#forest silhouetted

[colorsoutofearth]

Green Display by Sven Zacek

......

Like ColorsOutOfEarth? Leave me a tip on my KoFi if you can!

[malfnction-54]

cabin trip for new years

[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 losin’ 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 thinkin’, 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 fuckin’ 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.

[empress-ghoul]

Rising Waters, part one

141 x witch!reader | old gods of appalachia au | ongoing cw: environmental disasters, supernatural elements, blood, typical canon violence

You didn’t know where to go when the water rose. When the creek came up and lapped in waves at the four walls of the cabin you’d lived in your whole life.

This should have been another autumn thunderstorm, just like the ones you’d dealt with every other year. But when you woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sky still pitch black and the heavens still pouring down, you knew it was not like every other autumn thunderstorm.

The water was up to your thighs in your bedroom and up to your waist in the kitchen. If you didn’t get out now, then you wouldn’t get out again.

There was a moment where you thought about grabbing something. Your grimoire, maybe your mother’s cookbook? But judging how high the stream was outside, you knew they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Fear and adrenaline were wonderful motivators. You didn’t think about how dangerous swimming through the flood would be after you climbed out through the window. It wasn’t like there were many other options.

The flood spat you back out on land, where you thanked the Green and prayed It would keep you safe. You like to think It cared about you, but you didn’t hold out much hope.

Grabbing onto a tree, you used it to pull yourself up with shaking arms and watched as your home, your very life, drift down past you. There was no time to mourn, as you now needed to figure where you were in relation to the main road.

You knew this land, of that you were certain. But the pouring rain and rising creek made navigation a bit of a tricky task. Not only that, but the clouds plotted out the moonlight. The smart thing would be to wait until the rain stopped to start moving, but the water was rising still and you needed to get to higher ground. That should be easy.

Your true problem came when you realized you weren’t alone in the woods. Then it turned from problem to problems when you realized there were at least three massive figures surrounding you.

The lightning in the sky provided you with the occasional glimpse. Silhouetted among the trees as you ran through the trees, pouring rain, and rising water, you saw them.

They couldn’t be human. Not with the speed they moved at or the unnatural grace at which they did. You thought about the day you and your mother ran from your daddy. You thought about your mother and terror built in your gut, rising in your chest and throat.

She would have called them what they were, whether it be superstition or truth. Your mother would have called the hollow men.

Men whose very souls, the very essence of being truly alive, have been carved out. What’s left is a body with no sense of purpose other than what’s been given to them…or carnal violence. But seeing three all gathered in one place and working on a common goal - hunting you down - is not exactly common. And it begs the question: where is their handler?

Even with the rain that had soaked you through and continued to beat down, you knew you were crying. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming your senses and you soon found yourself completely turned around. You used to know these woods like the back of your hand, but in a storm like this, that meant nothing.

It was as if the land was warping. Changing and mutating to prevent you from finding your way to the road. Not like it would do you any good at this point. Any of your “neighbors’” cars would have been swept away by now and emergency services wouldn’t start running again until after the rain slowed.

More tears came with the strike of lightning that illuminated the massive figure running past you. Was that a skull face?

You found yourself in a clearing, frantically turning around as the forest rustled and wind howled. The figures were now closing in on you and a sob escaped your lips as. They had been trying to get you here. You should have kept running, but it all began to catch up to you.

Standing on shaking legs and bloodied feet, you wondered when they would pounce. Maybe they’d let you die from fear before hearing you limb from limb and sinking their teeth into your flesh.

Unfortunately, these men didn’t seem that merciful. It was like a game to them, you thought.

You landed on your back. The wind was thrown from your lungs, tears burning in your eyes while you wheezed for breath while crying from the pain. Your head spun as the hysteria caught up to you.

There was nothing left to do but crawl in a pathetic attempt to…to what? Escape? Make them take pity and spare you? You weren’t sure. You just wanted to survive.

A large hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled back down into the mud, dragging you towards them as you clawed at the earth.

Those same rough hands flipped you over and the lightning flash once again illuminated the hollow men - only calling them that because there was no other explanation for how terrifying these men were - while they pinned you down. The rain was smothering, drowning you as it pelted down. You looked up, unable to make out their faces clearly through your blurred vision.

The appearance of a fourth one, the only one who spoke and thus the one who controlled the three others, made your blood run cold.

It was a deep rooted fear, one of being surrounded and trapped by man. Being so trapped, and so helpless, and so utterly terrified in the midst of a storm of a century, of a tempest you never had a chance of escaping, drove that terror in deep.

“Hail witch.”

A scream came up and tore itself from your throat so hard that blood filled your mouth. The thunder drowned it out, along with the sound of his boot hitting your head.

[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.

[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.]

[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.]

[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.

[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

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Haunted Passings (vampire!Jefferson)

Summary: You see the monster that haunts the fairy tale castle hidden in the woods.

Warnings: slight angst, vampire jefferson

WC: 540

Read on Ao3!

--

The townsfolk spoke of a castle deep in the woods, shrouded in mist and shadow. It stood atop a lonely hill, its towering spires silhouetted against the ever-dimming sky. Whispers in the marketplace claimed it was abandoned, haunted by the ghosts of its past, and that none who entered ever returned.

You had never put much stock in such tales, yet as you wandered deeper into the forest, the gnarled trees seemed to lean in, their skeletal branches curling as if to dissuade your passage. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the dim glow of twilight to light your way. A foolish decision, perhaps, to have ventured so far so late. And yet, something in the air—something more than just the crisp scent of damp earth and pine—called to you.

Then, you saw it.

The castle, an imposing figure in the distance, loomed like a relic of another era. It should have been lifeless, yet you swore you saw movement—something flickering past a high, arched window. A trick of the light, surely.

Or so you told yourself.

A rustling in the underbrush to your left made you stop in your tracks. Your breath caught, your heart drumming in your chest. Slowly, cautiously, you turned.

And there he stood.

A man, draped in shadows, his form lean yet powerful. He leaned against a tree, watching you with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. His dark coat blended into the night, and beneath the brim of his hat, piercing blue eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He was not merely handsome—no, he was striking, unnerving, his presence almost unreal.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk yet edged with something ancient, something knowing.

Your lips parted, though no words came forth. Every instinct screamed for you to run, but your body remained rooted in place, ensnared by his gaze.

He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion, as though amused by your silence. “The people in town tell stories, don’t they? Of this place. Of me.”

His smile revealed a glimpse of something sharp. Something fanged.

Your breath hitched. “You live here,” you whispered, half question, half realization.

He stepped forward, the space between you vanishing in the span of a heartbeat. You hadn’t even seen him move. “Call it that, if you wish.” His gloved fingers brushed against your wrist, light as a feather, but the touch sent a shiver through you. “And you… You are quite brave, wandering so close to the den of a monster.”

Monster. The word echoed in your mind, yet you did not recoil. Instead, you found yourself searching his face, studying the sharp angles, the air of tragic elegance about him. A predator, yes. But not mindless. Not cruel.

“Are you?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended. “A monster?”

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps. And then, that knowing smile returned. “That depends on what you consider monstrous.”

The wind howled through the trees, whispering secrets only the night could understand. And still, you stood before him, drawn to the shadows, drawn to him.

Somewhere deep inside, you knew you should flee.

And yet, you did not.

//\\

reblogging this would make my day!

If you enjoyed this, please Buy Me a Coffee!

[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.

[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]

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

STRETCH GOAL UPDATE #11

WE DID IT! We reached our all of our stretch gals, and now this McGucket standee designed by PossumBreath on YouTube could be yours for Tiers 4+! We have been beyond grateful and amazed by all of your support for this project; and there is still six more days to get yourself a Mystery Twin Mystery Bag.

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 #11 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 tenth to the eleventh, 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: "350 ORDERS STANDEE" Below are is a standee of McGucket. Side 1 of a young McGucket sitting and playing with a Rubik's cube; the other side is of McGucket in a Society of the Blind Eye robe and holding the memory gun.

Image 4: The forest background returns, now with the "How Do Stretch Goals Work in a “Mystery” Bag?" message from above.

The image slides to the next.

Image 5: Chibi art of a victorious Ford holding the Mystery Twin Mystery Bag while Chibi Stan stands annoyed behind him. Above them reads "ALL STRETCH GOALS REACHED!!" And then below, "Thank you for your support"