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thetrashqueeeen · 1 year

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the hunger games is having a resurgence and i’m back on my bullshit so i thought i would post what i always imagined the rest of effie’s life looked like

she stays in the capitol to begin with. katniss was shocked when she saw them kiss, but was hastily shut up by haymitch when she teased him and they never really spoke about effie much after that. effie called haymitch once a week, filling him in on the rebuilding efforts, her rapidly blooming social life, new fashion trends, inter-district moving and the latest in geese rearing tips(i’m a goose apologist here he keeps geese ok). he can tell something is off but he doesn’t realise how much of it is outright lies

effie wakes in the mornings screaming, the pain of whatever torture she was reliving rapidly dissolving as her bedroom sharpened into focus. She rarely leaves her apartment. she watches them rebuild from her window, her heart racing when unexpected bangs and crashes come from construction sites. she gets up later and later each day, sometimes not bothering to get out of bed at all. when she can’t face the nightmares, she goes to the roof of her building and screams off the edge until her voice is hoarse. she tells haymitch that she’s been out partying when she calls. her neighbourhood gets a reputation for being haunted, people say you can still hear the rebels screaming at night. her old friends are mostly dead and the ones that aren’t can’t face the memory of her as much as she can’t face the memory of them. they do try for a while, pretending that everything is fine for as long as they can ignore the frenzied fear right under the surface. the cocoon her life has become feels suffocating but ultimately comforting. she tells herself she’s fine, that this is fine. she doesn’t know why she lies to him when she calls.

she lasts a year. one afternoon, she’s on the phone with haymitch and he’s telling her about katniss and peeta. they’ve just gotten engaged for real and he’s chattering on about them in the way he does when he lets his guard down. his voice is so comforting and so nice and so homely that her heart clenches and her hand grips the phone so tightly the plastic nearly buckles in her grip. she closes her eyes so the only thing entering her brain is his voice. when they get off the phone she throws her favourite things into a suitcase, showers and gets dressed in actual clothes for the first time all week and walks to the train station before she can think about it too hard. the days she spends on the train pass quickly and she steps onto the platform at 12 in the middle of a deluge. she trudges over to victors village, her suitcase clattering over muddy paving stones. she steps into the square of victors village in the pouring rain, looking sullen, tired and thinner than when anyone last saw her. she’s filled with sudden unease, and stands still, not sure she has the nerve to go and bash on his door. she feels much too old for this, much to old to run away from her life without telling anyone, for a man who didn’t even invite her. she’s freezing. peeta notices her and goes to invite her in, but katniss stops him, seeing haymitch has set out to meet her in the square. as he gets closer he notices she looks like shit. she’s not dressed for the rain and her clothes cling to her depressingly, her hair is plastered to her face and she looks about as tired as he feels. she’s stood with her arms crossed tightly, looking like she might cry. he wraps his arms around her cold, sodden frame and it takes her a second, but she wriggles her arms out from between them and wraps her arms around his neck, stepping closer. they might be too old for this, but she can’t deny this is better than whatever she was doing before. he doesn’t kiss her there; it still feels too alien to not hide.

the next morning, effie pulls one of haymitch’s porch chairs to the edge of the veranda and basks in the rising sun, allowing it to warm her all the way through. he comes out with coffee an hour or so later, remembering she missed it in 13. peeta comes over to say hello and effie finally feels her heart slow down.

she gets used to the rhythms of 12. she did worry that too much time had passed for them, but they fall back together as they’re meant to. they bicker and debate through barely suppressed smiles and finally offer the overt support the other has always needed. when haymitch gets up to feed the geese at first light, he leaves her in bed alone and she rolls into the warm spot he leaves. he makes her coffee when he’s done and says it’s because he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. in reality he just can’t imagine not getting to see her lift her bleary head off the pillow, her blonde hair mused and her eyes flickering open. her hair is one of the things he loves the most. he teases her about her ‘lotions and potions’ but he spends hours running his hands through her hay-coloured waves. she lets it grow down to her shoulders for the first time since her baby hair was chopped off for wigs. she starts growing produce in the back garden. the first time katniss sees her, hair tied back with a patterned scarf, wearing dungarees and chunky boots, she laughs out loud so hard that effie’s in a huff with her for a whole week. she offers an apology only because her wedding simply will not happen without effie planning it.

one day, she gets up as soon as she hears haymitch go out the back door in the morning. she dresses in a baggy t-shirt and bright dungarees (she tries her best not to link the bright dungarees that being her so much joy to grey jumpsuits) and makes coffee for them both. he startles when he finds her at the kitchen table, but she just asks him if he knew she had a degree from capitol university. he didn’t. she tells him she wants to teach children in the school house and expects him to laugh. he does a little bit, but then tells he she’ll be fantastic and admired her as she marched out the door to go and talk to the head teacher. they start her out easy, but the children adore her funny accent, soft hair and bright clothes. she adores them all right back. effie has a gaggle of small children running around her for all of the wedding and katniss looks over her the entire day, smiling at her and haymitch playing with them all. peeta had been slowly beginning to raise the idea of a family, but katniss had been shutting it down forcibly every time. she walks over to peeta at the reception and draws his attention to the large game of tag effie was participating in. as haymitch starts hefting kids over his shoulder shouting ‘the monster’s coming’ katniss tells him she wants their first daughter to be called primrose, not prim- never prim, but primrose. they’ll be great surrogate grandparents, she tells him.

effie adores little Finnick from the moment he’s born. haymitch also adores the baby, but is much less willing to show it. katniss pretends to not notice he still shakes sometimes and he pretends he doesn’t only hold him when he’s sat down. a few years later, finnick is joined by primrose who is just as beautiful as her namesake. as soon as finnick is old enough to go to school, effie insists on teaching his class every year. once primrose is old enough she trades off each year, trying (and failing) to pretend they’re not her favourite. finnick trains as a carpenter and every time effie so much as mentions something that needs fixing in the house finnick is there with a toolbox and his father’s smile. primrose grows up in awe of her big brother, the boy who calls her pipsqueak, shared every glass of orange juice he’s ever drunk with her and copies her maths homework every days she can remember. when he starts his own business, she starts to keep his accounts. it’s the summer she turns 15. she carries on absorbing knowledge like a sponge, retaining every fact, theorem and topic effie gifts her with. effie is the first person she tells when she applies for a scholarship at capitol university. her mother is the first person she tells when she gets it. katniss cries soft, bittersweet tears when primrose tells her she’s going to study medicine at the big university in the capitol. effie hugs her so hard on the platform as she gets the train that she thinks she might snap. katniss is so happy that her children are no longer the children of the last victors. they are the carpenter and the doctor. they have never once chopped their dreams off at the knees just in case they get reaped. katniss and peeta cry at her loss, sure she will only return to visit. finnick and effie do not cry, they know she’s coming back. she comes back with a woman in tow, but she comes back none the less. effie plans her marriage to the woman they come to know as Evie. finnick gets married just a year after they do, and he and his wife have so many children, haymitch jokes they should start a football team.

effie and haymitch don’t get anywhere near as long as they deserve, but they do get 25 good years. haymitch is older than she is, and his body has been through a lot. when she pleads with him to go to the capitol for treatment, he begs her to understand why he can never go back there, and she finds she does. he passes in his own bed, with his wife laying next to him, stroking his hair with quiet reverence. the last thing he hears is her whispering quietly that she loves him more than anything. that she would go through all of it again for just one more day.

when haymitch is gone, effie retires from the school house and spends as much time as she can with katniss, peeta, finnick, primrose and their various broods. she fully expects to die of a broken heart, she considers it only right. she thinks often of the tired, scared woman who stood in the rain waiting for him. she does not die of a broken heart, much to her annoyance. she doesn’t even grow much weaker with age. she keeps the geese until the last one dies and never stops growing food in her garden. one hot day in summer, the whole family go down to the meadow to bask in the heat and watch the children play. ‘this is the life a victor deserves’ she tells katniss as they watch finnick and primrose play with the children. she lays down in the sun to have a nap, resting her head on katniss’s lap. she hears the children screech with laughter, she feels the warm sun on her skin and she passes quickly, her last breathe quiet and unnoticed. haymitch is waiting for her when she gets there.

#the hunger games #hayffie #everlark #they got a victors life in the end #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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littlefanficprincess · 30 days

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Dancing across my mind

🎆One shot🎆

Pair: Tai lung x reader

Song: Someone to you (Banners)

"Dive and disappear without a trace, I just wanna be someone"

Important: (Y/A) = Your animal, ‼️Spoilers for Kungfu Panda 4‼️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt like it was ages ago when I had first met him, a life time ago.

I was about the age of eight, just moved to the valley of peace with my family. It truly lived up to its name, a lot calmer compared to the big city. A very welcome change.

A young (y/a) emerges from a building which was covered with posters. In her paws/feathers/claws were a (f/c) colored fan.

My mother was a traditional dancer, a famous one at that. She use to perform at theaters near our old home. I wanted to be just like her.

The small creature stumbles through the villages, watching as other pass by. Her (e/c) look up and latch onto a mountain with a Cherry Blossom tree on it.

Her eyes sparkle in fascination. She picks up the pace, and almost begins running. Unknownly, she almost jumps into a geese who was carrying a crate full of vegetable.

Finally after a few minutes was carrying herself up. She reaches the top of the mountain. It was really high, she could even see her house from here!

I sometimes wonder if I never went to the mountain on that faithful day, I most likely would've never met him.

The (f/a) moves to stand in the beginning pose, she in- and exhales like her mother taught her. She carefully moves her arms/feathers, feeling the wind flow past her form.

She couldn't imagine how amazing she looks as feels cherry bottom leafs flow through the breeze.

Her grip on the fan loosend and she accidentally drops it on the moss covered rocks. She was about to retrieve her when a pair of paws grab them.

She looks up, meeting two kind golden eyes. Those belonging to a snow leopard that seemed her age. He shyly bends down on one knee "I think you've dropped this" He holds out the fan for her grab.

(Y/n) reaches and takes it from him, feeling her wing/paw brush against his. "Thank you, um..." She says, not knowing his name.

"Tai...Tai lung!" He introduces himself, seeming to have trouble with his words. He seemed shy and excited at the same time.

There was something special about him, but (Y/n) couldn't place her feater/finger on it. "Thank you, Tai Lung" A smile appears on her face. "May I ask what brings you here?"

"I might have had a burst of anger and my jiaolian had send me over her to meditate and dim my anger" Tai Lung explains, akwardly fiddling with his paws.

(Y/n) resumes the begin pose, holding the fan tightly "Why don't join me, dancing always makes me relax"

Hesitantly, Tai Lung moves to stand next to the other. He copies the begin pose, looking at his arms and legs to make sure he was doing it correct.

His eyes watch (Y/n)'s movements, observing the dance. He follows her moves, soon they were moving in sync. Tai Lung realises how peaceful he felt, feeling the wind flow through his fur.

Not so far away stood Shifu, proud to see his student was able to calm the burning rage in himself.

For years, (Y/n) and Tai Lung met on the mountain. Dancing and training togheter, Tai Lung was even able to teach (Y/n) some fighting moves. (Y/n) became a better dancer and Tai Lung became a greater fighter.

But it came all to an end on the day he told me about his 'Destiny'.

(Y/n) sits calmly ontop the mountain, her eyes were shut. She in- and exhales through her nose. From behind she could hear someone approaching, she knew those footsteps all too well.

She turns just time to be grabbed by the waist and held up. The one holding her up was Tai Lung himself, seeming very happy for some reason.

(Y/n) couldn't help but let out an excited giggles, gripping into his strong arms as support "What has you so overjoyed?"

Carefully, Tai Lung places the (y/a) down back on her feet "The next time you will see, I will have the title of the Dragon Warrior!"

"Fancy title, will you get a metal of honor along with it?" (Y/n) Jokes, smiling at her companion.

Tai Lung chuckles, shaking his head, amused by her remark "Maybe, If I'm lucky. I know you'll be proud of me"

"I already am, I always have been"

After he left, I waited for him. It was so quiet underneath the cherry Blossom tree. I missed his laughter, his snarky remarks that would always brought a smile to my face.

(Y/n) looks at the letter she was holding, she was planning to give it to Tai Lung. She sighs and places it in a drawer, closing it after.

Rumors grew, stories about him destroying a nearby village. They would follow me everywhere, as many knew how close we were. Most of my shows had town.

Years past, the rumors became less and less. Until he left everyone's mind, but not mine. Fifteen years later, I had walked out of theater I usually perform at.

The infamous (y/a) strolls out of the building, holding her trusty (f/c) fan by her side. She pauses when she hears crashing nearby.

A figure gets flung infront of her, only a few meters away. They use their fist to bring their motion to a stop. It was Tai Lung.

As if feeling her presence, he turns his head to look at her gaze. Their eyes widen at the sight of the other. Tai Lung didn't get much reaction as he was punched in the stomach by Po, making him fly out of sight.

Scared, (Y/n) rush out, trying to find her old friend. She follows the trial of destruction, going all throughout the valley.

She found it stopped in the middle of the street, with a huge crater in the street. She turns to a pig standing nearby "Have you seen a snow leopard by any chance?"

"The dragon Warrior had defeated him a few moments ago, you just missed it" The pig explains to her.

Next to pig were three bunnies, jumping up and down, excitedly. "It was so cool, he went like pow pow pow!" "Then he did skadoosh!" "It was like send that cat to another dimension"

Hope dissapears in her eyes as the possibility of him being dead. After all these years she sees him finally, only to hear that he could already be dead.

A few years later

One by one, the old enemies return to the spirit realm. General Kai flies into the golden portal, leaving Tai Lung to be the only one left.

"Guess it's your turn now" Po turns to his old foe, holding his staff with a tight grip.

Tai Lung shakes his head "I won't, atleast not yet, Dragon Warrior. I have some businesses to take care of" He turns and walks up the stairs. The Bandits, along with po's dads stand aside to let him walk past.

"Should we just let him walk out of here like that?" Zhen asks Po, using her thumb to point towards the leaving snow leopard."I mean, what is the worst he can do now that he isn't out for revenge" The panda replies, shrugging his shoulders.

Meanwhile (Y/n) was in her home, pouring some tea in a small cup. She pauses when she hears rummaging, it sounded like it was near.

Turning around, she finds her old friend bend down on one knee. Tai Lung had his head lowered, not meeting her eyes.

"Tai Lung..." (Y/n) mumbles underneath her breath, taking the few of someone she hadn't seen for so long.

"I have down many reckless and irresponsible things. All I ask for you is your forgiveness, only if you think I deserve it" Tai Lung says, not moving an inch.

(Y/n) stays quiet, not sure what to say. The snow leopard takes the silence as rejection, he was about to get up and walks away.

When he was brought in to en embrace by one other than the (Y/a) "You don't know how much I've missed you"

"I missed you too, my dancer"

#fanfic #x reader #kung fu panda #tai lung #kungfu panda 4 #Kungfu panda x reader #Oneshot

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aziraphales-library · 5 days

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Hi!! Thank y'all for finding all these fics for us and categorizing everything really well!

I was wondering if y'all have any fics where they accidentally kiss? I know it's a bit specific but something like they fall or something dumb and accidentally kiss

Okay anyways thank you again!!

Here are some fics with accidental kisses...

Kiss by Halevetica (NR)

Crowley and Aziraphale accidentally lean in for a goodnight kiss and neither realize what just happened until moments later.

Come On Back and Kiss Me by summerofspock (T)

Crowley accidentally kisses Aziraphale goodbye, freaks out about it, and then finds out Aziraphale's been waiting for him to do it again.

'Til I Kiss You by TardisInspired (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley have a dinner out after the Nopocalypse. They then decide that they need a 'New Arrangement'.

Finders Keepers by angelsnuffbox (T)

Each encounter with Crowley left him breathless, but they had never ventured into anything more than those chance encounters. That was until today, on the night of their corporate halloween party, with Aziraphale asking for his help and Crowley actively following him around - in matching costumes, no less. Aziraphale would be so thrilled were he not filled with anxiety over his current predicament. Oh dear, he would never hear the end of it from Michael if he didn't find that dumb sword.

Blame It on the Goose by almaasi (G)

Village shenanigans AU where neighbours Aziraphale and Crowley are given the runaround by a particularly rude goose. Or: When Anthony J. Crowley moves to a pleasant English village, he expects to begin a peaceful life, gardening and minding his own business. He pretends not to notice his new neighbour, some flamboyant toff named Azira-something, who seems to do nothing but eat, and illustrate birds. But there’s a horrible goose on the loose, and it and its friends are causing a disturbing amount of havoc. Stealing shoes, squashing flowers, unlocking gates, tangling hosepipes... and sending Crowley out of the house with no clothes on in the middle of the night to borrow some underpants from the aforementioned neighbour. The entire population of Lower Tadfield is in uproar over these innocent-looking monsters. Something must be done! If Aziraphale and Crowley have to team up to defeat a gaggle of psychotic geese, so be it. And if they happen to like each other more than expected, so be that, too. What good is a peaceful life without a dear friend, anyhow?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #kissing #first kiss #accidental kissing #mod d

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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In one of the oldest poems in English literature, [...] The Seafarer not only provides us with one of our first ornithological references in the English language, but also [...] written description of birds evoking place, being associated with a distinct landscape. This poem is not alone, however, in suggesting to us how birds could inspire a feeling for place more than 1,000 years ago. [...] Hidden in the names of towns and villages are the ghostly traces of birds conjuring powerful identities for people in the landscapes and settlements of early medieval England. [...]

Among this rich repository of names [in Britain], birds rank in their many hundreds as vitalising elements and markers of medieval places – more than any other class of wild animal [...]. Among the cranes and crows, eagles and pigeons and geese (to mention some of the more commonly named birds), there are also less expected species. Who would imagine the mulch-and-mud snipe secretly probing the worm house as place markers in Snitterfield (Warwickshire), or fairy-flitting titmice roving through trees as the spirits of Masongill (Yorkshire), or yellowhammers like fireside embers in the winter hedgerows in Amberley (Sussex)? [...] What was it about birds that so caught people’s place-imaginations?

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One avian order that demonstrates birds’ place-shaping potential especially well is the owls. [...] [T]he tiny village of Ulcombe [is] nestled in a gentle fold of the North Downs. Its name is listed in the Domesday Book (1086 CE), and it means ‘the owl’s valley’. [...] [O]ur word for this order of birds descends from one of just two Old English words for all owls: ule, pronounced ‘oooo-l’ (the other is uf, of which there are very few records.) Ule is a very ancient [...] utterance. [...] The onomatopoeic potency of ule implies not only how owls themselves materialised and existed as sound [...], but that this also affected how people experienced the places in which they heard these sounds. On some level, those places named after owls (Ulgham, Outchester, Oldberrow, Ullenhall, Ullenwood) were identified as soundscapes as much as landscapes [...].

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Other ‘sound birds’ appearing in place names besides owls, however, suggest [...] bioacoustics as [...] distinguishing properties of a place’s atmosphere. Take bitterns, for instance, those specialists of reed-bed living, who have perfected invisibility [...]. We know bitterns best by the eerie, sonorous booming of male bitterns that ‘bombleth in the myre’, as Geoffrey Chaucer describes it in ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’. In names like Purleigh (pūr + lēah = ‘bittern clearing’), then, we are confronted again by places defined according to a particular, evocative sound. Even in the 18th century, when the draining of much of the old Fens surrounding the Ouse Washes was already well underway, Daniel Defoe is drawn to ‘the uncouth Music of the Bittern … so loud that it is heard two or three Miles Distance’ [...].

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Like the tawny owl, of course, [the cuckoo] has a very distinctive song. Its famous call (immortalised in the medieval song ‘Sumer Is Icumen In’) is equally matched by the bird’s reputation as a herald of summer. Species such as cuckoos and swallows are only present for part of the year in Britain, meaning they were mostly absent from those places that came to bear their names. How was it, then, that they still came to imbue locations such as Swallowcliffe or Yaxley (the Old English for cuckoo is geac, pronounced ‘yay-ack’) with such defining and enduring resonance? These summer birds bring a place to life, as it were. [...] Cuckoos, like so many British birds that are threatened or extinct, would have been much more abundant in the Middle Ages. Yaxley, on the edge of surviving cuckoo strongholds in the former Fens, would have thronged to their calls. Now these places, and many like them where the birds of their names are absent, are solemnly displaced, the names creaking in the wind like dilapidated pub signs [...]. We can sense that displacement in the sprawl of modern suburban environments too, which [...] assign bird nomenclatures to roads and residential spaces (Sandpiper Drive, Nightingale Way, Lark Rise, Goldcrest Mews…) where the species named are nowhere to be seen [...].

[B]ird place names [...] alert us [...] [to] the rich forms and possibilities of ecological dwelling, which shaped how people perceived and responded to the local worlds around them. [...] We need these spirits of place.

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All text above by: Michael J. Warren. “Home and the birdsong.” Aeon. 12 December 2022. Essay edited by Sam Haselby. [In this post, bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.] Essay published by Aeon at: [aeon.co/essays/british-place-names-resonate-with-the-song-of-missing-birds]

#ecology #abolition #imperial #interspecies

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thebunnyslibrary · 7 months

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In The Woods Somewhere

summary. You go into the woods to take some photos...but find him instead

characters. Vampire!Bucky x Reader

word count. 4.8k

warnings. Dub!Con, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Stockholm-ish, mentions of violence/blood.

BunBun's Spoop-tober Collection Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Finally, your big break. You were finally getting the chance to publish a collection of your photos of haunted locations around New England with a real publishing company. Your final location was an abandoned church in the woods; thought to have been used by an early group of colonizers until it and the nearby settlement had been abandoned. No one knew for sure what had happened. Perhaps the colonizers had moved on? Maybe they were wiped out by plague? There was even a dark story of a minister who had started murdering villagers that were “unclean;” allegedly filling the church pews with corpses with slashed and bloody necks. Doing research on places before you took photos was one of your favorite parts; gathering information for the captions and essays you wrote to go with the photos.

After your parents had died while you were in college, it had left you feeling empty and directionless for some time. Then, after finally finishing your degree, you decided to use the money your parents had left you to buy a van and photograph the world.

You’d been working as a traveling photographer for a while now, doing gigs like weddings and events. You’d also managed to self-publish a few books and tried to sell your photos and art where you could. It wasn’t much but it kept you in gas money and beef jerky. You’d been all over North America and a few parts of South America. You were hoping to go international for a follow up book if this one was a success.

You pulled up to the walking trail that led into the forest. You had about an hour’s hike into the woods; knowing getting the shots at sunset would create perfect photos. You shrugged on your backpack with your supplies and with your camera case hand, headed off. The trees were washed in the golden hue of fall, starting to shed their leaves in preparation for their long winter sleep. A slight chill hung in the air but after 3 months of heat and humidity you were ready to be cold for a little bit.

Sometimes you listened to music when you hiked but today you’d decided to relish in the sounds of the forest.. Bird calls echoing off the trees, the rustling of the trail as you walked, squirrels and other small critters gathering their own winter supplies. A flock of geese calling out as they flew in v formation overhead and you quickly snapped a picture. Traveling and photography had given you an entirely deeper appreciation for nature and it’s beauty. An hour later, you stepped into the clearing where the church was set.

It was a small chapel, probably only fit to hold 10 or 15 people. Most of the eastern wall had crumbled while the others were still partially there. Only one or two (maybe one and a half) benches were left; but you weren’t too sure about actually sitting on them. Still completely intact though, was the Archway that must’ve bene the entrance. Above it, was a bell; likely used to let the nearby colonizers know that church was starting. But on the bell was an inscription that could no longer be read. The language appeared to be Latin, but the words had been lost to time. You were raising your camera to take a picture, when a soft voice startled you

“Hi.” You turned suddenly and you were staring into crystal blue eyes. You jumped back but kept your eyes fixated on his. A man, maybe a little older than you had been standing right behind you.

“Oh! Uh…hi!” you said, blinking and taking more of him in now. Dressed in a black jacket over a fitting gray tee-shirt, dark jeans clinging to his legs, and silver rings adorned most of his fingers on his right hand. His left hand was hidden by a leather glove. His hair was pulled back in a man bun and a single ruby on a black chain hung from his left ear.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just coming up the trail and I called out to you.” His voice was soft, with a hint of an eastern European accent, making a slight shiver go through you.

“Sorry, I suppose I didn’t hear you.”

“No worries, I’m James. But my friends call me Bucky” He reached out his hand for yours, taking it and telling him your own name. “I’m surprised to see someone else this far out in the woods.

“I’m here to take pictures.” You explained. “It’s a beautiful structure…what’s left of it anyways.”

“How interesting.” He said. “Are you a professional?”

“Well, sort of. I’m actually just finishing my first collection to be published. ‘New England’s Haunts and Its Future.’ I’m including the church with a piece on New England puritanism and its effects on today’s bigotries.”

He smirked. “I like it. I’ll have to make sure I order a copy of your book.” You both laughed. “You know the old England had some haunts too. All of Europe, in fact. Plenty of old spooky castles. You should definitely see them.”

“If my book goes well maybe.”

“Have you ever had your work in a gallery?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve had my art displayed in some cafes here and there, but not much else.”

“Pity, you seem passionate about your work, it must be nice.”

“I’d call it nice, maybe good.” You beamed. “I’d actually like to get a few shots in, if you don’t mind. I can talk a little while I work though.” There was something about him. He unnerved you, if only slightly. But you also didn’t want him to leave. You wanted him to stay with you.

The two of you walked through the archway to stand on the overgrown stone floor, flowers and dandelions peeking through the cracks. As you walked up what used to be aisle and could almost make out where the other pews had been. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe It was your imagination, but along the floor, the stones seemed eerily stained red.

Again, Bucky’s closeness startled you, but this time, you seemed frozen to the floor.

“You know, darling. There’s one thing I’d love. Could you take a picture of me under the archway? It would make for a great dating profile picture.” He winked at you. And you felt your face warm up.

“Sure, why not.” You focused your camera on him and his eyes seemed to flash red at you. You gasped before snapping the button, but only cursed and brushed it off as red eye-syndrome. You took one more picture and this time, it seemed normal. You pulled it away and waited as the picture loaded. Your book would hopefully lead to some newer equipment. Bucky stood behind you suddenly, but again you were frozen to place; only this time with his chest firmly against his back.

As the picture loaded on the screen, your stomach dropped. The picture was empty. the archway was still in there. But Bucky wasn’t.

You turned around and his smile was downright predatory. Revealing two pearly white fangs. But his eyes, they were bright crimson red.

“That’s…. those can’t be real…your eyes, your teeth…” you said, feeling your heart drop into your stomach

“Oh, my darling. They are ALL too real…little girls like you should know better than to go out after sunset.” You should be running, fighting back, anything. But you can’t. You’re staring into his deep red eyes and you can’t move. “No, printsessa. I can’t have you running away. Not when you smell so delightful.” His arms wrapped slowly around your waist, pulling you closer to you. “Not to mention how beautiful you are. You are exactly what I’ve been searching for.” He whispered in your ear. Before you could blink, you felt a sharp pain in your neck and the world went dark.

You awoke in a soft bed, softer than anything you’d felt before. A bed, but you’d been… Oh fuck… You shot upright quickly as you remembered what happened. What greeted you was a dimly lit room. A wall of immense windows letting the moonlight stream in while a fire roared in the fireplace. Low lamp light gave let you see to see immense bookshelves lining the rest of walls. You started to panic. That freak had knocked you out, now you were in some cabin somewhere. You were still wearing the same clothes, but you had no clue where you were.

“My my, finally awake. I suppose I did drink a bit more than necessary. But I just couldn’t help myself. You were just absolutely delicious.” You looked and saw Bucky. He’d been sitting by the fire until he stood up and moved towards the bed. You could see he was wearing black t-shirt and sweatpants, but what you hadn’t seen before…was his metal arm. His hand had been covered by the glove, but now you could see the moonlight glinting off it. You caught yourself staring and remembered what had happened last time you’d stared at him.

“What did you do to me you sicko?” You lowered your eyes to the floor, trying to move out of the bed without tripping. You heard him chuckle.

“What’s wrong baby doll, you don’t wanna to look at me? “

“No! I just wanna go home. Please.” You tried to be strong but you were trembling as you tried to keep your eyes low enough. You desperately searched for anything sharp or heavy, settling on the lamp and reaching to pick it up, but before you could, you found yourself pinned face down on the bed, your arms trapped behind you. You struggled against him, but he hardly moved. His voice in your ear.

“Poor little bunny. You know what really happened. Or do you need a reminder?” You felt something scrape against your neck. Fangs.

“That’s…. you’re not…”

“Oh, but I am doll. And I don’t think I’ve found anything I’ve ever wanted more in my centuries of living.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Your trembling is so adorable baby girl. It makes me want to ravage you until you cry for me.” His hand wandered down to your jeans and your breathing turned shallow. There was an ache deep between your thighs that wanted to call out for him, but you were still scared of what he’d done.

“No, I won’t have my beloved scared of my touch.” He said, gently pressing a kiss to your neck before moving to help you stand up. Your legs were much wobblier and you found yourself leaning against him. You stared at his chest and quietly spoke. “Bucky, please. Where are we?”

“We’re at my cabin. I’d like to show you around; as this is to be your home too. If you promise to behave.” Deep down, you still felt petrified. But an inner voice said that if he had already wanted you dead, you would be. Besides, you hadn’t noticed before, but something about his smell was so enticing to you. Cinnamon and smoke, with a slight…metallic underlay.

“If…If I go with you willingly…will YOU keep it that way?” you asked, trying to sound firm. You could hear the amusement in his voice.

“I see my little bunny can stand her ground. No, I will not control you that way like before.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head to look at him. His hair was still pulled back into a loose bun, moonlight casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones led down into full lips. And those eyes. You would never forget the deep red color before he drank from you. Now instead they were crystal pools. As unending as the sky. Like you could stare forever. But you blinked away, acknowledging he had kept his promise. You moved away from him and instead toward the windows.

“If you are…a vampire…why the windows? I thought you were supposed to avoid natural light.” He chuckled. And walked a normal pace now to stand next to you as you both stared out into the forest.

“Any creature can be exposed to too much sun. We just have much a lower tolerance limit. I have heavy black out curtains for the day…but I cannot find it in myself to give up this view.” He pointed up towards the stars. You didn’t think you’d ever seen so many. But a rumble of thunder off in the distance caught your attention you saw flashes of lightning. A storm was moving in soon, and you could feel your resolve to escape crumble slightly. Where could you go in a storm?

“How exactly…did you become…?” you asked, hesitantly, not wanting to upset him and trying to focus on anything other than his closeness. You’d always thought trying to…humanize…your enemy so to speak was supposed to help keep you safe. He smiled.

“A vampire…Well, I would imagine you know how.” He chuckled and you found yourself chucking as well. “Where Romania is now, I was a simple farmer. Goats mostly. Then one night, a creature attacked our village.” He paused. “Killed my sister. I tried to fight back, and something about that… He changed me instead of killing me. Figured it was some cruel punishment, killing everyone I knew and loved and leaving me alone.” You felt your heart tug. As if sensing your sadness, he turned and shook his head.

“Don’t worry too much about it, I got my revenge. Afterwards I stayed low, kept to myself for a few centuries. Until the world erupted into war. I refused to keep to myself. That’s how I lost my arm. When the Germans found out what I was; they tried to use my powers to make more. They took my arm to see if they could clone me. Then they gave me this one and tried to turn us into a weapon of war. Only their plans backfired. They couldn’t control them. They eventually all killed each other…at least the ones I didn’t kill first.” He was quiet for a moment and you almost started to panic. But he let out a sigh.

“After the war, I settled here. Made my home, invested some wise money, now I have a little peace.” He turned to you. You felt your heart ache for him. “But I have waited so long for something so enticing as you.” He started to move closer, but you still were nervous, taking a step back.

“Wait uhm... I thought you wanted to show me around.” You reminded him, trying to distract him. He smiled and let out a deep sigh.

“I suppose I did. Well, you’ve seen the bedroom and its extensive library. But there’s an even bigger one downstairs. Come.” He took your hand with his metal one and led you towards the door. You felt less scared following him now; you still could feel yourself wanting to resist and struggle. But he was holding your hand too tightly.

As the two of you toured through the large Tudor cabin (mansion, it seemed), you took note of the art on the walls. Beautiful photographs of places around the world; paintings you wanted to stare at for hours; Bucky having to pull you away from a particularly intriguing work from the Harlem Renaissance. The two of you talked. Bucky had been to many of the places you hoped to go. And some of the ones you’d already been to. It was nice to find someone like yourself, a wanderer.

“I suppose after my parents died; I just felt a little lost.” You told him “I didn’t have a big family, no siblings, so I just decided to be free. It’d at least be nice to have a home base someday though.” You mused.

“I can understand. I’ve actually lived on this land for some years, even before what happened to me. It’s actually owned by an Indigenous tribe. I bought it outright around the 1800s when the government tried to push them out, then gave it back to them. I only asked they let me build a small cabin on the outer edges.” Your jaw dropped. “But…do they know…?” You asked, still having trouble believing it for yourself. He paused and smiled.

“In my lengthy time, you meet many people who believe many different things. I’ve learned to appreciate many human cultures, and to always show respect where it is deserved. And not to tolerate those who would degrade it.” He said, then kept leading you on, with you following a little bit closer. You two walked into a room you definitely didn’t expect to find. A Kitchen.

“It was easier to build than to ever explain why there wasn’t one. Plus, I have a supplier who steals blood from some hoity toity government hospital and I need somewhere to keep it cold. You’d be surprised at the amount of blood they keep on reserve for those rich old bastards.” He rolled his eyes and you managed a genuine laugh. “I don’t know I would.” He smiled at you before continuing out of the room, with you following almost eagerly behind. The tour led down one last hallway to a set of double doors.

“Now my favorite room. My private study.” He opened the doors. A library that could’ve easily fit 10 of your vans with celling high bookshelves stretched before your eyes. A cozy looking couch sat across from either one of the 2 fire places on opposite walls, and a huge bay window revealed the storm had truly arrived. Gone was the moon, here were flashes of lightening and roars of thunder. In front of the windows sat a big mahogany desk. You strode over to the desk, to see out the window and there on his desk was a stack of all of your books. As you looked back towards him you could see on the walls, one of your photographs.

It was one you’d camped out and waited all night for in the woods. But you’d caught them, a pack of wolves running through the woods under a moonlit sky.

“I saw it in a little café in Boston and had to have it. I’ve been following you for quite some time. Literally.” He chuckled. “I became enraptured with you. Your pictures moved me. How you always seemed to capture both the joyful and the macabre sides of humanity. That’s why I had to get your book published. So, I bought the publishing company to make it happen” You turned to him in disbelief.

“Bucky, you…you didn’t…you couldn’t have…”

“Oh, but yes I did, doll. It’s what you’ve wanted, what you’ve desired.” His voice dropped. He licked his lips and moved closer to you. “And now, my little bunny rabbit. It’s time to take what I have desired for so long.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you back towards the desk, using his strength to lift you up and pin you down on your back, minding your head.

His confession, his obsession, even with his charming personality, you felt fear flaring up inside you anyways. “Wait please…” you pleaded, pressing your hand against his chest.

“No more waiting printsessa. It’s time. I need to satisfy my thirst. And my lust. And I cannot resist the sound of your pulse screaming out for me.” He paused, pressing his hips more against yours. You wanted to resist, wanted to push harder against him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you wanted to bring him closer.

“No…you gave your word…” you begged, desperately.

“I did. And I’ve kept that word. I did nothing to control you. I just failed to mention that my natural state is to lure you in. Until you’re caught like a fly in my web and you don’t even realize it.” He purred, trailing kisses down your cheek. “You’re in my home, surrounded by me, breathing me in until slowly and slowly your defenses have lowered, until you don’t even have the strength to push me away.”

He was right. You had wanted to resist him but you’d felt it crumbling more and more. Like the walls of that stone church. You were gripping his shirt not to push him away, but wanting to pull him close. Handsome, intelligent, alluring. Your thighs clenched with want.

“When I first drank your blood, there was a taste of fear that was indescribable. But now I know, lust will make it even sweeter.” He grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the desk. “So beautiful, but so…fragile.” His fleshed hand wrapped around your throat; you could feel the bitemarks as his thumb ran over them. “You know all I’d have to do is squeeze, right? And I’d crush this fragile beautiful throat. You’re so delicate.” His voice was low. You were still afraid, but that fear was streaked with desire. You wanted to give yourself to him, no matter what the cost.

“Please…Bucky…” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for.

“Please what, baby? Tell me. Tell me you want me to ravage you like the beast that I am. I can smell your pussy; you must be absolutely dripping by now.” You were drowning. And he was oxygen.

“Yes.” You barely breathed the word out before his lips were on yours. He slowly pushed you to lay down on the desk. You could hear rumbling in your ears. You couldn’t tell if it was the storm, or your heartbeat. But judging by how Bucky was staring down at you, you assumed the latter.

“You’re so excited aren’t you, doll? You want me to fuck you, make you my slut. And I will, you are never leaving me.” He pulling away, making you whine in desperation, but his only response was to growl as he ripped your jeans down, your shoes falling away and leaving only your panties covering your pussy. He knelt between them, putting your legs over his shoulder, and inhaled deeply.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “You are soaking wet. How long have you been hiding this, huh? Since I first drank your blood, or from when I told you that I am absolutely obsessed with you? What a shameless slut.” His words, that voice, you would listen to him forever if he wanted, anything to get him to touch you. His fingers moved slowly, stroking you over your panties.

“I’ve dreamed about eating this pussy for so long, and now I’m going to savor every moment.” You tried to buck your hips as he nipped at your thigh, but his silver arm held you firm. In the bright light of the fire, you could see how each of the platelets moved as he gripped you tighter. You looked back down at him between your legs and knew he’d seen you staring.

“Someday I’ll show you everything it can do baby. But for now...” He pulled your panties aside and started with soft licks to your clit while two fingers gently worked inside you. His touch was so gentile compared to the monster you’d feared him as. Your soft moan turned into a shriek as the edge of his fang nipped you.

“I told you, love. Desire will make the blood so much sweeter. I know you want me. Want to be my little snack for all eternity.” His fingers sped up, rubbing that special spot inside you that make you cry out with reckless abandon.

“Bucky…Bucky…don’t stop…oooh…” you moaned. Your hands clasping for structure and finding none. His tongue resumed its ministrations on your clit, never even giving his words a chance to wash over you as your knees began to shake. You could feel the erratic patterns his tongue was laving on your clit, driving your climax further to its breaking point.

“Cum for me, darling. Give yourself to me.” His words were your undoing as you screamed his name. Cumming harder than you could have ever imagined possible. And true to his word, his tongue lapped up every drop it could, sucking his fingers clean. You lay against the cool desk, your body burning with desire and you locked eyes with him, not caring to look away. He smiled, showing off his fangs. “Oh, baby girl, between your blood and your pussy, I’ll never go hungry again.”

Standing up and leaning over to kiss you, you found yourself tugging at his shirt, trying to get his skin on yours again.

“Bucky please…need you…” you begged.

“How can I deny such a sweet bunny like you?” He rid himself of his shirt and sweatpants as you followed suit, dropping your panties to the floor. Your eyes widened at the size of his cock. You’d had your fun with toys but he was something else. You could see pre-cum dribbling down the side and you wanted to close your legs, but Bucky stood between them

“Don’t look so afraid, doll. I know a good slut like you can take my cock in that pretty pussy.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your slit and you tried to push your hips up. He pinched your thigh, making you squeak. With his spare hand, he gathered your hands in his strong metal one, pinning them above you to the surface of the desk. His cock teased your entrance and you both moaned.

“You’re mine now, understand. Heart, body, mind.” He kissed from your temple to your ear. “I own you down to your very soul. Forever.” You nodded. He was a vampire. He was obsessed with you. He’d likely hunted you down for weeks. But none of that mattered now. You needed him.

“Yes, Bucky. I’m yours. You’re mine.” Bucky smiled and pushed his cock into you, slowly; letting you feel the stretch of him filling you up.

“Yes, darling. I’m yours. Yours to keep satisfied. Yours to use you as a little fuck toy when I need it.” His pace became rougher, fucking you; squeezing your wrists tighter until you yelped. Then he slowed his hips, letting you now revel in the pleasure you felt. He started rubbing at your still sensitive clit, making you clench around him. He growled deeply and you gasped as his eyes flashed crimson.

“Oh, baby doll, don’t play with fire if you don’t want to end up burnt.” He said, his voice lower and huskier. You knew he was getting closer to his own release when his pace picked up again. Not as punishing as before, but you felt his lust, his carnality in every thrust. And it only drove you crazier.

“When you cum, I’m going to drink from you again and you will be bound to me, my mate, my slut, little morsel.

“Yes…Bucky yes…please…” closer and closer you edged until he let out a low growl.

“If you don’t cum right now, I have no problem chaining you in my basement and edging you until the next full moon. Now. Cum.” The idea alone sent you over the edge, screaming out as he bit down fiercely on your neck, drinking from you again. He kept fucking you through his own orgasm, but did not drink as much as he did last time. Only just enough to make you light headed. When he finished, you two lay there a few moments, you breathing heavily as Bucky seemed to still above you. As you floated back down, your body seemed to go even more limp.

“Such a good girl.” Bucky released your wrists, but you didn’t have the strength to move your arms. Instead, he cupped your chin in his hand and kissed you with your blood streaked across his lips. He kissed passionately and deeply, until your toes curled and you knew he meant what he said.

Not bothering to remove himself, Bucky helped you wrapped your arms around him and he carried you over to one of the enormous couches by the fire. Grabbing a blanket off the back and swaddling you both. “You’ll have to sleep for a little while now. But when you wake up, you’ll live forever.” His words seeped into your brain, but there was nothing you could do now. You heard him speak again.

“You wanna know the real story behind those people?” Bucky asked and you made a noise of half-committal. “Well, those colonizers weren’t hard to pick off.” In that moment, you were reminded that though he seemed to have a soft spot for you, there were also very, very dark spots. You shuddered, but it was quickly washed away by the feeling of his metal arm, holding you tighter.

“Don’t worry darling,” he purred. “Think of all the beautiful photos you can take in the moonlight.

#bunbun's spooptober collection #vampire!bucky #Vampire!Bucky x reader #Bucky barnes #Bucky barnes x reader #halloween #vampires #darkish!Bucky

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quotesfrommyreading · 11 months

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In the terrible winter of 1932–33, brigades of Communist Party activists went house to house in the Ukrainian countryside, looking for food. The brigades were from Moscow, Kyiv, and Kharkiv, as well as villages down the road. They dug up gardens, broke open walls, and used long rods to poke up chimneys, searching for hidden grain. They watched for smoke coming from chimneys, because that might mean a family had hidden flour and was baking bread. They led away farm animals and confiscated tomato seedlings. After they left, Ukrainian peasants, deprived of food, ate rats, frogs, and boiled grass. They gnawed on tree bark and leather. Many resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. Some 4 million died of starvation.

At the time, the activists felt no guilt. Soviet propaganda had repeatedly told them that supposedly wealthy peasants, whom they called kulaks, were saboteurs and enemies—rich, stubborn landowners who were preventing the Soviet proletariat from achieving the utopia that its leaders had promised. The kulaks should be swept away, crushed like parasites or flies. Their food should be given to the workers in the cities, who deserved it more than they did. Years later, the Ukrainian-born Soviet defector Viktor Kravchenko wrote about what it was like to be part of one of those brigades. “To spare yourself mental agony you veil unpleasant truths from view by half-closing your eyes—and your mind,” he explained. “You make panicky excuses and shrug off knowledge with words like exaggeration and hysteria.”

He also described how political jargon and euphemisms helped camouflage the reality of what they were doing. His team spoke of the “peasant front” and the “kulak menace,” “village socialism” and “class resistance,” to avoid giving humanity to the people whose food they were stealing. Lev Kopelev, another Soviet writer who as a young man had served in an activist brigade in the countryside (later he spent years in the Gulag), had very similar reflections. He too had found that clichés and ideological language helped him hide what he was doing, even from himself:

I persuaded myself, explained to myself. I mustn’t give in to debilitating pity. We were realizing historical necessity. We were performing our revolutionary duty. We were obtaining grain for the socialist fatherland. For the five-year plan.

There was no need to feel sympathy for the peasants. They did not deserve to exist. Their rural riches would soon be the property of all.

But the kulaks were not rich; they were starving. The countryside was not wealthy; it was a wasteland. This is how Kravchenko described it in his memoirs, written many years later:

Large quantities of implements and machinery, which had once been cared for like so many jewels by their private owners, now lay scattered under the open skies, dirty, rusting and out of repair. Emaciated cows and horses, crusted with manure, wandered through the yard. Chickens, geese and ducks were digging in flocks in the unthreshed grain.

That reality, a reality he had seen with his own eyes, was strong enough to remain in his memory. But at the time he experienced it, he was able to convince himself of the opposite. Vasily Grossman, another Soviet writer, gives these words to a character in his novel Everything Flows:

I’m no longer under a spell, I can see now that the kulaks were human beings. But why was my heart so frozen at the time? When such terrible things were being done, when such suffering was going on all around me? And the truth is that I truly didn’t think of them as human beings. “They’re not human beings, they’re kulak trash”—that’s what I heard again and again, that’s what everyone kept repeating.

— Ukraine and the Words That Lead to Mass Murder

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mothmiso · 2 months

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British countryside (2) (3) (4) by Mark

#rivers #trees #geese #dogs #path #houses #village #england #suffolk

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northberg · 11 months

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I think sso needs more wildlife. imagine starling murmurations over silverglade village every evening, deer grazing in greendale, hares on the forgotten fields, geese on silversong river that honk at certain times of day and hiss if you get too close. I want to see rabbit holes in the forgotten fields, fish in the river, mice in moorland, trees with woodpecker damage, animal tracks all over the map!! Jorvik is supposed to be this incredible wild island where humans & nature live in harmony but we never see it!! idec if theyre interactive npcs, i just think it'd make such a rich environment to see them go by

#literally SO obsessed with the animals in mistfall and redwood #sso #ssoblr #star stable online

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mega-aulover · 2 months

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Valentine's Tree

Summary: Valentine's is approaching and everyone is excited about hanging a valentine for their sweetheart on the Valentine's Tree. Katniss doubts she's going to receive one - since she hasn't had one since her father died. Canon Compliant - set five years after the ending but before the epilogue in Mockingjay

Rated M: Katniss is Jealous when she learns Peeta received Valentine. Peeta is so Romantic. Romance. Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Delly Cartwright, Haymitch Abernathy, - Thanks to @theforgottenweasley for betaing the story-

The first year Katniss didn't get a Valentine on the Valentine tree was the year her father died. The Valentine's Tree was located near the town, it was where all of the sweethearts hung up their Valentines. No one remembers when the tradition started. Or how it became a District Twelve tradition. All Katniss knew is that seeing the snow-clad tree strung up with hand spun cut out pink, red, and white hearts lifted the spirits of everyone in the district.

It was supposed to be done in secret, but for the established couples or parents leaving Valentines for their spouses or children, it was a sweet task.

Her father used to hang up Valentines for his gals. One for her mother, one for Prim, and one for Katniss. But because Katniss was pretty popular in school, she used to receive many Valentines from all of her classmates. Many of them liked Katniss for her voice, something she inherited from her father.

The year her father died was the year her light dimmed and she stopped singing. Katniss stopped living and started surviving. She had no time for such things, she told herself over and over again, but in her heart, Katniss wanted a Valentine. Every February 14th when she snuck to that tree to hang up Prim's Valentine, she would browse the tree looking for a small token but there wasn't any.

Then Prim was reaped. And Katniss properly forgot about the tree. She lived with a terror more pressing than hunger. Survival became an art form, she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and the tree sat empty for the first time in memory. When the bombs came, the tree caught fire and was destroyed much like District Twelve.

That was five years ago.

Katniss couldn't believe how time had flown by. After the war, as she and Peeta healed, they grew closer. A week ago they quietly had a Toasting. Haymitch was present and so was Effie. Though, Effie refused to stay with Haymitch and his geese. Thom, District Twelve's Mayor, filled out their paperwork and sent it to the Capitol, requesting to keep their marriage out of the public eye. There was a great interest in the lives of Katniss and Peeta, and it was important to their mental health and safety to keep their lives out of the media.

Since they Toasted, nothing much changed. Peeta still baked in his bakery. Katniss still hunted. They still lived in the Victors Village, though they often switched homes, whose ever house they were in at nightfall was where they slept.

Tonight they were in her home. Peeta was exhausted after working at the bakery and found her making stew. Katniss embraced him as soon as he stepped through the door and had a steaming cup of tea waiting for him. Life was short, and the war had taught her to appreciate the small moments and not just the grandiose spots.

Later that night she was right where she wanted to be, wrapped in his arms. The fireplace was lit and she was dozing off when she heard Peeta say. "You know, they're thinking of bringing back the Valentine's Tree."

"Hmmm," she hummed. Katniss snuggled into his chest, his scent was warm and delicious, much like the savory cheese-buns she had with her tomato soup tonight.

"Delly thinks it will be a nice way to bring back something to the district. She was going to bring it up to Thom."

Katniss nodded, half asleep.

"I remember my first Valentine that wasn't from Delly."

This brings her fully awake.

"Say what?"

READ the rest Here

#The Valentine's Tree #By Mega-Aulover #Mega writes #FanFiction #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #Everlark FanFiction #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Delly Cartwright #Haymitch Abernathy #Primrose Everdeen

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flowerandblood · 1 month

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oh my god, the fragment of your short story is very cool and your illustration looks beautiful😍😍😍. I'm always extremely happy when I see Slavic mythology somewhere (I'm from Slovakia). I keep my fingers crossed for your work, it will definitely be amazing

ps: I wish you a early recovery

Beloved Husband

Especially for you, the entire story is translated below

[ warnings: character death, violence, progressive madness, depression, mourning ]

Although it had been two springs since her beloved closed his eyes forever, it seemed to her that just a moment ago she was standing at his side in front of the altar in a small wooden church. She was clad that day in her new linen chemise and kaftan, under which stretched her skirt sewn from long, colourful strips, embroidered by her own hands over many nights.

That morning, her mother herself had collected fresh flowers in the field, from which she later wove a beautiful garland of daisies and forget-me-nots for her. The smell of baking cake spread throughout the room as her sisters helped her dress and prepare to leave her family home.

All her belongings, which consisted of several linen shirts and woollen skirts, two kaftans, one winter coat, two pairs of shoes − one for colder days, the other festive, only for church − hair pins, a set of bedding and a holy picture she had received as a gift from her godparents, fit easily into a small wooden chest decorated with painterly ornaments.

Her beloved was beautiful, joyful and kind, his lips curving into a lazy smile at the sight of her, for he had loved her ever since she could remember. He called out to her when she returned from the fair, when she left church with her parents, he made her laugh by looking at her over the fence as she fed her geese, by telling her made-up tales and legends.

He would come to her parents with gifts, wishing them to look upon him with a more favourable eye, as he was poorer than they were − she was the daughter of a respectable farmer, while he was the son of a simple serf peasant apprenticed to a blacksmith.

Although her guardians at first regarded him with disapproval and reserve, they eventually recognised his industriousness, which also brought him a tangible income. He spent days and nights in the forge, creating things that were not only useful and durable, but also beautiful, appreciated by the villagers and the heirs of the manor houses.

Without delay, he came to the aid of his future parents-in-law when the hinges of their doors and shutters began to loosen and fall off. He forged new ones for them, beautifully fitted, with indentations and swirls, which they later showed off to their neighbours. She watched it all from afar, daring to offer him only her warm, happy smile and a gratitude that filled his heart with fervent hope.

− Wait for me, pretty dove. − He called out to her then, and she laughed, not even thinking of marrying another.

His approach full of patience and understanding eventually won the hearts of her parents. Her father decided, after some thought, that it was good to have such a swift, hard-working son-in-law, who, in addition, was cordial to the women.

He believed that he would certainly be a good and gentle husband, who would not hit or shout at his daughter, and who would also gladly drink vodka with his father-in-law, and would conduct a conversation well, as his mind was sharp and enlightened.

She knew that she had caught God by the feet when they finally agreed to give him her hand, and she did not hide her joy. She thanked her Lord during every evening prayer for the fact that she did not have to marry a drunkard, a scoundrel, but a kind, handsome, hard-working young man, at the sight of whom she felt warmth melt through her heart.

Not even one spring of their marital happiness had passed when her beloved fainted, having returned from the forge all hot and fiery. He coughed terribly and babbled, only making it home with the help of their neighbour. They laid him on the bed together, wondering what to do. Fear then overtook her and she immediately sent for an herbalist who lived a few huts away.

The woman arrived in the evening and, without saying anything or demanding payment, prepared water over the cooker by throwing dried leaves and herbs into it, muttering something at the same time. After these mysterious procedures, she gave her decoction to her husband, ordering him to drink.

She rejoiced, for the colours returned to his countenance, for life returned to his members, for he recognised her, calling her his pretty dove.

Her heart was filled anew with hope. Lying by his side at night, she prayed fervently, thanking God for his grace.

Only in the morning, when the first rays of the sun woke her up, wanting to attend to her daily chores and prepare his morning meal, did she feel that the body lying next to her was cold and stiff.

She was afraid to look at him, and when she finally did, she saw his face, pale and blue, his lips parted slightly, as if he were in fact still asleep. She tried to wake him, at first with a whisper, then with cries and wails, clamping her fingers over his body, but his eyelids never opened again.

She couldn't name what was happening to her. It seemed to her as if her speech had been completely taken away. Her body was left without strength, her mind became blank, dulled. She lay next to him, looking at his face, holding his cold hand in hers, unable to let go of the thought that the only thing left of him was his body.

She didn't understand what her mother was saying, stroking her cheeks and shoulders as they stood over his grave on the day of his funeral. She stared at the simple wooden cross stuck into the fresh, damp earth, listening to the women wailing and crying raucously around the coffin, chanting mournful hymns that only increased her despondency.

It seemed to her that her mind was foggy and sluggish. She drank, she ate, she did her chores, but she did not feel or experience anything. Her body was as if in a state of prolonged shock. In her mind there was still the conviction that her husband would cross the threshold of their home as he did every evening, that he would take her in his arms, speaking of his longing, that they would sit down to supper together, recounting what the day had brought them.

Her parents, seeing the impact of her bereavement and such a sudden loss, ordered her to return to the family home, which she did. From then on, she helped them with their daily chores, as she had done when she was still a maiden.

She would speak to them and be in their company, but her mind seemed to be out of her body, the emptiness that filled her began to be slowly replaced by a progressive rage and irritation, as she noticed that everyone had begun to forget about him. They laughed and smiled, got drunk and danced as he lay there, deep underground, alone.

Shrill thoughts flashed through her head as she lay alone at night under her quilt. Her heart squeezed with pain at the notion that perhaps the gravedigger had not buried him deep enough and his body would be desecrated by wolves or stray dogs or, God forbid, her poor beloved would wake up in his wooden grave and be unable to get out, driving his nails helplessly into the wooden lid.

She would cry aloud then, burying her face in her hands, holding her thoughts and pains deep inside her, feeling that no one else would understand her suffering, that only he, her dearest, if he were still alive, could comfort her.

It was then that she heard him for the first time since the day he closed his eyes forever: the loud, clear rustling of the grass and the quiet cracking of the branches beneath his feet.

She rose quickly, feeling the aggressive, chest-shattering pounding of her heart. A cold sweat ran down her back as she leaned out uncertainly to look out of the window.

There was no one in the courtyard.

She sat still for a moment, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that there was a graveyard beyond the woods overlooking her small room.

The next day she lay down to sleep faster than usual, excusing herself to her family for being unwell, feeling a pleasant tingling in her fingers and excitement at the thought that perhaps her beloved would visit her again, give her some sign, tell her what he needed. No one came, however, and salty tears of regret and disappointment ran down her cheeks as she lay, facing the window, watching the first rays of the sun.

She wandered off to the cemetery in the morning, explaining to her relatives that she wished to place fresh flowers on her late husband's grave. However, when she arrived at the site, she found to her disbelief and dismay that although grass should have grown on the grave long ago, the sand on it was still wet and fresh, as if he had been buried only the day before.

Walking back home along the dirt road, wrapping herself in a warm woollen shawl, she thought of her grandmother's stories. Of how people who had died, called wraiths, rose from their graves to haunt their families, peering down on their children and placing cold, corpse-like kisses on the lips of their wives and husbands.

At this thought she felt heat in her lower abdomen, a pleasant tickling sensation engulfed her fingertips and lips, and she imagined that her beloved had come to her then, that night, wanting to prove to her that he remembered her, that he loved her and could not leave without her.

The realisation that he could wander still in the world without knowing a holy rest both frightened and delighted her at the same time, that their love could be stronger than death, that his desire to stay with her was more important to him than the will of God himself, who had called him to join him.

She stopped and trembled as she heard a loud rustling in the depths of a field filled all around with tall, golden wheat. She lifted herself up on tiptoe, feeling the rumbling of her yearning heart, looking around carefully. Her breathing became raspy and loud, full of excitement.

− My love? − She heard her own trembling, warm voice, sounding as if a mother was calling her child, wanting to give him courage.

However, she saw nothing, nor did she hear any reply.

Nevertheless, the conviction that her husband was still prowling the earth and watching her was growing stronger within her. Candles would suddenly burn out in the rooms she was in, although no one passed by them, doors would open with a loud creak of old wood even though no one was standing behind them. She was awakened at night by a quiet tapping on the windowpanes that kept her awake. She had the impression that she heard someone's footsteps even when there was no one in the room but her.

She whispered to him each time, asking him to appear to her. She would convince him that his cadaverous, pale face would certainly not scare her away, that he still remained her beloved, her only one.

He did not answer.

It seemed to her that she was slowly losing her mind. She was getting thinner and thinner, her face becoming pale, bruises from dozens of sleepless nights surrounding her lifeless eyes. Her parents, worried about her behaviour and the fact that the slightest sound or movement made her flinch as she looked around the rooms, suggested that perhaps it was time to find her a new husband.

− You will have your children, and he too will comfort you with a kind word and a strong embrace of his arms. − Her mother said. She looked at her dully, feeling that her pale lips trembled parted in disbelief. Cold sweat trickled down her neck, her fingers clenched tightly on the material of her skirt.

That night, she cried aloud with her face pressed into her pillow, calling for her beloved, her kindest, cursing him and begging him to relieve her suffering, to prevent her from being given away to any other man, because they had promised each other that they would be together, now and for eternity.

It was then that she heard him again − the quiet crackling and rustling outside her window, someone's footsteps so clear that her heart leapt into her throat. She pulled herself up from her bed and looked out of the window, pressing her palms against the glass. A pitiful, low sob escaped from her throat as she spotted a male figure disappearing deep into the dark woods.

She got up quickly, putting a warm blanket over herself, and slipped out of her family home in only her nightgown, moving after the mysterious silhouette, wanting to shout for him to stop, fearing, however, that she would startle him. Seeing only the full moon and stars above her, she trudged through the tall shrubs, the needles of the pines and the sharp stones beneath her feet hurting her skin.

She knew that in order to reach the cemetery she had to walk straight ahead, and despite her fear, her heart was filled with courage, because for him, for her beloved, she was willing to do anything.

A loud sigh of relief left her lungs when she finally stood at the border of the forest, seeing clearly the outlines of wooden and iron crosses. She froze completely when she noticed a male figure leaning deeply into one of the grave pits. A broad smile appeared on her face for the first time since fate had separated them.

− My beloved! − She shouted with joy, with hope, with relief, drenched in tears, running towards him with confidence, thinking only of throwing herself into his arms again, of speaking to him again, of hearing his voice again.

My pretty dove.

She stopped halfway, feeling her heart freeze, shivers ran along her spine as the man she was running towards jumped out of the pit like a burned man.

She saw his terrified eyes, he was panting heavily as if he was some wild animal, raising his hands high in the air. She found to her horror that she did not recognise either his face or his figure, looking at him in the moonlight. He was older and taller than her husband, dressed in dark, dirty trousers and coat, his large hands black from the ground.

Only after a moment did she notice a long shovel lying next to his feet, a sack lay immediately next to it, she swallowed with difficulty recognising in its contents something that resembled shimmering gold jewellery in the moonlight.

The stranger moved suddenly towards her, grabbing earlier a shovel lying on the ground. She screamed loudly, throwing herself into flight, understanding her mistake, her stupidity, her naivety. She stumbled several times over tombstones and tree roots, her sore feet seeming to scream with every step she took.

Her voice stuck in her throat when suddenly something dull and hard hit her heavily on the back of her head, then again and again; she fell to the ground, panting heavily. Everything around her seemed to spin, she no longer recognised shapes or where she was, warm liquid ran down her forehead, the metallic taste of blood that had flooded her face melted between her lips.

She wanted to scream for rescue to her beloved, to her parents, but she was unable to get the words out. She cried out loudly and drew in a loud breath, bursting out crying when she felt his large, rough hands clamp down on her bare calves, pulling her back on the ground. Her fingers impulsively dug into the sand and grass, fruitlessly trying to resist him, something akin to a grunt escaped her throat.

My God, have mercy.

She was already completely limp when he threw her into the middle of the grave. No sound left her lips as the heavy, cold sand began to fall on her body. Her empty gaze, from which the life was slowly escaping, was fixed on the bright moon disc spreading over her head.

Before the last breath left her lungs, a thought flashed through her dying mind, from which she smiled gratefully at the stranger who stood high above her like death itself.

I will see him again.

_____

Illustrations and text are created by me. Do not repost.

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