#hungry geese

[frogofalltime]

me and my flock :)

[thekingofmuses]

YOU CANNOT ESCAPE FROM DEATH!!

[lesbianfanfictionenthusiast]

the government must be naive to think it could control me (no ban on feeding ducks will stop me)

[lilaccatholic]

Katniss post-Mockingjay grips onto anything living with both hands. She cultivates a garden sprawled across several of the Victors' Village yards so that she and her loved ones never have to go hungry again full of herbs, greens, vegetables, and all sorts of flowers for Peeta.

(Not roses. Never roses. The primroses are the only roses allowed. She spots some, once, and uproots them to give to some transplant from another district. Even these plants she cannot kill.)

In the sterile, sparse courtyard of the Village, she plants an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Peeta jokes that it is her second forest. She responds by shooting a rabbit for dinner from their bedroom window.

(Hunting is different. It is a necessary kind of killing in the aftermath of a war that leaves resources sparse during rebuilding. Katniss is a good hunter. She knows that if she is responsible, there will be enough game to continue on through the years. She tries not to think about how the Capitol treated the districts the same way.)

She gets two chickens. Then, a few more. Soon, a tiny army follows her whenever she enters the yard. They love Peeta especially, thanks to the baking scraps he slips them when he thinks Katniss isn't looking. Haymitch guffaws from his porch, watching Katniss with her parade of teeny chicks peeping after her.

(He shuts up a little after she gives him his first few geese.)

Gradually, some goats, a cow or two, and a handful of sheep join the menagerie. Peeta comes home with a fragile little puppy he finds going through the bakery's garbage for scraps that Katniss refuses to love until she's sure he will live, nursing the puppy to health all the same. Turns out, he's excellent at herding and protecting the animals, and that ugly little mutt becomes the most fierce protector of his pack.

(The goats are the hardest of all to agree to adopt. Every time she looks at them, she sees Prim's goat with its blue ribbon. The first bite of goat cheese makes her choke.)

And then, when one day, she looks around her, and she finds a thriving, noisy, life-giving patch of Eden where the Capitol's perfectly manicured, ornamental, plastic hell once stood, and she breathes in the clean mountain air and digs her hands into rich, good earth, she thinks about Peeta. She thinks about how he makes bread like the loaves he threw her, but now the dried fruits and nuts come from trees and plants she grows. She thinks about how they got tipsy on dandelion wine on their most recent anniversary, and neither of them thought about mutts, or Snow, or Prim that day. She thinks about every good thing she's ever seen and how she sees more and more every year, and she thinks about how maybe, maybe now it's safe enough to bring another kind of new life into the world.

(And maybe she names her first baby girl Eden. Maybe with that baby, the world starts anew.)

[i-am-evilsylveon]

Angry Bilbo: Pt. 7

Thorin:…

Thrandriul:…

Thorin: You’re not having our burglar.

Thrandriul: AND WHY NOT!?

Thorin: HE SIGNED A CONTRACT SO HE’S STAYING WITH US!

*And so the two bickered like two geese for a another three hours*

Bilbo: I’m hungry. I could be having supper or dinner right now.

Legolas: Aren’t those the same thing?

Bilbo: No, you daft dimbo. Supper is exactly at six o’clock while dinner is at nine. I haven’t even had second breakfast or elevensies.

Legolas: How are you able to consume more than a dwarf?

Bilbo: We hobbits eat seven times a day. Eight if you include midnight snacks.

Legolas: Fascinating, can you tell me more?

Bilbo: … Only if you give me supper.

Legolas: DEAL.

[ken-dom]

I’ll Do Anything You Say If You Say It With Your Hands

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers...

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: Thank you my wonderful K (@heresthestorymorningglory) for beta reading, finding me a Swift song for Colt, and allowing long hair Colt into the Geese Who Consume Us Club. This is my first time writing him and I know it won’t be my last! Title from Trecherous by Taylor Swift

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, long hair Colt, crying (both to Taylor Swift and from overstimulation), praise, hair pulling kink, a lot of cum, hand job, overstimulation, orgasm as pain relief, aftercare

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

With lips hot and wet at his neck, your nails scrape over Colt’s scalp, threading through his thick locks.

His head drops back into the feeling; it’s sensual and soothing in equal measure, every nerve tingling like a spread of lightning through his body and heat pooling like lava at his aching core.

You've been touching him like this, tender but teasing, for what feels to him like hours since finding him curled into a ball on his sofa with Taylor Swift playing from the kitchen, eyes and cheeks wet, back aching and head pounding. You offered to help him relax, slowly opening him up to you, and, although you didn’t tell him this, your plan was also designed to make him feel good about himself. He fell apart in your hands the moment you began to touch him and as ever, he’s content to let you put him back together however you see fit.

You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers until you’re holding his head still with a firm fistful of thick, luscious blonde.

There’s still one loose strand framing his face, but he looks so gorgeous, you leave it there.

He whimpers as you tug your fist lightly, his wet eyes glimmering before they slip closed.

He feels your free hand glide down the smooth expanse of his chest. You’re raking your nails over his soft flesh too, feeling him shiver under the warmth of your palm until you graze a nail directly over a nipple and he jolts at the sudden spark of pleasure. You continue there, pinching and rolling the soft nub lightly between your fingers, watching his face contort in pleasure that isn’t quite enough but is almost too much to bear.

Watching him unravel.

He's been hard for too long and the front of his loose fitting sweatpants are soaked through. Colt is strong and he has stamina for days, but he really can’t keep this up for much longer, not with the way you’re teasing and coaxing, being so soft and caring with him.

Your hip presses briefly against his cock the hen you reach up to stroke that loose strand of hair, and Colt writhes, biting his bottom lip to keep from letting out the hungry groan that’s been nagging to tear from his chest.

You brush against him deliberately now and again, watching his chest muscles tense while his cock throbs at the hint of contact, and this time he does let out a groan. It’s guttural and almost relieved, and the wet patch grows a little darker.

He’s delicious like this, you think, simmering on the edge of bliss, needy but not daring to ask for anything more than you’re giving him. He completely relinquishes control to you, giving you both his body, and the power to oversee his pleasure however you see fit.

He trusts you, and you take good care of him. It works.

‘Colt?’ you whisper, still massaging that perky, sensitive nipple, and he whines in response. He can’t formulate so much as a thought of anything worth saying, let alone turn the sound into a word. So he gives up and simply nods instead, face scrunching up in pain when the roots of his hair snag against your tight grip.

It’s not just pain, though; it’s pleasure too, and he shudders at the sensation it sends running down his spine. 

It’s almost too much. Every touch is bringing him dangerously close to the edge, and having his hair tugged was a factor he never expected would contribute.

Lips pulling into a smirk at his reaction, you whisper, ‘Do you need to cum?’

‘P-pl-’ he tries, resorting back to a nod, slower this time, gentle against your fist, trying not to let this new thrill he’s discovered overwhelm him too soon.

‘Then tell me you’re handsome.’

‘Wha-’

‘Tell me you’re handsome,’ you repeat, a clear and simple request, fingers finding the tip of his cock with your and tracing a featherlight touch over the pulsing bulge in his damp sweatpants.

Heat radiates through the fabric as you trace the outline of a vein running down the underside of his length, and he twitches against your finger, cock begging for more — or less, if you want this to continue for much longer.

‘I- I’m- handsome,’ he chokes out, hips stuttering as you circle his sensitive tip again.

‘Tell me you’re smart, too.’

He shakes his head. It’s too vigorous and it hurts, but a spark of bliss shoots down to his core and he grunts as he feels himself leak out another thick drop of precum. His head drops back against the wall, your fist there to cushion the blow.

‘Come on, Colt, you can do it. Tell me.’

Your finger slows to a stop and his breathing turns uneven and ragged.

‘No- no, please- I… I can’t- I’m not!’

‘Oh but you are, and I need you to believe it. I need to hear you say it.’

He dares to open his scrunched up eyes just enough to glance at you.

You mean it. He knows you mean it. And he will never not give you what you ask for, so he manages, somehow.

‘I’m… I’m smart,’ he mutters, embarrassment pricking at his cheeks.

‘Good boy,’ you coo, massaging his tip again, gentle and slow.

Oh, Colt thinks, lost in the sensation, absentmindedly rolling his hips in time with your fingers, worth it.

Because he likes praise. He likes doing right by you, even if he doesn’t always agree with what you want him to say about himself. If you believe it, that’s enough for him.

‘I think you really deserve to cum now.’

‘Oh- yeah, ok-’ he breathes, still trying to please you, to sound agreeable, but it comes out desperate and you smirk as you lean up to press your lips to his for a moment, his cock once again left to throb aimlessly inside his sweatpants in the empty space between you, untouched and leaking steadily.

He feels a sinking disappointment when you loosen your grip on his long hair, but then you dip your head and your lips wrap around the plump nipple you’d been teasing moments earlier, and he moans, loud and unrestrained, bucking his hips and grabbing your shoulders to seek something- anything you might be good enough to give him.

With one hand still loose in his hair, the other drags painfully slowly over his stomach, fingers grazing his happy trail, to hook under the waistband of his sweatpants, open a space big enough to slide your hand inside the fabric and press your palm flat against the underside of his cock.

It’s sticky with precum and he blushes again at how wet he feels.

His cock is thick and heavy, noticeable even just from resting against your palm, and you can feel every little throb of need it gives. Your eyes drag over his burly form, and absentmindedly, you lick your lips.

His jaw clenches at that. He’s trying so hard not to spill yet, forcing his hips still and concentrating on breathing. He needs you to tell him when, but it’s growing more difficult by the minute to wait for that command, even while there’s no friction, no movement.

‘Tell me one more thing?’

‘Anything!’ Colt cries out, voice weak, strangled and cracking, the vein in his cock throbbing against your palm.

‘Tell me what you need?’

‘I need- oh-’

You finally stroke his cock. A soft, gentle massage that, to him, feels like far too much at this point. He can’t hold off, his release is approaching rapidly and-

‘Oh, fuck- I can’t-’

‘That’s it baby, you can, I promise,’ you coo, and your fingers wrap around his length while your tongue resumes its work on his sensitive nipple.

‘I- I need to-’ he rasps, on the verge of more tears. But these are needy tears, not self pitying ones, and you both know that you’ll give him what he needs, eventually.

The tears pour, steaming down his cheeks, and as a reward for trying so hard, you begin to move your fist, pumping faster the more he attempts to spit the words out, and tightening the grip of your other hand to yank his hair, hard.

Colt growls at the combined sensations and your teeth catch on his nipple as he jerks forward. It’s so good, so overwhelming, he knows he’s done for, and every ounce of strength in him diminishes until there’s just your hand, your mouth, your warmth. He’s safe like this with you. Safe and handsome and smart. Fuck.

His vision blurs as the words continue to fall from his trembling lips; ‘I need to- cu-ohhh-oh!-ughhh-mmmnnn-gg-’ and he spills uncontrollably, hips snapping forward into your furiously pumping fist while his cock darkens the front of those sweatpants with a fresh layer of thick, hot seed, dripping down satisfyingly over your hand, too while his whole body turns limp.

You continue working his softening length with slower, softer strokes until he’s got nothing left to give and he’s softening inside your loose fist.

He’s a heap on the floor by now and you’re positioned over him, pushing your fingers through his hair and softly brushing it away from his face instead of pulling at it. The contrast soothes him and he whimpers, nuzzling his face into your shoulder as you settle beside him.

You wipe his release from your hand onto a dry patch of his pants — they’re going to need a thorough wash anyway, and Colt doesn’t even notice.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his over-sensitive cock relieved and soft and coated in his own cum, twitching with aftershocks.

Slowly, he begins to feel like he’s made of jelly, the feeling spreading from his core out to his limbs, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

He floats away on the haze of bliss while you play with his hair and press soft kisses to his cheek, whispering how good he was for you into his ear, the praise dripping like warm honey.

When he comes to, he first notices that your comforting weight is no longer pressed against his side, and then he recognises the calming trickle of the tap filling his bathtub and the scent of lavender floating through from the steamy room. 

Whatever you did to him has relieved his back pain, however temporary, and he shifts on the floor, seeing how it feels to have more ease in his movements.

There’s a cushion under his head and you’ve stripped him of his cum stained sweatpants, replacing them with a blanket for now.

It feels like you’ve brushed his hair.

He smiles to himself. A big, dumb grin that would make you want to kiss him (and pounce on him) if you were still beside him.

He looks over to where you were laid before he drifted off and sees that you’ve left him a glass of water.

His heart skips.

He’s not sure he can drag himself to the bathtub right now, weak from too much pleasure and somewhat overwhelmed at it, but he knows you’ll help him. And that it’s what he needs.

He knows you’ll massage his shoulders, and that you’ll wash his hair with tender, loving fingers, and gush about how pretty it is all the while. 

About how pretty he is. 

You’ll do it until he sees his worth, and as difficult as it may be to learn and accept that he’s as desirable as you seem to think he is, he’s not exactly complaining about hearing it from you. Especially when you choose this method — the one where he gets to cum.

He knows he’ll be hard again by the time you’re done washing and massaging him, too, but you’ll take mercy on him since he’s so overstimulated. Won’t you?

[sunmoon-starfactory]

Barnyard Bash - Poultry Hotfix Dec. 2024

The pet motive advertising for the poultry from Barnyard Bash was pretty broken. Pets could sink into the floor and get stuck there and the elderly did not get to eat their prey at all. This has all been resolved. Many thanks to Strix from our Discord for reporting!

Changelog:

Cats and dogs of all ages should now be able to hunt and eat poultry when hungry enough

Sloppy pets will have a greater hygiene drop when eating hunted poultry.

The main archive has been updated with the fix. You can also download a separate hotfix below

Download Hotfix - SFS

Update instructions: Because this only affects huntable poultry, you do not have to redownload the entire set. Just let the files in the hotfix overwrite your old ones.

Files affected: Chickens, Ducks, Geese

[mxmorbidmidnight]

Does anyone else have their animalistic instincts suddenly activated just in everyday life over normal situations?

My goose instincts tend to go mayday over random events for example; for my birthday last month my friend got me a dancing goose toy. The second it was in my hands and it started moving I suddenly felt a deep sort of motherly drive? The same happened the other day, I was watching videos of geese. One of which was a gosling walking along a car park, I had to turn the video off because it was genuinely so stressful watching an unsupervised gosling walking around cars (parked cars but nonetheless).

When I feel threatened I flick my head to ruffle my feathers, a behaviour geese do to make themselves larger and therefore more intimidating. I often find myself doing sentry behaviours whenever I’m with people I care about (as in constantly watching for threat). When people are threatening me I find myself directing my face up at them similarly to how geese will point their beaks as a sign of aggression.

At certain times I feel a strong call to migrate as well oddly. If I ever disappear in a target you know why (tHe miGraTiOn cALLed). I can be quite the pain in the winter as I spend a considerable amount of time staring wistfully at the sky.

This is just instincts in general for me, not really from a particular one of my forms, but I don’t allow things with “incorrect” scents into my sleeping space. Sometimes when I’m holding food and water I get the sudden urge to go hide them somewhere. I am also very particular with my nest building and the people who can touch my nest.

Instinctually I feel the need to provide for people. I always carry food in my bag so my friends are never hungry. Which isn’t something that is entirely nonhuman in its nature, rather the reasoning behind it is very much connected to animalistic aspects of my mind.

[arkhamsbrat]

why don’t you like tim???????? so weird

ras may have taken his spleen, but im gonna take that mans life. i have a personal vendetta against tim drake. hes a loser. an asshole. im going to release an army of hungry geese into a padded room and lock him in it.

seriously tho go check out my beloved wife @delusionsofgrandeur13 if you wanna read tim tho. she actually writes for him!!

[thekingofmuses]

(To Terry) (london-marching) "I'll bring your 'ead to Geese on a silver platter!"

"Well well..if it isn't Billy Kane. Still under Geese's bootheel, I see."

"Come and get me if you think you can, Teabag."

[eightspringdays]

Me: *tries to record the screams*

THIS BASTARD: *goes silent*

Me:

THIS BASTARD:

Me:

THIS BASTARD: no one is going to believe you.

Also there's s FUCKING crow outside my window. He or she have been there since I came here, and he or she fucking screaming at their top of their lungs all morning, every day, for HOURS.

I get it. I truly do. But if I have to endure the horrors in life silently so CAN THEY.

[42wv]

grocery (watch out from bread-hungry geese)

[hkthatgffan]

I saw your response to that recent ask about America, and if you don't mind me giving my 2 cents: As an Australian, seeing everything going down in America right now feels like seeing your cousin, who you've known and loved since childhood, become a major drug and gambling addict who also recently got cancer. You really want them to recover, but you don't know what to do or if they'll make it (best thing I can think of would be to mail them a Bluey plushie).

Pretty much. It especially is painful for us Canadians given the close relation we have with them. I mean, to this day Canadians talk about how we helped Americans out in their moment of need during events like 911 when many aircraft landed here. The average American probably doesn't know or care about a place called Gander, Newfoundland and Labrador. But us Canadians sure as hell do and we've never forgotten it anymore than Americans never forget that horrible day! It's literally a part of history classes here!

America is like that toxic friend who you'd move a mountain for but they in turn never give a fuck about you and never would even lift a finger back. I've known people like that but it's disgraceful America is now one of those to us. Then again, I'm not surprised.

I think what surprises me most is how Americans can so easily 180 about their closest neighbour like we mean nothing all because one guy said that. And then those MAGA morons have the audacity to say they're not a cult. Yeah, right, maybe do some thinking of your own and see how damaging what that idiot is doing to us will be for you all!

I think at this point not even a Bluey plush will probably do much, lol. Maybe mail a couple of Snickers bars too. America is not America when it's hungry...Snickers may satisfy that.

Anyways, until then...the Canadian Geese are ready and waiting to pounce!

Our collective anger and hatred of Americans is within those geese ;)

[pianocat939]

More yandere planes please 🙏🙏🙏

Istg I guess I'm making a genuine pt. 2 to my SUPPOSED TO BE shitpost. Part 1 is here

Now my good friend @/someone-named-adel made the initial idea, so I'm just adding onto it.

Tw: MC gets special treatment, purposeful customer service mistakes(?)

So basically, the idea is that MC is traveling with a friend. Of course, when MC gets moved to First Class for no reason, they're a little confused. Maybe even upset. But there's no other double seats available, so the two just have to deal with their brief separation.

While MC is getting luxury food and best treatment, the poor friend is...living bad customer service.

The attendants accidentally spill their drink on the tray, their food is EXTREMELY sad-tasting. Not to mention they get ignored every time they try to get the attendants' attention, so they have to press the call button.

Their seat is also placed next to a family (family depends on seat row size, but either way, there's a loud child.

By the end of it, the friend is miserable when they get off. Better yet, their luggage is missing.

Meanwhile MC is looking better than ever, being told goodbye by a bunch of very cheerful attendants. And when MC asks for their help on what to do for their friend's missing luggage, they're rushing to get help. If their friend asked they wouldn't bat an eye, but for MC, every request must be fulfilled.

MC is casually carrying around one too many boxes of those first class snacks.

.

.

.

Actual planes, they would probably tilt really bad towards the lower end (where economy is) lmao

[Have your shitpost food your hungry geese]

- Celina

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING

HELLO! The lack of Haymitch content makes me wanna cry so I decided to step in. English is not my first language so please have mercy ✌️

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

MASTERLIST

*gif not mine*

1. Bad feeling

Life in District 12 is nowhere to be great, but there are few aspects that make life easier. You can grow plants in the garden, if you have it. People are nice, mostly they threat you with kindness, even Peacekeepers. You are always nice to everyone, and nobody has been a problem. Your adoptive mother, Holly, taught you to stay out of problems and riots and focus to become a great part of the community instead. You are so grateful towards her that you would do anything to make her happy, not to mention it isn’t hard to act kind.

You are quite happy with your life. A part from the fact that you are always hungry - quite a habit, but at the age of twenty four you are strong and ready to work a lot. 

You are a great babysitter for the children of the district, when the mothers have to work after the pregnancy you step in line and take care of their babies. You clean the houses of the Major, of the Peacekeepers and the Victors - which is one, by the way, but always pay in time. You want to become a teacher, but you have to wait a year or so to try the test again. You failed. Yes, big time, big tears, but you got back to work and have faith for the future. 

At the age of 24 you look nice, you think. Raven hair, hazel eyes, not really tall, you are content with your physical aspect. You aren't married, though. You never had any suitors, your family being miners and you being… busy. You are gentle, but never open. To boyfriends, to new possibilities. 

Oh, and you are utterly in love with the kinda-old-man you are working for. But that is just a little detail.

Life in the District is a routine, and you like it.

Yes, you are happy. The kind of happiness who leads you to sing while you are cleaning, at least until your surly boss yells at you to stop.

You were happy. Until you watched the television.

After the 74th edition of the Hunger Games everything changed in the district and, I think, in the Capitol too. For the first time in ages a girl and a boy from our home won, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. And for the first time ever, two kids. They managed to stay alive declaring their love for each other. You were really happy at first, because you have known Katniss and Peeta since they were kids. And for the food they provided with the victory too, you have to be honest. After several months, though, you can sense something is wrong. Everybody, including your boss, is nervous. Well, more nervous and skittish - and drunk -  than usual. Katniss and Peeta are always around Haymitch’s house, never together - which is weird since they are supposed to be a couple - and they talk with a low voice, usually in the garden where the geese are. You stay out of the way, not wanting any of that business. You are here to clean the mess, tidy up the rowdyness he calls home and settle a way of living that’s tolerable. One time you opened the door and Capitol men were there, looking for Haymitch (who was in bed, drunk as hell). They were terrifying, and you practically hide until they were gone. 

It happens in a brief moment. You are cleaning Haymitch’s house, the biggest house you’ve ever seen, and the television is on. It’s almost mandatory to watch the television during programs like these, because Snow wants every citizen to know the news. You expect to see the same statement, like every year. “And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.”

Not this time, tho. President Snow, seated in his white luxurious chair with his devious blue eyes and white hair, pronounces these words: “This edition of the Hunger Games is the 75th Quarter Quell, a glorified year. For the 75th Hunger Games it is therefore decreed that this year the various districts of Panem will offer up, in tribute, a man and a woman from the age of eighteen to the age of thirty to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.” 

From 18 to 30. And you are twenty-four. 

You can barely register what you’ve seen that you feel your legs abandoning you, and you faint.

You wake up in someone's arms, confused and horrified.

«Let's get you on the couch, sweetheart.»

Haymitch. You are surprised he is sober enough to acknowledge you are there, even if not enough to catch you before the fall.

You feel so stupid. You fainted. But then again, you were sure you escaped the torture of the Hunger Games the minute you turned nineteen.

He trembles to the couch and you are so grateful for him.

Haymitch Abernathy. The man who pays you to keep his house - his life - in order and clean. The old grumpy man who sometimes makes you laugh, but most of the times shut his door because he’s too drunk to be seen by anyone, let alone a young girl. He’s never violent towards you, but you can see he is very scared of the possibility. 

Six months before you were struggling with your job, wanting something more to feed your family. You were just have been rejected from the teacher test, and very sadly began to ask anyone for work. After two or three men who mentioned in hilarious tones the kind of jobs you definitely didn't want, Haymitch stepped up and just looked at you.

«How do you feel about geese?» Was the only, very odd question.

«They are fine.» You lied. You hated geese, they were filthy animals who liked to bite. But you needed a job that didn't require a lack of clothes.

And it was Haymitch, everybody knew him from the district and even if he wasn’t so beloved he was respected. A victor at fifteen, now forty one, despite his drinking problem made him look older, dark circles under his grey eyes and a weird long haircut for his dirty blonde hair. Still pretty handsome in a rough way, in a very rough way, in a “I need a shower for days and maybe a new shirt” way. 

«Here's the deal: you clean my home, I'll give you money. You stay out of my way, and never wake me when I'm drunk. Understood?And I say that for you. Deal?»

«Yes sir.»

«Deal.»

Six months later you are on his couch, as pale as a ghost.

«Your geese.» you mumble. It doesn't really make sense, but the first thought is that if you are on Capitol and Haymitch is your mentor nobody will feed the birds from hell, as you lovingly call them.

«My what? I'm the one who's drunk, right?» He seems worried, in spite of his inebriation.

«Right.» You agree. You have to adjust a little. Not to mention, he is the one who can give you money, and it’s for the best if you don’t act like you lost your mind. «I was just thinking… I better go. I’ll come back later for the bottles.»

«Darling.» He stops me, just for a brief moment, without smiling. «They won’t pick you.»

You smile right back at him, but you can’t help to have a bad feeling about that.

The day of the reaping you are standing over your bad, unable to put your dress on. You clearly remember the fear of the Games, of the names, of the voice of frickin’ Effie Trinket. You were never paralysed, tho, not like this. Maybe because you were younger and reckless, maybe because something in your head always told you the name wasn’t gonna be you.

Daisy Pinecone. It wasn’t even your real name, Holly just picked it when you were little because it reminded her of a fairytale, and adoptive parents can decide their children’s names. 

“You sound stupid, Daisy. There are a lot of young people in the district, it’s not gonna be you”. You immediately feel guilty about the thought, because even if it’s not you, it’s going to be your friend, colleague or school mate. 

These games are so fucked up. You could never say that out loud, but this is the reality everybody thinks. If only someone could gather them together, maybe… the districts are more than the Capitol City. They provide food, minerals, Panem would starve in a week. 

You shake your head, it’s nonsense. They already tried, and this is the whole point of the Hunger Games, a punishment. But it’s not unfair. 

Holly helps you with the hair, making a simple braid with daisies in it, that you think it’s nearly too in brand for someone who won’t be picked, but you can’t bet against the odds, and in the worst possibility it’s great for publicity. 

Holly is a wreck, but it’s always sad at this time of the year. She’s the midwife of District 12, she knows every child in this place, and every year she watches someone she loves who’s going to get murdered. Something like this led Haymitch to perpetual drunkenness. 

You wish you could say a word to comfort her, but nothing comes out from your mouth. You can’t make promises. You have to thank her for everything, she literally saw you being born and then, when your mother died, she decided to adopt you. 

She pats your shoulder, and you give her a brief smile. 

The street to the place is full of people with nice dresses and a scared expression of their faces. You take your seat, as you realise you have weird thoughts, like that you are grateful because you don’t have a dog that could miss you, or worse, a child. 

Effie Trinket is approaching in a bright pink dress, pink skin and a violet wig, and you almost feel bad for the names you called her during the previous nights. You begin to like Effie, she always smiles at you when she visits Haymitch, unlike the other people from Capitol. And right now you could swear that she’s shaking despite the smile she puts on her face. You saw her with Katniss and Peeta, the way she pats their head and caresses their cheek it’s not faking, she actually cares about them. She may be a brainwashed Capitol starlet, but she is a kind hearted one.

Haymitch arrives, drunker than usual - every year is worse, but this year it’s different, after the awards at Capitol everybody thought he would’ve act presentable - and so Katniss and Peeta. 

Your heart skips a beat. “Your name is there only once”, you keep repeating to yourself.

Effie stays five minutes with her hand in the bowl, reluctant to pick a string of paper. After what it feels to be an eternity, she says a name.

No - not a name. 

Your name.

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

another one!! 🪳

recommend a great AU!

this took me too long to answer excuse mwah <3 sorry i couldnt resist asdhjash such a stupid joke

with you from dusk by katharija. WOH modern au, chronic pain, unspecified chronic illness, angst, trust issues, vulnerability, grief/mourning, sharing a bed, T. i literally just finished rereading it this morning! a brief glance at wenzhou's early days, but set in modern day. im very weak for conversations in the dark, after some guards have been lowered and possibilities to live your life a different way, a better way, seem tangible. there is also a sequel to this!

hunger by lastembers. WOH modern au, chronic pain, unspecified chronic illness, referenced cannibalism, canon-typical violence, domesticiation of a monster, M. also a fic i finished rereading the other day! what if wenzhou were neighbours, but wen kexing eats people? u know that im very into cannibalism as this metaphor for something else and as a stepping stone to experience real emotional intimacy! i also really like it when the very palpable sensation of hunger functions to talk about very related things, very visceral things, that can also be felt in the body.

there is a line here i particularly liked:

"Aren't you hungry?" Zhou Zishu asks. Wen Kexing is watching him like he's the most interesting thing in the world. "No," Wen Kexing says. Zhou Zishu knows its a lie. He thinks maybe Wen Kexing is always hungry.

oh, you're mine to take, i wanna hear the sounds you'll make by anonymous. MDZS modern au, genderbend wangxian, experimenting with gender, E. just quoting that one tumblr post from a while back: "dykes who want get fucked in the ass like gayboys." yep!!!

fish & wild geese by impossibletruths. MDZS modern au, wangxian, little forest AU, hunger as a metaphor for grief, farming as a metaphor for healing, food as a metaphor for love, T. lan wangji moves into his dead mother's house and tries to remember how it is to live. its been a while since i read this but i still remember how the grief felt like a fishbone stuck in my throat.

and you must keep your soul/ like a secret in your throat by athena_crickey. MDZS, The Untamed, modern au, modern cultivation, supernatural elements, vampires, culture clash, case fic, grief/mourning, complicated family dynamics, the weariness of being old and immortal, what it means to be alive, E. wei wuxian is an ancient vampire and lan wangji is a young (youngish) cultivator who seeks him out for a case. i particularly liked seeing glimpses of wei wuxian's earlier lives through fictional academical articles and reports at the end of each (i think it is each?) chapter, and sometimes through their conversations. i like it when there is a really old (really, really old) being there and through them, you are challenged to confront what being alive for such a long time does to a person, in what ways it reshapes them.

in the water grass, in the green by nerdzeword, twigofwillow. The Untamed, modern with magic, wangxian, angst, illness, curses, witches, river spirits, family, gardening, G. lan wangji's mother falls ill. he asks the wen witches across the street for help. this fic, too, has the theme of finding solace and comfort in cooking, food, and nature! i love lan wangji being this transcended being between a person and a river! there is also some anticipatory grief here and complex family dynamics; even though madam lan isnt dead, it is hard for lan wangji to reach her because she is not accepted by his family. he has feelings about that.

bug me bug me for fic recs!!!!