teaching, and provide the basic teaching of Jesus Christ by ignoring the materialistic world.

In Conclusion

The disciple making movement is vital for raising a church that is not only numerically strong but also spiritually healthy. By focusing on relationships, mentorship, and outreach, churches can create a thriving environment where believers grow closer to God and one another, ultimately reflecting the heart of the gospel. Microchurches help individuals to stay connected with God all the time. This church helps small communities to stay connected with other people. Discipleship helps the community to share their problems and remain stress-free about their lives.

[eggluverz]

Dan Feng's disciple! Reader x Dan Heng IL Synopsis Idea: She tried to stop them from taking him away from her, she really did. But Jingliu and Jing Yuan were quick to stop her. She spent so many nights alone... Until she saw him. The man she loved and would give up her life for. She's not letting him slip away from her this time. Thank you~~❤️

AFTER ALL THIS TIME

PAIRING. dan feng x f!reader; dan heng x f!reader

WORD COUNT. 3,741

SUMMARY. you were the great imbibitor lunae's disciple. he trusted you with his life and you with his. but when the time came, you weren't able to save him. what happens when you run into his reincarnation years down the line?

SOF'S NOTE. i had so much fun writing this!! i wrote it 2 days ago now but i just haven't had the time to post it t-t but i'm finally moved into my new place and managed to squeeze this post in <3 i rly rly enjoyed writing this so i hope y'all enjoy reading!! and special ty to the anon who requested this!! ^-^

The art of cloudhymn magic was difficult to master. Even as a high elder yourself, there were intricacies you could not figure out on your own. But you trained daily, practiced in seclusion, and read all the books passed down from the most renowned masters. 

Each day, your knowledge grew. Your natural talents aided you in perfecting your own personalized form of cloudhymn magic.

Still, Dan Feng noticed flaws in your execution. Movements that should be more precise, patterns that should flow more intricately. You noticed him silently watching you on the vast training grounds. He wasn’t much older than you, yet his magic was already intricately refined— The makings of a leader to the Vidyadharas.

He saw great power within you, he told you in passing as he took you under his wing. There was much you could gain from him, he promised. 

Years went by as you studied under Dan Feng. He has many supporters and people who looked up to him, but he only allowed you as his disciple. You were the only one who could rightfully address him as master. 

As he grew in his status as a member of the High Cloud Quintet and later the Imbibitor Lunae, you too grew in your mastery of cloudhymn magic. You were able to learn Dan Feng’s signature combat skill of deflecting iron, making arrows of most enemies fall flat at your feet. But your skill shined in the illusions you were able to create. Not even the Imbibitor Lunae was as skilled in that art as you. 

Your power grew and as such, Dan Feng recognized you as more of an equal than a disciple. Out of respect for all the teachings he imparted on you, you still called him master. There was no way you would reach your level of strength in this short amount of time without someone like him fostering your talents.

Along the way, you found yourself viewing him as more than your master. When he began treating you as someone who matched his power rather than someone with much to learn, you were able to feel confident in all your abilities.

One late night, Dan Feng took you to his sacred training grounds for a sparring session. He had just returned from a stressful battle and while the casualties were low, they were more than he felt comfortable with. 

“If anything happens to me, at least I will know the Vidyadhara will be in good hands,” Dan Feng commended as you blocked the tip of his spear from grazing the base of your neck. 

You quickly shifted your gears from defending to attacking, knowing if you let Dan Feng get too many attacks in, he would be almost unstoppable. Spinning your spear in your hands, you imbued the weapon with water and launched it directly at your master’s chest. 

A normal man would have fallen dead before even realizing you attacked him, but not the Imbibitor Lunae. He sidestepped, the scene appearing like a mirage due to his speed. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you, master,” you scoffed. “You’re the strongest Vidyadhara alive. Not even I could defeat you in battle.”

He hummed, tapping his spear to the back of your neck, signaling you lost this spar. “Battle is not the only way someone can fall.”

Wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead, you sighed, sauntering away from him and back inside his living quarters. “Continuously speaking of your self-proclaimed inevitable downfall is unbecoming of you, master. What would the people think of a disciple who follows someone without faith in his own ability to live?” 

Dan Feng chuckled softly. “A pitiful disciple, is what outsiders would say.” You nodded and he stopped you in your tracks, running his index finger against your jaw. His fingernail dug into the bottom of your chin to lift your head until your burning gaze met his sharp one. “But we never cared much about what outsiders think, did we?” 

You placed your palm against his chest, feeling the detailed fabric of his garments. They were thick yet light, a sign of great craftsmanship that only the highest of elders could afford. You allowed your hands to roam along his body before Dan Feng grabbed your wrist, his long fingers wrapping easily around its circumference. 

He smirked. “Wait until we’re indoors, my beloved.” 

“Yes, master,” you complied with a roll of your eyes before releasing the front of his outwear. You held complete respect for the Imbibitor Lunae, and you revered him as such. But those moments when it was just you and Dan Feng—just you and your partner—you weren’t one to shy away from meeting his biting remarks. 

This night, like many, led to moments of passion on the silken sheets draped over Dan Feng’s mattress. It was a mixture of love, respect, and the intense craving for more. 

Your master, the Imbibitor Lunae, a member of the High Cloud Quintet— Dan Feng was many things. But most importantly, he was yours. 

Until he wasn’t. 

No good thing was meant to last, Dan Feng once said during an endless night of reflection as he laid in bed beside you. Friendships, relationships, entire civilizations, built to be destroyed from the start. 

No good thing was meant to last. But he would fight his damned hardest to ensure they did. 

And for once, his hardest wasn’t enough. 

It was the middle of the night when your living quarters were barged into. You woke with a start and noticed Dan Feng quickly wrapping your robes around your naked body. 

The noises weren’t at the bedroom yet; you heard the thuds from outside and you immediately called for your strongest weapon. Noticing even the slightest of your movements, Dan Feng softly placed his hand on top of yours. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. 

Your eyes widened, wanting to ask what he could’ve possibly been thinking. There was a large group of men outside with hostile intent, did he not want to protect himself from an attack? 

“I am going to see what they need,” he said calmly, pulling you into his arms and leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Please, stay here for me.”

A few members of the High Cloud Quintet—Dan Feng’s closest friends that easily became yours as well—were staying at the guest chambers at the Imbibitor Lunae’s invitation. At the commotion outside, Jingliu came in with a groggy look on her face, tired from being woken up, but not an ounce of surprise in her. 

Dan Feng nodded to her and a silent Jing Yuan that filed in behind her. “Jingliu, Jing Yuan… Make sure she stays out of harm’s way.”

“Of course,” promised Jing Yuan, a soft smile painting his lips despite the sad look in his eyes. 

As he spoke, the doors to the bedroom burst open, a trio of Vidyadhara Preceptors breaking down the defenses you and Dan Feng had set. Your spear was in your hand in an instant and you tightened the knot on your robe with your other hand. 

Dan Feng stood straight in high alert, though his expression remained as one of nonchalance and arrogance. “Can I help you?”

Without a single moment spared for niceties, the Cloud Knights charged in to grab the Imbibitor Lunae. The Preceptors sent chains of rope instead of metal to wrap around Dan Feng. Your eyes blazed as you immediately called upon your cloudhymn magic. Water danced around your spear in sharp droplets, and you pointed it directly at the Head Preceptor. 

He narrowed his eyes in your direction. “Stand down, or you will face the same punishment.” 

“That’s only if you can beat us,” you laughed with disdain. Despite the big group, you were certain you and Den Feng had the ability to hold them off together. 

“Don’t,” Jingliu called out, gently placing her hand on your shoulder. “We can’t help him anymore, Y/N. Not after what he did. Don’t get hurt in the crossfire.” 

You knew what Dan Feng had done. For Yingxing. And you both knew the crime he would have to commit to help his best friend, but you never imagined the punishment would be so severe. A crowd of Cloud Knights and even a group of the Vidyadhara Preceptors here, together, all to subdue the Imbibitor Lunae. 

But it didn’t matter the crimes he committed or the consequences he may have incited through his actions. None of it mattered because he was your Dan Feng. Your master and your lover who you would protect with your entire life. 

Unfortunately, Dan Feng seemed to know that, having gotten Jingliu and Jing Yuan here to hold you back.

Before you could move, Jing Yuan held your arm back and prevented you from using your spear. Your eyes widened in shock. 

“Jing Yuan…?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s too late for Dan Feng, but not for you.”

The Cloud Guards briefly turned their attention towards you and the members of the High Cloud Quintet. Their swords raised as they noticed the fire in your eyes. 

Dan Feng snarled when he saw their focus on you. “If you hurt her, you will all pay,” he warned, his voice a low growl that would’ve made an ordinary man quiver. He began to move his arms in a way that could only be described as the start of a cloudhymn spell and in an instant, all eyes were on him. The ropes tightened, restricting his movement in a way that caused immense pain. 

“I love you,” were Dan Feng’s last words as he was forced out of his own estate. “Take care of yourself, my beloved.”

“Why do you speak as if you’re going to be gone?” you cried, refusing to believe someone as strong as your master could be subdued even by a group as large as this. “I’ll come get you—!”

You felt the sharp point of a sword on your neck as you summoned your spear. The nick was only a warning, but it was enough to draw blood. Your eyes widened and you stilled under the mercy of Jingliu’s weapon. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You cannot.”

Feeling helpless and pathetic, all you could do was fight to not lose consciousness as Jingliu swiftly knocked you out. 

Your eyes drifted open and shut, your hand that was wrapped around your spear instantly loosened and the weapon that contained so much power fell at your side like a dull needle. 

The next time you woke, you were at your own residence. You had left this place to have a sanctuary with Dan Feng. Your sanctuary that was invaded, attacked, and taken from you. 

You went back on forth between two states of mind. One was complete and utter numbness at the loss you suffered. The other was uncontrollable pain and sadness. 

You spent your days and nights crying, refusing to see a single soul. You turned your meals away even when your loved ones begged you to take a bite. There was a hole in your heart at the thought of your master’s punishment. 

In your eyes, Dan Feng’s own best friends betrayed him, betrayed you. And after that night, you knew you would never want to be in contact with any of them again. 

To save a life, to save a friend who no longer regarded Dan Feng in the same light… You never could have imagined the punishment would be forced reincarnation. 

Uncontrollable sobs racked through your body, throat hoarse from the amount of crying you’ve done for weeks straight. It wasn’t only forced reincarnation, but also torture and imprisonment you knew he was facing. 

You had the strongest Vidyadhara alive as a master, yet you failed to learn enough to save him. When it mattered most, you couldn’t help.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. Those thoughts ate you alive before you were able to finally continue on with your life. 

You were no longer a Xianzhou resident. You refused the help the Vidyadhara with any advances in medicine and combat, keeping any profound knowledge of cloudhymn magic that Dan Feng shared only with you to yourself. The Preceptors couldn’t be trusted with anymore power. They had made themselves and enemy to you. As did the Cloud Knights, and inadvertently, the Cloud Knight General himself. 

Still, you tried not to let the hatred consume you. Vengeance would only breed insanity. Your mind would be consumed with sorrow and pain and you would never be able to heal. 

Dan Feng wouldn’t want that. 

You had to continue to live, for the both of you. 

Using your privilege as a Vidyadhara, you were able to travel around to different planets with relative ease. There were so many things to experience, such beautiful things to see—when you weren’t tangled in constant politics and battles. Your only wish was that Dan Feng was here to explore the universe with you. 

There were places where he didn’t need to have the pressure of the world on his shoulders. He wouldn’t be Imbibitor Lunae. He wouldn’t be a member of the famous High Cloud Quintet. Instead, he would just be Dan Feng, and you would get to explore the world as such. 

You wondered if his transition into the modern world would have been as smooth as yours. As you reminisced about your past, a nostalgic smile formed on your face. 

As you walked around this new city, you stared up at the flurries of pink and purple in the sky. The scenery was amazing here. With vast bodies of water and a bustling area of commerce and entertainment on the shorelines, you couldn’t help but look around in awe. Amidst your sightseeing, you felt yourself run into someone, dropping the map you held in your hands. 

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise. “I wasn’t looking at where I was going. I apologize.” 

“I wasn’t looking either,” the stranger said in response, picking the paper map up for you before the wind could sweep it away. “Here you go.”

As he handed you your belongings, you finally managed to get a good look at his face. Surprised by what you saw—what you felt—you accidentally dropped the map once more. 

The man gaped at you before hesitantly reaching down to pick up your map once more. This time, he held it instead of giving it back.

“Would you like your map back?” he asked slowly, this expression unsure.

The memories of the past slammed into you as you looked into his turquoise eyes. The bright green burned into yours. This man in front of you did not have the characteristics of a Vidyadhara. He did not don horns, a tail, or sharp ears like he once did. But there was no doubt in your mind— This was Dan Feng. At least, the person that emerged from Dan Feng’s forced reincarnation.

Tears started flowing down your face as you wondered what to say. Should you even say anything? You didn’t want to lose him again, but you wondered if the man in front of you would even want to get to know you. Dan Feng was a high elder, a powerful one at that. This man must’ve had some dreams about his past life— What if they were bad? What if they were all of the punishment? The crime? What if no part of him remembered you?

As you stood there, stuck in your thoughts, you noticed the stranger staring at the horns on top of your head. Then, at your tears. 

Without saying a word, he seemed to understand. “I’m not him.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt choked up. You knew that. Of course a reincarnation wouldn’t be your Dan Feng. But would it be close enough? 

Shaking your head, you scolded yourself internally. This man is not Dan Feng, he said so himself. And it would be twisted to project the qualities of your lover onto him without even getting the chance to know him.

“I know,” you said sadly, a disdainful smile on your face. “I just…sensed some of him in you.”

He nodded, a guarded look on his face despite the tilt of curiosity from his neck.“What were you to him?”

You smiled sadly, clutching the map in your hands and relaxing again. “His disciple. A close friend,” you said. You gazed into his eyes with an unwavering look. “His partner.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking around the area. You were at the beachside with patches of sand, grass, and pavement lining the ground. “Would you like to sit somewhere and talk?”

Deciding it would be rather tiring for you to stand and talk all day, you agreed with his suggestion. Silently, you walked over to the sand with Dan Feng’s reincarnation in tow and took a seat. The ground was warm and soft as you ran your fingers through the rocky granules.

As you watched the waves crash against the shore, you felt your body relax. Cloudhymn magic often   well with the element, and you found you had a natural affinity towards it yourself. 

After a few moments passed, you figured that, since he wasn’t Dan Feng, it would be rather rude of you not to introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He gazed out into the water before turning his head to you. “Dan Heng.”

Although you attempted to hide your amused grin, you felt the corners of your mouth lifting upwards. “Creative.”

He shrugged, fighting off a smile of his own.

“So, Dan Heng… Do you remember anything about your past life?”

“Some things,” he admitted, resting a palm on the sand behind his back. “None of them are good.”

You frowned. There was no doubt you blamed the Preceptors for that. Dan Feng lived years and years of life, love, and even sorrow. But for his reincarnation to only know him as something negative? That didn’t sit well with you. 

“Although, I have to wonder,” he continued, gazing at you with an inquisitive look in his eyes, “if he was capable of love and partnership, could he be more than the arrogant criminal my memories have painted him out to be?”

You softened. Any hatred he felt towards Dan Feng wasn’t his fault. And he was certainly struggling as Dan Feng’s reincarnation. 

“He was certainly more than a criminal,” you promised. “More than the Imbibitor Lunae, even. Dan Feng was a real person who experiences emotions and feelings, like any other.” 

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. 

“If you want to learn more about him, I’ll always be here for you to ask.”

“And if I don’t?” 

You smiled sadly. “As much as that pains me, it’s your right. Each Vidyadhara can choose how much of their past they want to remember or embrace— Or if they want to start anew completely.”

“I do.”

A long exhale escaped your mouth as thoughts of your past filled your memories. You made no mistake— The man in front of you was not Dan Feng. Dan Feng was deceased, and holding on to any hope would only be futile and lead to more main. 

Instead, the man in front of you was Dan Heng, a reincarnation of Dan Feng. A Vidyadhara who deliberately chose to not incorporate his past life into his current. And that was okay.

“I am remorseful,” you admitted. Dan Heng nodded in understanding. “However, I am comforted knowing his reincarnation is here, and he looks happy. Dan Feng would be happy for you.”

He laughed quietly. “I find that hard to believe.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

“Yes, you’re right.” 

Dan Heng sighed in contemplation, conflict evident in his expression. You weren’t sure what exactly what he was thinking, but you sensed deep turmoil within him. It was only natural, you assumed, after something he had such conviction for was shaken at its very foundation. 

“Do you want to board the Astral Express with me?” he asked hesitantly. 

You blinked at the sudden question. “Pardon?”

“Sorry,” said Dan Heng, clearing his throat. “That was impulsive.” He paused before continuing. “From talking to you, I gathered that maybe you’re being held back by your past, too.”

Your eyes widened in surprised. You didn’t except him to be so blunt. Perhaps he had some similarities to Dan Feng after all. 

“If you’re lost or want a place to call home, maybe you can pay it a visit,” he offered nonchalantly. “We travel the universe and occasionally assist some planets. I have a feeling you’d like it.”

The Astral Express? You wondered how a place like that would be. For so long, you’ve been traveling alone, avoiding the Xianzhou and even some Vidyadhara who might know of your existence as Dan Feng’s disciple and lover. 

A part of you longed for a social connection again— A place to belong. 

After some thinking, you asked, “Do you want me there?” 

“Yes— As Dan Heng though,” he reminded firmly. “Not Dan Feng.”

You laughed in amusement. “Good. I’m interested in getting to know your new life, Dan Heng,” you said, extending your hand out for him to shake. “Thank you for inviting me in.”

He took it gently, his hand lingering on yours even after the handshake was over. “Maybe you can tell me more about Dan Feng once we arrive at the Express. The parts that aren’t so bad.”

The look on his face told you he was genuine. You smiled. “I’d love that.”

Understanding passed between the two of you as you sat there in contentment. The wind whirled around you and the steady sound of the waves soothed your soul. 

“I want to learn about Dan Feng’s life,” concluded Dan Heng, unwavering. “Still, I think it is best if we look forward to making new memories of our own more.”

You nodded in quiet agreement, eyes never leaving his. 

The past was something you held near and dear to your heart. Dan Feng was someone you would always love and respect. But perhaps the future would have more in store for you, if you only allowed it. 

And as Dan Heng smiled his small smile and offered you a hand up from the sand, you thought, This time, you would. 

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Yk what would be interesting?

Shen Yuan as a beast hunter.

Him taking into account SQQ's unstable cultivation, the fact that while he is a suitable actor he's not a perfect one, and promptly deciding on a course of action.

"Zhangmen-shixiong, Qing Jing is the scholarly peak. If we are not hunting down knowledge, and capturing it for the future generations, what kind of scholars would that make us? This master cannot allow such a thing to occur.

So this master will be setting an example for my disciples by going out myself on such an endeavor.

And not only is Qing Jing the peak of scholars, but we are cultivators as well. Is it not our duty to be intercessors between the spiritual and demonic things and the common people?"

Yue Qingyuan can do nothing but agree.

Cut to SY!SQQ hunting down rare and powerful beasts, his hunts taking months, as he stalks the beasts and observes their behaviors; compiling valuable information about countless beasts. He then cleanly kills the beasts, all the valuable parts go to Cang Qiong, usually to Mu Qingfang.

The rare beasts improve SQQ's cultivation base and level by leaps and bounds.

And! He doesn't have to navigate the original goods personal relationships because he's not at CQ! Being a poser is so much easier when you just have to be untouchable immortal.

Whenever SQQ comes back to CQMS it's to drop off a carcass or because he absolutely has to for peak lord business. Otherwise he's always out on some sort of quest.

The Qing Jing Peak Lord's skills shoot up by 100²

His steps are silent, when he's not thinking about it he just fades into the background, continually being on hunts where silence is necessary, being less than a whisper becomes muscle memory.

His gaze isn't only scathing anymore, it's also piercing. He observes everything.

His movements are quick, graceful, full of power and yet incredibly calculated. You can't hit a Blood Blossoming Demonic Hummingbird too hard, or it'll crumple, but if you don't hit it hard enough you'll be an exsanguinated husk.

He also takes to wearing a fur mantle: it's from a Heavenly Moon Snake-Leopard, some poachers had been stalking the Snake-Leopard for months, driving it into madness. SQQ dealt with the poachers of course, but the Snake-Leopard was beyond saving. While unfortunate, the fur is so useful! Warm, water repellent, regenerative, acid resistant, and excellent camouflage! The Snake-Leopard also gifted SQQ its fangs for killing the poachers, and they make impressive daggers.

Qing Jing Peak cannot get enough of this cool badass Shizun who puts even the Liu Qingge to shame when it comes to beast hunting! And whenever he comes back to the peak he has lessons on his hunts! He even brings back specimens!!

Mu Qingfang appreciates Shen-Shixiong's newfound hobby immensely. Not to disparage Liu-Shixiong's contributions, but Shen-Shixiong brought him not one, but TWO intact Yellow Butterfly-Lizard carcasses, liver, wings AND tongue intact! The downside Shen-Shixiong hunting so much Liu Qingge has less to do, which unfortunately means more work Qian Cao, patching up Bai Zhan Disciples. And the Sect Leader seems... Depressed? MQF will have his Head Disciple drop off some Blue Lily of Uplifting tea for him.

Liu Qingge is upset at being benched and very confused???

Yue Qingyuan just smiles painfully. "As long as Xia-— as long as Shen-Shidi is happy..."

(LBH is of course enamoured with his powerful and righteous Shizun)

And of course, SY!SQQ's skills do help him out quite a bit, his reaction time improved drastically, meaning no Without-A-Cure. And canon goes just a bit easier. Maybe.

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Please interact with this chapter.

The chapter will contain inappropriate language and explicit adult content. Minors should not interact.

five seven

SIX (+18)

You fell asleep with Lucius still inside you. He had carried you to his cell, holding you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You do not remember exactly when sleep claimed you, only that now you are waking, still enveloped in his embrace. His cock is throbbing for you.

His warmth surrounds you, his steady breath fanning over your skin. The faint scent of him lingers—a mix of sweat, water, and something undeniably his. For a moment, you simply remain there, pressed against him, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. He appears to be peacefully asleep until you try to pull away from him. He wakes up, you can feel it, his breathing getting heavier. His lips touch your neck, while one of his hands spreads your legs, holding one up and placing the fingers of his other hand touch your clit. Light circular movements on your pussy making it feel wet, biting your lip holding back any sound.

There are no words as you feel him bite your neck as he moves, thrusting his cock into you. You feel your leg go limp as he holds it up, feeling him stimulate you as he thrusts his cock into you. It's slow, sweaty and hot. He licks your neck right above where he bit you while you hold on to his ass, feeling the pleasure of feeling him thrusting his cock in you. You feel his balls slapping against your pussy. You feel your cum running down your leg, soon feeling Hanno grunt close to your ear as he cums inside you.

For a moment, it is as if both of you are trying to catch your breath. Hanno’s hands release your leg gently as he withdraws from you. You climb atop his body, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, brushing over his lips as if memorizing every detail. He takes your fingers into his mouth, sucking them with the same hunger he had shown moments before. Tilting his face to the side, you slide your fingers from his lips, pulling him toward you for another kiss.

"It feels as though the gods are blessing me," he murmurs against your lips.

Your eyes meet his. "What do you mean by that, Hanno?" you ask, shifting slightly atop him, feeling your bodies press together.

"Being with you like this, before I am thrown into that arena, feels like a gift from the gods," he says, cupping your cheeks before placing a brief kiss on your lips.

"Do not fool yourself, Hanno. Even if the gods are blessing you, I am still angry at your recklessness. The gods will not protect you if you act as foolishly as you did before. The emperors will have your head displayed for all of Rome to see. At the very least, they will have your mother’s husband kill you," you warn, your tone grave as you gaze at him.

"Then you need not worry. Next time I wish to kill someone, I will make sure they die," Hanno replies.

You move off him, adjusting yourself to leave. Frustration tightens in your chest—he is playing with fire, and you know he could meet his death in pursuit of vengeance. You do not want Acacius to die, and the thought of Hanno attempting to kill Geta or Caracalla could only end in disaster.

"I can see how tense you are," Hanno remarks as he rises, moving toward you. His hands find your back, his touch firm yet soothing.

"You seem to have a death wish, which makes sense if you are so desperate to reunite with your late wife," you turn to look him in the eye, searching for any trace of his true intentions. Perhaps he truly wishes for death, just to see Arishat again.

"I loved my wife, but I do not want to die, Y/N. If there is one thing I want, it is to live—if possible, by your side," he breathes against your skin before pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his warm breath sending a shiver through you.

You turn and press a soft kiss to Hanno’s lips. You do not know if you will stand by his side in the future, and you have no desire to prolong this conversation.

"Try to stay alive," you say before finishing dressing and leaving. The truth is, you should already be with Emperor Geta. You make your way swiftly to the imperial palace, arriving without delay. Slipping through the corridors, you reach your quarters, feeling an urgent need to cleanse yourself after the events of the night.

There is a designated place near the chambers of Emperors Geta and Caracalla where their companions may bathe. The cool water soothes your body, though a dull ache lingers from the night’s passion. As you dress, the wet strands of your hair brush against your neck, sending a small shiver through you. Despite the soreness, you are undeniably pleased with the night that has passed.

"You deceitful harlot!" The enraged voice of Emperor Caracalla rings out as he storms toward you, gripping a sword in his hand. You barely have time to react before he swings at you. Instinctively, you dodge, heart pounding as you struggle to make sense of what is happening.

"Emperor Caracalla, what are you doing?" you cry out, narrowly avoiding another strike.

"Will you use my brother as you used your husband?" he roars, eyes burning with fury as he lunges again, his blade slicing through the air.

"It takes great courage to accuse someone of a crime you yourself committed, Emperor," you respond, feeling fury rise within you.

"My husband died because he was entangled with you. You took him as your lover, and when you tired of him, you discarded him," you continue, stepping closer despite the risk of being struck. Caracalla's eyes seem unfocused, as though he is somewhere else entirely.

"You never loved him. You have always been a harlot, a whore who lies with men already spoken for, so you may never be bound to anyone," he mutters, stumbling forward, his voice unsteady as he babbles incoherent words.

"Is that what you tell yourself to justify what you have done?" you shout, locking eyes with him. Caracalla looks as though he is on the verge of tears, likely reliving the brutal death of your husband—the spectacle of it, the merciless cruelty.

"What I have done?" Caracalla suddenly begins to laugh, even as tears streak down his face. His laughter grows louder, as though he finds your words amusing.

"You mean, what you have done. You turned Augustus against me—he was mine! I know it was your plan all along, to make him abandon me, forcing my hand so that I would send him to die in the arena. And as if that were not enough, you now lie with the very man who killed him," Caracalla exclaims, lifting his sword toward you.

"I do not know what you are talking about," you reply, lost in confusion. What does he mean? Whom is he speaking of?

"General Marcus Justus Acacius—the man who took you for himself. Did he not tell you? Of course he did not," Caracalla sneers. "But your beloved general was the one truly responsible for your husband's death. Augustus was wounded, but not dead, when he left the arena that day. It was my brother, Emperor Geta, who gave the order for Augustus to be slain. And Acacius… he is the one who saw it done." Caracalla finishes speaking with an air of bitter disappointment, as though it pains him to admit that his own brother ordered the death of the man he loved. A sickening feeling churns in your stomach, as though a dagger has been driven into your very soul. The weight of his words is unbearable. Could it be true?

"Augustus was the best man I ever knew. He saw you, Caracalla, as someone with whom he could be himself. But he knew that by your side, he was doomed. Do not blame me for the fact that he chose me," you say, your voice firm, laced with anger. Acacius or not, Caracalla allowed Augustus to be killed.

You see the fury rise in his eyes before you feel it—his hand striking your face with such force that the taste of blood fills your mouth. Your cheek burns, but before you can react, the cold steel of his sword presses against your neck. You do not move. You are certain this is your end. But then—

"Emperor, if you intend to do anything with that sword, know that it will be the last thing you ever do," a voice cuts through the silence. You recognize it instantly. General Acacius. Looking forward, you see him standing tall, his blade raised, the tip aimed at Caracalla’s back.

"Come to rescue your damsel in distress?" Caracalla sneers, his sword still pointed at you. You feel the blade graze your skin, a sharp sting blooming across your neck.

"You do realize I could have your head for the mere act of threatening to kill me?" he continues, his gaze locked onto yours.

But you cannot respond. Not when Acacius stands before you. Not when the thought that he may have played a role in your husband's death twists like a knife in your chest. It does not seem just. It does not seem real.

"You will have to remain alive to pass judgment on my reckless act, dear Emperor Caracalla," General Acacius replies, his voice steady. Then, his eyes meet yours—eyes that once inspired trust but now hold only uncertainty.

"So be it, General. I shall leave the whore to the murderer of her husband," Caracalla spits before dropping his sword to the ground. As he turns away, he spits at Acacius' face in disdain before striding off.

Moments from now, you will undoubtedly be surrounded by guards eager to avenge their emperor’s humiliation. "Y/N..." Acacius speaks softly, almost tenderly.

"No. Do not say anything," you cut him off, stepping forward and pressing your hand against his lips.

You fear that if he speaks—whether truth or lie—you will be unable to focus on what must be done. Then, without hesitation, you strike him. Your fist collides with his face with all the force you can muster, leaving a gash and a look of utter shock in his eyes.

"By the gods, Y/N!" he exclaims, clearly bewildered.

"Raise your sword against me. When the guards arrive, tell them you saw me and Emperor Caracalla in a confrontation. Say you came to his aid and I attacked you. Emperor Geta has little trust in his brother’s words—use that to your advantage. Arrest me, be the hero. I will craft my own excuse for my dispute with Caracalla." You pick up Acacius’ sword and press the blade against your palm, allowing your blood to stain it.

"What are you scheming?" he asks, his confusion evident. He reaches for your arm, his touch uncharacteristically gentle—but you pull away.

"Saving you. Not that you deserve it, but I will not owe you anything," you answer coldly, bracing yourself for what is to come.

"I cannot let you take this risk for me," Acacius murmurs, hesitating as if torn between duty and something unspoken.

"Do not mistake my actions, General. If I discover that you have lied to me all these years, I will claim your head myself," you declare, your fury unwavering. Acacius does not speak. He does not even attempt to deny it. Then—

"General Acacius!" Emperor Geta's voice roars through the halls. When you take notice, Geta and several guards arrive at the scene. Acacius does as you instructed, pretending to threaten you with his sword.

"What is happening here?" Geta demands, his gaze shifting between you and Acacius.

"Y/N was in a dispute with Emperor Caracalla. I intervened and managed to separate them. The emperor left, claiming he would seek assistance," General Acacius reports, though his expression betrays a hint of unease, as if the words feel wrong even to him.

"Bring chains for the healer. She will spend some time in a cell to reflect on her actions," Geta orders, his voice firm. The guards quickly disperse in search of restraints, leaving only you, Geta, and Acacius.

"General, grant me a moment alone with the healer," Geta instructs, motioning for Acacius to lower his sword. Acacius hesitates, his eyes locking onto yours with something resembling regret.

"As you wish, Emperor Geta," he replies, finally lowering his blade and stepping away—though it is clear that leaving is the last thing he desires. And then, only you and Geta remain.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[bell4donn4]

Like a god - Luke Castellan smut blurb

Tw: masturbation, use of religious imagery, body worship, Luke being lowkey sub

<<take your panties off>> and you did.

You spread your leg open for Luke, who sat inches away from you.

His boxers were down to his knees, cock red and aching for attention.

you touched yourself, immediately moaning at the sensation of your cold fingers on your bare pussy.

He stared at you and every movement you made with a certain hunger in his eyes, like a starved man who’s being denied of a last meal.

He bit his own lip as he watched intently; you looked majestic- divine, almost. Luke assumed that that’s how Eve looked as she bit the apple.

And the feeling he had must have been the same Adam had as he watched his lover sin, moments before following her act.

He palmed himself, restraining from throwing his head back. He needed to see everything. He couldn’t let himself look away, not even for one second. He wanted to print the sinful image inside of his mind, he never wanted to forget.

He would’ve damn himself if he lost one your moans- one of the disperate whispers you made as you pushed two fingers in.

What a turn, for a good boy like him. The Camp’s golden boy sneaking around after curfew to consume his fantasies. You made him give in to his darkest desires.

His hips bucked forward, and in that moments his mind was emptied from thoughts. Finally feeling free from the constant pressure of the role he had, and from the cruelness of his absent Father. Of the God who created him.

If he could, he would’ve made you his God. He would’ve made altars and temples to worship you; A much more deserving creature.

He would’ve dedicated his whole life to you,like people did to Gods.

He would’ve prayed to you ever night.

But in fact, he did. To him, looking at you, touching you, making love to you felt like a rite, like a prayer.

A tail old as time, he liked to imagine the filthy things you did as that; a sacred action.

<<you look so beautiful>> he whispered.

And you nodded, taking in the compliment, speeding up.

He did as well, teasing his own self, torturing his angry tip.

The cabin was full of sounds, of short breaths and mumbled words.

The nonsense filled the silence.

<<you look so good too Luke- so god damn good>> you said, and it filled him with pride, making him almost chock.

He craved you more than anything else in the world, yet, he didn’t dare to touch you. That’s not what he needed in that moment, not what he wanted.

Luke has always wanted to feel seen, to feel safe and loved, and sitting at your feet, like a Christian sits at the feet of the Cross was enough for him to feel exactly that.

You, his God, stared at him like Jesus would stare at his disciples.

<<Y/n- I’m- >>

You nodded frenetically, your own orgasm getting closer and closer by the second.

<<yes! cum for me Luke>> you said, not as a demand, not as a order. You were so good to him, always merciful, always lenient; never mean, never demanding.

He came fast, as soon as you asked.

He complied at all of your requests, like a good follower does. He came, smearing his load in his own hand and on his stomach.

You did the same right after, a lewd moan leaving your mouth.

He still stared at you, chest rising and falling down at a fast pace, waiting patiently.

<<you did so good Luke>> your voice was broken by the fatigue.

<<t-thank you- ah- >>

[boobabietch]

Like a prayer | Paige Bueckers x reader

Warnings: porn without plot, oral sex (P receiving), religious themes (not trying to offend anyone)

A/N: just a quick little blurb I thought while listening Like a Prayer from Deadpool and Wolverine lol. English is not my first language so if you see something wrong tell me so I can change it ASAP. Likes, reblogs and comments(!!!) are appreciated, and my ask box is always open, with any other thing to say, enjoy. Love Sof :))

The room was dimly lit, a sanctuary filled with the intoxicating scent of our desire. As I knelt between Paige’s legs, my heart raced with a reverent thrill. While others might kneel in prayer, I found my worship here, in this sacred act of devotion.

With each deliberate lick, I traced the contours of her body, treating her as a divine offering. My tongue explored her most sensitive spots, savoring the taste of her essence as if it were the finest sacramental wine. Every moan that escaped her lips felt like a prayer, a hymn of pleasure that echoed in the sacred space we created together. The sheets beneath us transformed into an altar of devotion, soaking in the evidence of our worship, a growing stain that mirrored the intensity of the moment.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea that ignited a fire within me. “I can’t… I’m-”

But I tightened my grip on her hips, holding her firmly in place with a strength that was both possessive and protective. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whispered against her skin, my breath warm and reverent.

I could feel the weight of the world outside dissipate as I focused entirely on her, my goddess, my lover, my Paige.

I held her hips tightly, anchoring her in place, a divine grip meant to both possess and protect. I couldn’t let her go, not until I’ve tasted every part of her, until her body sings my name like a psalm.

I immersed myself in the rhythm of my devotion, losing myself in the sanctity of the moment. The world outside faded into oblivion as I drank in her essence, the rich sweetness filling my senses and leaving me craving more.

This was my communion, my holy rite, a connection so profound that it transcended the physical, binding us together in a way that felt almost celestial.

The sensation of her legs trembling against my shoulders only deepened my resolve. I quickened my pace, drawing gasps from her that rose to the heavens like a chorus of angels. With each flick of my tongue, each gentle suck, I became a fervent disciple, devoted to bringing her to the brink of ecstasy. I wanted her to see stars, to feel the divine rush of pleasure that came from being utterly consumed by love.

“Please, just a little more,” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, heavy with longing and need.

In that moment, I felt like a sinner reveling in forbidden fruit,

Yet it was the purest form of worship I could offer.

I dove deeper, my devotion unwavering, my heart and soul entwined with every movement. This was our sin, our ecstasy, and it felt profoundly holy, as if we were rewriting the very tenets of love itself.

With each wave of pleasure that washed over her, I felt the sacred bond between us grow stronger. I held her in place, guiding her to the edge, my touch both gentle and firm, as if I were a guardian of her pleasure. We were lost in our world, a sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating union of our bodies and souls.

In this moment, surrounded by the echoes of her cries and the warmth of our connection, we were not just lovers; we were worshipers, each caress a testament to our faith in each other. This was our holy ground, a place where love and desire converged, making every moment feel like a divine blessing.

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