bunsdans

[bunsdans]

“Of Thorns and Thread”

Word count:2,600~

Trigger warning!!

This story contains suicidal thoughts and actions , bodily harm , and death! If that’s not to your liking you’re more than welcome to click off!!

Chapter II

Sylara kept a close distance behind the cat, her steps cautious but steady. It led her somewhere unknown—again—and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she trusted it. This strange little creature seemed to know more than she ever could, and for now, that was enough.

She clutched the cloak tighter around her shoulders, the fabric heavy and unfamiliar. No—engulfing. Like it belonged to someone else. Like she belonged to someone else.

The world around her was too quiet. Too still. The towering trees whispered through their branches, but not with wind—with age. Everything looked ancient, untouched by time. A place frozen between breath and silence.

Why is this happening?

Why does it all feel so surreal?

Why is there a talking cat?

It was too much. Too sudden.

Her bare feet skimmed over the soft grass, the petals of tiny white flowers brushing her ankles. The warm breeze filtered through the canopy above, flushing her cheeks and dancing through her hair. It was… strangely gentle.

Like the world was welcoming her with open arms.

“You must be very confused, Miss Sylara.”

The voice startled her. She jumped, eyes darting to the cat just a few paces ahead.

She looked down, tightening her grip on her sleeves. “Yes. Very.”

Her voice was firmer than she expected—almost annoyed—but the cat didn’t seem offended. It merely smiled, tail flicking as it resumed its pace.

“It’s normal,” the feline said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, Miss Sylara. You’ll find your purpose here in Etherea soon enough!”

She stopped walking.

“My… purpose?” Her voice cracked slightly. The word tasted foreign in her mouth. Sylara had never believed she was meant for anything. Not in the world she came from. Not in the life she’d been living.

Her hands clenched harder around the oversized sleeves, frustration curling in her gut.

“I don’t have a purpose.”

The cat paused ahead, ears twitching. Then, as if it had expected this, it padded forward once more, tail swaying with calm rhythm.

They walked a little longer in silence before the trees parted.

Sylara blinked as the forest opened to reveal a narrow, rocky path. It wound gently down a hill toward something faint in the distance—a village, tucked beneath lanternlight and curling chimney smoke. Small houses nestled beneath the arms of massive trees. Windows glowed soft amber. And though she couldn’t yet hear voices, she somehow knew the town was alive.

The cat stopped and turned to her, its expression softer now. Wiser.

“You’ll find it here, Miss Sylara,” it said. “Everyone does.”

Sylara stood in silence for a moment—just a moment.

Her eyes drifted toward the horizon, where the sun dipped low behind the treetops, painting the sky in soft streaks of amber and rose. The fading light kissed the tops of the forest, casting long shadows across the winding trail.

“I’ll find my purpose…?” she murmured, the words barely louder than a breath.

She didn’t understand—not really. Maybe she wouldn’t for a long time. But something about the cat’s certainty, the warmth of this strange place, and the ache deep in her chest told her… her journey was beginning. Right here. Right now.

Her gaze lowered to the feline sitting calmly at her feet, its fluffy tail curled neatly beside it. The creature looked up at her, eyes twinkling with something just shy of amusement.

“Let’s go, Miss Sylara,” it said with a grin. “I have a place just for you.”

She blinked, startled once again by the cat’s uncanny gentleness. Why was it being so kind to her? She was a stranger—a broken one at that. Left lying in the forest like discarded paper. So why this kindness?

She didn’t ask. She just followed.

As they reached the edge of the village, sounds of laughter and voices spilled into the path like light through an open door. The people beyond the trees were gathered in little clusters—talking, clinking glasses, dancing under lanterns that swayed with the breeze. Their joy was effortless, like they were celebrating life itself.

Sylara felt like a ghost drifting between them.

The warmth they shared only made her more aware of how cold she was inside. How alone she felt. She tugged the hood of her cloak over her head, letting the fabric fall low over her face. Not just to hide her appearance—but to disappear. To silence the weight of her presence.

If they saw her—really saw her—maybe she would shatter whatever light this world had.

Maybe she would taint it.

So she pulled the cloak tighter, lowered her gaze, and followed the cat into the village.

Into this strange, glowing world that somehow didn’t reject her…

Not yet.

Sylara walked.

And walked.

It felt like forever.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground—no longer soft moss or grass, but a rough, uneven trail of stone that bit at the soles of her feet. The once-comforting earth had turned sharp beneath her, unforgiving. But it didn’t matter. Not to her.

Pain was nothing new. Whether it came from jagged stones, cruel words, or being forgotten—she’d learned to live with it.

Her hands curled into the long sleeves of her cloak, fists tightening until the fabric bunched. She didn’t care anymore. Not about herself. Not about anyone else. Not after everything.

She just wanted somewhere—anywhere—to belong.

“Here we are, Miss Sylara.”

The cat’s voice broke through the hollow quiet in her mind. She looked up slowly, her gaze heavy.

Ahead stood a building nestled in the heart of the village—a tavern, alive with flickering lanternlight and laughter spilling out into the twilight. The sound of music thudded gently through the wooden walls, mingling with the scent of warm bread, spiced meats, and honeyed pastries.

“What… is this place?” Sylara asked, brow furrowed. A bar? Really?

It felt… strange. She wasn’t the type to sit around and chat with strangers over drinks. And she was pretty sure she wasn’t old enough to order anything, either.

The cat perched itself neatly at her feet and beamed up at her.

“This is the Silver Spoon Tavern!” it chirped. “A place where journeys begin.”

Sylara blinked. Silver Spoon? The name sounded plucked from the pages of a fairy tale. Her eyes wandered to the building—its frame was wooden but sturdy, with soft golden light glowing behind wide windows. A small enchanted sign beside one of the upper panes pulsed gently with handwritten letters:

Welcome to the Silver Spoon — come eat!

Something about it felt… warm. Welcoming in a way Sylara wasn’t used to. In a way that made her stomach twist with hesitation.

She was still staring when the cat suddenly padded away.

“Wait—hey! Ah—wait!” she gasped, rushing forward and reaching toward it.

The feline paused just a few feet ahead and turned slightly, its tail flicking behind it like a ribbon in the breeze. Its eyes sparkled under the dimming sky.

“Miss Sylara,” it said softly, “I have others to guide. I cannot walk every path with you.”

Sylara’s hands tightened around the cloak. “You’re leaving me here? But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next!”

The cat tilted its head—almost knowingly—and offered one final smile. “You’re not meant to know everything right away. That’s the beauty of it. This—” it gestured with a flick of its tail, “—is your first leap.”

Sylara opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. The wind picked up around them, sweeping gently through the village street and rustling her cloak. The cat stood still, its fur shifting with the breeze.

“Be free,” it said. “Take that first leap of courage.”

Then, with the whisper of a sigh, the wind curled around the creature like a slow dance, lifting it in ribbons of light and air. Sylara reached forward instinctively, but her guide was already dissolving—fading into the breeze until not even a footprint remained.

She was alone.

Standing in front of the Silver Spoon.

And her journey… was officially hers.

Sylara stood still for a moment, watching as the strange little cat faded into the breeze—its fur dissolving like dandelion wisps into the air. She blinked, half expecting to wake up back in that cold, sterile bathroom. But the cat was gone. The moss beneath her feet was still soft. The wind still warm. The tavern still real.

Maybe the cat was telling the truth. Maybe this really is magic…

She turned to face the wooden tavern door. Its frame was slightly crooked, paint chipped from years of weather, and yet it stood tall like a guardian of stories yet to be told. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the oversized hood of her cloak. Her gaze locked on the door handle.

Did she really want to do this?

She had never been the first to do anything. Not the first to speak up. Not the first to run toward something. Her life was lived in the shadows of others’ choices. But now…

Her hands shook—not from the cold, but from something else. A nervousness, a quiet fear that maybe—just maybe—this step would change her forever. For better, or for worse.

The last glimmer of sunlight dipped below the horizon, casting a soft amber glow across her face. For a moment, she stood bathed in gold. She looked down at her fingers, then back at the door.

Maybe… this is my chance.

Sylara took a breath—a real one, deep and full—and reached for the door.

It creaked open with surprising ease.

Warmth hit her like a wave. Light, laughter, the sound of music plucking along from a distant corner—it all rushed in at once. The tavern was glowing from the inside, golden and alive. Her eyes widened at the sudden change in energy.

People were everywhere. Talking. Drinking. Smiling.

And not just people.

Some had sharp horns curled behind their ears. Others had translucent skin that shimmered like candlelight. Wings rustled softly, tails flicked lazily beneath chairs, and yet there were humans too—tanned and freckled and aged, smiling through missing teeth or singing loudly to old songs.

It was strange. Surreal.

Sylara’s chest tightened. She didn’t belong here. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Her eyes darted across the room, desperate to find a pocket of stillness in the chaos. And then she saw it—a small table in the farthest, darkest corner. Unnoticed. Unbothered.

There.

She walked swiftly, her cloak brushing against her ankles. Her steps were small and hesitant, but she didn’t stop. With a quiet pull, she dragged the chair back and sank into it, hiding herself in the shadows. The cloak pooled around her like smoke, shielding her from the golden energy that pulsed through the room.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move much.

Just watched.

So this is the world I’ve been brought into…

Sylara’s eyes studied each table, each laugh, each flicker of something not-quite-human. They all seemed so at ease here. Like nothing in the world could reach them.

And she?

She was just a girl wrapped in shadows.

Wrapped in worries, tangled thoughts, and a cloak far too big for her frame, Sylara leaned forward and rested her head on the cold wooden table. Her arms, swallowed by long sleeves, curled around her like a makeshift shield. The warmth of the fabric was the only comfort she had in this place full of noise and light.

Her heavy eyes drifted across the crowd—faces she didn’t know, laughter she didn’t feel a part of. The soft hum of string instruments weaved through the air, a delicate melody that reminded her of… something.

Something gentler.

“Momma!”

A small voice echoed in her head—a child’s voice. A field of flowers stretched out beneath golden skies. A little girl ran barefoot, wild with joy.

“Oh dear, be careful!” came a woman’s voice, soft and familiar.

That woman. The one from the mirror. From the dream. From the past.

The woman knelt, catching the child in her arms, laughing with that warmth Sylara could never replicate. A warmth that no longer belonged to her.

Why?

Why did she keep seeing her mother’s face?

Why couldn’t she let go?

Why couldn’t she move on?

No.

No.

No—!

Darkness. Like a curtain drawn shut, her vision went black. The tavern melted away. All she could hear was a distant voice, calling her name—so far, it echoed.

Sylara jolted upright, breath catching painfully in her throat. Her eyes were wild, scanning the tavern as if expecting the field of flowers to still be there. Her hand gripped her chest, knuckles pale under the tension.

I hate this, she thought. I hate that she’s still in my head. I hate that I can’t let her go. What’s wrong with me?

“Excuse me, uh—Miss?”

Sylara turned sharply toward the voice.

A man stood just a few steps away. He wore a beige uniform with gold accents and weathered brown cargo pants, stuffed with too many pockets to count. A matching cap sat in his hands now, removed respectfully. A simple necklace hung around his neck, ending in a small cross that gently swayed as he spoke.

His emerald-green eyes met hers.

Eyes like warm earth after rain.

And yet, just above his head, curled in shadow and contrast—two large, polished black horns twisted back from his scalp. Not ornamental. Not decorative.

Real.

Sylara’s hand tensed, clutching her cloak tightly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” he said, voice soft, careful, almost too gentle for someone with such wild features. “But the tavern’s closing for the night.”

His words weren’t threatening. They weren’t cold. Just… kind.

And that unsettled her even more.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. So she simply nodded and stood, the legs of her chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Uh—Miss, wait!”

The voice called out behind her, distant and fading.

Sylara didn’t stop.

She didn’t want to hear anything anymore—not apologies, not explanations, not gentle voices with warm eyes. She pulled her hood tighter over her head, letting the fabric cast her in shadow, and stepped outside into the night.

The air was cooler now. Crisp. Still.

Above her, the sky stretched endlessly—blacker than ink, but littered with stars that shimmered like scattered gemstones. The moon was full and radiant, casting silver light across the path ahead of her. She stared up at the sky in disbelief.

So many stars…

Back in her world, you were lucky to see even one.

But that world didn’t matter anymore.

This world—Etherea—was supposed to be a place of change, of new beginnings. At least, that’s what the cat had said. But Sylara hadn’t asked for change. She hadn’t wanted magic or talking cats or glowing taverns. She just wanted her old life back.

She just wanted her momma.

Her fists clenched at her sides, rage tightening every muscle in her body. Her feet crunched over the dirt path as she walked—too fast, too aimlessly. The echo of laughter from inside the tavern still clung to her ears like a cruel reminder of everything she didn’t have.

I could’ve said something. I could’ve tried…

But instead, she had run. Like always.

The anger built inside her chest like a storm, tightening her throat and making her legs move faster.

And then—

“Miss! Watch out!”

The warning came too late.

Sylara whipped her head around just in time to see it—a shifting, lurching mass of black ooze blocking the path behind her. It pulsed like a living wound, slick and unnatural, with too many eyes blinking at once—eyes that blinked from the surface of its body, eyes that watched her.

Her breath caught.

The creature spoke—but it wasn’t a voice.

It was many voices.

“New… feast…”

A chorus of whispers and screams, male and female, old and young, layered on top of each other like broken records.

Sylara couldn’t move.

She stared, frozen in place, as the thing lurched forward—dragging its shifting form across the grass like it was tasting the earth beneath it.

Her mouth parted, voice trembling.

“What the fuck…?”

Her heart thundered in her chest.

Whatever this world was…

It wasn’t just wonder and magic.

It had monsters, too.

[bunsdans]

“Of Thorns and Threads”

Word Count: 1,700~

Trigger Warning!!

This story will include suicidal attempts and thoughts , bodily harm , and some angst!! If that’s not to you’re liking you’re more than welcome to click off this post ^^

Chapter I

“Humans are so… pathetic.”

The words echoed, hollow and distant, like something I’d once believed—until I saw her.

I remember only fragments, like petals caught in the wind. A woman stood alone in a sea of wildflowers, bathed in golden light. Her hair shimmered like sunlight caught on water, and her skin, pale and radiant, seemed softer than the blooms that cradled her feet.

It felt like home.

Like I had always belonged there—beneath her gaze.

For the briefest moment, her eyes met mine.

And in them, surprise bloomed. Not fear. Not anger. Just… recognition.

Then, a smile—so gentle it felt like a lullaby in my chest—and she lifted her hand toward me.

“Come here, Sylara.”

Her voice was warm, but the air had grown cold.

So cold.

The warmth I craved lived only in her. I needed her touch, her presence, to feel like anything more than a shadow.

“Momma…” I whispered, reaching for her with trembling hands.

But the wind began to howl, cruel and hungry, tearing the flowers from the earth in violent spirals. They danced around her like a storm of memory, as if the world itself was trying to rip her away from me.

My fingers ached with frost. My chest, hollow. My soul—desperate.

And then…

She was gone.

I gasped awake.

Before me stood not a field, not a woman, not warmth—

But a mirror, shattered into a thousand gleaming truths.

Each shard held a piece of me…

Or someone I no longer recognized.

My hand shook. Blood beaded at my fingertips, curling around the jagged edge of glass I hadn’t realized I was holding. The silence rang louder than any scream—

I wanted to scream.

Scream louder than the world could handle.But the only sound was the soft, rhythmic drip of blood painting the sterile floor.

It hurts.

Not just the cuts, though they burned like someone peeling back my skin, inch by inch.

But something deeper.

Like a grief that had been waiting for this moment to bloom.

The warmth of the blood was nothing compared to the cold, clawing ache beneath it.

I could smell it—agony.

Sharp and metallic, clinging to the air like poison.

It curled in my throat.

I wanted to cry out, not just from pain but from all the words I’d never said.

Then I was on the floor.

I don’t even remember falling.

My back pressed against the wall—cold, sizzling with frost that licked against my spine.

My thoughts spun out of control, blurring like a storm:

I could’ve fought harder.

I should’ve spoken up.

Saved more people.

Chosen a different path.

Maybe I was never enough.Maybe all the strength I pretended to have was paper-thin.

My hands trembled as I pressed them to my stomach.

The blood was everywhere—too much.Warm, thick, and terrifying.It soaked through my fingers like my body was desperately trying to let go of something.

And maybe it was.

Maybe I was.

I looked around the room, the white walls already forgetting me.

Will anyone even know I was here?

Will they remember how I used to laugh too loud? How I always stood behind others even when my knees shook?

Will they remember me—the real me—not just this ending?

Maybe this is it.

Maybe I’ll drown in it—

A sea of my own making.

But if anyone’s listening—

I tried.

I swear I tried.

“Oh, Doll… you were always enough.”

The voice was soft, but it cut through the silence like it belonged there—like it had been waiting.

Sylara looked up from the cold, blood-slick floor. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up just enough to see the source of the voice.

A little girl stood just a few feet away. No—floated. Her feet hovered inches above the ground, untouched by the blood pooling beneath her. Her outfit was strange: a gothic dress layered with black lace and bright pink ribbons, like a doll dressed for a masquerade.

Her eyes were wide, innocent at first glance… but something sharper hid behind them. She looked at Sylara not with pity, but curiosity. Like this was a game she’d seen play out before.

Sylara didn’t have the strength to speak. The pain in her side flared again, sharp and twisting. Her hands were soaked in blood, her vision blurry with tears.

The girl tilted her head, amused by the silence.

“Poor thing. You really tried, didn’t you?”

There was something strange in her voice. Gentle, but off. Like a lullaby sung just a little out of tune.

Sylara gasped softly, trying to ask who she was, why she was here—but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll give you a second chance,” the girl said. “One you won’t regret. My Doll.”

Before Sylara could react, the girl stepped forward and gently placed her small hands over Sylara’s eyes.

Everything went still.

Then a breeze wrapped around her—warm, comforting, like someone pulling a blanket around her shoulders. The pain slipped away, replaced by something softer. Something that felt like the beginning of something else.

“Nghh… my head…”

Sylara groaned, her voice barely above a whisper. Everything felt too quiet. Too still.

Why was she still alive?

And more importantly… who was that girl?

She tried to piece it together—the pale face, the ribbon-laced dress, the eerie smile that felt both familiar and foreign. The girl had looked at her like an old friend. Like someone who’d known her for years.

But Sylara had never seen her before in her life.

Why had she floated like a ghost in the bathroom, whispering promises Sylara didn’t understand? Why did her touch feel like both an ending and a beginning?

Nothing made sense anymore.

Before she could spiral further, a soft sound touched her ears.

Chimes.

Light, delicate—like they were caught in a gentle breeze. The kind of sound that belonged on a quiet porch, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. Her chest tightened. It reminded her of her mother. Of being small. Safe.

The chimes grew louder.

And then—stopped.

Sylara’s eyes flew open. She gasped, so sharply and hard that it caught in her throat. She coughed, choking on the breath she’d dragged in too quickly. Her body jerked forward as she sat up, hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shit! H-Huh—?”

Her breathing slowed, but the panic didn’t fade. Blinking against the sudden light, she squinted and looked around.

This wasn’t the room.

This wasn’t the mirror.

This wasn’t even the same world.

She was surrounded by trees—tall, ancient, towering like giants. Moss clung to their bark like a second skin, and soft grass blanketed the forest floor beneath her. Little white flowers bloomed in clusters, dotting the landscape like stars scattered across green velvet.

A breeze rolled through the leaves, brushing gently against her cheeks and tossing strands of her hair into her face. It was warm. Soothing.

But Sylara couldn’t relax.

“What is this place…?”

Her voice barely reached her own ears.

Slowly, cautiously, she rose to her feet. The ground felt strange beneath her—soft, almost too soft, like standing on a dream.

She turned in place, taking in the vastness of it all. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. No walls. No mirrors. No blood.

Just silence, and something watching her from somewhere unseen.

Sylara stood frozen beneath the towering trees, her breath shallow and quick. The forest was beautiful, yes—but it was also wrong. Too quiet. Too perfect. Every breeze felt like it was watching her.

Just minutes ago, she had been lying in her own blood. The bathroom tiles cold beneath her spine. The mirror shattered. Her hands shaking.

Now she was surrounded by life that didn’t make sense.

She slapped her palms against her cheeks, the sting sharp and deliberate. “This has to be a dream,” she muttered, voice trembling. “Wake up. Wake up, Sylara.”

But the sting did nothing.

The forest didn’t fade.

Her shoulders tensed at the sound of something—footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Coming from the shadows between the trees. They were soft at first, but growing louder, heavier, like something impossibly large was trying to stay silent and failing.

Her heart picked up speed, but strangely… she didn’t move.

Fear didn’t freeze her. It was something else—something colder.

What if this is it?

In her old world, she had been terrified of everything. Of failure. Of being too much. Of not being enough.

But when she had finally stopped caring… it had almost felt like freedom.

Maybe this was just the end playing out in a prettier costume.

Let it come, she thought. Let it—

A soft meow broke through her thoughts.

Sylara blinked, startled, as a small figure stepped out from the brush.

A cat.

Its fur shimmered with strange, shifting colors—white and black and orange and something iridescent in between. One eye was green, the other blue, and they glowed faintly in the shade.

She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a weak, nervous laugh.

“Oh. Just a cat. That’s… that’s good. That’s—”

“I do apologize if my appearance startled you, Miss Sylara,” the cat said pleasantly.

Sylara’s breath caught mid-laugh. Her eyes widened.

“You… did you just talk?”

The cat inclined its head, as if bowing slightly. “Indeed I did. I understand this may be disorienting. But I assure you, it is perfectly standard procedure.”

Sylara took a step back, one hand rising to her chest. “You know my name?”

“But of course,” the cat replied with a soft swish of its tail. “You’re registered. You were expected.”

“I—I was what?”

“Expected,” the cat repeated patiently. “Not early. Not late. Just… in that beautifully human way—exactly on time.”

Sylara blinked hard. “What is this place?”

The cat settled gracefully onto the soft grass, tucking its paws beneath its shimmering body. Its eyes blinked slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

“You’re in Etherea, Miss Sylara!” it announced with a bright, polite tone—far too enthusiastic for someone explaining the collapse of someone’s known reality.

Sylara stared at it, wide-eyed. Her pulse was still racing. Her hands trembled in front of her, fingers twitching with leftover panic. Everything felt wrong—too vivid, too clean, too still.

“This has to be fake,” she muttered, stumbling back a step. “It has to be… right? Right?”

The cat tilted its head. A sigh escaped its mouth, light and weary, as though this exact conversation had happened more times than it cared to count.

“This is real, Miss Sylara,” it said, gentler now. “You are in Etherea—a world of many wonders, and magic, and, well… possibilities.”

Sylara blinked at it.

Magic? Possibilities?

This couldn’t be real. It felt like something torn straight from the pages of a fantasy book she would’ve rolled her eyes at years ago.

She opened her mouth to respond, her voice unsteady. “Wait—magic? As in—” “It’s exactly as I said,” the cat interrupted, this time more firmly. “Magic.”

Sylara flinched, shutting her mouth on instinct. There was something commanding about the cat’s tone, despite its size—like it had more power than it let on.

The cat rose to its feet with elegance and gave a flick of its tail. “Now, if you’d be so kind—follow me, Miss Sylara. It’s getting dark, and I’d hate for the creatures to find you in such a… vulnerable state.”

Before Sylara could ask what creatures, the cat darted off into the trees, vanishing between shafts of amber light.

She stood frozen.

Creatures? Possibilities? Magic? None of it made sense. It was too much, too fast, like she’d fallen through a dream that wouldn’t let her wake up.

Her eyes drifted down to her hands.

The cuts were gone.

The blood—gone.

And the clothes she’d been wearing—familiar, stained, real—were no longer clinging to her skin.

Instead, a dark cloak was draped over her shoulders. The fabric was thick and soft, the sleeves long enough to nearly swallow her fingers. She hadn’t felt it appear. It was just… there.

She stared at her reflection in the glossy curve of a nearby leaf, her face pale beneath the shadow of the cloak’s hood.

What is happening to me?

Her gaze shifted back to the forest, where the cat had disappeared. She didn’t know what was out there. Or who—or what—had brought her here. But for the first time in a long time…

she hesitated.

Do I really want to live?

The question surfaced like oil over water. In her old life, the answer had always been no.

But now, the silence buzzed differently.

The wind rustled the trees. A soft, distant howl echoed—low and not quite human.

Sylara took a breath.

“Ah—wait!” she called out, stumbling forward. “I’m coming, I—just… wait.”

And she followed.

Hey!! Author here , if you made this far then I just wanna say thank you so much!! This is my first official series that I’m starting here on tumblr ^^ more will be coming soon and again tysm!!

<3

[bunsdans]

HAIR UP AND SLUTTY WAIST?????

I like him-

[bunsdans]

Ramattra <3

Wip of ramattra

[bunsdans]

mass compilation of all the pokemon gijinkas i did last year for warmups ^_^

[bunsdans]

Please help if ya can !! These lovely people need some help!!

HELP MY BF BECOME MORE AERODYNAMIC (TOP SURGERY)

hi if you know anything about me you know i am extremely gay and forrest is the love of my life (in two weeks we will have our two year anniversary. yippee!) he and his family helped me recover through top surgery when my family had basically shunned me and now i want to make sure he gets his safe and sound.

everyone in our lives rn is pitching in with the little we have but the internet is powerful and cool and i want to ask for help here too. i wouldnt be the person i am without forrest and the art i make wouldn't exist without the love and joy he has brought to my life. if you've ever been a fan of something i've made or done on this website and have a dollar or two, please consider donating. if you cant, reblogs are appreciated too! i love you all as always and i hope your years finish out as kindly as possible.

[bunsdans]

Feddy fazber

feddy

edit: he is now a fashionable sticker

[bunsdans]

Cardinal and clone

[bunsdans]

▪︎I hate what I've become, the nightmares just begun,

I must confess that I feel like a monster ▪︎

[bunsdans]

Whew, loved the recent episode so here's a possessed hunter doodle

[bunsdans]

This one cute! Please support them

some doodles I did in for the Solar Lunacy chapter I'm writing

They are JESTERS, my friend, smiles are their specialty.

[bunsdans]

Love the simplicity

Comparing hand sizes with Shigaraki - Headcanons

You die.

-------

Please tell me if you liked it ♡

[bunsdans]

This got me acting up 😃

bakugo inhales sharply, "fuck–"

you smile against his skin, as you pepper soft kisses along his neck, up to his jaw and back down again.

he complains half-heartedly, but you know it's all for show, especially by the way he's craning his neck to the side, and tilting his head back. he swallows thickly, breathing heavily as he lets out a quiet, "don't do that."

you simply smirk, as he goes lax in your arms, letting his eyes flutter shut as you bite and suck at his skin teasingly softly. "don't lie to me and say you don't like it, katsuki." he almost whimpers at the teasing tone at which you whisper in his ear. "we both know you do."

he clenches his jaw, but stays still, silently begging you to keep going, and his eyes almost roll back when he feels your tongue trail along his skin again, wet and warm between soft kisses. he feels like he's going to explode, hips twitching to buck into the air.

"fuck, okay just–don't leave too many marks." he very easily gives in and you reward him by giving him what he's too afraid to ask for. you know sometimes he just wants to be taken care of, worshipped. and you're more than willing to give that to him.