#Moon Rain or Shine AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chococolte · 2 years

Text

☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

6K notes · View notes

wesstars · 15 days

Text

love, at second glance

tara carpenter x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: that’s what you do when you love somebody else… wc: 1k tags: all characters 18+; no ghostface au. angst, horribly excessive use of italics (seriously, everything in italics is either a quote, a thought, or actual emphasis. it’s terrible) a/n: what’s up y’all (title from 715 - CR∑∑KS by bon iver)

masterlist

Tara wondered when it all began.

You and me, me and you.

A mantra that used to be comforting, it now left her mouth dry, mind frantic.

Sometimes, when it got real bad like it did today, she’d drive out to your—our—deserted garage, and look up into a pitch black night, blinking away tears. It was easy to scream at the sky: how could you forget about me about us about milkshakes shared about distances closed about how I love you and love you and love you—but to you, she’d say nothing.

She couldn’t say anything, while you basked in the glow of a new hand to hold. It was all over in a helpless shrug. That was it, and really, it wasn’t your fault. Nobody’s fault. You couldn’t help it, Tara reasoned, you weren’t cruel. Even at the very end, you were endlessly kind. Commitment was a choice, but love, love happened to you away from Tara and she couldn’t do anything but watch.

Tara switched the engine off, leaning back in her seat. The stars shone barely brighter than the city lights. It was strange, the way that when she was on the brink of losing everything, the world looked that much more beautiful. Every breath in that particularly cold winter felt like it was being swallowed up by the vastness of air itself, precious in its scarcity.

“But I love you.”

You said nothing for a moment, a troubled little frown twisting on your lips. “Tara, I—”

“I love you.” She heard, rather than felt, herself repeating it. As if stopping you from speaking would make that cold reality any less crushing. “That’s all.”

It was odd, Tara decided, to go online and see your life in the pictures she used to be part of. She put her phone down. From tide pulls to seasons changing, there wasn’t exactly a world where she envisioned herself going on without you. There was something in that sinking feeling, like you were holding her down with a hand on her chest, when she saw you laughing with your friends, with anyone, a smile so brilliant it couldn’t possibly have Tara as the cause.

You’d always wanted a little cabin in the woods (“not in a creepy way,” you’d insist) surrounded by mist, and it would always be raining. “You’re the only sunshine I need, Tara Carpenter.” She could still hear the way you’d tease her, lying on your side next to her, tracing the bridge of her nose with your fingertip. So easy it was, to tumble back into those shining memories where absolutely nothing would go wrong, you wouldn't let it, because she was yours.

The top floor of the lot was empty, and the moon spilled onto the windshield, into the empty passenger seat. She was lucky, you both were lucky, to have even come as close to the sun as the two of you did. Tara knew, deep inside herself, that if she just let it all go, she would be okay. The blood would rush back into her fingertips—you wouldn’t be there to massage the feeling back into them, the way you often did on winter nights like this—and then she would be okay.

Tara thought that she remembered too much for someone so hurt. Your hand on her thigh while you drove, wiping her lipstick off your cheek, the way you seemed so so so unhappy when you sat her down for one last time. You didn’t even look the same then, like you were somebody else, you weren’t hers anymore. It was getting colder in the car, but Tara didn’t feel anything but the searing coil of shame.

Sunkissed March found you and Tara lying side by side on a picnic blanket, sodas losing their fizz as time forgot to move the two of you. A breeze ruffled the leaves, and if she really listened, Tara could hear the frogs in the nearby pond. You loved it here—you said it reminded you of hot summers spent in the countryside, the days as long as wildflowers. Not half an hour ago, you were braiding together the stems of daisies into a lush crown.

“For you, Queen Carpenter,” you said in a posh accent. “A gift from your humble knight—each braid represents a ‘forever,’ and each flower is an ‘always.’” You set the crown atop Tara’s head, kissing the tip of her nose as she rolled her eyes.

“And what has compelled my knight to bring me such a gift?”

“Only all of the love I carry for you, your majesty.” You scooped her up in your arms, smiling as she giggled, rolling the two of you over to settle into the knolls of grass.

There was a certain bravery in the way your fingers wrapped loosely around hers, the way the heels of both your shoes made indents in the dirt—proclaiming, we were here. Even in her doze, Tara could feel you there, each moment stretching on like strings of eternity, unfailingly.

The moment did end, as moments do. The crown, dried and shrunk, still hung from the rear view mirror in the car. The daisies themselves were long gone, but the dried stems had somehow stayed bound together. Tara’s head dropped into her hands, eyes sore and red. She’d thought so much and so often about where the two of you went wrong, she felt like she had turned over every stone in your path, ones that didn’t carry with them the weight of a goodbye. Tara would give anything to even know what it would take for you to stand in the sun with her one more time.

The abrupt knock on the window should’ve startled Tara more than it did, given that it was four in the morning in an empty parking lot, and she was supposed to be all alone. But all she could do was watch with wide eyes as the knock came from you, at your tight lipped smile. She rolled down the window, unable to feel anything but shock as she took in your mismatched shoes with untied laces, your shirt way too thin for the cold night. You weren’t looking at her, guilt evident in the hunch of your shoulders. Your voice comes out exactly as she remembered it.

“Hey… can we talk?”

a/n cont'd: don't super feel like i like this but writing it came naturally so

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

#project wes #fanfiction #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter fanfiction #reader #reader insert #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #angst #lgbtq #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara x reader

316 notes · View notes

shirecorn · 11 months

Text

Shirecorn's Ponyverse Masterpost

So for the last 2 months I've fixated on doing redesigns based somewhat loosely on My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I've had so much fun filling in the gaps and extrapolating until my version is less of a redesign and more of an AU.

"Ponies" are three species of sentient hoofed creatures that populate Equestria. They worship giant goddesses that fill the sky and ferry the moon and sun across the world.

Tag navigation

#Shire draws mlp - drawings only. Leaves out the lore

#Skyscraper gods lore - drawings, posts, and asks that expand on the world. Talks about biology, genetics, ritual, society, politics, religion, but mostly creature design and magic.

#Skyscraper Gods - Art, asks, posts, and fanart! Everything to do with both my little pony canon and my version of things. Includes drawings without lore, and lore without drawings. This is the tag to browse to make sure you see it all

Characters

In progress: Discord

○ The Mane Six ○ All Alicorns,

○ Rarity ○ Fluttershy ○ Flutterbat ○ Applejack ○ Pinkie Pie ○ Pinkie Pie Pegasus ○ Rainbow Dash ○ Twilight Sparkle ○ Raritwi ○ Spike

○ Princess Celestia + Princess Luna ○ Princess Cadance + Shining Armor + Flurry Heart ○ Sunset Shimmer ○ Sunburst ○ Apple Bloom + Scootaloo + Sweetie Belle (Cutie Mark Crusaders) ○ Big Macintosh/Ochard Blossom (she is a woman) ○ Granny Smith ○ Mr & Mrs Cake + Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake ○ Maud Pie + Mudbriar ○ Trixie Lulamoon + Starlight Glimmer ○ Cozy Glow ○ Zephyr Breeze ○ Escape Room Guy + Dusty Pages ○ Berry Punch/Berryshine ○ Vapor Trail ○ Bulk Biceps ○ Tempest Shadow ○ Flim and Flam ○ Queen Chrysalis + Thorax + Ocellus (Changelings) ○ Autumn Blaze (kirin) ○ Rain Shine (kirin leader) ○ Sky Beak (hippogriff) ○ Starcatcher and Skywishes (G3)

Lore

○ The 3 pony species ○ Breeding/genetics ○ The 4 Alicorns stories ○ Gods of non-pony species? Seapony god? ○ Unicorn Horns: Starlight physics, Different shapes, Alicorn horns, Horn colors, ○ Where did Spike come from? (1) (2) ○ Your daughter has won the favor of God (fic) ○ Nightmare moon playlist ○ Cutie marks are cultural not physical: (1) (2) ○ Starlight Glimmer's hometown and her cult ○ Alicorns don't fit inside buildings ○ Discord is a headache to behold ○ Government in the world of gods ○ Gender and matriarchy ○ Scootaloo's flightless disability ○ Equestria Girls Vs Skyscraper Gods, existential horror ○ Pinkie Pie breaks the forth wall because she hopped worlds once ○ Vampire fruit bat ecology and virus ○ How ponies caught it

Meta

○ Using Skyscraper Gods as inspiration (2) ○ Why I like expanding on MLP: its simplicity ○ MLP Creature designs are already good ○ If you don't like my designs ○ I'm just having fun: (1) (2) ○ Mane 6 doodle to finished design ○ After ponies ○ Designing based on birds and animals ○ Starcatcher dove

Shitposts and Doodles

○ My fursona in mlp style ○ Daytime! Nighttime! ○ Baby god ○ Local horse fistfights the sun ○ Shining armor alicorn ○ Sunset shimmer becomes god (2) ○ Poodle rarity ○ Zephyr Breeze thinks RD is a man ○ Season 9 ○ Why is EQ an hour long ○ Being held at gunpoint to watch Equestria Girls ○ World's gayest dash ○ 18 pounds of crake

Fanart by others

○ Fanart tag

Commissions

○ People request a lot and that normal ○ Prices are low because I'm already fixated

Ko-fi requests || Classic commissions

Shirecorn Discord

Join any tier of my patreon to access my art discord

○ See WIPs, discussion, the occasional meltdown, and more ○ The content is all done through discord, so if the patreon looks dead it's all just on the server instead.

I hope you enjoy seeing my MLP creations as much as I enjoy making them!

#skyscraper gods #shire draws ponies #shyscraper gods masterpost #mlp redesign #please tell me if any of the links are wrong #skyscraper gods lore

1K notes · View notes

bts-0t-7 · 6 months

Text

Moonlight Sanctuary | OT7

Pair: Werewolf OT7 x F Reader

Summary: In a chase, you find a cottage in the midst of the woods. Barging in, you found seven men at your aid and you never expected things to turn out the way it did. But you were forever grateful for how it did.

Genre: Fluff, werewolf au, human reader

Chapter Warnings: Violence, abuse

You aren’t alone. If you ever need a helping hand, our fellow social services, friends, and family will always be there. If anybody is going to be insensitive on this topic on my blog, you will be blocked. Borahae💜

WC: 2297

The moon hung low in the night sky as you ran in the opposite direction of your house. Well, your brother’s house. You had never considered it a home the moment things took a drastic turn after your parent’s death. A home is a place where one feels safe and secure but this is… this was no home.

You had no sense of direction as you blasted through thick foliage and wet mud. The sky was dark and thunder boomed when you left but now it was pouring. Drenched from head to toe, you felt your anxiety rise as the sky darkened and your lungs collapsed. You paused at the foot of a tree, bending down to catch your breath. You had no idea where you were going. All you knew was that you needed to run.

Run. Run. Run or they will catch you again.

The air was still with your heavy breathing and loud splatters of rain when you heard rustling sounds. Suddenly blinded by the onslaught of light, you made out the rough shape of your bulky brother. Fearing for your life, you quickly stumbled up and ran again. You didn’t dare look back but you dared to look up.

The moon was shining bright tonight, despite the darkness that was chasing you. It casted an ethereal glow over the dense forest and if you tilted your head just right, you could see little rainbows in the making. You ran through the trees, heart pounding against your chest. You didn’t know how far or how close you were to your brother and his gang. At the same time, you didn’t know where the fuck you were. You could just imagine being eaten up by some sort of nocturnal animal in here.

“BITCH! Come back here! Who said you could run away, huh?”

You tried to pump your legs harder - to give you more strength. But you found yourself short of any sort of energy. You didn’t have dinner and it was during your break did you sneak past the back door and run away from them, hastily slipping on your clothes for some decency. You carried nothing with you - just you, underwear, and clothes - which is essentially whatever you were wearing.

“Ey! I swear you’re going to get it from me when we catch you! FUCK, you’re done!”

The sound of your own harsh breathing drowned out the haunting echoes of your abusive brother’s threats. For years, you endured his cruelty, but tonight - tonight you had enough. He sold your body. Sold your body to his friends. You had sobbed and begged with every last shred of dignity you had but they never listened. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew you couldn’t stay there any longer.

You stumbled through the woods on clumsy feet, the darkness of the foliage seemed to close in around you. You tried to keep your anxiety at bay, knowing it would do you more harm than good if you started to panic. Branches clawed at the exposed skin of your feet, the ground beneath the flimsy slippers you hastily wore was uneven and treacherous the deeper you went. Fear gnawed at your insides and despair threatened to overtake you. Breathing harshly, you tried to keep yourself calm.

Just as you thought that all hope was lost and you would have to be running forever or be caught, your attention focused on the soft glow of light emitting from a cottage house. Without thinking, you ran towards it and pulled against the handle, trying every one until you found an open door and slammed it shut behind you.

Sliding onto the floor, you placed your head between your legs, breathing through your mouth. You were tired and bruised. You heard before you saw someone stand in front of you, shadow covering half of your hunched over body. Your breath caught as you slowly took in the sight before you. You were the centre of their attention, their eyes reflecting the silver light of the moon. You were sure you weren’t breathing. THese were the folklore of your little village - stories passed down by the elders from generation to generation.

Werewolves.

Nobody believed that there were such mystical beings living amongst you. But you were certain that they were exactly what you believed. These seven men that surrounded you brought around them an aura of power and grace.

You could easily tell by the tall and commanding figure to your left that that was the leader of the pack. He stepped forward, gait slow and steady, approaching you as if you were a scared prey. But you were quite the opposite. As you looked at each of them, they surveyed you quietly. Looking at each of them in their eyes, you felt a connection deep in your blood - a spark of recognition of what belongs.

“Are you in danger?” he asked, voice low and soothing.

You nodded, voice trembling as you replied, “My - my brother, he and his friends, they - they -”

The door was suddenly banged open as you stumbled into the man’s hold. You felt a sense of protection and comfort you had never known when you were with them. They surrounded you again, this time, as a protection barrier between you and your brother.

You curled deeper into yourself.

Without hesitation, a man grabbed your cheeks and forced you to look at his smiling eyes. “Hey! My name is Jimin! What’s yours?”

“Y/N, come here now.” Your brother commanded. Shivering in your spot against Jimin’s body, you shook your head and rejected him. You didn’t want to.

“Come here now or you will regret it.” You shook your head. You didn’t want to go back to the life you once had. If it was considered life.

“Come here and I won’t kill these ‘men’. They are vicious monsters, you know that.”

Your head turned when you heard your name being called. “You are safe here. We won’t let anyone hurt you now.” You nodded and turned away from your brother, clinging onto Jimin’s shirt tightly.

“It’s funny how you claim to care for your sister when you sold her off. It is funny how you think you would be able to hurt us.” The man with cat-like eyes formed into slits. He certainly looked more like a cat than a wolf.

“HAH!” Your brother laughed maniacally. “You are a bunch of monsters. Werewolves? Ridiculous! You are not wolves nor are you humans. Monsters is an appropriate word to use for paws.”

“Shall we let her choose then?” The man with a fluffy head of hair said.

The silence that followed was deafening. The tension in the air was at its peak and both sides were ready for an attack.

“Come now, Y/N. Let’s go home, I’ll get you some ice cream if you cooperate now.” Your brother held his hand out, palm facing up - placating. He didn’t want to lose his face in front of his friends and males who didn’t even know you.

But you refused. Your head went to Jimin’s neck as you stood up, trying to hook a leg onto his waist.

Keyword: trying.

You were just too short for him.

The man with fluffy hair chuckled lowly at your attempts. Quickly hooking a hand under your thighs, he lifted you up onto Jimin’s hip. As he left, going back to his spot, your hand shot out to hold him in place, accidentally pulling against his hair instead. Your hand quickly retracted and your head shot up.

“I -”

He was quick to soothe you, one hand patting your thigh in a soothing rhythm while the other went to your untamed hair, softly stroking the back of your head.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, okay? You can do whatever you want with me.” You hesitantly pulled against the sleeve of his shirt.

“Stay? Please?”

He nodded. “Of course, darling. I wouldn’t dare go anywhere.”

The rest of the males reformed themselves to ensure that the three of you in the centre were protected.

“I think it is clear what her choice is. Now leave.” The pack leader commanded, voice strong with power. You saw your brother’s friend pull him along.

“Fine! Die with these mutts around you, whore!”

The cat-wolf lunged for your brother when the pack leader pulled him back.

The males remained in the formation only when they were certain your brother was far enough and they couldn’t smell him from the distance anymore. Only then did they relax their posture, slowly turning towards you with worried eyes. You were no longer shaking in Jimin and the fluffy hair’s hold but your scent was still sour with fear.

They cautiously moved up the stairs to the living room where they sat down at the sofa. You turned your head to look at them. All seven males were foreign to you - as foreign as the way they made you feel safe and protected.

“Should we… say names?” The man with a whole sleeve of tattoos asked, eyes big and filled with curiosity - just like a bunny’s, you thought.

“I’m Namjoon.” The pack leader started.

“Yoongi.” You finally had a name for the cat-wolf.

“Taehyung.” The fluffy head of hair appeared into your view again. “But I give you special permission to call me TaeTae!”

You nodded.

“I’m Seokjin but just Jin is okay, yeah?”

“Me! Me!” The bunny man hopped up. “I’m Jungkookie!”

“You can call me Hobi!”

Oh that man was filled with sunshine, you could clearly see.

“And I’m Jimin but you already know that, little one.”

You nodded.

“Would you like to ask us anything?”

You shook your head then nodded again, pointing to Yoongi. “Cat-wolf. Cat. Meow-Meow.”

Jungkook burst out laughing from your left, igniting a round of laughter that filled the room and lifted the heavy atmosphere.

“For you, you can call me whatever you want, darling.” Yoongi smiled, gums out as he looked at you with adoration.

In that moment, you felt their strength and loyalty, their offering to you of a sanctuary - a refuge from the darkness you fought so hard from. From those that have haunted your life for so long.

As time passed, you became part of their pack - a human amongst werewolves. They were patient in teaching you their traditions and customs, their code of honour and their ways. You learned that they were the protectors of the forest, guardians of the vulnerable, and that they are the core value of the balance of nature itself.

Namjoon, with his kind eyes and strong presence, quickly became a source of your strength and guidance for you. His knowledge and wisdom never failed to keep you entertained. Although clumsy, this man was the foundation of his pack.

Seokjin, with his unseriousness and constant care, he helped heal the wounds that your brother and his friends had inflicted upon you. He kept you steady as you grew, always ensuring to pull you up when you got down but bringing you down when you were too high up.

Yoongi, the car-wolf, with his gentle hands and calm nature became another one of your rocks. He never failed to teach you something new that day and he most certainly cooked one of the best foods you have ever tasted - rivalling Seokjin’s.

Hobi, with his everlasting laughter and sunshine, was an easy person to be around as you healed from your wounds. He never fails to make you laugh. With him around, there was never a dull moment.

Jimin, with his soft and calming nature, he unintentionally healed both your emotional and mental wounds. While Seokjin cared for your physical wounds, Jimin was always a talking buddy that helped you through understanding yourself and your worth.

TaeTae, with his outgoing mischievous nature, the both of you were constantly creating something to be cleaned up. Hand-in-hand with Jungkookie, the three of you liked to run out and about, being everywhere.

Jungkookie, with his curiosity and strength, the both of you were always causing mischief for the others. Like partners-in-crime, the both of you would be curious about everything and anything, so the both of you would always take it upon yourselves to figure out the answers.

But you have also come to realise that the entire pack was more than just a pack - they were a family. Each of them had their own unique qualities and were a force to be reckoned with. Today was a full moon and under the light of the glowing orb, you discovered a love and acceptance that you had never known. Your past, with all its pain and suffering, seems to fade into the background when you are with them. Embracing the new chapter of your life, you ran forward with them, putting your full trust in the seven males you had learned to understand.

With your heart and spirit soaring, you felt the exhilaration of the transformation, the wind against your fur, and the pure joy of being truly free. In these moments, you knew you had found your place - a home amongst those who have shown you the power of love, trust, and transformation.

As you looked up the the moon, you couldn’t help but feel a huge wave of gratitude. The moon led you here today - to the sanctuary - a place where you were no longer a victim but a survivor; that you were no longer alone but in a place filled with love and acceptance.

As you howled at the moon and cuddled amongst your pack, you came to realise that sometimes, safety and love are found in the most unexpected places. For instance, in a moonlit sanctuary of a werewolf pack that had become your everlasting family.

281 notes · View notes

siriusleee · 8 months

Text

Like Blood on Iron | Part 7

Historical Executioner AU Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

A/N: Two in a week? Who am I? I wrote most of this today, and should have just waited until my regularly scheduled days to post, but I couldn't.

If you like this fic, consider sending a dollar on ko-fi.

You would recognize his silhouette in a hurricane. Wet hair plastered to your forehead and rain dripping in your eyes doesn't disturb the image of him waiting for you down the now mud swamped road. You push your hood off of your head, trying to let him know to come to you, to come speak to you, but instead he turns and disappears into the narrow alleys between the small shops and houses.

You should go inside; you can tell from the twitch of the curtains that someone is watching you - watched Jonathan kiss you on the cheek and walk off. You know whoever it is: Mother, Father, Maggie - they're waiting for you to come inside from the stinking rain that's pelting your skin. They're crowded around the window wondering why you won't move.

You run after him, slipping and sliding in the mud that clings to your skin and coats you in a thin sheen. You can barely make out the edge of his cloak whipping around corners in a seemingly nonsense pattern, always too far away from you for you to catch up. It's not until you emerge at the edge of the village, overlooking the cove that you realize where he's gone.

You slide down the rocks, scraping your shins, your palms, the back of your thighs against the rough rocks as the rain makes them too slick to catch a grip on. Blood mixing with the rain and the mud, you crash into the sand, dress torn to shreds. Just another to end up shoved in the back of the closet where questions can't reach it.

Simon's a black mass against the dark sand, a tornado in his own right as the wind pulls his cloak away from his body, whipping it into terrifying shapes - the monster the rest of the village thinks he is. The mask is gone, for the first time you see him bare outside of the safety of his own home. The cross scar shines pale against the rest of his skin, the moon still bright enough through the clouds to illuminate him.

"Simon!" Your voice is carried away from you by the wind. You don't know if he hears you or knows that you'd follow as he turns toward you.

He doesn't reach out to you, the reflex you've gotten so used to him showing around you as you come to a stop beside him, your own cloak pulling painfully against you in the wind.

"Shouldn't you be inside?"

He speaks so low you're not sure if you actually hear him.

"What?"

"You don't need to be out here in this; you're getting married soon. You don't want to be sick."

His words are like a kick in the stomach - not just the what he's said, but the way he speaks to you. Even from the first time here on the beach, he'd never spoken so flat - so empty to you. There had always been something so uniquely Simon in his voice. But now - this is how he must speak to those knelt down in front of him, waiting for his sword to swing. How he must have sounded to Uncle Henry when he knelt down to whisper to him.

"Simon it wasn't - it was just a kiss on the cheek. It wasn't anything important."

"It should have been more."

The feeling of it all: his words, the cloak tugging at your neck, the rain and mud sticking to your skin, the burning in your palms, it's too much.

"What did you say?"

Simon doesn't look at you as he speaks, his hands held tightly behind his back, eyes watching the waves that crash heavy on the horizon.

"He's going to be your husband. You should have been sneaking off with him - you should have followed him. It's the right thing."

His skin is ice cold where you grab him on the arm, none of his usual warmth bleeding through the dark fabric of his shirt.

"Simon, please don't say that. I don't want -"

"Go home."

"No."

Simon doesn't shake your arm free, doesn't shove you away, but he might as well with the look in his eyes when he finally looks at you. Bright eyes unusually dark, the circles underneath them nearly black.

"Why do you keep coming back? There is so much more for you elsewhere."

You can't breathe, you have to clutch his arm to keep yourself grounded or you think you might let the rain wash you out into the sea. He grabs you, hands warm while the rest of him is freezing.

"We can dream all we want, but I've got nothing for you but a shack in the woods and a life full of being shunned."

"Better that with you than anything with anyone else."

He's heaving beneath your touch, trying to keep himself from unraveling everything that he's packed so small inside. He doesn't want to speak what he's thinking of: you can see it written in the corners of his eyes, in the wrinkles of worry you're not sure you've ever seen before.

"You say that now. But what about when you want a family?" His voice is pained at the thought.

"You are my family."

"This life isn't enough for you, even if you refuse to see it yourself," his grip on you turns bruising - harder than he's ever held you, even when you begged for harder. "I will not be responsible for seeing you suffer in the coming years because you thought you loved me. You told me you wanted to leave and travel - I can't do that with you here."

"I do love you."

You're begging; you will get on your knees to beg if it makes him stop talking to you like this, to stop holding you like he's never going to get the chance to do it ever again. But there's iron in his eyes, and your blood on his skin, and you know that this is it.

He doesn't have to tell you he loves you - not like when he whispered it into your skin or when he would braid your hair into tangles in the early mornings. It rolls off of him as he pushes you back, mouth capturing yours. He tastes like the rain and something bitter, something you've never tasted on him before.

You trip over a divot in the sand, but Simon catches you, pulling you up so that your legs wrap around his waist. He walks the two of you back until you're sheltered by the rocks that form the ledge above.

The rocks dig into your back, but you don't feel them as Simon hitches up your skirts around you. This time it's different - there is no gentleness in the way he takes you; not like all the other times before. The rain covers the two of you, and you know this is the last time. The last time you'll taste him or feel the thick calluses of his fingers on the back of your thigh.

And when the two of you cross the ending together, he doesn't pull out to spill himself anywhere but inside of you. He pushes you harder against the rocks, keeping himself buried inside of you until he can't stay any longer.

You can feel the scratches on your back stinging from the rain, and you hope they never stop - one of the last reminders of Simon you know you're ever going to get.

He doesn't kiss you when he settles you onto the ground, doesn't kiss you as he straightens the tattered and torn edges of your skirt back down, fingers chaste against the soaked and ruined fabric. He doesn't speak as he holds your face in his hands, thumbs brushing the water from your cheeks and you don't know if it's rain or tears, but you're sure he does.

You don't know if it's the rain or the sorrow that stops your feet from working, but Simon, strong as he always has been, carries you home on his back - a caricature of all the times you've been in his arms before. His boot kicking against the front door is thunderous on the darkened street.

Father doesn't ask what's happened when he swings the door open and finds Simon sliding you off of his shoulders; he doesn't ask why your knees buckle or why Mother rushes forward to grab you from Simon, her own hand lingers on Simon's a moment to long before Father whispers a 'thank you' and let's the door slam shut.

You know by the way her hands cradle you that Mother knows what happened out there in the storm. She doesn't let Father touch you, instead pushing him away and calling for Maggie to help carry you up the stairs. Your mother, always so fastidious about cleanliness and the whiteness of the linens, strips you down to your underdress and tucks you into bed, mud and all, burrowing herself beside you, fingers doing their best to push away the fever that threatens to build at your temple.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

You're sick for two weeks, fever burning through your skin. You think at times that the blankets around you must be turning into ash. The people beside your bed flicker in and out: Maggie rearranging the sheets around you, Lily pressing a cold washcloth to your forehead. Jonathan reading something in a book to you, his voice rumbling through the house.

Mother bathing you gently, fingers brushing through your hair, working the tangles out with a comb.

It's Jonathan at your side when you wake, a book in his hands and his boots tapping heavily on the floor beneath him. The sound shoots straight through your skull.

"Will you stop that?"

His hand probes at your temple, fingers taking your temperature. You don't even have it in you to push him off, to tell him to go away. The chair someone placed beside your bed creaks under his weight as he slips off of it, book landing heavily on the floor. He drops to his knees beside you so, eyes scanning your face for any sign of the fever coming back.

"How'd you feel?"

He speaks to you like you're a wounded animal, soft and low. Like you'll run at any moment. but there's nowhere to run this time.

"Like I was trampled by a horse."

His chuckle, just a short breath from his nose, washes over the ache in your muscles.

"I thought you were when I saw you laying here the first time."

He slides his hand beneath the blankets to grab yours, and you let him, welcoming the warmth and roughness against your still frozen skin.

"Did I sleep through our wedding?"

"Unfortunately not. There's still six days for you to be rid of me."

You can't help the hot tears that start to flow from you - Jonathan doesn't ask why as he brushes them away, pulling himself into bed beside you and letting you turn the front of his shirt dark with your own tears.

"I know love. I'm sorry."

But his warmth isn't enough - isn't a replacement for what you're wishing for.

The dress is beautiful, you think as Maggie's fingers lace the back up gently. In the three weeks you were sick you'd lost so much weight that the stays have to be pulled tighter to form the fabric around yourself than originally intended. You want to apologize to her; this should have been her dress - she is the one who wants to get married. The weight of your disappointment grows heavier as Lily works around Maggie, her fingers pinning your hair up deftly with Grandma's pins.

You don't recognize yourself when they step away; the white of the dress sparkling back at you in the wavy mirror, blurring your features as you furiously try to blink back the tears that threaten to ruin the entire thing.

Jonathan had been there every day you'd been sick, but it wasn't the same. You'd wanted to ask him if the dark shroud was outside, if he was there at all. But you couldn't do it. Couldn't bring yourself to know if he wasn't there.

"It's going to be alright," Maggie soothes, fingers running down the fabric of your shoulders. "And you'll still be close - Jonathan asked Father if Lily and I could come stay with you for a while after the two of you return from your trip."

"I'm not sure my husband would appreciate sharing a bed with the three of us."

Maggie's distorted reflection smiles weakly at you in the mirror; you clasp her hand tightly, hoping the sweat doesn't stain the delicate white fabric.

A heavy knock reverberates through the house - you feel it shake the floorboards beneath you.

"I'll get it," Lily says, slipping out of the door, heavy dress swishing around her ankles. You think of her asking you to tighten her dress, of the way she'd smiled at the boy in the market. Soon you'll be getting her ready for her own wedding, and you wonder if she'll consider it a death sentence like you or look forward to it like Maggie.

Her voice is muffled; you try to focus on it as Maggie ducks beneath your bilious skirts to help you slide your shoes on. You teeter on one foot, and she grabs your calf to try to help you from falling. Lily's feet patter up the steps, and she trips through the door, skirt catching on a snag on the floor.

"There's-" she's breathless from rushing up the stairs, "there's someone here to see you."

You know who it is by the way she stumbles over the word 'somebody'.

Maggie's warm hand finishes the lacing on your shoe before she emerges from the cloud of skirts around you, hair disheveled. Lily's still staring at you, the thread of her dress connecting her to the floor, to the house you once so desperately tried to escape from.

Your heart squeezes in your chest; you grip the lace at your wrist hard enough you can feel some of the threads snapping.

You know it's a horrible idea: to see him now. But you push past Maggie and Lilly, tripping on the skirt as you do your best to keep your balance flying down their stairs. The feeling of him courses through your veins as your feet hit the main landing; but the entryway is empty. Your stomach sinks; he must have left, must have -

"You look beautiful."

Simon stares at you from the kitchen doorway; hands clasped behind his back. He's devoid of his usual mask; pale skin exposed to the world. His eyes are dark, the skin around them gaunt and sleep deprived. You long to reach out and grab him, but you keep your hands to yourself. He looks so much like he did that night in the cove. The scratches against your back have healed up, but you can still feel them pulsing just below the surface.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, trying and failing to keep your voice steady.

"I wanted to see you again before I couldn't again."

A thousand wild thoughts course through you: this wouldn't have to end the two of you. You could still see each other, in secret; you would do anything to keep him, but you know what his answer to it would be. How he would shake his head, and tell you it's impossible.

And you know that, despite however you may feel, Jonathan doesn't deserve that level of cruelty, not after nursing you back to life for the past three weeks, not after kneeling at your bedside and brushing away tears he knew didn't belong to him.

"Why today? You could have come to see me days ago."

"I wanted a glimpse into a different life."

It's not sadness that flows through you; the fever burnt that out of you weeks ago. Now it's anger like you've never felt: the anger that you know takes over Mother when she smashes things against the wall in her and Father's room. The anger that takes her over when she makes the walls rattle in her wake.

"This is cruel, and you know it."

Simon has the good graces to not meet your eyes as he shifts, boots covered in a thick layer of dust.

"I know."

"I thought you wanted me to forget you."

In the distance the church bell tolls, timing the hour. The minutes to your wedding tick down, waiting for the sun to fully set before Father comes to get you to escort you there. And Simon in front of you wears down whatever resolve that you had to get yourself there.

"I think I'm too selfish for that."

"I wish you were."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, and you know if you were to kiss him right now, you'd taste the iron of his blood.

"I would still run away with you, if you asked right now."

"We've got nowhere to run to."

"That doesn't bother me."

A sharp staccato of a knock on the door breaks the spell between the two of you. You linger, waiting for Simon to say something else, but the knocking increases, pulling you away from him.

Simon takes advantage of you walking away to try to slip out the backdoor. The small courtyard is covered in leaves, they crunch heavily beneath his booted feet. The sound of the door opening back up behind him pulls his attention away from the path home.

He doesn't turn to look back, but he cowardly hopes it's your voice that calls out to him from the doorway. But it's not.

"You're just going to run away? You're not even going to fight for her?"

Maggie stares at him from the shut doorway, all acerbic and sharp edges - the opposite of you. Simon feels like the look in eyes is enough to set him on fire from shame.

"She deserves better than me; better than a life on the run."

"Who are you to decide what my sister deserves?"

She walks quickly, heels sharp against the cobblestones. Simon thinks she's going to hit him. He would deserve it; he can tell by the way her fingers curl that it would hurt.

"My sister," Maggie says, nearly whispering at him in the biting air, "could do worse than Jonathan. I had to beg my father and mother to not marry her off to some of the men they had in mind. But she deserves more than just being someone's wife for the rest of her life."

She cuts Simon off sharply when he tries to speak.

"My sister would run to the farthest edges of the earth to be with you - to see the world with you."

She leaves him there, the wind cutting through him, slamming the door shut hard enough behind her to rattle the windows and the wood.

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #my fics #ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii #like blood on iron

185 notes · View notes

crabsnpersimmons · 26 days

Text

i've run out of spoons to boop, but here are the little doodles i've been sharing around (sorry if i didn't get to you! the social anxiety got to me eventually)

happy boop day, everyone!

#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf eclipse #fnaf dca #dca fandom #crab art #traditional art #Rain or Shine AU #Sun Rain or Shine AU #Moon Rain or Shine AU #Clip New Do Same You AU #literally me trying to reach out to new people: be brave be brave be brave be brave

305 notes · View notes

lets-zofifi-stuff · 1 year

Text

The Smallest Miracles

Fairy!Sun and Moon & Witch reader short story

Heavily based on Fairy AU by @ayyy-imma-ninja, Fairy Friends AU by @themuse-artcorner and this drawing.

Thank you all!

hurt/comfort, no romance

Trigger Warnings: abuse, animal abuse, implied suffocation, panic attack

Edit: there is an ao3 with (currently) three more chapters.

====================================

It would be fitting to say, it was a dark stormy night, when I sneaked into the poacher's den, but in fact it was a calm chilly evening, in the middle spring. The sun only began to set down, when I found the base of the operation I was tracing down for months.

There were plenty of people in the world willing to pay a hefty price for a magical creature. So obviously, there came assholes who busied themselves with catching and selling them. But they made one serious mistake. They tried to hunt in the witch's domain. Mine, to be precise.

They made their base in a wide sinkhole in the middle of the old forest. About half a dozen goons were camping next to the mouth of a cave, presumably their main storage. They were sitting by the campfire and drinking heavily from glass bottles and ceramic jars, for warming-up.

I was hiding in the bushes, observing. The day was cold. A gentle drizzle, half way between rain and fog, was settling on me as a damp layer. If not for my warm coat and thick gloves, I would be already freezing. I had a hood pulled deep on my face with my pointy hat put on top.

The sinkhole was an excellent place to stay hidden, and to help keep imprisoned beings inside. Far worse to defend yourself against an ambush. I had a few spells prepared.

I made the fog rise from the forest floor and slowly flew down into the hole. They didn't notice anything suspicious about it until they all started to feel dizzy and unsteady on their feet. The airborne spores I added to the cloud were working.

I sat on my trusty broomstick, covered my nose and mouth with a scarf and flew down into the cloud. I landed unnoticed near the mouth of the cave. I nearly tripped over one of drugged bandits. He was wiggling on the ground, mumbling something about the rain, so I assumed he was dreaming about being a worm in the mud. He seemed strangely content with that.

The cloud was only reaching a few feet inside. Further, the air was clean, so I was able to uncover my face.

Creatures in the cages looked at me when I came in. Some got startled by the presence of a human, but some seemed to recognise that I am not one of their captors. Maybe they even knew what my pointy hat meant. A shine of intelligence in some of the eyes, made me feel sick to my stomach. Not like I wasn’t expecting magic folks trapped together with magical animals, but it was always a shock. Sleeping spore was far too good for those bastards.

I could see only about eight cages with residents inside. Either the poachers were bad at their job, or they managed to transport and sell most of their catches before I could stop them. I didn't have much hope of rescuing the poor guys after they were given away into the hands of some rich collectors or power-hungry mages.

I waved my hand at the creatures. “I am a friend. I want to help, I promise. Let me do that, please.” None has answered me, but that was okay. Many beings able to speak like to fall silent at the moment the human shows up. I was not here to make friends anyway. I began to walk from cage to cage, speaking to them soothingly and checking up their condition.

All the creatures seemed to be in relatively good health. They had to get captured recently. I could risk simply letting them go as they were. They were able to find their way out and take care of themselves, just like they were doing before humans took them.

Meanwhile the sleep cloud outside started to dissipate.

I quickly opened the cages and urged the creatures to move fast, before the bandits could wake up. I didn't need to tell them that twice. All ran out and didn't look behind once. If some of them were about to trample their former captors in their sleep, I couldn't blame them.

I could give myself a pat on the shoulder for a good job, and fly home. Or should I try to place some curses on the bandits, while they were still unconscious? I couldn’t exactly arrest them, I was just one person, and what they were doing was hardly even illegal in this part of the world. But a good curse or two would make their life miserable for a good while, and force them to seek some very expensive help with their removal.

I was just about to start when something brought my attention. Deep inside the cave, there were rows of shelves, and boxes, likely with gear and supplies, for the long hunting trips.

I spotted a big glass jar, lying overturned on the ground. From afar I thought it was just an emptied container for alcohol. The fading daylight was not enough to let me see clearly, but I felt there was some object inside. I wordlessly ordered the crystal at the end of the broom to lit up with starlight stored inside. The gentle glow revealed a tiny figure curled up inside the jar.

I crouched down to have a better look and gasped. It was a fairy. A real fairy like in the old children tales. It had to be.

The figure was yellow, with something like orange flower petals growing out of the tiny head. They were dressed in fabulously colorful clothes. On their back… there was a set of butterfly-shaped translucent wings. The wings were sparkling in the light, and flowed like silk, but they had to be able to spread and fly once.

Could I be mistaken? Fairies were extremely rare, and nearly impossible to spot. They were supposed to live deep in the woods and never ever show up to adults. They were supposed to only be seen by nice kids who’d listen to their parents, respected nature and did their chores in time. Naturally, many people doubted their existence after getting older.

My mentor told me about them too, when I was still very young. She said they are beings of great magic. They were supposed to be invisible to most, and have a natural bond to all living things, and energies of the universe were flowing through them freely.

“Nature's tiniest miracles“ she said with her eyes so dreamy. It was so unlike her to act this sentimental, that the memory remained clear. She had traveled everywhere, saw everything and had a very cynical view of the world. She also swore she saw a fairy once in the distance as a girl, and tried to find it ever since. But apparently they were once in a lifetime sightings.

Now one was right before me, closed in a jar. A jar that likely was once used for storing cheap booze. Somebody made an effort to jab carelessly a few times at a metal cab, to create holes for air. Did the bandits even know what they had trapped?? Could somebody really be this stupid?!

Even though I never saw a fairy, I could say this one didn’t look healthy. Their petals were withered, their skin sickly pale, and they were sitting curled up with their face hidden in their knees.

I put my hand on the glass. When I did that, the fairy finally looked up. Their face was round like a child's, sunny yellow with a bouquet of freckles. Their big round eyes went wide with fear, one sky blue, one gold like a sunset. They also started to shiver.

“Don’t worry,” I said, taking away my hand, and putting a reassuring smile, a little forced but still genuine. “I’m here to help.”

They opened their mouth and said something. Their lips were moving but very little sound was getting through the glass. I pointed at my ears and then at the jar cab.

“I can't hear you. I will open this now. Don’t panic, alright?”

Once I took off the top, the yellow fairy crawled out. They laid down on the ground, panting erratically and shaking. That scared me. Were the holes in the cab not giving them enough air? Or was it the reaction to shock? Fairies were always described as fragile and sensitive creatures. I swallowed hard.

“I am not going to hurt you, I promise.” I said in a soft voice. “I’m a friend.”

The creature peaked at me.

“I know you are scared but would you let me-?”

“Moon,” they said. I blinked in surprise.

“What about it?” The fairy shook their head and pointed.

“Moon,” they repeated urgently.

I moved my light up and realized the wall behind the shelves was not a cave’s wall but a gray curtain. The fairy was pointing at it.

“Alright. I will look there. Please, try to take deep breaths.”

The cavern went further than I realized. Behind the curtain was another part of storage I would otherwise miss. More supplies, barrows, boxes, some very small cages, like for birds and rodents.

“What am I looking f-?” I began to ask and stopped myself because I saw. On the higher shelf standing another jar. It looked empty from down there, but I sat on my broom and levitated myself up. I picked it off carefully and held it in both hands. Inside-

I was wiser than to falter and fall off the broom but only barely. Another fairy??

This one was blue, with clothes in a star pattern. They didn’t have petals, but there was a hat on their head. A soft-looking nightcap, trimmed with white down. Half of their face was light, almost white part in the shape of the crescent, the rest was deep blue. The constellation of freckles sprinkled across their nose and cheeks correspond to those on the yellow fairy’s face. The fairy had deep dark circles around their eyes. That had to be “Moon”.

But something was wrong. The little figure was lying on the bottom of the jar, and didn't react when I moved their jar. I felt the cold panic rising. I lowered to the ground, and hurried out. The yellow fairy was waiting where I left them. They brightened, like a sunrise when I stormed back out.

“Brother?” they asked, looking at the jar. When I came closer the relief on their face fastly shifted into horror.

I put the jar gently on the ground. Did those fuckers forgot to make holes in this one entirely?!

No, the holes were there although less of them. I opened it with shaky hands, reached in and carefully pulled the fairy out. He was just the size to fit on my opened palm.

I turned him to his back and lowered him so the yellow fairy could have access as well. They immediately crawled on my palm, forgetting about their fear of me, and kneeled by their brother’s side.

I craned down and held my breath. Was I too late? Please, spirits, don’t let me be late.

I wasn’t.

We could both see movements of the tiny chest. Slow, shallow breaths.

“He is alive!” cried the yellow fairy. I let out a sigh. Thank you spirits!

The fairy took their brother in their arms and hugged him.

“But he is so weak!” They weren't wrong. It could be just fear that I felt, but the blue fairy looked like he was about to die at any moment.

“How long has he been unconscious?” I asked.

“He was still awake when I saw him last time. The jar fell off the shelf, I rolled off, and lost sight of him. The floor was uneven, it got stuck on something and I couldn’t… couldn't…” they looked like they were about to cry.

“When was it?”

“Yesterday… morning?”

“I will use some healing magic on him. It should help some, regardless of what is wrong.”

“Magic?” They looked at me in fear. “Are you a mage?”

“No. I am not.” I rubbed my fingers together, mentally preparing for the task.

“Let me access him, allright? And be still for a moment. This requires concentration and balance.”

I put two on the blue faerie’s chest. His sibling didn’t try to stop me. I breathed deeply and focused on the life energy inside me. I told it to flow down my arm through my fingers, and connect to the magic of the blue fairy. My fingertips started to glow. Moon tensed under my touch.

“What’s happening?” gasped the yellow fairy.

“He fights me,” I said. “Even though he is unconscious.”

He was no doubt a creature born to magic, as he was able to sense my intervention and tried to push me away. I bit my lip trying to stay calm. I didn’t want to force my way through the fairy's natural defenses. It would cause him distress and exhaust him further but I was starting to feel tired myself.

“Please, don’t fight me, please, don’t fight me,” I mumbled, pressing my energy gently against his. For a moment I thought it would be all for nothing. But then a small yellow hand lay down on mine. It felt good.

Maybe it was his sibling's familiar aura that made Moon lower his guard, or maybe it was me regaining some sort of peace for a moment, but I could feel the resistance fading and my magic was able to flow. The fairy relaxed under my touch.

When I finished, Moon was breathing easier. His face gained some more color, and dark circles around his eyes faded slightly.

The yellow fairy hugged their brother tighter.

“Th- thank you. But… Are you really not a mage? I thought they are the only humans that can use magic?”

“I’m a witch. Do you see a hat?” I pointed at my head. “Haven't you ever heard about us?”

They shook their head.

“Well, I guess there are not too many witches around really.” I signed.

“I’m… My name is Sun.”

“And he is Moon?”

“Yes. We are twin brothers.”

“Nice to meet you Sun, I’m-” I turned my head as I heard some groaning outside. The bandits were waking up. I couldn’t exactly fight all six of them.

“... going to introduce myself later. We need to go.”

“Go?”

“I need to take you out of here, quick.” I began to empty one of my bigger pockets. Witch’s clothes have many of them as a principle.

“We will go to my hutt. It’s a safe place. You two will be able to rest and recover.”

“I don’t know. I think Moon would-”

“Okay, done. You should both be able to fit in here.” I carefully picked Sun and plucked him into the pocket. Then I passed him the blue fairy. “Here. Hold him, when we’ll fly, watch if he lays in a good position.”

“A-alright.” Only Sun’s head was poking out of the pocket. Moon layed secured in his arms. “Wait, fly? You can fly too?!”

I sat on my broomstick. The celestial magic from the crystal flew through the wood. My clothes fluttered in the nonexistent wind, as we raised into the air. Sun gasped loudly and I couldn’t help but smile. Who does not like to show off sometimes?

I squeezed the stick tighter and we leaped forward. “Wooaaahh!” shouted Sun.

We flew out just in time to see the poachers that were waking up and scrambling on their feet. The broom flinched and wobbled as I was trying not to crash with them.

I grit my teeth and jerked the end of the broom upward, pointing it at the sky, accelerating. Some of the more awakened bandits started to shout at us and look around for their crossbows. But before they could begin to shoot, and we flew out of the sinkhole.

We weren’t ascending fast enough and pierced into the tree line. Now both me and Sun were screaming.

Somehow I avoided hitting any bigger branches. We soon bursted out above the treetops, like a fish jumping above the green waters.

I was finally able to flatten out and calm down.

The wind was hitting my face. The last shines of sunset dyed the clouds in pinks and oranges.

“You alright down there?” I asked, looking down.

“Yes, yes. We are okay.” breathed Sun. “That was so fast!” Fortunately he seemed more excited than scared.

“You guys don’t usually fly this fast, huh?” I grinned.

“No. Usually not,” he gave me a warm smile in return. He was still looking tired and sick, but maybe soon I would be able to fix that. I set a course for home.

#fanf sun #fnaf moon #sun and moon x reader #fairy friends au #fairy!Sun #fairy!Moon #witch!reader #short story #zofifi's post #zofifi's writing #long post

202 notes · View notes

louellaby · 6 months

Text

FORGET-ME-NOT

REPLACED!MC AU

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

W A R N I N G

May contain bad grammar, limited vocabulary, and OOC characters. Please mind that English is not my first language, and it takes a lot of courage for me to post due to my anxiety and paranoia.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

taglist: @books-and-catears @owl778 @yourlocalgrass @kaiserkisser @hhurric4ne @amberheavendremurr @yu-ulda @bk-4-trash-fire

C H A P T E R I X

「 Happy Birthday, Dear Lady Soley 」

The day arrived when everyone was to surprise Soley for her birthday. It became a huge surprise indeed when an unexpected storm came to greet her as well. The winds were lashing; trees were almost to the point of snapping in half. The rain kept pouring. One could barely see through it.

Needless to say, the lady was not happy.

"I'm sorry we couldn't hold your party outside just as we planned, Soley.."

"Yeah, we even set up a treasure hunt since you love those... but I think all the clues are now either soaked by the rain or blown away by the harsh wind."

"They're definitely gone by now if the trees could barely keep themselves grounded."

The girl was standing near the window, back faced towards the brothers who worried about her continued silence. She pressed her hand against the glass, eyes never leaving the scene outside. The brothers noticed the scowl on her face from her faint reflection. It seemed like she was cursing the rain, the wind, and everything else. Including them.

"Soley?" Lucifer took the steps none of his brothers dared, and he placed a hand on the girl's head. She slowly looked up at him after a minute, frown gone and replaced with a teary expression.

"Lucifer," she croaked, "... is my birthday ruined now? Are we not going to celebrate it anymore?"

The demon's brows twitched before he stroked her head ever so gently; just as he did to someone else all those months ago.

"I will speak with Diavolo and see what we can do. Don't worry, Soley. We will make sure you get your special day."

Soley wiped away the tears from her eyes and showed the eldest a slight smile.

"Thank you, Luci."

Some of the brothers exchanged glances, which Soley didn't pick up on. Lucifer was hiding them well from her view. He smiled back at her with a nod before giving orders to his brothers to behave themselves and take care of Soley until his return from the castle. No one argued with him about going through the storm despite its severity. They all knew it needed to happen.

"A faraway mansion?!"

Lucifer has returned from the Demon Lord's Castle to the House of Lamentation, bearing good news for Soley, who jumped in surprise upon hearing them.

"Yes, that's right," Lucifer nodded his head in response as his brothers offered him a towel to dry himself off. "Diavolo has built a vacation mansion months ago at the edge of the Devildom where he frequently tampers with the environment. There, he can guarantee that no foul weather will spoil your day."

"Then what are we waiting for?! Let's go now before my birthday is over!"

Lucifer turned to his brothers and told everyone to pack their bags and meet back in the entrance hall. There was no arguing. Everyone did as they were told.

Upon arriving at the mentioned mansion, Soley was in awe. It wasn't enough for the building to be called a mansion as it looked more like a castle. The walls were made of bricks of the darkest colour, yet they give off a pearly shine when basked in the moon's glow. The moat around the structure was surprisingly clear and filled with rare fish that had the same hue as the moon. The inside of the building was beautifully decorated with banners, flags, and different kinds of flowers from all three worlds.

Soley loved every bit of it.

Except for a specific bloom displayed as the main theme of the beautiful arrangements in each and every vase. Its blue-ish hue irritated the lady for reasons unknown to her and the rest of the group.

"Lucifer," Soley called out to the demon. They were all walking around the halls to get themselves familiar with the layout. The six youngest brothers were walking ahead, talking amongst themselves.

Lucifer, with his arms crossed, turned his gaze from the beautiful paintings on the walls to the girl whose stare made him raise his eyebrow. "What is it?" He asked in wonder.

"While we were on our way here, you told us Lord Diavolo had the place decorated especially for our arrival, right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"I'm quite certain I previously gave you a list of my favourite things, including my beloved types of flowers— and let me tell you, forget-me-nots are not one of them."

The Avatar of Pride looked to where the lady was pointing. He was about to open his mouth in reply until everyone stopped in their tracks when they reached the great hall. They all heard footsteps coming from the balcony just above the doors they had entered.

"Oh my, it's not polite to complain about decorations someone else worked on, my lady. Especially at a place you don't even own."

"But you seem to be satisfied with everything else, so you don't know how happy I am to know how much you're enjoying yourself."

The birthday girl's eyes widened in horror as soon as she heard the very same voice she dreaded ever hearing again.

Quickly spinning on her heels, she met the mocking gaze of another human. You.

"I wish you a happy birthday, dear Lady Soley."

「 CHAPTER VIII | CHAPTER X 」

#obey me #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #obey me replaced mc au #obey me mc #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer #Forget-Me-Not

104 notes · View notes