#forest silhouetted

[colorsoutofearth]

Green Display by Sven Zacek

......

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[ornithological]

pretty sure i spotted a woodcock today 😳 flushed a bird from the forest floor, and although i didn't see its colouration, it was the right size and shape for one (plus i think i spotted its long beak)

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losing anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinking, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fucking suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

STRETCH GOAL UPDATE #1

As always, Stan is getting himself in trouble again with the Mystery Bag and now Ford has gotta clean up the mess!Thank you all for the immense amount of support for the project; we have unlocked our first Stretch Goal! These holograph stickers designed by Kvdratas3, @cherryviolets, and Andyiguess505 will be entering the mystery pool for your own mystery bags! Keep an eye out for what future stretches will be unlocked.

Shop | Kofi All proceeds go to aid for Gaza. Preorders close January 15th!

How Do Stretch Goals work in a “Mystery” Bag? Stretch goals add items to the Mystery Bag item pool!

In the case of stretch goal pins, charms, or stickers, reaching this goal means the ones in your bag might be upgraded to a specialty charm/pin or a holo sticker!

In the case of other stretch goals, like notebooks and fake tattoos, these will be added to all boxes above a designated tier!

The only bag tier where you are guaranteed to get all items, including stretch goal items, is Tier 5!

Stan & Ford Chibi Art by @starryemeralds

Image Description: an animated video with various graphics while the Gravity Falls Theme song plays.

Image 1: The background is a painted background of the forest in Gravity Falls. In light yellow words is, "OH NO!" that bounces.

Image 2: Same background, the message now reading: "Stan spilled the Mystery Bag and is running off!"

Image 3: Same background, the message continuing: "Help Ford pick up what's been dropped and get the bag!

The image slides to the next.

Image 4: In front of the same background now has a trail, labeled "STRETCH GOAL CHASE!" On on end is a chili angry Ford; at the other end is Stan running with the Mystery Bag -- a navy blue pouch with Dipper and Mabel's zodiac symbols in the Palestinian flag colors. Spread out across the trail are various silhouetted items with a yellow question mark over them. Ford runs to the first one, which then enlarges to the center of the screen.

The image slides to the next.

Image 5: A graphic designed to look like a page from Journal 3 with coffee stains, ink splatters, and symbols. On a taped slip of paper in the top right corner reads: "100 ORDERS HOLO STICKERS 3 INCHES!" Below are 5 sticker designs. The first is of Dipper in front of a disco ball and holding a microphone that he sings into. The words, "Disco Girl" below him. The second is of Baby Bill with stars surrounding him. The third is of the infinity-sided deice. The fourth is of the unicorn, Celestabellebethabelle, and her hair blowing in the wind. The is fifth is of the crack between dimensions showing the nightmare realm, silhouettes of Bill's friends are on the other side.

Image 6: Same Journal 3 graphic. The title in the corner is, "Next Stretch Goal" Below is a fake tattoo with a star having two arms held out, the words, "Hey now I'm an All Star!" surround it. Below the image reads, "Fake tattoos. Unlocked at 125 orders"

The image slides to the next.

Image 7: The forest background returns, now with the "How Do Stretch Goals Work in a “Mystery” Bag?" message from above.

[ghosthouseart]

lavender loon & fog

[image description: a watercolor painting of a loon swimming through a lake, with a forest of silhouetted pine trees in the background, fading into the fog. the painting is done in shades of purple and blue. the loon is detailed with black pen, and its head is silhouetted black with no visible eyes. /end i.d.]

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the super amazing and talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 🦇

Blood of the Covenant (Preview)

Jon’s neck snapped over to where a silhouetted figure perched silently in a tree above. Had it not been for the scattering of birds, their frantic flapping and squawking, he may have never even noticed the presence up above. The figure crouched, hidden within the dark branches, like a predator observing, waiting to strike its prey. Jon felt a chill run down his spine as realization dawned on him. “just- just make it quick.”

Jon closed his eyes tight and waited for something that never came. Gathering his courage, he slowly opened his eyes and frantically scanned the area around the tree. The figure was nowhere to be seen. His body relaxed slightly, but before he could let out a breath of relief, the figure suddenly emerged from the underbrush, clutching a limp rabbit in his hand. Jon's breath caught in his throat at the sudden appearance and he couldn't help but shudder with fear.

“Tt,” he clicked his tongue and Jon immediately registered the sound as annoyance. He wondered if fear in its prey was becoming a nuisance for this particular vampire, it would have been almost laughable, if he wasn’t scared shitless right now.

Aside from the pounding in his chest, Jon watched on in silence as the creature expertly built a fire with dry twigs and leaves. The orange flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. As the sun descended below the horizon, the fire became the only source of light, the sky now painted in shades of deep blue. The heat from the flames grew more intense, warming his skin and filling the air with the scent of burning wood. Jon’s eyes followed every move as the vampire gracefully skinned the rabbit, then with precise movements, drained the blood from the small animal. Jon’s throat tightened as the creature was skewered onto a freshly sharpened stick and placed over the embers. The smell of cooking meat filled the air, making Jon's stomach growl in hunger. The vampire seemed to have quite the sick sense of humor, subjecting him to such torture. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind off of the pain in his gut.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice shattered the silence. "Eat," they commanded.

Confused and disoriented, Jon's eyes snapped open as he tried to make sense of the words. "W-what? Why?" His own voice came out weak and shaky.

“You clearly haven't eaten in a few days,” he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes roaming across him. Jon eagerly reached out, accepting the offering, savoring the succulent meat as it filled his empty stomach. When he finished, he crudely wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. He was still weary of the other but at least if he dies now, it would be with a full belly. The man continued to stare at Jon intently, never taking his gaze away. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice low and measured, “how long have you been here?”

“Eighteen days,” he croaked out, feeling small and weak under the man's intense scrutiny.

The other only nodded. “Is that your canteen?”

Jon's heart sank as he nodded and replied, unable to hide the desperation in his voice, "It's empty." The sound of his own almost unfamiliar timbre only served as a reminder of how long it had been since he had last spoken to another human being…or anything close to it.

Without another word, the man snatched the canteen from Jon's hands and disappeared quickly into the dense forest. Minutes dragged on like hours, Jon could do nothing but watch as the moon dragged across the sky until it was directly overhead. With no clear sense of time, he began to wonder if he’d been abandoned once again, left alone in this desolate place with nothing but his thoughts for company.

As the last embers of the fire began to fade, Jon's gaze caught a glint of movement in the corner of his eye. He watched as the lithe figure of the man emerged from the shadows with the canteen in hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the canteen at Jon, who winced as it thudded against his chest. “Vampires?”

Jon nodded, “yeah, we took them out but I got inj-”. He flinched, realizing suddenly that he was talking to a vampire about taking out his own kind.

The man seemed disinterested in the murder of his kin and instead chose to focus on something else entirely. “We?”

Jon swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “yeah, the guys I'd been traveling with.”

“They left you here?”

“Well-”

“To die?” he interjected.

“I told them too. I was slowing them down.” Jon’s voice came out smaller than he intended it to.

The man carried on, as though uninterested. “Kryptonian?”

“How did you-?” The man's piercing gaze landed on the prominent "S" adorning Jon's chest. Jon shifted uncomfortably, feeling foolish, “oh. Yeah.” The two sat in tense silence once more, until the question that had been gnawing at Jon could no longer be contained, “why haven't you killed me yet?”

For the first time since the man had appeared, he seemed to be taken off guard. He sat in quiet contemplation, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. “I knew your father. He was a good friend of my father.”

“Was.” Jon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, “so, he’s dead then.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes flashed with empathy, just briefly, before returning to their stoic state, “but yes. They both are.”

“It's okay,” Jon tried to reassure himself, though his voice trembled slightly. “I think...I think I already knew.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a sense of finality wash over him, confirming what he had been desperately trying to deny. His father hadn’t come looking for him, he had already known it could only mean one thing. Silence consumed the air once more, until Jon finally spoke, “so, you haven’t killed me because my dad used to be friends with your dad?”

“Is that not enough?” he shrugged.

Jon quickly shook his head, “no, I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Tt. So, don’t die on me Jonathan Kent or this will have been a complete waste of my time.”

Surprise flickered across Jon's face, “you know my name?”

The other man scoffed, “of course, I'm the son of Batman.”

“Batman? ... So then, are you ...Tim?”

“I'm insulted.” The man's expression turned from irritation to hurt, “no, I'm Damian. I'm... I'm the last living son of Batman.” A weight seemed to settle upon him as he spoke these words, as if the realization of his own loneliness had suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. My... my brother is gone too.” Damian allowed the silence to consume the night, he did not ask Jon any more questions and for that, Jon was grateful.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Traumatized Rook that just pulls a Hawke.

In the long run, it was kind of funny to think about. How you’d disappeared right after the whole killing Elgar’nan and saving the world business. One day you were Rook—the hero who had stepped into the impossible—and the next, you were just… gone.

And no one who knew what happened blamed you for it. Not after losing Varric, after Harding, after standing before the Inquisitor and telling them about Harding. Not after sitting down to write that letter to Hawke, trying to find the right words to break a heart already too familiar with grief.

You hadn’t had the right words then. You still didn’t now.

It was Davrin’s idea to take refuge in the wilds of Arlathan Forest—him, you, Assan, and twelve other griffins. He’d been worried. Assan had been clingy. The griffin hadn’t left your side for more than a heartbeat, like he thought you might vanish if he blinked. You’d waved it off at first, told Davrin he was overreacting. But maybe he and Assan both knew something you didn’t: that if you didn’t get away, you’d shatter into something small and unrecognizable and irreparable.

So to the world, Rook simply disappeared. No fanfare. No goodbye. Just… silence.

Very few Veil Jumpers were aware of the mountain cabin tucked into the folds of the forest, half-swallowed by the overgrown wilderness. It wasn’t far from Eldrin’s place, which turned out to be useful—especially since all thirteen griffins had collectively decided they were your honorary shadows. Whether it was Assan pressed against your side, or the others roosting on the roof or trailing you like massive feathered puppies, they wouldn’t let you be alone.

It was Heidas’ soft chirp that pulled you back to the present. You blinked, the world bleeding into focus—sunlight filtering through the trees, the gentle murmur of the river winding past, Heidas watching you with a curious tilt to her head. She glanced back toward the water, then back to you, as though reminding you to breathe.

“Maybe it’s a good thing they’ve decided to follow you around like lost puppies,” Davrin’s voice came from behind you with a familiar warmth, though tinged with something quieter.

You leaned your head back until it pressed against his legs, looking up at him. He was silhouetted against the canopy, arms crossed, but his eyes softened the longer they lingered on you.

“Hi,” you said quietly, the word slipping out like an apology.

Davrin sighed, kneeling down so he was closer. “You know, just disappearing like that… not the best idea you’ve ever had.” His tone was light, but you heard the worry underneath, the quiet ache that said, I couldn’t find you, and it scared me.

“The quiet got too loud,” you murmured. “Too many thoughts, too much death—”

You stopped, startled by the feathery nudge against your cheek. Assan had pressed his face against yours, letting out a soft rumble, his eyes bright with understanding. He knew. They all did.

Davrin watched you for a moment, then reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Even Assan bolted after you. The second we realized you were gone.”

“Sorry,” you winced, pulling your knees up to your chest. “That wasn’t the intention.”

Davrin’s gaze softened further, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It lingered as if it was his way of forgiving you. “I know,” he whispered, settling down beside you. Heidas chirped again, darting toward the riverbank, and Assan eagerly bounded after her, both griffins chirping and nudging each other in playful circles.

The two of you sat in silence, listening to the forest—the water, the soft rustle of leaves, the distant cries of the other griffins circling overhead.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Davrin finally said, so quiet you almost missed it.

You leaned into him, your side pressed against his, and let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Me too.”

And for now—for this moment—that was enough.

[tytarax]

---

The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the rugged landscape, bathing the mountains and forests in a warm light. You stretched lazily, feeling the soft rustle of the leaves under you. Life on Vampa had been harsh at first, but with Broly by your side, it had become a place of unexpected peace and beauty.

You glanced to your left and saw Broly already awake, his towering figure silhouetted against the rising sun. He was tending to Ba, the giant creature who had become more of a friend than a pet. Broly’s gentle hand patted Ba’s head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the tender sight.

“Good morning,” you called out, your voice breaking the serene silence.

Broly turned to you, his stern face softening into a warm smile. “Good morning,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. He made his way over to you, his steps surprisingly light for someone of his size.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, sitting down beside you. Despite his imposing size, Broly always made sure to be careful around you, his movements deliberate and gentle.

“Like a rock,” you replied with a chuckle. “This place is starting to feel like home.”

Broly’s eyes sparkled with happiness at your words. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I want you to be happy here.”

You reached out, taking his large hand in yours. “I am happy, Broly. Because I’m with you.”

He blushed slightly, a rare but endearing sight. Broly wasn’t used to affection, having spent most of his life in isolation or conflict. But with you, he was learning to embrace the softer emotions.

The two of you spent the morning exploring the surrounding area. Broly showed you a hidden waterfall he had discovered, the crystal-clear water cascading down into a serene pool. The sound of the water was soothing, and you sat together on a rock, simply enjoying each other’s company.

As the day grew warmer, you decided to take a break and have lunch. You had packed some simple food, and Broly had caught some fresh fish from a nearby stream. Cooking over an open fire, you shared stories and laughter.

In the afternoon, you ventured further into the forest. Broly’s protective nature was evident as he guided you through the dense foliage, ensuring you didn’t stumble or get hurt. His keen senses picked up on any potential dangers long before you did, and you felt safe knowing he was always looking out for you.

At one point, you came across a clearing filled with wildflowers. The vibrant colors and sweet scents were enchanting, and you couldn’t resist picking a few to make a small bouquet. Broly watched you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with love.

“You like flowers?” he asked, his curiosity genuine.

“I do,” you replied, holding out the bouquet to him. “Here, for you.”

Broly’s eyes widened in surprise, and he took the flowers with a gentle touch. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his face. “There’s a first time for everything.”

As the sun began to set, you returned to your makeshift home. Broly had built a sturdy shelter for the two of you, using his immense strength to create a safe haven. Inside, it was cozy and warm, filled with little touches that made it uniquely yours.

That evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you sat outside with Broly, wrapped in a blanket. He held you close, his arm around your shoulders, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I never thought I could be this happy,” Broly murmured, his voice a gentle rumble.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Broly. You have such a kind heart.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips warm and soft. “And I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars and simply enjoying the moment. No words were needed to express the depth of your love for each other.

Masterpost

DBS Masterlist

[zapreportsblog]

❝my little warrior❞

✭ pairing : tsu’tey x reader

✭ fandom : avatar the way of water

✭ summary : a sky person undergoes a remarkable transformation into a Na'vi and finds herself entwined in a passionate love affair with Tsu'tey. Their love deepens as they marry, but their union takes an extraordinary turn when she becomes pregnant with Tsu'tey's heir.

✭ avatar the way of water masterlist

The night was alive with the soft, melodic hum of Pandora's bioluminescent flora. A faint breeze rustled the leaves of strange trees, and the stars above sparkled like scattered diamonds. (Y/N) stood beneath the alien sky, marveling at the beauty of this vibrant world.

Once, she had been a sky person, a scientist sent to Pandora to study its unique plant life. But life had taken a turn she could never have imagined. She had undergone the Avatar program, and now she had her own Na'vi body, a body she had come to love and cherish.

Over time, as she immersed herself in Na'vi culture and explored the lush landscape, (Y/N) found herself drawn to Tsu'tey, a fierce and noble warrior of the Omaticaya clan. His strength, wisdom, and the way he moved with the grace of a predator in the forest had captivated her heart.

However, as fate would have it, another love story was unfolding on Pandora. Jake Sully, the human who had become a Na'vi, had fallen deeply in love with Neytiri, the daughter of the clan leader. Their bond was undeniable, and their love grew stronger with each passing day.

(Y/N) struggled with her feelings for Tsu'tey, torn between her affection for him and the knowledge that Jake and Neytiri's love was destined to be. She often sought solace in the bioluminescent forests, hoping that the wisdom of Eywa, the living spirit of Pandora, would guide her.

One fateful night, as the moon hung low in the sky, (Y/N) and Tsu'tey found themselves beneath the sacred Tree of Voices. The ancient tree's soft whispers seemed to beckon them closer, and their hearts led them to each other. Under the watchful gaze of Eywa, they mated, their love transcending the boundaries of their different origins.

As time passed, the tension between the Na'vi and the sky people escalated, leading to a catastrophic war. (Y/N) fought alongside her Na'vi brothers and sisters, determined to protect the land and people she had come to call home. The conflict raged on, the battles were fierce, and losses were heavy on both sides.

It was in the aftermath of one such battle, amid the scars of war, that (Y/N) received news that would change everything. She discovered that she was pregnant, carrying the child who would be the heir of Tsu'tey, the child born of their love. Her heart swelled with hope and uncertainty, for this new life represented a bridge between two worlds, a symbol of unity and a chance for redemption.

Upon finding out the news she touched her abdomen, feeling the life growing within, (Y/N) knew that the challenges ahead were immense. But she also knew that the love she shared with Tsu'tey and the bond she had with Pandora's people would give her the strength to face whatever the future held.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the lush, alien landscape of Pandora. (Y/N) stood at the edge of the clearing, gazing out at the rolling hills and bioluminescent flora that stretched as far as the eye could see. It had been weeks since the destruction of Hometree at the hands of the Sky People, and life among the Omaticaya clan had changed dramatically.

Beside her, Tsu'tey, his tall and muscular form silhouetted against the fading light, watched the same landscape. He had become the clan leader, a position he had never sought but had embraced with a fierce determination. The loss of Hometree had been a deep wound in the heart of the Na'vi, and the Omaticaya had been scattered in the aftermath, forced to relocate and adapt to a new way of life.

"(Y/N)," Tsu'tey spoke softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "Our home, our Hometree, is gone. But we must move forward, rebuild, and find a new place to call our own."

(Y/N) turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting the same sadness. "I know, Tsu'tey. And I want to help rebuild our clan. I want to build a new home, one where our people can thrive once again."

Tsu'tey placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch reassuring. "You have a strong spirit, (Y/N), and a heart filled with love for our people. We will find a way, together."

As the weeks passed, the Omaticaya clan worked tirelessly to establish a new settlement. It was a challenging endeavor, but their determination was unwavering. Tsu'tey, as the leader, was often at the forefront, guiding and motivating the clan members. (Y/N), too, played her part, using her knowledge of the land and her skills to help gather resources and build shelters.

One evening, as the two of them sat by the fire, (Y/N) hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Tsu'tey, there's something I need to tell you." Her voice trembled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Tsu'tey turned to her, his amber eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it, (Y/N)?"

Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on her belly, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. "I'm carrying our child, Tsu'tey. I'm pregnant."

For a moment, Tsu'tey was silent, his gaze locked on (Y/N)'s face. Then, a radiant smile spread across his features, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. "This is wonderful news, (Y/N)! Our family will grow, and our love will only strengthen."

Tears of happiness filled (Y/N)'s eyes as she hugged him back. "I knew you would be happy, Tsu'tey."

Tsu'tey kissed her forehead and whispered, "I promise to support our family to the fullest, (Y/N). Our child will grow up surrounded by the love of the Omaticaya clan, and we will build a future where they can thrive."

As they held each other by the firelight, the stars overhead began to twinkle in the alien sky, casting their blessings on this new chapter in the lives of (Y/N) and Tsu'tey. Together, they would face the challenges of rebuilding, parenthood, and a future filled with hope.

The first month of pregnancy for (Y/N) was a period of quiet excitement and newfound awareness. As soon as she shared the news with Tsu'tey, their bond grew even stronger, and they embarked on this journey together with a sense of wonder.

During this initial month, (Y/N) experienced a range of physical and emotional changes. While some women might not yet be aware of their pregnancy at this stage, (Y/N) had a deep connection to her body and noticed subtle shifts.

Morning sickness made its presence felt, though it wasn't just limited to the mornings. There were moments of queasiness that could strike at any time of the day. She found comfort in sipping herbal teas that the clan's healers recommended to ease the nausea. Tsu'tey was always by her side, ready with soothing words and a helping hand whenever she needed it.

Fatigue was another constant companion during the first month. (Y/N) often found herself needing more rest than usual, and Tsu'tey made sure she had a comfortable place to rest and recuperate. The Omaticaya clan members, aware of their leader's impending fatherhood, were also supportive, offering assistance with chores and responsibilities.

Emotionally, (Y/N) experienced a mix of happiness, anticipation, and occasional anxiety. She couldn't help but wonder about the kind of parent she would be and how their child would fit into the clan's evolving dynamics. Tsu'tey was her anchor during these moments of reflection, assuring her that they would face the future together, as a strong and loving family.

As the first month passed, the news of (Y/N)'s pregnancy gradually spread throughout the clan. The Omaticaya celebrated the impending arrival of a new member with joy and hope, and they gathered around the couple, offering blessings and support.

Tsu'tey, who had been busy with the responsibilities of leadership, took moments to connect with (Y/N) and the life growing inside her. He would place his hand gently on her belly, feeling a sense of wonder as he imagined their child's future among the Na'vi.

The first month of pregnancy for (Y/N) was a time of gentle transitions and growing anticipation. She and Tsu'tey faced the challenges and joys of this new chapter with love, determination, and the unwavering support of the Omaticaya clan.

The second and third months of (Y/N)'s pregnancy brought with them a deeper sense of purpose and a heightened awareness of the challenges ahead. Balancing the responsibilities of helping the village rebuild with the anticipation of their growing family tested both (Y/N) and Tsu'tey in unique ways.

As the weeks passed, (Y/N) found herself adjusting to the physical changes of pregnancy. Her morning sickness began to ease, bringing some relief. Still, she had to be mindful of her energy levels and listen to her body's cues, which sometimes meant stepping back from strenuous tasks. The healers of the Omaticaya clan continued to offer guidance and support, ensuring her well-being.

Tsu'tey, as the clan leader, faced a relentless stream of decisions and duties related to the village's reconstruction. He leaned on the strength and resilience of his people, delegating tasks to clan members to ensure the new settlement continued to grow. At the same time, he made a conscious effort to be there for (Y/N), recognizing that her well-being and their growing family were his top priorities.

Together, (Y/N) and Tsu'tey navigated the challenges of rebuilding their lives while preparing for the arrival of their child. They shared moments of quiet reflection in the evenings, talking about their hopes and dreams for their family. Tsu'tey often spoke about teaching their child the ways of the Na'vi, passing down the traditions and values of their clan.

The Omaticaya clan, aware of their leader's impending fatherhood, rallied around the couple. They helped with household chores, ensured that (Y/N) had access to nutritious meals, and offered their wisdom on parenting and raising a child within the clan. The sense of community and support was a constant source of strength for (Y/N) and Tsu'tey.

During the second and third months, (Y/N) began to feel the first flutters of the baby's movements within her womb. Each kick and twist filled her with awe, reminding her of the life growing inside her. Tsu'tey would often place his hand on her belly, feeling the gentle movements, and they would share smiles and whispered words of love for their unborn child.

While the challenges of rebuilding their village remained, the anticipation of their growing family served as a beacon of hope. (Y/N) and Tsu'tey knew that their child would be born into a world of resilience, love, and unity, surrounded by the warm embrace of the Omaticaya clan.

During the fourth, fifth, and sixth months of (Y/N)'s pregnancy, the physical demands of carrying their child became more pronounced, and (Y/N) found herself struggling with feelings of frustration and inadequacy. In the vibrant world of the Na'vi, where strength and agility were highly valued, she couldn't help but feel like she was falling short.

As she watched other pregnant Na'vi women in the clan continue to ride their ikran and participate in hunting expeditions, (Y/N) felt a growing sense of frustration. She had always been an active member of the Omaticaya clan, and now, as her pregnancy advanced, she found it increasingly difficult to keep up with her usual activities.

One day, as (Y/N) sat by a clear river, her thoughts weighed down by her perceived shortcomings, Jake Sully approached her. He had lived among the Na'vi and understood both their culture and her unique situation as a human who had become one of them.

"(Y/N)," Jake said gently, sitting down beside her. "I've noticed that you're feeling down lately. What's been bothering you?"

Tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes as she confessed her feelings of uselessness. "I see the other Na'vi women continuing their daily activities, riding ikran and hunting, and here I am struggling just to walk without feeling exhausted. I feel like I'm letting everyone down."

Jake placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I understand why you're feeling this way, (Y/N). But remember, you were once a human, and human women have different experiences during pregnancy. Your body has been through a remarkable transformation, adapting to the ways of the Na'vi. You're carrying a child who will be part of both worlds, and that makes your journey unique."

(Y/N) looked at Jake, her eyes filled with gratitude. "But I still want to contribute, to be a part of the clan's activities."

Jake nodded with a knowing smile. "You don't have to be a warrior or a hunter to contribute, (Y/N). Your wisdom, your love, and the unique perspective you bring to our clan are invaluable. You're carrying the future of our people, and that's the most important role of all."

Touched by Jake's words, (Y/N) wiped away her tears. She realized that her journey through pregnancy was bound to be different, but it was no less significant. She had a loving partner in Tsu'tey, the support of the Omaticaya clan, and the wisdom of Jake to guide her through this unique experience.

As the months passed, (Y/N) embraced her role as a mother-to-be with newfound confidence. She may not have been riding ikran or hunting, but she was nurturing a new life, one that would bridge the gap between two worlds. With the support of her loved ones and a sense of purpose, she found joy and fulfillment in the path that lay ahead, ready to welcome their child into a world of unity and understanding.

The seventh month of (Y/N)'s pregnancy brought with it a sense of eager anticipation. As her belly continued to swell with the growing life inside, she and Tsu'tey decided to set aside a special day to choose names for their soon-to-arrive baby. It was a tradition among the Na'vi to carefully select names that held deep meaning, reflecting the hopes and dreams for the child.

One warm and tranquil afternoon, (Y/N) and Tsu'tey found a quiet spot beneath the shade of a large willow tree by the river. They sat cross-legged on a woven mat, facing each other, their hands intertwined. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves above, and the sounds of the forest provided a soothing backdrop for their important task.

Tsu'tey spoke first, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been thinking about names for our child, (Y/N). For a boy, I like the name Nari. It means 'strong,' and I hope our son will grow to be as strong as our clan."

(Y/N) smiled at the choice. "Nari is a wonderful name, Tsu'tey. For a girl, I've been considering Aluna. It means 'peace,' and I want our daughter to bring peace to our hearts and our clan."

Tsu'tey nodded in agreement. "Aluna is a beautiful name. Strong and peaceful, just like you, (Y/N)."

They continued to brainstorm names, taking turns suggesting options and discussing their meanings. For a boy, they considered names like Tarok, meaning 'brave,' and for a girl, Neytiri, in honor of their dear friend and fellow clan member. Each name carried a special significance, representing qualities they wished for their child.

As they deliberated, (Y/N) felt a deep connection with Tsu'tey and their growing family. She realized that this was not just a choice of names; it was a celebration of their love, their hopes, and their shared future. The anticipation of meeting their child in just a few short months filled their hearts with joy.

After much thought and consideration, they settled on the names. For a boy, they chose Nari, a name representing strength, and for a girl, Aluna, embodying peace. With these names in mind, they felt even more connected to the life growing within (Y/N)'s belly, eager to welcome Nari or Aluna into their loving arms.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, (Y/N) and Tsu'tey held each other close, their hearts filled with gratitude and excitement. They knew that the journey ahead would be a remarkable one, and they were ready to embrace it together as a family, with Nari or Aluna at its heart.

The eighth month of (Y/N)'s pregnancy brought with it a sense of camaraderie among the Na'vi women of the Omaticaya clan. Neytiri, who had become like a sister to (Y/N) and Tsu'tey, was more than happy to lend her support to the pregnant women of the tribe. It was a time when the women came together, sharing their experiences, wisdom, and traditions.

On a bright and sunny morning, the pregnant Na'vi women gathered beneath the shade of a massive tree in the heart of the clan's new settlement. They sat on woven mats, surrounded by baskets filled with vibrant blooms and fragrant herbs. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the soft hum of conversation.

Neytiri, with her gentle smile and nurturing spirit, led the gathering. She had graciously taken on the role of guiding the expectant mothers through this phase of their journey. (Y/N) sat among the women, her pregnant belly a testament to the life she carried within.

As the women worked together, weaving intricate flower crowns and arranging the blooms into beautiful bouquets, they shared stories of their own pregnancies, recalling the joys and challenges they had faced. Some spoke of the excitement of their first child, while others offered advice on coping with the physical changes that came with pregnancy.

Neytiri, with her wealth of knowledge, shared traditional Na'vi remedies and practices that could alleviate discomfort and promote the well-being of both mother and child. Her presence was a source of comfort and inspiration for (Y/N) and the other expectant mothers.

"(Y/N)," Neytiri said, turning to her with a warm smile, "You are a part of our clan, and your journey is a unique one. You may have been born human, but your heart is Na'vi. We are here to support you as you bring a child into our world, and we are honored to share in this experience with you."

Tears of gratitude welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes as she nodded. She had come to love her Na'vi family deeply, and this gathering of women was a reminder of the strength of their community. They were united not just by blood but by their shared values, traditions, and the bonds they had formed.

As the day passed, the women wove their stories and their flower crowns together, creating memories that would forever be etched in their hearts. The eighth month of (Y/N)'s pregnancy became a time of connection and celebration, a testament to the beauty of unity and the enduring spirit of the Omaticaya clan.

The ninth month of (Y/N)'s pregnancy was filled with eager anticipation and the feeling that their child's arrival was imminent. She stood with the other Na'vi women, watching the horizon for the return of their mates, husbands, brothers, and fathers from the hunting party. The air was charged with excitement, and a sense of unity enveloped the waiting group.

As they scanned the distant landscape, (Y/N) suddenly felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her belly as a warm rush of fluid signaled that her water had broken. Panic and realization washed over her, and she turned to the women beside her, trying to convey her urgency with wide eyes.

Without hesitation, the Na'vi women swiftly guided (Y/N) toward the healing tent. Her contractions intensified, and she couldn't help but cry out for Tsu'tey, her voice filled with longing. She wanted him there with her during this pivotal moment, but the urgency of the situation pressed on.

Inside the healing tent, the skilled healers and midwives immediately recognized that (Y/N) was in labor. They began to attend to her, guiding her into a birthing pool and providing comfort as the contractions grew stronger and closer together. Despite their best efforts, (Y/N) was already deep into labor and had to begin pushing.

Each push was met with determination and courage, but (Y/N) continued to call out for Tsu'tey, her heart aching for his presence. Her strength wavered, but she drew from the support of the healers and the women around her.

Meanwhile, the hunting party returned to the village, led by Jake Sully. Jake had noticed (Y/N)'s and Neytiri’s absence amongst the crowd of woman, a healer approached Tsu'tey with a sense of urgency, relaying the news of her labor. Panic and worry etched across Tsu'tey's face, and he wasted no time rushing to the tent where (Y/N) was giving birth.

Inside the tent, (Y/N) lay in the birthing pool, her body glistening with sweat, her voice filled with both pain and determination. Neytiri, her trusted friend and clan sister, stood by her side, offering words of encouragement.

And then, in a moment that felt like an eternity, (Y/N) gave one final push. The room seemed to hold its breath as she brought their child into the world. With a triumphant cry, her baby boy took his first breath, and the room erupted in joyous celebration.

Tsu'tey entered the tent just in time to witness the miraculous moment. His heart swelled with pride and love as he rushed to (Y/N)'s side, tears in his eyes. Together, they marveled at the tiny, precious life they had brought into their clan.

Neytiri, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, announced, "It's a boy!" The healing tent filled with cheers and laughter, and the clan members celebrated the arrival of the newest member of the Omaticaya clan.

In the midst of the joyous chaos, (Y/N) and Tsu'tey shared a moment of profound connection as they held their newborn son in their arms. It was a testament to their love and strength as a couple and their unwavering bond with their Na'vi family. The birth of their son marked the beginning of a new chapter filled with hope, unity, and love.

Later that night, as (Y/N) rested in the birthing tent, Tsu'tey sat by the soft glow of a bioluminescent plant, cradling their newborn son in his large, gentle hands. The baby nestled peacefully against his chest, his tiny fingers curled around Tsu'tey's finger.

Tsu'tey looked down at the sleeping infant with a soft smile, his deep amber eyes filled with wonder. "Your mom says babies on Earth are tiny," he whispered, his voice barely above a hushed tone, "At first, I didn't believe her, but now, seeing and holding you, I can confidently say your mother was correct."

He chuckled softly, his tone filled with love and amusement. "You are a little warrior, aren't you? Just like your mother and your father." Tsu'tey's heart swelled with pride as he continued to speak to his son.

"You have a world of adventure ahead of you, my son," Tsu'tey murmured, his voice filled with a promise, "And I will always be here to guide you, to protect you, and to love you, no matter how old you may get."

The baby stirred slightly, his eyes flickering open for a brief moment before drifting back into peaceful slumber. Tsu'tey's heart melted as he watched his son, marveling at the tiny life he held in his hands.

With a tender kiss on the baby's forehead, Tsu'tey continued to whisper words of love and protection into the night, ensuring that their newborn son would always know the depth of his father's devotion and the warmth of their family's embrace.

[solomon-revisited]

up the wolves, the mountain goats x bristlecone photographs, earl cecil payne

[ID: two photographs of the sun setting over a silhouetted forest. the lyrics "there's gonna come a day when you'll feel better / you'll rise up free and easy on that day / and float from branch to branch, lighter than the air" are overlayed on the first image. the lyrics "just when that day is coming, who can say? who can say?" are overlayed on the second image.]

[wowzie-zowzii]

Sua is Scary

[Id: A drawing of Till, Sua, and Mizi in ANAKT Garden. They are dressed as they were when they were kids- in white attire and white collars. They are in a forest. Till is in the foreground, he looks backwards with a scared face. In the background, Sua is drawn silhouetted with only purple eyes shown glaring at Till. Mizi is behind her. She cutely says, Hi, Till! /End Id]

[moonselune]

Dark!BG3 | Grand Duke Wyll Catch up P.1

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Coercion, arson, murder, manipulation, mentions of blood, corruption

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Found you ! :

After hiding from Wyll due to what he's become, what happens when he finally finds you?

The Sword Coast's rugged beauty provided a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within you. Having fled from Baldur's Gate, you had been traveling with desperate determination, evading the Flaming Fists and Wyll's forces with every resource and trick you could muster. The constant vigilance was wearing, but the thought of what you were leaving behind—the corruption, the cruelty, the betrayal—drove you forward.

Your journey took you through the winding roads and dense forests. It was in this desolate expanse that you came upon a scene that stopped you in your tracks: a house was ablaze, flames licking the night sky and sending sparks up like fiery stars. The frantic cries of a woman for help pierced through the crackling of the fire.

Despite knowing that Wyll was hot on your trail, the sight of the burning house and the woman's desperate pleas ignited something within you. You couldn't abandon her, not when you had the power to help. With a grim resolve, you dashed into the inferno, navigating through the smoke and searing heat. The oppressive heat seemed to claw at your skin, but you pushed through, finding the woman huddled in a corner, her face streaked with soot and tears.

With all your remaining strength, you lifted her and carried her out of the burning building. She was light, but the strain of the rescue was evident in your ragged breathing and trembling limbs. You made it outside, collapsing onto the grass as you set her down. Her relief was palpable, and she began to thank you profusely but her thanks were soon tinged with regret, and she crumpled at your feet.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, her voice trembling. "He made me do it, he said he’d send my husband off to war if I didn’t cooperate!"

Before you could fully process her words, she pulled out a small, glinting blade. With a swift motion, she nicked your arm, and a cold, numbing paralysis spread through your body. Your limbs became leaden, and despite your attempts to move, you found yourself completely immobilized, standing still like a statue.

The night’s tranquility was further shattered by the sound of horses approaching. Wyll appeared on horseback, his form silhouetted against the flames and moonlight. His expression was one of smug satisfaction, and his eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement as he surveyed the scene.

“Well done, my dear,” Wyll said, his voice smooth and mocking. “Such a wonderful performance. Truly admirable.”

The woman, now visibly shaking with fear, looked at Wyll with a mixture of hope and desperation.

“What about my house?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I have nowhere to live, you promised you would provide!”

Wyll smiled indulgently and gestured to a tall gentleman who stepped forward with a cold, detached demeanor.

“And I will,” Wyll said, his voice carrying an almost whimsical tone. “Worry not, dear citizen. This gentleman will ensure you find your way to your forever home.”

Before the woman could react, the gentleman drew his sword and struck her down with a swift, merciless motion. Her final scream was cut short, and she fell to the ground, her lifeless body now adding to the grim tableau of the burning house.

Wyll dismounted his horse, his gaze turning back to you with an almost tender smile. He approached, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the cold satisfaction in his eyes. His fingers gently caressed your cheek, a chilling contrast to the warmth of the flames around you.

“Ah, my dearest,” Wyll said, his voice soft but laden with a sinister undertone. “How glad I am to finally have you back. You really shouldn’t have run, you know. It only made things more… exciting.”

You wanted to speak, to confront him with all the anger and betrayal you felt, but the paralysis rendered you mute. The horror of the woman’s death and the realization of your own helplessness weighed heavily on you. Wyll’s presence, so close and yet so far from the man you once loved, was both a comfort and a terror.

He smiled, the warmth of his gaze juxtaposed against the cruelty of his actions.

“It’s always been a game to me, you know,” he said, his fingers still tracing along your cheek. “A thrilling game of cat and mouse. And now, my love, the game is over.”

As his words sank in, you were overwhelmed by a sense of inevitability. The fight had left you, replaced by a resigned acceptance of your fate. Wyll’s power was absolute, and his twisted sense of justice had ensnared you in a web from which there was no escape.

With a final, lingering touch, Wyll pulled away and motioned for his men to assist. The paralysis left you unable to resist as they moved you, each step feeling like a cruel mockery of the freedom you had once sought.

As you were carried away, the light of the blazing house cast long shadows, and the realization that you were returning to Wyll’s domain settled over you like a heavy shroud. The night sky, once a symbol of your hope and escape, now felt oppressive and suffocating.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Found you (only just):

Wyll has you cornered, let him relish in these moments

Wyll Ravengard’s stallion stood still, its powerful frame casting a looming shadow over the desolate landscape as he surveyed the scene from a distance. The Grand Duke’s presence was imposing, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he watched you dart into the blazing house, as he had predicted. The firelight flickered and danced, casting an eerie glow across his face, illuminating his dark eyes with a predatory glint.

From his vantage point, Wyll had a clear view of your frantic movements. His mouth curled into a satisfied smirk as he took in the sight of you sprinting through the flames, driven by an instinctive compulsion to rescue the woman inside. It was a spectacle that brought a twisted thrill to him, one he watched with a mixture of amusement and dark delight.

The chase had invigorated him in ways he hadn't anticipated. When he had first discovered that you had fled from him, there had been an initial surge of frustration and despair. The reality that you had escaped, slipping through his fingers, had been an unwelcome blow to his otherwise meticulous control over his empire. His initial anger had simmered, but it was quickly replaced by a growing excitement. The pursuit, with all its dangers and uncertainties, had become an exhilarating game, a challenge that stirred a fierce competitiveness within him.

He leaned against the pommel of his saddle, his gloved hands gripping the reins with a relaxed confidence. The flickering light of the fire made his face appear both sinister and enthralling.

"How delightful," Wyll mused to himself, his voice a soft, velvety murmur carried away by the night air. “To think that you would be so impassioned, so driven to save someone even as you know you’re being hunted. It’s almost admirable, in a twisted sort of way.”

As you emerged from the house, the woman in your arms, Wyll’s smile widened. The scene was both dramatic and fitting—a perfect testament to the lengths you were willing to go to for others, and to his own mastery of manipulation. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the smoke and the heat from the fire, feeling the adrenaline of the hunt still coursing through him.

The sight of the woman’s desperate gratitude, followed by the cruel execution that followed, only heightened Wyll’s sense of satisfaction. He had orchestrated this with careful precision, knowing full well that you would be drawn into the scene.

With a flick of his reins, Wyll urged his horse forward, his eyes never leaving you. He could see the moment of realization dawning in your eyes, the paralysis rendering you powerless. The thrill of anticipation reached its peak as he approached, eager to finally confront you, to reclaim you from the brink of his carefully laid trap.

Wyll’s heart raced, but not from fear or exertion—his was the thrill of the predator on the verge of capturing its prey. He could almost feel the heat of the fire against his skin, the raw intensity of the moment heightening his senses. The thought of finally having you in his grasp, of experiencing your surrender and the tumultuous emotions that would follow, was almost intoxicating.

As he neared, Wyll’s expression softened into a cruel, yet affectionate smile. His eyes twinkled with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation, eager for the final act of his twisted game. The night air seemed to thrum with the promise of what was to come, and he could hardly contain his eagerness to have you back, to relish every moment of the intricate power dynamic that had been so carefully constructed.

“I can hardly wait to have you back where you belong,” Wyll murmured to himself , his voice low and full of a darkly seductive promise. “The game has been exhilarating, but nothing compares to the satisfaction of having you right here, within my reach.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Back in my arms:

Now you have been found, Wyll enjoys having you back in his arms, even if you don't.

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets of Baldur's Gate, the rhythmic clatter a constant backdrop to your weariness. The day had been a marathon of public appearances: meetings with influential nobles, lavish balls, and extravagant banquets. Every smile you had forced, every polite word you had spoken, felt like a betrayal to your own heart. Each gesture had been meticulously practiced to maintain the illusion of a perfect, adoring spouse. It had been a punishment for your rebellion, a flex of control he had over you.

Wyll had promised that if you kept up appearances, doted on him like any loving spouse would he would cull his killing, be more fair, he promised. You couldn't risk lives on account of your disobedience.

Wyll sat beside you in the opulent carriage, his demeanor regal and composed, a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched on your face. His charm had dazzled throughout the day, but now, as the carriage made its way back to the palace, the veneer of public perfection was beginning to crack, revealing the toll it had taken on you.

You tried to maintain your composure, sitting upright and attempting to mask the fatigue that had begun to weigh heavily on you. The extravagant robes you wore felt like it was suffocating you, the layers of fabric adding to your discomfort. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy, the day's relentless schedule leaving you drained.

Wyll, ever observant, noticed your struggle. A faint, knowing smile played at the corners of his lips as he watched you fight to stay awake. His fingers absently stroked the plush seat of the carriage, a reflection of the casual ease he felt in his own surroundings.

“You look like you’ve had quite enough, my dear,” he murmured, his voice soft and velvety, tinged with a hint of amusement. “But I do so enjoy seeing you play your part so convincingly.”

Despite his teasing tone, there was a genuine warmth in his gaze. He reached out, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender and almost affectionate. The gesture was a reminder of the complex emotions that lurked beneath his authoritative exterior, a blend of possession and genuine care.

You tried to stifle a yawn, but it escaped despite your best efforts. The weight of the day's exertions was too much, and soon, your resistance faltered. With a final, weary sigh, you leaned against him, unable to fight the pull of sleep any longer. Your head found its way to his shoulder, and the moment you relaxed into his side, a deep, contented sigh escaped you.

Wyll’s smile softened as he felt the weight of your head on his shoulder. He adjusted his position slightly to make you more comfortable, his arm slipping around you in a protective embrace. He leaned his head closer to yours, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “This is how it’s meant to be. You, here beside me, where you were always meant to be. Perfectly in your place.”

His fingers gently stroked your arm, the touch tender and soothing. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and tenderness as you slept, his heart swelling with a complicated blend of pride and affection. There was something deeply fulfilling about having you by his side, even if the circumstances were far from ideal.

Wyll’s eyes softened as he gazed at your peaceful expression. The public façade, the power plays and politics, seemed to fade into the background as he relished this private moment of closeness. The carriage’s swaying motion and the warmth of your body against his were reminders of the bond he had worked so hard to cultivate, even if it had required sacrifices.

“You see,” he continued, his voice low and intimate and as if you were paying attention to him, “despite everything, this—us—is exactly as it should be. I always knew you were meant to be mine. The world may change, and our roles may shift, but here, in this moment, we are exactly where we belong.”

He adjusted your position slightly, ensuring you were as comfortable as possible. As you slept soundly, Wyll’s gaze lingered on you, the satisfaction of having you close intertwining with a more profound sense of connection. The complexities of his rule and the sacrifices made were momentarily forgotten, replaced by the simple, tender reality of the moment.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Escape Attempt:

You try to escape - keyword, try.

The moonlight filtered through the heavy drapes of the palace’s chambers, casting long, haunting shadows on the walls. You had waited for the dead of night to make your move, seizing the moment when Wyll was occupied with his endless stream of duties. With the carriage parked safely away and the guards’ movements meticulously timed, you had slipped out of the palace with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

The streets were quieter at this hour, the usual bustle replaced by an eerie calm. You navigated through the shadows, your heart pounding with the anticipation of freedom. Every footstep felt like a victory, every turn away from the palace felt like a step toward reclaiming your autonomy. The city, which had once felt like a cage, now seemed like a maze you were desperate to escape.

But as you darted through the narrow alleyways, a chilling realization began to dawn on you. The streets, which had seemed so welcoming in their quietude, felt increasingly like a trap. The shadows seemed to move with a menacing purpose, and a disquieting silence hung heavy in the air. It was as though you were being watched, the sensation of being pursued more palpable than ever before.

Your breath quickened as you quickened your pace, but it was only a matter of moments before you were abruptly halted by the appearance of a figure emerging from the darkness. There, illuminated by the soft glow of a distant streetlamp, stood Wyll—composed, unruffled, and as impeccable as ever. He was mounted on a majestic steed, its dark coat gleaming under the moonlight, and his gaze was locked onto you with a mixture of amusement and something darker.

“You really should have stayed put,” Wyll said, his voice smooth and unhurried. “I do so hate having to chase you through the streets at this late hour, I would much prefer chasing you through the forest in the sunlight.”

Your heart sank, a mixture of resignation and anger flaring within you.

“How… how did you find me?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed.

Wyll’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and something that almost resembled affection.

“Oh, that’s the easiest part, my dearest. You see, I’ve been tracking you with a little help from my own personal magic. I did learn a thing or two from Mizora afterall.” He reached into the folds of his elegant cloak and produced a small vial, its contents glowing faintly with a dark crimson hue.

You stared at the vial, the sight of your own blood contained within it sending a shiver down your spine.

“Isn’t it just fantastic?” Wyll said, his tone dripping with mock enthusiasm. “A simple enchantment and this little vial are all I need to ensure you’re never too far out of my reach.”

The realization struck you like a cold wave. Wyll had been tracking you all along, his control over your every move a chilling testament to his power and obsession. You were nothing more than a pawn in his grand game, each escape attempt merely adding to his sense of superiority.

“You psychopath,” you spat out, your voice tinged with both anger and desperation. “You’re a monster.”

Wyll pouted dramatically, his eyes widening in faux hurt. “Oh, such cruel words spoken to your husband. I’m simply doing what’s necessary to keep things in order.”

He dismounted gracefully from his horse and took a step toward you, his presence imposing yet somehow still oddly charming. You tried to turn away, determined to escape him once more, but Wyll’s voice halted you.

“I wouldn’t turn your back on me if I were you,” he said smoothly, his tone a dangerous blend of charm and menace. “It would be such a shame if some dreadful illness were to spread through the prisons. You wouldn’t want to be the cause of so many innocent lives suffering, would you?”

You froze, the threat implicit in his words clear, Wyll’s veiled threat was enough to make you reconsider your escape. The thought of innocents suffering because of your actions weighed heavily on your conscience, the knowledge that you had inadvertently become a potential vector for disaster forcing you to rethink your resolve.

With a resigned sigh, you turned to face him, your eyes filled with a mixture of defeat and reluctant acceptance. Wyll’s smile was one of triumph, though he did his best to maintain an air of effortless charm.

“Good decision,” he said, his voice a blend of satisfaction and tenderness. “Come with me, and we’ll return to our home. After all, we wouldn’t want any unnecessary suffering, now would we?”

You moved towards him, the weight of his threat making every step feel like a reluctant surrender. As you walked beside him, Wyll’s demeanor shifted subtly, his gaze softening with a hint of genuine affection mingled with his usual possessiveness.

“Let’s not dwell on this unpleasantness,” he said, his hand lightly brushing against yours in a gesture that was both possessive and oddly comforting. “We have our lives, our roles, and our place in this world. All will be as it should be, and you will once again be by my side where you belong.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

There we go part one of the Dark!BG3 Wyll catch up, part two is on the way, let me know what you guys thing, I cherish every reblog and comment <3 - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[eywa-eveng]

ɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – mentions of character death, mentions of war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – A bit of a non-linear storyline here, but nothing too confusing.

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Light blooms underfoot, swelling and fading like ripples over water as faint syuratan rises to meet the shadows gathering beneath the night sky. The last dregs of amber sunlight pierce through the treetops like arrows, the warm light glowing like a flame behind the silhouetted canopy. The shades of firelight fade to blue darkness as the forest swallows the last whispers of daylight into the darkened horizon. A path towards the clan’s new settlement is carved in pale green light, each step echoed by the glowing moss blanketing the tree limbs. The newly lit plants burn brighter at the slightest touch, flaring as a breeze brushes through the trees, shuffling one leaf against another until entire branches are bright as torchlight. And when the wind settles the air is filled with the sweet taste of nectar, the hanging plants swarmed with insects that fill the night with their buzzing song. There’s always music in the forest, the sounds of life thrumming through the air like the distant voices of a forgotten lullaby. The chittering of nantang and the shrieking of riti, the thundering footfalls of ’angtsìk. 

The noises of the night build as the stars begin to dot the sky, swallowing your nearly soundless footfalls as you weave through the foliage, running along the twisted roots bridging the distance between the trees. The ground rushes up to meet you as you jump from the high perch, ears twitching towards a disturbance somewhere nearby that makes your landing sound like stones rolling down a hill, fumbling and clumsy. Loud enough to be worth a closer look as voices begin to break through the foliage, terse with agitation. Your feet are quick enough to catch the tail end of the confrontation. 

Hunters. Some mounted and others on foot. A mix of Na’vi and uniltìrantokx, separated by dignity and appearance. The sawtute are easy to parse from trueborn Na’vi, even at a distance. They’re like fiery red blossoms in a sea of yellow flowers, so plainly out of place. Speaking their human language and wearing their human clothes even when most of their kind have long since been banished from Pandora. The night had been clear when they left and a new star bloomed in the darkness, bright as a white flame in the deep blue sky. Most claim not to mourn the loss but others seem less inclined to surrender themselves to the Na’vi way of life. It is clear that the topic of disturbance involves such cultural differences as you creep closer. 

Someone cuts a biting remark, gruff and steeped in a thickening accent the more terse their words become. An uniltìrantokx returns the venom-stricken tone with their own heavy accent, Na’vi words sounding as intimidating as a child when spoken on such a foreign tongue. One of the mounted hunters cracks a smile, a sardonic laugh slipping past his lips. These avatars are like humans. Babies that need teaching especially after being so suddenly stripped away from their system of support. There aren’t many of them left in their place of human dwelling. That strange metal cave system that spirals out like the bloated roots of some shimmery plant. These are supposed to be the truly loyal humans. The kind humans left after the rot and ruin of the rest was scraped away. There are kind souls that remain but some are far too stubborn, like clay dug up from a riverbed and left to dry before it was fully molded into shape. They’re stiff and unchanging despite the offers to be taught your ways of life. 

It is a fair argument they are having from what you can hear at the fringes of the clearing. The avatars are being far too liberal with their bows. Eager arrows lead to messy kills and there is no reason to cause unneeded suffering for a lack of discipline. An injured animal will run if it is able and sawtute are far less adept at traversing these forests. It would be easy for them to lose their intended kill and leave the animal to suffer with an arrow in its hide. A mounted hunter says as much, pa’li unsteady beneath her, the direhorse churning up dirt beneath her hooves as her rider’s anger is surely reflected through tsaheylu. When the humans have nothing to say back the silence stretches like a rope pulled taut, slowly fraying under the strain until it snaps and the leader of the hunting party gives the gruff order to return home. 

The word still sets an ache in your chest like pressing against a bruise, dull and throbbing as “home” has changed shape. You follow in the trail of light left by the hunting party. Not towards Hometree that always stood above the forest like a fist punching towards the sky, but to grounded dwellings flanking the humans’ nearly abandoned home. The hunting party continues on after passing through the newly made village, escorting the avatars back to their massive metal kelku. Their refusal to learn has stunted their ability to be trusted in the forest alone. Truly like children that need to be guided lest they be met with an accident that could’ve been prevented with proper teachings. 

The sounds of the forest give way to a din of voices as green syuratan fades to bright orange firelight. It sounds much the same as Kelutral had, conversations mingled with laughter as everyone gathers around cookfires for their nightly meals. It’s far less communial with the separate homes of woven fabrics over wooden frames. Different sizes denoting the size of the family living within. Your own is modestly small, just large enough for one. Truly it was meant for an avatar if they felt more inclined to immerse themselves in village life but it went unused for so long that you took the honor of christening it as your own, sleeping here most days despite having mates of your own and a more homely kelku to return to. It’s been days of careful avoidance despite the olo’eyktan and tsakarem’s greatest efforts to draw you back to their side. 

Unexpectedly, it is Jake that has been more insistent rather than Neytiri. That was something you hadn’t thought to consider a possibility. His longing was enough to make you avoid any member of the clan altogether. You’ve shared no more than a few words with anyone in the days since Jake began sending his warriors chasing after your tail in an attempt to coax you back home. They’d come to you bearing gifts of delicate bracelets made with the rarest beads and feathered hair ornaments of the brightest colors, lingering for a moment to ponder over your rejection before trailing back to their leader with a defeated hunch to their shoulders. 

The fire you tend to is only just large enough for your purposes. This kelku is set every so slightly apart from the rest and a light flickering at the fringes of the village is sure to draw unneeded attention whether it’s a kind elder sending children to be sure you have enough to eat or another of Jake’s men coming to present you with another of his finely made gifts. His effort is wasted. Pretty adornments aren’t enough to stitch the wound that’s been scored across your very soul. So much has happened in so little time. So quickly that you were hardly given a moment to mourn. Even as the days fall away to the past with the rise and fall of the sun it still feels like a wound is festering in your heart, refusing to heal as old memories poke and prod, stinging in the back of your mind. No, a new necklace or freshly made arrows won’t be enough to soothe the pain you’re suffering. Everyone might have begun to move on, picking up the fragments of what was left behind to rebuild something new, something better, but you stayed there. Every night, in your dreams, the sky is raining ash and the People are screaming. 

The hunger leaves you as the taste of salt invades your mouth, memories of uncounted tears souring your appetite. The small fire is snuffed and the food is set aside with the intention to eat it should you wake with hunger pangs in the dead of night. Sleep has been an elusive thing in the time since the fall of Hometree. Something terrifying as your mind reminds you of the pain and betrayal. Over and over. And there is no place of solace to return to. No Utral Aymokriyä where you might hear some shred of happiness from those that have gone before you. Everything has been torn apart and reknit in a new shape and the only one that seems to truly notice the strangeness of it all is you. But life must go on. A tree does not stop growing when clouds cover the sun. 

Sleep is expectedly fitful, full of stuttered moments of jolted wakefulness that find your cheeks wet with tears. And when the hour is bright enough that you can banish any attempts at resting you rise and pad off into the pinkish light of dawn, nibbling on your cold dinner as you trail off into the forest before the rest of the village has time to wake. As usual there is no direction to your walking, no destination in mind. The only thought is to be away from the village and all the people that seem so foreign to you now. Not only are there more humans and avatars mingling with the People but even those that you were once close to seem to have a different face. And that is only those that remain. The rest were lost, gone to a place you can only reach in short grasping moments. 

Home is far away, in distance and in feeling. The new settlement feels nothing like home even as the clan has begun to rebuild. So many ancestral pieces were lost in the fall of Hometree. Totems and precious items passed down and preserved between the generations of the Omatikaya. Once you could touch something and know that hundreds of hands, long before your time, had touched the same place. Your favorite had been the wooden looms worn soft and smooth by the gentle hands of weavers that passed their craft down to their children and to their children until the knowledge found its way into your hands. All the memories since the time of the First Songs that had survived in the safety of Hometree, gone in an instant. Everything that the Omatikaya clan was, washed away like footprints in sand. 

Now these trees seem so foreign as you traverse through the morning light. In moving to settle closer to the humans’ dwelling the clan has been distanced from the lands you’ve known since birth. Hometree may have fallen but the estrangement seems unnecessary. Maybe to fledgling eyes the forest looks the same but here there are plants that didn’t grow close to Hometree. You’d grown up learning every patch of ferns and every bed of flowers and now you’d need to learn it all again. New berries that prefer the unfiltered sunlight where the humans cleared the trees away and new landmarks to lead you from one place to another in the sprawling forest. Moving was necessary but Jake chose not to claim a new Hometree for the clan and as olo’eyktan his word has become law. With Eytukan and Tsu’tey gone the burden of leading the clan has fallen to Toruk Makto. So strange that only a year ago he hadn’t even existed and now he is leading the People as if he was born to bear the honor when he only just passed his iknimaya. 

The ground is cold underfoot, drops of dew seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your back. The feeling is enough to keep your mind steady, to keep the memories at bay. On any given day you’re likely to slip into the past and be lost in your own mind, like a vision from a Spirit Tree. It seems memories are all you have as comfort as of late. With so much change, the past is the only thing that has remained steady. In your mind you can pretend that Hometree still stands, that Jake never arrived to complicate everything. But he has and here you stand, lonely in a foreign corner of the forest, wishing desperately that you were able to unravel the knot that’s been made of your life. What is so wrong with you that you can’t find happiness in the peace that’s been made now that the humans have been defeated. One war has ended and yet another wages inside you with no end in sight. 

The loneliness eats away at you but the alternative of acceptance seems so wholly unappealing, like eating a spoiled fruit. Resigning yourself to the same budding happiness the clan has been enjoying in the time since the final battle against the humans seems so strange after nearly a lifetime of fighting and uncertainty. Humans were on Pandora long before you were born and your childhood was spent in Grace’s schoolhouse with the looming threat of the tenuous bonds slowly fraying as the humans took more liberties with the lands that were not theirs to pillage and destroy. 

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan. 

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two. 

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility. 

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word. 

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close. 

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things. 

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames. 

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous. 

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you. 

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant. 

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!” 

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him. 

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know. 

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more. 

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining. 

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?” 

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words. 

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his? 

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices. 

A mistake if ever you’ve made one. 

Eclipse is close at hand when Neytiri broaches the thought of taking Jake to see the Utraya Mokri. 

“He is a son of the Omatikaya now,” she says gently, as if too much eagerness would startle you away from the idea. “Tonight would be the perfect night for his first commune with Eywa.” It is traditional for the first commune to happen soon after birth when memories are likely no more than colors and sounds and feelings. Jake is far past the age of first commune but as an outsider he hasn’t been allowed anywhere near such sacred places. When she sees your hesitation, Neytiri’s excitement softens. 

“Yawne, he is ready. He has learned and proven himself. Do you still doubt his heart?” You do, still so weary of humans. No matter how kind, the thought of ever fully trusting a human picks at the old wound left by Sylwanin’s death, but you hold your tongue against the words. Mentioning her sister would only spoil Neytiri’s mood. She’s happy. Truly and utterly, and it makes your heart hurt to see her so content when her heart is chanting another’s name. 

Jake. Jake. Jake. It’s all you’ve heard in recent times. No sunrise or sunset has gone without seeing the dreamwalker, hearing his name and seeing him walk beside the girl you once thought would be your mate. But she’s beautiful in her happiness. A shy smile playing on her lip as her tail curls playfully behind her. How could you ever disappoint her? And she is right. Jakesully has been accepted as a son of the Omatikaya. He is now no different in spirit than the boys you grew up with. You’ve watched him grow like a seedling sprouting into a tree, learning and changing as his human heart began to take the shape of something different. Yet you cannot completely forget his origins. 

“There will be a celebration at nightfall,” Neytiri’s ears droop in defeat, “if we can leave without notice, then we can go to the Tree of Voices.” Upset is immediately replaced with elation as Neytiri beams. 

“Will you help me prepare for tonight?” She asks coyly. The rest of the afternoon is spent in close proximity, skin against skin as you go about enjoying the simple intimacy of grooming Neytiri. She hums happily as you undo her braids. Washing and combing until her hair hangs down her back like a black river, tied back with a few sprigs of yellow leaves. She preens you in turn, caring for your hair with a practiced gentility before allowing you to leave to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The most recent of your crafting was made with tonight in mind. Strings of tiny orange and yellow beads hanging over your chest in an undulating pattern, like sunlight sparkling off water. Your tewng is a bright shade of orange to match the band around your arm, hung in a cascade of feathers the colors of firelight. When night falls, music begins to drift up from the communal heart of Hometree. Drums thundering and voices singing as the celebration begins. Neytiri is easy to find beside her parents as they share words of congratulation for the newest members of the clan, and the sight of her snatches the breath from your lungs. 

She’s dressed more beautifully than you’ve ever seen her. A collection of deep purple beads trail like tree roots over her chest with matching bands swaying about her arms, and a violet-dyed loincloth slung around her hips. It dampens your mood to see Tsu’tey close beside her, jealousy burning in your chest. He has forgone more elaborate adornments for the occasion yet he looks no less out of place. His presence commands respect. He will be a wonderful olo’eyktan to Neytiri’s tsahìk. A beautiful couple waiting to be bonded. Your mood is only worsened as her eyes linger some distance away. On the group of newly made adults. On Jake. 

It tears at your heart like the twisting of a blade. Already you’ve had to accept a life without her truly by your side with Tsu’tey, though the union would be without true affection, but now she’s given her heart away to someone new. So strange how what once was alien looks nearly indistinguishable from the true Na’vi also being honored by tonight’s festivities. Some younger, some older, all joining the clan in adulthood. When the music begins in earnest, lines form to dance. Weaving between each other as bodies move to the beat of the drums. Jake has been staunch in his refusal to dance thus far, though his dreamwalker friend Norm seems open to learning. He’s a bit clumsy like a child learning to use his limbs as he follows along with the people trying to teach him, Na’vi words flowing with staunch formality from his lips despite the relaxed air of celebration. He waves as you walk past, somehow recognizing your face as a friendly one in the sea of people. Perhaps he’s seen Grace’s photographs from when you attended school and knows the shape of your pil to match your younger face. With some confusion, you wave back, cracking a small smile as he stumbles over his gangly feet again. 

With fermented drinks flowing freely, the wariness has been tempered enough for the clan to act freely even in the presence of guests. Grace is known within the village, a trusted teacher and ally despite what happened at the school. She wasn’t at fault, though you surely blamed her for a time after it happened. Because there was no one else to blame but the humans. The girl you had grown up with, your childhood friends, all slaughtered in the blink of an eye simply for protecting their home. Had you known of their plan it might’ve been your body that was torn apart by bullets. The thought sends shivers skittering down your spine, the dark shadow returning after the joyous occasion chased it away. 

In quieter moments you still mourn your losses caused by the Sky People. But Grace was also wounded, in body and spirit. You remember the blood dripping from the wound in her shoulder as she desperately pulled you away from Sylwanin, urging you outside as the soldiers closed in on the school. The last you’d seen of your teacher, she’d been putting herself between the soldiers and her students. She seems far more relaxed now as she laughs at something a man said to her, taking sparing sips of her drink as she watches the crowd. Ever the scientist wanting to study even under the most eased circumstances. The familiarity of it all soothes the hurt brought on by the memories.

Jake is occupied with Tsu’tey, the two of them sharing a drink. The group around them is chanting Jake’s name as he hisses around a mouthful of fermented juice. It seems so strange to see the two of them settled beside each other without any real reason. There’s no teaching, no exchanging of insults. They seem to almost be enjoying each other’s company. Tsu’tey had been keen on seeking the outsider’s death upon first meeting, as the whole of the clan’s warriors had been, but he seems not to have grown out of the animosity little by little. If anything, his distaste must’ve grown stronger in the convening months as Jake grew closer to the woman that was meant to be his. But the celebration seems to be reason enough to set aside conflicting feelings as Tsu’tey passes Jake another cup, urging him to take another drink. You think to join them but are stopped by the brush of something against your tail. 

Hands find your waist, slim fingers tracing over the shape of stripes streaked there. Neytiri’s scent is easily recognized. Something sweet and smoldering as she pulls you close. There are more couples around you, all dancing just as intimately. Twirling and bouncing, hardly parting as the music guides your steps. She’s so beautiful in the firelight. Bright eyes and long lashes that flutter towards the ground as a bashful smile finds her lips. Her tail brushes your leg, curling over the shape of your thigh in a flirtatious display that you reward with a playful hiss. Neytiri giggles at the feigned aggression, pulling you closer by your hips until you’re no longer dancing, only swaying to the music as your bodies press so close they’re nearly one. You want to kiss her, going as far as to lift her chin and press your forehead against hers before remembering that this moment is only fleeting.

She isn’t yours. Not anymore. So instead you revel in the feeling of her bated breaths puffing over your lips before stepping away from the temptation. The short distance of separation has her smile waning but someone stumbles into you before you can find the words of an explanation, arm hooked over yours as the new partner urges you to join her. So you let her, leaving Neytiri to work through the confusion as a frown weighs on her lips. She lingers where you’d been for only a moment before stalking off to join Tsu’tey and Jake’s group, kneeling beside them to urge Jake to dance once more. 

This time he sets his cup aside, laughing as he stands to join her. You try to put them from your mind, to focus on the people around you. A few you recognize as Tsu’tey’s students that are also being honored by tonight’s festivities. It is easy to lose yourself in the familiarity of the dance. Far less intimate than the one you shared with Neytiri as all of you move in a circle, feet stomping and hands clapping as the music swells. With the shift of a new melody, though the song is far from over, the steps change and you drift away from the group to join Tsu’tey where he now sits alone. 

Despite the festivities, he no longer seems to be in the mood for merriment as a scowl mars his face, mouth drawn low as he watches Neytiri teach Jake to dance. Once again, it is not Tsu’tey with which your upset lies as the both of you sit scorned by the tsakarem dancing with the uniltìrantokx. 

“I thought this rift had been mended.” Tsu’tey says after a few moments of discontented silence shared between you. At least the two of you knew where you stood with Neytiri. Tsu’tey was a friend, an ally, a man she would honor as her mate, where you were her true love that she had to give up to fulfill the expectations of her parents. It is tradition for the tsahìk to be mated to the olo’eyktan though there are some clans where it is not always so. But the Omatikaya have always been more spiritual, traditional in the ways that have been practiced since the time of the First Songs. To make exceptions for Neytiri’s feelings would be to go against tradition and it was decided that mating her to Tsu’tey would be best. Now here the two of you are, scorned and alone together. 

“I know I am not the one in her heart,” he speaks gruffly, “but now it seems she has no taste for you either. Only this skxawng.” His words sting but there is truth to them. Even after spending an afternoon basking in her presence as you had before his arrival, Jake has come to steal her away from you once more. Simply by being. It isn’t fair to the years you’ve spent loving her, and her loving you, but you don’t say it out loud. The words are far too petulant and like grinding dirt into the wound Tsu’tey must tend to for the rest of his days knowing his mate does not love him wholly and truly. 

“His eyes are small.” Tsu’tey says after a beat of silence. It’s enough to make you laugh at the annoyance in his tone. His drinking must’ve loosened his tongue or else you’d never hear him say such things as if he were sulking rather than angry. 

“This isn’t funny. He will want to choose a mate sooner or later and what will we do when he chooses her when she is not free to be with him?” That quiets your giggling. Not once had you thought of what might happen if Jake wanted to pursue their budding relationship further. Already the separation between friend and lover has begun to blur like looking through a cloud of smoke. It is not in your heart to doubt Neytiri but people have been known to act out of character in the pursuit of love. What can be done if she is willing to betray her promise to Tsu’tey to be with Jake? And why hadn’t she been willing to do such things for you? It’s a selfish thought, especially with Tsu’tey close beside you. You banish it before your heart can be darkened any further by it. 

“I will talk to her.” She wanted to be away from the clan with just the three of you tonight. No better time would come for you to raise such concerns with the way they’re looking at each other. It’s the same way you look at her, without the lingering regret of knowing you will never truly have her. Jake must know she isn’t his to keep yet he wants her even still. People continue to move around them while they stay still as stone, staring into each other’s eyes. It turns your stomach as if you’ve eaten something rotten. 

“For the sake of the future.” Tsu’tey agrees. She will one day be tsahìk after her mother, that much is decided simply by birth. With Sylwanin gone the honor has fallen to her. An olo’eyktan is chosen, not born. If Jake can prove his worth as a warrior there might be no reason to object to his mating with Neytiri. Tsu’tey will simply be passed over as the future clan leader in favor of naming Jake as the next olo’eyktan. The thought seems inconceivable. Tsu’tey is the strongest the clan has to offer. Jake has only just been made one of the People, what can he offer that Tsu’tey does not already have in abundance? 

The night is deep and the crowds thinned as people begin to trail off to sleep or to enjoy the night somewhere more secluded. The only music left is the din of voices murmuring over the crackling of the fire pits as Neytiri comes to coax you from your seat. Tsu’tey already left, too upset to be faced with the sight of his promised mate dancing so closely to another. With you, there was a tenuous agreement, an acknowledgment of your role as a placeholder. Jake has no such allegiances. You’re not sure why you stayed, punishing yourself with the sight of them together. 

“Come, it is time!” Neytiri is smiling as if nothing is wrong. Jake seems not to know where she’s leading the two of you but he follows her tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. He smiles and you wish you didn’t see how Neytiri could fall for him. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, so alike and yet so different to the faces you see everyday. Aside from his eyebrows, his eyes are small like Tsu’tey said, more human. And the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, is decidedly human as well. He’s as playful as a child despite his age and it serves as both an endearing and infuriating trait. And it was only made worse when he was still learning. Truly like a baby stumbling through the forest, curious about everything around him. 

He still seems intrigued as you walk beside a river glowing like a sinuous blue thread into the distance ahead. You’ve waded your way past the banks into the warm rush of water. The current is slow, knocking lightly at your knees with hardly enough strength to lead even the fish upstream. Your eyes are low, focused on the finned animals swimming past your ankles. So focused that you don’t notice Jake drawing closer until his hands are on your shoulder with a sudden wave of strength. You lose your footing, toppling into the water and surfacing with a disgruntled hiss, ears drawn back as you bare your teeth in annoyance. The night air is warm, a balmy breeze brushing over your damp skin as water drips from your soaked form. Jake only laughs at your sour face before coming into the water after you. 

Instinctually, your arms shoot out in front of you to keep him at bay but he just uses the opportunity to wrap his hands around yours, pulling you in close until you’re chest to chest. Your brows raise at the sudden closeness. In the time since your first meeting you’ve come to consider Jake a friend, perhaps closer even than the friends you’ve made in childhood. He’s been with you every day for so long that you almost can’t imagine a day passing without seeing him, but this is something beyond what you expected of your relationship. Of course, he’d act this way with Neytiri as she curls her tail at him, sharing coquettish smiles and lingering glances, but you’ve never shared in such flirtations. But it is plain to see how you react when it is Neytiri clinging close to you. And with every day spent so closely together, just the three of you, it isn’t hard to imagine how such boundaries might be lost with time. 

Still, it’s dizzying how at ease he seems pulling you closer to him. Your eyes search for Neytiri with a frantic sort of helplessness only to find she’s smiling sweetly at the two of you, seemingly happy with how close you are.

“You didn’t offer me a dance tonight, ma’am.” He says, using the human word of respect for a woman. He said it was a remnant of his training when he was a warrior on his home planet. A Marine. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Something he says now to tease women when they take a tone of authority with him. Childish as he always is. You’ve heard him say it to Grace a few times and it’s always accompanied with a subtle roll of his eyes. Tonight, he seems less flippant about the word. More teasing than sarcastic as he raises your joined hands over your head, twirling you in a splashing circle. 

“She doesn’t like sharing such dances with others. She will only dance so closely with me.” Neytiri is rather forthright about how close the two of you are. It isn’t something you’ve kept particularly hidden, yet it still seems strange that she’d say such things out loud after so long spent burying your heart in the hopes that her match to Tsu’tey will go smoothly. 

“She’ll dance with me.” Jake laughs, “Won’t you?” One of his hands falls to your hip while the other keeps yours in his grasp, held up and away from your bodies like he’s guiding you to shoot an arrow. He hums an unfamiliar tune as he leads you in clumsy circles through the water. It’s clear he’s never been much of a dancer and he’s probably missing steps to the human dance but you let him bob and sway you because asking to be let go would likely spoil the mood, and you want both of them in high spirits if you’re going to broach the topic of a bit of distance between the three of you. It’s only fair that you try to estrange yourself if you’re going to ask that Neytiri and Jake be a bit more conscious of their time together. To tell Jake to take a step back while still clinging close to Neytiri would be too cruel. Especially when you are in no place to be with her either. Even if it breaks your heart anew to truly let her go. 

Neytiri laughs as Jake folds you backwards, balancing your weight on the hand he’s placed against your back. You hiss and cling to him, worried that this is another one of his games and you’ll be dropped back into the water. Instead he pulls you back towards his chest, both of them laughing at the scorned look you can feel pinching your face. 

“You’re not funny, tawtute.” You scowl. 

“I think I am.” He smiles wide, fangs flashing in the blue light. It’s all too familiar, too close. Neytiri joins the two of you in the water, hand brushing against your arm as she suggests a swim. 

It’s easy to agree because it sets a bit of distance between the three of you. The sounds of the forest, the chittering and buzzing, quiets beneath the water enough for you to think. Jake must know how you feel about Neytiri. It would only take a glance to see how your heart yearns for her. So why had he touched you the way he had? Held you like you were the most delicate thing his hands have ever touched? It feels like you’ve tangled yourself into a knot. Too many threads have converged around you and it isn’t worth the effort to meticulously unwind them. Instead you want to sever each one in turn before they tighten beyond the point of escape. Neytiri is one thread and Jake another, then a dozen more all tied up tight. 

The urge to turn away from it all becomes strong as you emerge from the river and Jake’s hand finds yours once more. It seems almost instinctual. He’s swinging your joined hands and laughing when Neytiri giggles at him for grabbing at her tail. He’s always been playful but you can’t help but wonder if the ceremony confirming him as a member of the clan has lowered some barrier he’d previously set between the three of you. He’s far more open with his touching tonight, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen him as the green syuratan is swallowed by the pale purple glow of the Tree of Voices. 

A swarm of kenten bursts to life as you pass and Jake stops to watch them twirl away, still so enamored with life on Pandora. Neytiri stares for a moment, an enamored look glowing on her face before she reaches to take his free hand. 

The long branches of the trees sway in the warm breeze, light burning brighter at the gentlest touch. Jake releases your hand to brush his arms through the hanging fronds. Without his hand in yours, you’re free to walk further ahead. It had been Neytiri’s plan to bring him here and you aren’t sure you want to bear witness to whatever it is she’s planning. Though you did promise Tsu’tey to at least try to dissuade them from doing something they might regret. Your feet only carry you a few steps away before your resolve strengthens once more. Instead of walking away with your tail between your legs, you turn to face the issue at hand. 

Neytiri is explaining the significance of the trees. A place for prayers to be heard, a place to convene with those that have come before you. It is what you need in this time of confusion and you gather a few branches to connect your tswin. In an instant your mind is filled with a cacophony of voices. Singing and shouting, laughing and shrieking with happiness. Every life that led to yours is held within these trees and their voices offer a comfort like no other. The weight on your soul is lightened as you listen to the happiness babbling through tsaheylu. Old and young, man and woman. Your ancestors sing to you, laugh with you. Their lives are enduring within Eywa. Like salve over a burn, you feel your unsteady heart soothing. The anguish of knowing tonight will change the rest of your life is quieted. When you pull your tswin away from the tree, Neytiri is reaffirming Jake’s place within the clan.  

“You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” she turns away as if she is nervous to continue, “and you may choose a woman. We have many fine women.” Her eyes cut towards yours before focusing on the atokirina’ crossing her path. The gentle spirit lands in the palm of her hand. Her ears bend and twist, nervously shifting as she seems to choose her next words with great care.

“Ninat is the best singer.” Jake immediately voices his disinterest and a quiet smile lifts Neytiri’s cheeks. She turns towards you and softly blows the woodsprite in your direction. The little seed twirls through the air, brushing against your cheek like a kiss before drifting away on the breeze. 

“Beyral is a good hunter.” Jake seems to realize what Neytiri is doing, offering her advice on the unmated women of the clan. Pretending to put forth a possible match while still hoping he will decline every option he is given. So instead of denying interest, Jake nods. 

“Yeah, she is a good hunter.” His tone is hollow, but Neytiri turns swiftly, disappointment clear on her face. The small smile she’s been hiding falls to a look of sadness. Seeing her crestfallen face feels as though you’ve stepped into an open flame. It eats away at you. Searing and burning as you watch the woman you love bare her heart to someone else. If Neytiri is upset, you’re livid. Angry and jealous and bitter because Jake has her eyes on him in such a special place, on such a special night. Yet a small, conflicted part of you is glad for the rejection because that is the reason you accompanied them to such a place to begin with. 

This grove of trees is known to be a place of comfort. Many a mating bond has been solidified here, for generations. And you’ve been dragged along to bear witness to the making of another, though it is your hope to dissuade them from their desire to be connected in such a way.  A part of you wants to rage and shout, demanding that Neytiri be with no one if you cannot have her. But seeing the sadness that Jake’s rejection has stirred in her makes your heart cry. She deserves this bit of happiness even if it is not with you. Even if it is not with who she is meant to be with. Jake is quick to correct himself when he sees Neytiri’s suddenly sullen face. 

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. It feels like knives in your chest. Something acidic wells in your stomach as your tongue struggles to shape out the words to stop him as Jake’s eyes drift past Neytiri, towards you. 

“But these women must also choose me.” There’s a breathy laugh from Neytiri as she turns towards you, smiling so wide that her eyes are eclipsed. She takes your hands in hers to pull you in close to her side. You try to pull away but she only shifts her grip, keeping you close. 

“We already have.” Her words startle you. We? 

Perhaps she has accepted Jake into her heart as more than a friend but you’ve yet to reach such a point in your affections. And even if you had, it is something forbidden for the three of you to be joined as mates. Neytiri is not free to offer herself to any other. But she looks so happy that you don’t have a moment to speak before Jake is kissing her. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat, like you’ve swallowed a rock. It’s hard to make any sound other than short gasps of panic as Jake’s fingertips brush against your cheek, tracing over the pattern of your pil. Feigning at shyness you turn your head away before he can kiss you, too. His lips find your temple, quick breaths rushing over your hairline. 

Neytiri leads despite the nerves still clear on her face, guiding the three of you to kneel together as she takes hold of her tswin. It feels as though your eyes are going to leap out of your head with how wide they’ve gone. Everything is moving too quickly like a rushing river sweeping you up in its current. 

This is the exact opposite of how this night was supposed to end. You were meant to reaffirm some type of separation between the pair not become tangled up between them. You think of the clan. Of expectation and tradition, of responsibility. Neytiri knows of duty and honor. It is what you’ve been taught since birth. Jake may not understand how precious the mating arrangements of a tsahìk and olo’eyktan are. And if he does, it’s clear he does not care. We can’t, you want to say, this is wrong. But it’s hard to see what is so terrible about it when the love of your life is smiling so sweetly and offering to tie her soul to yours. 

Suddenly, Neytiri is in your lap again, forehead pressed to yours as she holds her tswin between your bodies, her other hand petting over where your braid hangs over your shoulder. She cannot force tsaheylu. You must offer your tswin to her with your own hand and it’s clear she is eager to be joined with such closeness. Her lips find yours. Soft, fluttering kisses that slowly sink into something more desperate. Her hands are on your body, tswin forgotten as she clings to you. There’s a shiver skittering down your back as her fingers raise goosebumps over your skin. 

Between her frantic kisses you find the courage to say, “We can’t.” Neytiri pauses. Her smile wanes for a moment, face flickering like a flame being snuffed. But then she’s flaring to life again, eyes bright with determination. 

“This is what I choose, Great Mother forgive me. Nothing else matters but us here and now.” Her hands hold your face like the most delicate piece of crystal. “It was always going to be you, yawntu. Always.” Those are precious words. Because in your heart, no matter what comes to pass, you know you will always love her. The flame you hold for her has never wavered and it must be just the same for her. Even if there is another sharing the space with you. It’s enough to disarm you, lowering your inhibitions as you pull her into another desperate kiss. There’s a renewed steadiness to your hand as you take hold of your tswin, offering it to Neytiri as you always wish you could’ve. Time was lost adhering to expectation but it’s yours to reclaim as the soft tendrils of your braids twine into one. It’s more blinding than the gentle comfort of the Tree of Voices. Something sharp and overwhelming, nearly beyond comprehension. 

It feels like Neytiri is touching you, holding you. Caressing every part of your skin at once. There’s still space between the two of you, a small distance between your chests and yet you feel her heartbeat as if it’s your own, feel each heaving breath as if it’s being drawn into your lungs. All that she is is suddenly inside you, like a pattern being woven into the very fabric of your soul. Another kiss is pressed against your parted lips. Wet and clumsy as she clings as close as your bodies will allow, until it feels like every piece of skin is brushing against yours. And then there’s a second pair of hands against your waist. Larger than Neytiri’s, different than anyone you’ve ever met. It takes a moment for the haze of euphoria to dissipate just long enough to remember Jake’s presence. He’s pressed in close against Neytiri’s back, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms reach to wrap around both of you. 

It seems like he isn’t sure what is happening, eyes lingering on the place your braids are joined in tsaheylu. When his gaze flickers back to yours there’s something beyond curiosity sparking there. A look you recognize as longing, determination. It’s something you’ve felt, something you’ve seen reflected in Neytiri’s face. So strange that something so familiar suddenly looks so foreign. Just a few hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a friend. He is still little more than that but you can’t find the words to say it–tongue tied with the feeling of your soul melting with Neytiri’s–before he is slipping his hand under Neytiri’s arm to add his own tswin to the knotting of your spirits. 

If the feeling had been sweet as ripe fruit before, it’s turned to something bitter and rotten as the unknown joins the blinding familiarity. If she notices, Neytiri doesn’t react to your sudden anguish. A beautiful moment and Jake has ruined it with his overeagerness. Human as he is, he does not understand what he’s done. You try to find the words, to make your tongue shape out the sounds to tell him that what he’s done cannot be undone, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a toneless gasp. Something choked and rasping. Perhaps you could’ve lived knowing Neytiri had shared this part of herself with the both of you, but there was never any desire in your heart to be with Jake in such an intimate way. And now it is too late to warn him of the consequences. Ruefully, you wonder if this is how tsaheylu feels between arranged mates. If this is what Neytiri and Tsu’tey would’ve suffered had the three of you not snuck away on this night. 

It’s a strange, empty sort of feeling. Like water tainted with sand. Cloudy and coarse. Something you would not wish on anyone. Least of all Neytiri. It feels like floating, but just barely. Hardly drifting on the unsteady waves even as Jake and Neytiri’s happiness bubbles through the bond with startling clarity. At least they are happy. 

It’s always been in your nature to stifle yourself in favor of others. To do as is expected rather than what you truly desire. Though this strange new bond that is slipping into place between the three of you was desperately desired. At least for Jake and Neytiri. It nearly hurts how hard Jake is holding onto you, fingers digging into the small of your back as he crowds the two of you in his arms. There isn’t anywhere you can go but here with the way the three of you are tied together. You’ll remain this way until morning, though you wish you wouldn’t as the euphoria begins to manifest in less innocent ways. Jake bites at Neytiri’s shoulder as she sits herself higher in your lap, hands rising from your waist to slip beneath the beading of your top. The strange clouded feeling lingers, but you find yourself falling back into the elation you felt moments ago, basking in the way your new mate is touching you. 

And perhaps being tied to Jake will not be so terrible. He has proven himself different from the others. A true Na’vi among pretenders. With time, you could learn to care for him in the way he seems to cherish you. The thought feels like taking on the burden of another. This is the life Neytiri was meant to lead. Mate with Tsu’tey and lead as tsahìk when the time came. In saving her from such a bleak future you have banished yourself to something just the same. But some things change with time. Perhaps there will be a day when there is unfettered love shared between the three of you. Because in this moment, a dark hidden corner of your soul lingers on the thought of how Jake has ruined what was meant to be something perfectly beautiful. 

Morning dawns in streaks of white light, chasing away the pale purple glow of the Trees of Voices. The slinking branches hang in swaying strands, stirring the sunlight and shadows in sinuous shapes. Everything is warm and soft. The feeling of limbs tangled over your own as ferns and blades of grass cushion your cheek, cutting into your vision as your eyes squint open in the bright light. With some struggle, you untwine yourself from Neytiri and Jake, slipping from the space between their bodies. Jake remains still, but Neytiri stirs to wakefulness with a flutter of her eyelids. Thick lashes fan shadows over her bright yellow eyes as she gathers her bearings. Slow at first as she smiles up at you, then with a sudden urgency as both of your eyes flicker towards a strange sound, ears bending and twitching as your mind tries to make sense of the disturbance. 

It’s loud and heavy, but lacks the heavy footfalls of a herd of angtsìk moving through the forest. There’s something distinctly destructive about the sound, like the crackling of hundreds of pyres burning at once. The sound of wood popping and snapping like it’s being torn off in bits and pieces. It grows closer until the trees begin to shudder and fall a few paces away. Then you hear it, the tinny whirr you’ve come to associate with calamity, something made by the Sky People. Flashes of sunlight glint off the edge of something big and metal rumbling just beyond the tree line. Another tree falls, filling the air with a cloud of dirt and pollen, and Neytiri rushes to rouse Jake. He still hasn’t moved despite the commotion, body sprawled across the ground as if there isn’t some metal creature chewing through the trees with its mouth full of blades. Neytiri is perched over his chest, shouting and shaking as the world comes down around you. Leaves fall like rain as the shadow of the whirring beast eclipses the sun, far too close for comfort. 

“Grab him!” You shout, already pulling at his arm. He’s heavy as stone as both of you struggle to pull him away from the collapsing trees. Another falls, larger than the rest, landing hard enough to send a buckling shudder through the ground. You fall for a moment, then again when a branch lands on your back. The splintered wood scratches across your skin like raking claws, likely drawing blood as you scamper forward on hands and feet to grab Jake once more. His stillness is like death as the two of you clamor to drag him away from the collapsing trees. But even between the two of you he is heavy, far too heavy to move with any haste. Neytiri gets his head over a fallen tree and you follow with his legs but it isn’t nearly quick enough. The machine is getting closer and Neytiri is growing desperate. Her voice shudders and cracks as she screams over Jake’s unflinching body, wailing for him to wake up. Back still burning from the fallen branch, you cover Neytiri’s body with your own as she shakes Jake’s shoulders. He comes to with an air of confusion, eyes expanding and contracting before he focuses enough to get to his feet. 

Of all the things you expect when he pushes the two of you behind him, talking–shouting–at the metal beast is the farthest from your mind. The yellow behemoth has no rider, no obvious reins controlling its movement. It only seems to know forward, but Jake’s yelling seems to slow it to a halt. Though the stillness only lasts a moment before it’s moving again, grinding forward as if it never stopped to begin with. 

“Go!” Jake shouts, shoving Neytiri forward. His hand lands against the scratches torn in your back, stinging as he pushes you after her. He doesn’t follow. Instead he runs towards the thing, yet you can’t bring yourself to look back as you run. There’s the sound of crunching metal then the firing of bullets. 

It’s your turn to fall still, stumbling to a halt as fear roots you to where you stand. Your hands feel warm. They feel wet. When you look down at your shaky palms they’re suddenly bright as if they’ve been steeped in warpaint. Bright red and acidic as the scent invades your nose. The forest seems different now. More shadows overhead and wood beneath your feet. The smell of blood grows heavier as your eyes focus past your hands to the body at your feet. 

Sylwanin is coughing, chest twitching and heaving as she tries to keep the breath in her torn lungs. Your cheek is wet, a spray of her blood speckled over your skin. She tried to say your name before she fell. Hands reaching towards yours, smearing blood over your fingers. Her eyes are dotted with spots of red, and there’s blood leaking from between her lips. She’s trying to talk, trying to say something between the stuttering heaves, but someone is pulling you away from her. 

It takes a few stumbling steps before you realize you’re not in the schoolhouse, not watching your friend die. Instead you’re watching the Trees of Voices be decimated by the rumbling metal beasts still tearing through the carnage they’ve cleared behind them. The trees are gone, leaving only splinters and churned dirt behind as the machines beep and whirr their way through whatever lies before them. 

Distantly, you hear Neytiri crying, though you feel numb even as you see smoke beginning to billow up from the fires the human warriors have set. Trees that have stood for a small eternity, gone in a moment. It doesn’t sadden you so much as it makes you angry. A seething type of anger that carves you out inside, leaves you hollow and numb. There should be tears. You should be in anguish. Yet it feels as though your heart hasn’t quite caught up to what your eyes have witnessed. It’s the same sort of angry nothingness you felt as Sylwanin laid dying at your feet. 

The sound of bullets brought you back to that moment. No longer are you a woman grown, but a child with no knowledge of what to do with the destruction set before you. And now there are no ancestors to ask now, no voices to share your thoughts with. The Trees of Voices are gone. Silently, you stand and begin walking home. There’s nothing left for you here. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. One mistake strung after another in a necklace laced too tightly around your throat. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see as the tears well up at last, but you keep walking. 

Hometree is filled with a cacophony of voices, but you ignore them all. You’re tired despite the sun having just risen. Curious hands brush against you as you float past, numb to the soles of your feet as touches graze the scratches on your back. It’s all dull pressure. No pain. No real feeling. Even the shrieking war cries sound distant as you trail between the warriors with their weapons raised and fangs bared. Despite your best efforts, you’re swept up into the maelstrom, jostled and pushed until you’re stumbling blindly to the front of the crowd. 

Tsu’tey stands at the heart of the press of people, bow raised above his head. His eyes find yours, recognition sparking as he takes in your discheviled state. He says something, extends a hand, but you hardly realize he’s speaking to you until he’s pulling you out of the throng of incited Na’vi. At last, words begin to make sense again as he whispers privately, “Are you alright?” Vaguely, you gesture towards your back and he passes you over to Mo’at. The tsahìk’s face is lined with tension as she brushes the mess of leaves and splinters from your hair and turns you around to look over the wounds on your back. It faces you towards the crowd as Jake and Neytiri emerge. When had they fallen so far behind you?

With heavy strides, Tsu’tey brushes past you, handing you his bow. A clear sign that you’re meant to stay out of whatever he’s about to do. You hide your face in the adornments of his weapon, ears flattened in shame. He is treating you with kindness you do not deserve. You’ve betrayed him. His trust, his friendship. For your own selfish desires. Perhaps this is what is owed for thinking yourself higher than tradition. For going against the word of your tsahìk, of the Great Mother herself who chose Neytiri’s family as her voice among the People. Mo’at’s matronly hands dab against the burning lines cut through your skin with something cold and soothing. It’s more care than you deserve. 

Neytiri is shouting, doing little to quell any notion that your plan to squash this issue has failed. If anything, the problem has only worsened since your promise to urge the two to part. Tsu’tey seems to glean it all from only a moment of looking between Jake and his promised mate, held back by Neytiri pressing against his chest. 

“You mated with this woman?” Tsu’tey’s tone is accusatory, hardly a question at all. Against your back, Mo’at’s hand’s still. She soothes a hand over your hunched shoulder as she steps around you to approach her daughter. Each step she takes is slow, menacing as a hunting nantang. When the tsahìk speaks, her voice is filled with thunder. 

“Is this true?” Between the words there’s a baring of teeth that makes Neytiri wither before her mother. She glances at you before gathering the courage to square her shoulders and declare herself mated before Eywa. It is like a spark bursting over dried leaves. A fight flaring in the blink of an eye. It’s expected. Months of simmering animosity finally bubbles over as Tsu’tey draws his blade at Jake. In the end he’s bested with a swiftness, blood leaking from his nose as Jake reminds him that he is Omatikaya now. It grants him the right to speak even if Tsu’tey will not hear him. 

“These words are like stones in my heart,” he says, and you wish your ears would close to the world once more as Tsu’tey saunters in beside you. There’s a heat radiating from him, like his very soul is burning with his rage. So much he’s lost in a single morning. His mate, his ancestors. Hesitantly, you reach to touch his wrist, as if to hold him at bay. He stiffens under your hand but does not move as Jake stumbles through what he is trying to say.

Then Grace falls. Her body goes still, eyes rolling back as all of her muscles seem to come loose. Jake startles as he tries to rush to make his point. 

“I was sent here to–” He collapses. That death-like stillness from this morning taking over once more. Your grip on Tsu’tey’s arm is broken as he rushes forward to put his blade to Jake’s throat. It should worry you, should enrage you. Because that is how mates are meant to act when one is put in danger. Defend, protect. You remain still. In your stead, Neytiri rushes forward to toss Tsu’tey away. She draws her knife in turn, hissing over Jake as if daring Tsu’tey to come any closer. Her lithe body is poised with menacing intent, ears drawn back and fangs on full display. It’s enough to send Tsu’tey away and you follow after him. 

“You were meant to fix this.” He hisses, snatching his bow away from you. 

“I did what I could but the stone was already cast. A dead tree will no longer bear fruit.” Which is to say a stubborn heart will never be swayed from its desire. It’s doubtless that Jake knew of Neytiri’s arrangement with Tsu’tey. There were days spent training when it was only the two of you. Neytiri and Tsu’tey sequestered away with Eytukan and Mo’at to learn the ways of leading the clan. It’s been mentioned in passing as Jake learned to speak your language, learning what the words tsahìk and tsakarem truly mean. He knew and yet he did not care. Nor did Neytiri. The Na’vi-born woman whose future is ruled by tradition. And perhaps even you did not care enough. Your protests had been meager, not even enough to sway your own mind. Still, you love Neytiri and that is the truth of it. To betray her love would be to betray yourself. Even if it’s what was expected of you. And if Tsu’tey suspects your involvement in this newly made bond, neither of you mention it. 

There will be time for these petty squabbles later. For now, all minds are focused on retaliation, on war and revenge for what the Sky People have taken. Sacred lands desecrated in pursuit of their greed. Presently, it is the only thing that matters. 

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

STRETCH GOAL UPDATE #3

Journaling is great! You know what else is great? BUYING A MYSTERY TWIN MYSTERY BAG!! This spiral notebook designed by @skidar could be yours for Tiers 4 and up! There are many more exciting things to unlock so keep an eye out for what future stretch goals will be revealed.

Shop | Kofi All proceeds go to aid for Gaza. Preorders close January 15th!

How Do Stretch Goals work in a “Mystery” Bag? Stretch goals add items to the Mystery Bag item pool!

In the case of stretch goal pins, charms, or stickers, reaching this goal means the ones in your bag might be upgraded to a specialty charm/pin or a holo sticker!

In the case of other stretch goals, like notebooks and fake tattoos, these will be added to all boxes above a designated tier!

The only bag tier where you are guaranteed to get all items, including stretch goal items, is Tier 5!

Stan & Ford Chibi Art by @starryemeralds

Image Description: an animated video with various graphics while the Gravity Falls Theme song plays.

Image 1: The background is a painted background of the forest in Gravity Falls. In light yellow words is, "STRETCH GOAL #3 UNLOCKED!" that bounces.

The image slides to the next.

Image 2: In front of the same background now has a trail, labeled "STRETCH GOAL CHASE!" On on end is a chili angry Ford; at the other end is Stan running with the Mystery Bag -- a navy blue pouch with Dipper and Mabel's zodiac symbols in the Palestinian flag colors. Spread out across the trail are various silhouetted items with a yellow question mark over them. Ford runs from the second to the third, which then enlarges to the center of the screen.

The image slides to the next.

Image 3: A graphic designed to look like a page from Journal 3 with coffee stains, ink splatters, and symbols. On a taped slip of paper in the top right corner reads: "150 ORDERS SPIRAL NOTEBOOK" Below is a spiral notebook that has polaroids of the Pines Family over it, such as Dipper and Mabel roasting marshmallows, Soos holding Gompers, Ford smiling and holding up DD&MD dice, Candy, Grenda, and Wendy posing. Stan eating a blue popsicle and sticking out his blue tongue, and Waddles.

Image 4: Same Journal 3 graphic. The title in the corner is, "Next Stretch Goal" of a 3D Model of the Bill Cipher statue. Below the image reads, "Bill Statue. Unlocked at 175 orders"

The image slides to the next.

Image 5: The forest background returns, now with the "How Do Stretch Goals Work in a “Mystery” Bag?" message from above.

[aquanutart]

SHOUTOUT to this little blob of JOY who is having SO much fun out in the sunshine!!

These illustrations by Yuu Nishida make Bulbasaur and Ivysaur look SO round and squishy, I love it?!!  The light hitting the top of Bulbasaur's head feels so bright and glowing, I can feel the sun breaking through the clouds, all lit up in shimmering yellows and pinks and blues! Even the bright blue shadows feel so clear and fresh as the brilliant sunshine chases them away, and Bulbasaur is SO thrilled to be out catching the rays beaming down on it! Looking up from the ground at Bulbasaur, I can feel how little it is with the big wide world all around it! I love the way the light follows the curve of Bulbasaur's leg and the glow of reflected color on the other side, its body has a very solid yet elastic feel?! The colors are so vivid and bright, I love the rich blues and greens highlighted with yellow and just a touch of pink, it feels so fresh like new grass! The rippling grasses and deep blue mountain framing it make me feel the open space all around, the wind rushing by as the cloud break open with shooting rays of light!

The light is so INTENSE at this clearing in the forest where Ivysaur has found a spot to gather sunlight! The contrast between the bright yellow rays and the deep blues of the surrounding forest make me feel how strongly the light beats down through the trees, as Ivysaur turns its bulb upwards and the petals pop open to catch the sun!

Again I love how the light follows the curves of Ivysaur's body, falling in streaks along its head and ear; I feel the warmth of the sun on its bulk, glowing so bright on its spread-open leaves! Ivysaur is bracing against the ground to get just the right angle; I can just picture it trundling through the forest looking for a place like this, and lying down here all day to soak up sunlight! The colors are so vibrant and it feels so vivid and sunny in this pool of light, yet the cool blue shadows also make me feel dark of the forest all around it! I love how the pink of the bulb is echoed in the flowers n the silhouetted bushes in the background, the green leaves of the trees fading to rich blues--even with the dark of the forest, the colors are just so crisp and fresh!