#mavka au

[annawayne]

Whispers Of The Verdant Lament

Mavka AU*

*Mavkas, in Ukrainian folklore and mythology, are the souls of women who had died an unnatural, tragic death; they often appear in the form of beautiful young girls who entice and lure young men into the woods, where they "tickle" them to death. Mavkas have no reflection in the water, nor do they cast shadows; they have green hair and pale/green skin, sometimes - naked.

In the forest, you're not alone. Smerekas* with their long trunks stretch up to the sky, cutting the cloud with emerald needles and wooden veins. The soft moss covers the soil, echoing each step with rich crisp. The horizons are flooded with grass, erasing the limits, prolonging the space as if it's infinite harmony of savage, wild nature. The forest is the tribe, with its rules and rhythm.

Armin knows - every family has secrets, so does the forest, and every shade of green keeps the story of someone who made this place their tomb. And Armin also knows - the distant cries of the mountain river breathe with the last words of his Annie. 

It was an accident, the unmerciful, cruel circumstance. Her feet slipped, a second - and the river took her. A day later, they found her lifeless body, and Armin was sure -his lungs filled with water of mourning he never would be able to get rid of. 

His vision aches from the bright light as he reaches the cliff, where the tense tree line meets the sharp edge of the earth. Here it is. The place where everything ends - and as well would his life. She was the place between his ribs, and after she was gone - it couldn't be replaced; it whistled with grief and sorrow, nothing and no one could fulfil. She was everything - the feeble smile in the morning with sleepy eyes and groggy voice; the crystal laugh as they chased one after another in the slopes under the prominent spring sun, only to fall into the embrace of long grass, giggling and hugging each other; the tiny sparks in her eyes and the steady, slow breath as he plays trembita**; the delightful hum when the bilberry* she has plucked from the bush turned to be sweet and juicy; the adorable blush on her soft cheeks and the broad smile only he was able to see after they made love; the exceptional stitches on shirts she embroidered for both of them... Oh, of course, he's wearing the one right now. With his wedding outfit, she never has the chance to see. 

Armin sighs and closes his eyes. Annie made stitches not only on the fabric but also in his heart and body; he carries her unique embroidery and ornaments on the skin and soul of her life and love. It's almost unbearable to see his reflection because every part was kissed, touched, and loved by her. And now Armin stands at the same cliff and ready to take a step forward: not a tragic coincidence, like with her, but the decision. 

"Armin."

He is sure - this is the wind. Another trick of nature, his imagination, anything. 

"Armin."

No, no, no, it's all in his head. But tentative, almost slow, he turns his head, and he sees-

"Annie," her name exhaled like the air he needed all the time she was gone. Tears immediately filled his eyes, blurring his vision, but even with this, Armin captured her hair slightly green, her pale—more pale than usual—skin, green lips, and her favourite long undershirt, which she wore that fateful day. 

"Long time no see, love," A small smile paints her face, and Armin steps towards her, running in her direction. 

"Annie, Annie, Annie, An-" 

Her small hand rises up, and with a gesture, she pleads him to stop. Like a spell, his feet halt, and his chest rises with heavy breath; he is sure not from the run. 

"You can't jump from this cliff." her calm words fill the air between them. "You should live a long life, see the world, like you dreamed abou-"

"But I wanted to do all of it with you!"

"But I'm gone, Armin. I live in this forest, and you're still there, without strings to the place. You still can do it for both of us. "

The tears completely covered his eyes, and uncontrollable sobs cut all of his intention to say the word. So, she smiles again, and the gentle voice follows, "You should live, and when you would be the grumpy old man, you would come to this forest and call for me. You would stretch your hand, and I would take it, as I always did, and then, you will be young again, and we will be together one more time, and forever; we will be lost in the slopes and the rivers, in the grass and the mountains. But only then. Not early, not today. Only then,"

"Annie, I lo-"

"I know. I do, too."

"I miss-"

"Me too."

"An-"

"Only then, Armin. This is the condition. So, live. Live, and we will meet again."

His words are muffled with sobs, so the only thing he manages is to nod. 

"I... I don't know how, but I'll try. I miss you so much."

"I'm always there in your heart. I never left you, so...carry me to the world with you because this is the only way I could see it. Our hearts are connected, after all, so... Show me the world, Armin, as we dreamed about."

Armin closes his eyes, and the nails dig into his palms. It starts to hurt. "I'll try, Annie. I'll try."

The phantom touch caressed his cheek and made him open his eyes, and her face was right before his. Her dreamy, ghostly eyes are glossy and hazy with fog, but he recognizes this shade—his favourite, hers. Her lips quickly brush against his, and the hushed whisper follows: "It's nice to see this wedding outfit on you. You look so wonderful and beautiful. I really wanted to show you mine, but... I will be waiting for you, love." 

And with this, she is gone. 

Again. 

The shadow of her cold kiss still lingers on his lips as Armin falls onto his knees, and the loud song of the mountain river is muffled by his cries.

*Smerekas or Picea abies - the pine tree that is widely growing in the Ukrainian Carpathians;

**Trembita is a type of wood-made alpine horn. It is common among Ukrainian highlanders, Hutsuls, who live in western Ukraine (Carpathians). According to the ancient Hutsul tradition, a trembita should be made from a thunderbolt, i.e. a tree that has been struck by lightning. The age of the tree should be 120-150 years.

[maahriarts]

See you on the other side.

[dr-jingles]

A few old gift arts for friends! :D

[merrymorningofmay]

Hey please do not feel bound to reply to this, but should you ever be in the mood to tell more about your Ukrainian TGCF AU - I would be very interested 👀

i don't mind telling at all! it used to be a junmei-centric (like, very much. i can't remember where the rest of tgcf characters were supposed to be lol) vaguely modern ukraine au with magic realism sprinkled in, but at this point it's more of an original thing @seiden-spinner and i are mulling over

wherein the used-to-be-mnq is a witchling whose mom made a deal with a chort (used-to-be-jw) promising him her firstborn as payment (as one does), so years later not-jw shows up to not-mnq like "hey! you belong to me" and not-mnq, being kind of a lonely kid, is like "you know what, sure", and for some time they work together as a witch-chort duo (and maybe a lonely kid is not immune to a 1.91m tall creature with horns and earrings. mayhaps). then horrors ensue (lesser scale than tgcf of course, but a village does get massacred), they have their messy breakup, and not-mnq spends the next 200 years of ukraine's messy history alone and unable to die, before they meet again in modern day and uh...... uhhh 😳

[vyvilha]

been thinking a lot about a ukrainian folklore toh au (which is different from my fairytale toh au and Yes i still haven't drawn that too) yeag.... forest tsar belos in his green kaftan and green saffian heeled boots, once a man, cursed by a witch to become a chuhaister — a magical being with hunger for its own. he makes his beautiful navje children out of wood, and he sings to them: "liuli-liuli, my child, I made you kulish. you're my little one with arms and legs, I will feed you" and they joy him for a while, but he is a beast that can never be satisfied and so they all end up in a clay stove. luz's mother fell awfully ill, and the only one who can help her is the owl mistress who lives in the woods, and so she comes before her to learn her ways. amity is of course a mavka, her back skinless to show her internals and spine. she tells luz riddles and for some reason cannot bring herself to kill her when she doesn't know the answer (but tickles her nonetheless). such beautiful visions before me to never actually draw!

[palebonedry]

Shadow of the Forgotten

My submission for @aimportantdragoncollector ‘s Three Weeks of Triholders, (Although this piece is featuring Duoholders 😅)

I created an au based around a Nyavka Yoichi and a woodsman Second . .

Nyavka are a type of Mavka, a spirit in Ukrainian folklore.

One prominent feature is that Nyavka have no back so you can see their spine . . . They often live in bodies of water like rivers or lakes in the forest (my mother for instance first told me about them as a way of warning me away from a nearby river lol). Some interpretations have them leading men to their doom and drowning them, while other interpretations have them being more benevolent caretakers of the forest although these two are not mutually exclusive!

While I'm no writer and am still coming up with ideas I believe this au would go something like this:

Yoichi and AFO were born in a mountain village surrounded by forests and bordered by a fierce river The village believed the twins to be unlucky due to their odd striking white hair and the death of their mother during their birth and they are shunned.

The two are only really allowed to stay in the village as hands to help in the fields, life is unpleasant but the two make due as they grow up. One winter when the two are around 11 or so Yoichi gets very sick. However he is refused treatment, resources are low and they village do not want to waste supplies on the weakest of the twins who would likely die before he is an adult anyways.

AFO tries to steal him medicine anyways but this goes wrong and the two are driven out of the village when he is caught. They attempt to flee across the river into the surrounding woods. Unfortunately the water is freezing and they drown.

Due to their tragic death the brothers come back as Nyavka and now dwell in the surrounding forest.

A newly undead AFO takes on a much more vindicative and aggressive role, the number of deaths caused by drowning in the nearby area skyrockets lol. Yoichi on the other hand dwells deeper in the woods and keeps to himself as much as his brother allows.

Many years later, Yoichi sees a young man with a scar across his face and striking orange hair seemingly fleeing from something. He is intrigued and decides to observe this stranger . . .

(And your standard vault escape (forest escape)) story happens from there. :) (with some more twists)

[warped-paranoia]

things i've drawn for my yttd ukranian folklore au!

sou is a mavka: a charming mythical creature that lures people deep into the forest. they can cause mischief or life-threatening situations. mavkas may also steal the appearance of others' lost loved ones, but a gaping hole in mavka's back reveals their inhuman nature.

it is possible to 'catch' mavkas by marrying them, but the marriage will end up unhappy. still, if you ask 'your' mavka for a secret you'd like to get revealed, you'll receive a truthful answer, but mavka will disappear after answering.

[lychniis]

⚘ — MY LIPS TASTE OF FLOWERS.

i. SYNOPSIS : it's the most vicious, cruel thing, love. most may protest, but the flowers in their chest may testify otherwise. or in which, they have hanahaki and they're hopelessly in love with you ( childe / pantalone x gn ! reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : angst, hanahaki au, the characters have hanahaki, unrequited love, pining, unsaid confessions, mentions of blood, reader dies, reader is a fatui traitor ( childe ), past boss / employee relationships, breakup, implied starvation, pants having a rough old life ( pantalone ). NOT PROOFREAD. [ REPOSTED DUE TO TUMBLR BEING A BITCH ].

# masterlist

&& . childe | tartaglia · ( there is a cruel lie ; in those bedtime stories )

THERE WAS A TIME WHEN CHILDE believed in fairytales.

It was the nights his mother would tuck him in beneath fur lined blankets in the midst of Snezhnayan blizzards ( and the world felt less like a battlefield and more like a home ), there were stories of wandering mavka and old romances that end in kisses woven into his naive mind. And he would listen, little Ajax; he would listen wide eyed while he slips into the world of dreams and runs through open fields.

Those dreams were long gone, as were those fields lined upon gold and flax. Now all he sees is a world not quite his own, dipped in darkness amidst the stench of iron. He was the monster stalking through the woods, tearing apart and clawing and snarling like a rabid wolf. 

The stories lost their magic, with love and naivete and the innocence of a self he cannot recall. Ajax died in the abyss at the age of fourteen with a blunted sword in hand along with his heart ( it was gone, gone, gone, lost to the sea of stars and miasma ). He thinks he knows this well when his kills settle into the earth where they remain. He thinks he knows this as the weight of the badge on his heart reminds him of everything that mattered in those loneliest moments ( where he was the last man left ). 

His heart was lost, and its slivers lay in the hands of his family, and in the hands of the tsaritsa.

So why, why do you hold it too?

Childe does not understand it, these traitorous feelings, this rush of euphoria, this suffocation, as if he’s sinking deeper and deeper into the very ocean that he calls to his fingertips. It’s the sharp edge of cruelty sinking into his chest and the sweetness of a lingering warmth and he craves it with a near obsession. Love was a war game, love was an embrace, love was chaos itself and in that part of him you held, Childe hungers, hungers to dance it with you.

It was strange, to see something else, far from the veneer and the tempting edge of insanity beckon towards him ( and he almost sees the flaxen field just at his fingertips ).

Love was a poison, he remembers later when the reality of it all sinks in; when he dares to grasp that old wonder for fairytales again. his lungs heave, his throat constricts and he stares at the bloodied cyclamen wreath circling your head like a halo.

He squeezes your pulse and he thinks he sees death flicker in your vision, if only for a moment. You sputter. He blinks, both in silent wonder and muted horror as he screams why, why, why but the words stay lodged deep down inside him. 

“What now?” you ask, the thrum of your heart speeding up through the fear and betrayal and anger and sadness. “What now?” you ask again and there is the cold cut of desperation crossing over it like a glint of metal in the dark. 

What now? Childe thinks. What would become of you, a lover, a companion, a friend, a traitor?

The Tsaritsa’s words were absolute. He remembers, he knows. His blade rests above your heart, inching closer and closer. You looked beautiful in a way that made him dizzy, delirium clinging to the sick crevices in him and you looked torn down, hurt, scared ( and Childe cannot grasp what could be more painful, the flowers stealing his breath or harming you ).

“You shouldn’t have come to me, kitten.” he whispers. He pushes away the screaming throttling the back of his head, demanding he stop. He ignores the roots in his empty chest tightening, tearing into his lungs, filling that void with the marks of you as his blade plunges down and you let out a pain shudder and a voiceless cry.

“I hope they don’t love you — ” 

The last words you heave out promise his death. Let the hanahaki take him, let it take his being, his soul, his everything and lay it to rest knowing you died by his hand.

The soil stains red. Childe feels the last of your warmth fade from his fingertips. His world is dazed and abstract; nothing more than mist and a blur of shapes and colors he hardly recognizes.

The scream in his throat unembeds itself and he hunches over, small vulnerable Ajax again, gripping at the ground soaked in his tears and blood as flowers heave out of him and into his waiting hands.

He crushes the petals in frustration. 

I hope they don’t love you.

&& . pantalone | regrator · ( and what can the blood you claim ; buy you )

GREED WAS THE FIRE that burns hot beneath the palm of his hand, an unquenchable thirst that chars away what was given. Greed was ‘taking’, Pantalone learned when he was young, scrawny and starved, watching pockets lined with gold and silver pass him by as he lay dying on cobbled stone. It was an ugly thing, hardly trustworthy to most, yet stays an amoral friend that leeches on and hardly lets go.

The mora people sought was an object he was so deprived — what longing he bore twisted into bitter hate and he sought to melt away the iron of the golden house and watch it fall to pieces. He longed to look Rex Lapis in the eye and laugh as the heart of Teyvat’s wealth topples down like a house of cards. This was his mantra, branded in his mind.

Greed was hunger, and Pantalone hungered for Snezhnaya’s heart to beat blood and metal.

Greed was hunger, and when Pantalone met you, he knew that starvation could never be satiated with food and drink.

Perhaps he was too greedy. You were distant, clipped, cold — but you are kind and that, Pantalone who lived his life knowing the cold kiss of apathy, he could not fathom. You were kind despite donning the uniform of a loyal soldier, marching out to war and when you smiled at him ( and it was so small, so quick ) he felt the heart he so carefully guarded slip away, away, away.

He’d call out to you. He was greedy, always greedy, always seeking and he sought you. He kept you by his side, close yet far ( Pantalone knew his feelings and he knew better than to let them cloud his gaze with delusion ), he shared softer kisses with you and those small knowing glances from across the room. 

He would have taken it further, he thinks. He’d have given you a place in his home, by his side as a spouse, as a lover in proper title with all you could ever ask for. He could have shared those cold Snezhnayan mornings with you beneath the warmth of his fur comforters, talking about the day to come.

Now his office stank of Camellias. Pantalone’s sink was clogged with pale pink petals. 

And he stares at them, and at the letter you left behind, those words that spoke of your departure, of new orders taking you to nations far beyond, of the professionalism you begged to uphold and the last few words of love smudged a bit at the end. 

It was not unrequited, his affections. Pantalone tells it to himself as he pores over the letter again and again as the days meld to weeks and months. It was not unrequited, and yet the sting, that traitorous fire in him burned and burned hard till his hands lay a bloody sanguine.

It hurt, it still hurt and from that hurt bore a seed and that seed grew into a cluster of flowers that chokes his lungs while it feeds off of the weak vulnerability, that longing  he wants gone. It was not unrequited but Pantalone could feel it tear him apart skin and bones. The hanahaki did not discriminate. 

Pantalone would wake to a half empty bed, the traces of your warmth and the subtle comfort of your scent, gone. The things about you lay tucked away in little corners and those memories of better times. And Pantalone would remember and he would long and the flowers’ roots would tighten.

( He was that child on the streets again, alone and nothing. He was that child who knew not when he’d eat next, or if the night would be warm or cold. Pantalone felt like that child again and he despises it. )

He wonders if this particular greed, to hold something intangible, cost him. If letting you run with his heart was a wise choice.

Harbinger or not, Pantalone was still a man. What was left of him was still a human being broken and reshaped by the world he lived in — but human no less. 

There is so little he regrets about you, save for asking you to stay a little longer, for being there a little more. And he tells Dottore as such in response to that passing remark cracked as surgical instruments line the side of the operating table.

“I do not regret it at all.” 

“Then you’re an idiot.” Dottore remarks.

Perhaps he was.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

the fact that zhongli was a part of this post as well but i also have an angst / smut shot of him in the works as well made me think things through and say "hey let's be a little kinder to gramps". that and i'm tired XD. i'm sorry li, i still love you.

but thanks to localplaguenurse for helping out with their pantalone headcanons! i have no clue how to write or where to start with him, but since i want variety and challenges, i'm like... lol new character lol. thank you guys for reading!!!

to the intended, yes this is a repost. tumblr is exhibiting fatherless behaviour and i had to make it work again.

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AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

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Un être de la forêt, Mavka doit faire un choix entre l'amour et son devoir de gardienne après avoir rencontrée le talentueux musicien Lukash.

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[luanadrawig]

[cute-sweet-corgo]

@nikkoleon Demon Readly u say?

also

Inspiration

[annawayne]

Thinking of your Mavka AU lately. I can't stop imagining the story taking a more gothic, tragic turn, with Annie seducing Armin so they could spend their afterlife together, condemning him into a ghostly half-death, while tethering their souls for eternity. Did you ever consider a darker end for the story?  

Hello, Myrtle!

(the Mavka AU in question)

Oh, first of all, thank YOU a lot for thinking about this AU T_T

I won't lie, it's very special to me since it features the mythology of my country and culture, that's why it has a special place in my heart. So thank you a lot for these words!

As for your question... 😈

Can I answer it with this? :D

Since you hit the point. This story is a tragedy from the very start - not with Annie being already deceased, but also, how it develops further.

If I'm being honest, I consider to write the whole fic about this AU - not onehsot, but rather the small story under 5 chapters, and that's why it's a bit difficult for me to say anything in particular without spoilering, but I can tell for sure - you watch exactly at the right direction.

This story has the darker ending, however, not with Annie seducing him into the half-ghost (it's a brilliant idea!), but since I have a base of Ukrainian mythology, I try to develop this story within the rules of this mythology as much as possible.

Now, my full focus is on My Yellow Light in Your Soft Whispers, but I consider turning Mavka AU into a short story, so I hope you'll like it once I get around it and if you would like to read it!

Thank a lot of your interest, Myrtle, it honestly means a lot T^T

[maahriarts]

Full of spite and whimsy; Mavka Raqi.

[firehananas]

Franchement ça me saoule qu’Uncoven ait été écrit comme il est. Ça aurait été typiquement le genre de Visual Novel que j’aime si les persos étaient pas aussi relouds. Genre, les seuls perso que j’aime bien pour l’instant c’est Ascian (franchement original et j’aime beaucoup sa relation avec Nyx) et William (il est sympa et en même temps très intéressant par son passé familial). 

William son problème c’est que, même si le jeu est vendu comme un dating sim, Nyx a des tendances de co-dépendance ++ alors même si j’aurai bien aimé le romancer, je vais éviter pour leur propre bien :/

Rose et son amalgame culte/religion m’a fait hérissé les poils. La religion c’est pas qu’un truc de “mecs blancs et riches”, hein, c’est bien plus complexe que ça. 

Silas est un connard. Quel super pote avec Rose qui a la trouille des serpents et ses blagues qui font rire que lui. Genre, on peut lui dire qu’il a été trop loin, il fait “ah mince déso” et il recommence plus tard?? Mais va dormir dans la forêt tout seul avec les serpents puisque tu les aimes tant, punaise. Sans parler qu'il ment à ses abonnés pour faire du buzz, quel intérêt franchement. Je crois que la seule a avoir fait ça et qui avait une bonne raison, c’est Sunsup pour montrer qu’on pouvait être plus facilement duper avec les photos qu’on pouvait le croire. Après pas de pot, il a aussi typiquement le genre de personnalité que j’aime pas du tout IRL (genre, on peut s’amuser qu’en buvant un max et en faisant la fête tous les soirs, eurk x’()

Mavka je suis mitigée, si j’avais pas su qu’elle était un self-insert, ça m’aurait pas fait autant tiquer. Mais ouais, c’est censé être “la béboue trop pure et innocente <3 <3 mais elle est aussi si belle, gentille, nininin” et je comprends que ça en agace certain. C’est pas à un niveau où ça m’horripile mais j’avoue que quand Nyx la dévore des yeux c’est assez gênant à lire.

Quant à Kristen, j’ai pas réussi à avoir d’opinion bien définie sur elle, elle me semble un peu transparente pour le moment (RIP). Je crois qu’elle avait fait une blague pas drôle sur le tableau de la chambre mais c’est à peu près tout ce que je me souviens d’elle ? Et qu’elle s’entend bien avec Silas...?

Nyx, en vrai, je trouve pas que ce soit un personnage si creux, mais iel est clairement en insécurité émotionnelle, sa vie est nulle et ses potes sont tellement géniaux comparés à iel que ça en devient pas très agréable à incarner. Après perso, je joue pas forcément pour m’identifier au perso alors ça va. 

Les décors sont super jolis, quand il se passe des trucs c’est vraiment bien fait, mais en mode free to play c’est encore pire que ML mdr, quelle angoisse. Je suis encore à Mardi et j’ai commencé à la sortie du jeu ;-; Pourtant l’ambiance magique et isolée de tout est génial, et encore une fois les moments où ça part en sucette sont top. Je veux savoir comment ça va se terminer donc je vais continuer, mais je m’attends à finir dans 2 ans :/

(après j’avoue que je m’aide pas, étant donner que certains jours j’oublie d’ouvrir l’application x’)))

[vyvilha]

If you could assign Belos any magical creature to be, what would it be?

thank you for this ask! i had in my mind a few concepts for belos ukrainian-esque au where i re-imagined his monster form as a chuhaister. chuhaister is a forest spirit from ukrainian folklore that is described as a man-like creature covered in green fur that is benevolent to humans (if they obey certain rules) and haunts down other forest spirits, mavkas, to dismember and eat them. chuhaisters are believed to be human men that were once cursed by witches "for a good reason". all of this is very fitting for belos, i think

[bulakartists]

OTP PROMPTS I TRISHA’S MASTERLIST

Here is a challenge that I am determine to finish.  Let’s do this! 

1. Touch starved I  Locke x Oli

2. Hanging out I  Grim Reaper x Fallen Angel  

3. Calling/ Texting I  Locke x Charles 

4. Blushing/ Being Nervous I  Knight Dallas x Queen Mavka 

5. Sweet gestures I  King Zadkiel x Queen Licia 

6. Confession I  Reeva X Gideon (Killer Magic)

7. First date I  Juliet x Theon (Happy Ever After Survival)

8. First kiss I Magnus x Emma (Not a Simple Story)  

9. Meeting family/ friends I Prince Zadkiel x Saskia 

10. Cuddling / Hugging I  King Cillin x Queen Nashca   

11. Selfie I Oli x Javid 

12. Pocky I Autumn x Drystan 

13. Relaxing / Sleeping I Luna x Alarik 

14. Holding Hands I Rori x Lucas 

15. Cosplay I Oli x Leonard 

16. Music I Louis Park x Evie 

17. Cafe date I Autumn x Prince Eldar 

18. Genderswapped I Princess Mara x Prince Eldar 

19. Jealousy I Oli x Charles  

20. Hurt/ comfort I Reeva x Master Kaius 

21. Fairy tale AU I Louis x Eva  

22. AU (of your choice) I Leticia x Lucius 

23. Intimate I Albus x Vanadey 

24. Carrying Bridal Style I Princess Mara x Dragon Prince Callisto 

25. Fluff (doing cute stuff) I Malkiel x Lyra  

26. Sick day I Princess Mara x Drystan 

27. Proposal I Leticia x Charles 

28. Married I Rose x Theo 

29. Pregnancy Reveal I Princess Faelyn x Raz  

30. Family I King Gavril x Queen Adeena