#Mine Bank Mountain

[thorsenmark]

Finding My Next Adventure Along the Blue Ridge Parkway by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While along the Blue Ridge Parkway and roadside pullout with a view looking to the northwest. This is at the Bald Mountain Overlook with a view to a nearby Flowering Dogwood and then a more distant view of ridges and peaks with Knob of Rocks, Cellar Mountain, and Mine Bank Mountain.

[cryforjudas]

The story behind Song for Sasha Banks is so fun. The Mountain Goats release an album about wrestling and you (a professional wrestler) tweet at them “yo wtf where’s my song”, presumably as a joke, and then they actually write it? and it slaps?

[normspellsman]

She Is Mine

part one | part two

pairing: neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader

genre: violence, bit of angst + fluff, & comfort

word count: 2.7k+

warning(s): death threats, mentions of death + injuries + blood, reader thinking she’s going to die + accepts it, neteyam going apeshit on an avatar soldier, reader being stabbed, mentions of brutal killings / violence, reader crying, & a bit of dark!neteyam

taglist: @aonungsmate @dearstell @optimisticblazetrash @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @liyahsocorro @amortencjja @universal-s1ut @goodiesinthecloset21 @chshshhshshshshshshshs @minkyungseokie

word bank: mawey — calm; calm down, eywa / the great mother — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, ikran — winged creature used for flying + hunting, yawne — beloved, & yawntutsyip — darling; little darling

note: literally wrote this within two to three hours so it might not be that great, so bare with me. hope you guys liked it & let me know if i should do something similar to this with lo’ak <3

It was stupid really.

When you think back on it, it was definitely stupid to agree to tag along with Lo’ak and the rest to wherever the hell they were planning on going. But you could not say no to Tuk when she asked you to come with them. She was your weakness and used it to her advantage.

You’d been silently weaving a new armband for your boyfriend, Neteyam, when his youngest sister had approached you, hands interlocked behind her back and the all too familiar ‘innocent’ look plastered on her face. You knew that whatever she was thinking of saying or asking you would end up in you ultimately agreeing to it, most likely getting you in trouble with your lover.

“Join me and Kiri to the mountains with Lo’ak. Pretty please?” She had asked, pouting and widening her amber eyes up at you as she gently swayed from side to side.

You gave in immediately.

It was sad how fast the youngest Sully got you to cave in so quickly. You had restraint with the others, even Neteyam, but had none whatsoever when it came to Tuktirey. You had such a soft spot for her and Tuk took advantage of it every time.

Should’ve never said yes, you grumble to yourself inside your head, head shaking to yourself as you struggled against the restraints the RDA soldiers had put you in upon catching you all when you attempted to leave the scene you weren’t supposed to be at.

Jake instilled it into you guys so many times to never get close to the abandoned shack. You needed asked why. It was something that Jake wasn’t going to argue about and made it very clear after his youngest son tried to pry the answer out of him the first time he mentioned it. Should’ve listened to Jake.

Everything went by so fast, you had barely had time to process what was going on before you were shackled in handcuffs and essentially held prisoner by RDA Avatars.

“Who is she?” A deep voice asked, pulling you out of your seething thoughts.

Quaritch had a good estimate on who was who in the little rag tag group he caught. The five fingered teens one-hundred-percent belonged to Jake Sully while the human boy was a result of the Corporals past. So, that left you and Tuk. He would give it a fifty-fifty chance that the both of you were also Jake’s kids. Man, he and the Missus sure was busy, he thinks to himself, smirking at the thought.

By the only Na’vi boys reaction, Quaritch could tell that you were something else to the kid. A girlfriend perhaps?, he thinks, best friend?.

Lo’ak knew he was fucked the minute Tuk managed to convince you to join in on their little ‘adventure’. Neteyam continuously told him to look out for you whenever he left to go hunt or do whatever their parents told him to do, threatening bodily harm and death if he didn’t obey. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing but regardless of it, still continued on with his plan. Neteyam was so going to kill him.

“Our sister,” Lo’ak muttered, the soldier behind him still had a tight grip on his queue, tightening it before he answered.

Everyone on the scene could tell that Lo’ak was lying. It was evident. The boy's ears were pinned back, mostly in pain, and his tail fell limp beside him as it gently curled in on itself.

Bingo, Quaritch thought to himself, more leverage.

“Hmm, I think you’re lying, boy,” the Corporal starts, inching closer to Lo’ak, “And do you know what I do to liars?” he asked.

You gulped at the man’s words. You could only assume his following answer would entail torture or death. You all were totally fucked either way.

Lo’ak refused to answer the man’s question, making Quaritch smirk even more.

“I punish them,” he answered, a sick and disturbing glint in his eyes as he stared down Jake Sully’s second son.

Anxiety spiked in all of our systems, making you struggle further in the soldier's grasp.

“Don’t hurt him,” you and Kiri pleaded, the soldiers behind you yanking back on your braided queue, making you cry out in pain.

Quaritch tsked at your response, turning towards you as he stalked towards your figure. “I’m not going to hurt him, sweetheart. Just you,” he finalized, pulling out a knife that was sheathed in its carrier on his hip.

You and everyone else began to protest at his words.

“(Y/N)! No!” Lo’ak cried out, trying to inch closer towards you to protect you but was pulled back by a soldier, hissing out in pain and frustration.

Tuk began to cry as she saw the knife inch towards your face before it dipped down to your neck.

“You fucking asshole!” Spider yelled out, struggling in the grips of the two Avatar soldiers holding him, surprisingly making them struggle to keep him in their grasps in return.

Kiri could only close her eyes in response, not wanting to see you get hurt in front of her.

You stopped at the contact the cold knife made with your warm skin, the temperature of it making you lightly flinch back at it. Your heartbeat rose increasingly within the confines of your chest, hammering against the bone. Holy shit, you thought, this is how I’m going to die.

As you looked around and saw your friends' reactions, you accepted your fate. You accepted that you were going to be murdered in front of them. You could only hope that your death would help the Sullys and Spider escape from the soldiers and Quaritch safely and unharmed. You also hoped that it was going to be a quick death. You didn’t want them to see you suffer.

It’s okay, be calm. Don’t fight back, it’ll only make it worse. Mawey. Eywa, please ensure the safe return of the Sully’s and Spider. And make sure that Neteyam finds only happiness after this, you prayed.

Quaritch had taken your queue from the soldiers grasp behind you, granting you momentary relief from the tight hold only to be replaced with an even harsher grip. You hissed out at the returning pain.

“Now, listen here boy,” he starts, pointing the clean knife at Lo’ak, making him look at him, “I want ‘ya to contact your Father and tell him that if he isn’t here after the sun sets, girly over here,” he gestures to you with the knife in hand, “Is going to be gutted and strung up on the tree line as a little surprise for your Daddy. Am I clear?”.

His words makes Tuk cry even harder, making the soldier behind her give up on her hold on the girls queue and instead hold her up by her arms.

Lo’ak reluctantly nodded at his words, swallowing down the gathering spit in his mouth. His eyes jumped from Spider to Quaritch to you, then to Kiri and Tuk. He was dreading the moment his parents and Neteyam arrived, knowing that regardless of how much they cooperate, Quaritch is going to do whatever he wants to even if that includes staying true to his words of harming you.

———

The three were close to nearing the old abandoned shack when Lo’ak called in again, the line going static for a second before he spoke up.

“Quaritch is giving you until after sunset to arrive,” he shakingly starts, anxiety clearly evident in his tone as he speaks, “Or…or he’ll gut (Y/N) and string her up as a welcome gift for you.”.

Neteyam nearly crashes into a tree when he hears his brother's words.

Quaritch was threatening the life of you, his mate, in hopes of riling up Jake. Well, it was working, except it was Neteyam who was riled up and not his Father.

All the boy could see was red as the three of them silently continued their flight towards your destination after Jake told Lo’ak that they were on their way and that the message was clearly received.

Rage boiled up inside of Neteyam’s body, causing him to slightly shake from the emotion atop his ikran. He was going to kill every single one of the soldiers there once he arrived. He’d do anything to get you back. Anything.

———

Everything ached.

From your queue, to your scalp, to your neck, and to the fresh new wound Quaritch left after he decided Lo’ak was taking too long to relay his message to his Father. He had sliced your thigh and stabbed the wound in response, jamming it into the flesh/plush of your thigh. You cried out to the brutal attack, growling out in pain as a handful of tears fell down your cheeks. Quaritch only smirked at your reaction, throwing you down onto the ground as the rest of the soldiers followed suit in discarding their prisoners, herding them into a circle.

Kiri helped you up, allowing you to lean into her. She quickly assessed your wound and deemed that you were going to be fine, as long as no one pulled the knife out from your leg.

Lo’ak held your head in the palms of his hands as he looked for any other slices Quaritch managed to make before stabbing you. He didn’t find any and sighed out in relief from that.

Spider had gathered Tuk in his arms and tried to silence her crying before any of the soldiers got inspiration from Quaritch and decided to punish the child for crying.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” you whispered between grinded teeth after the attack, trying your best to not yank out the foreign object in your thigh. You began to think that maybe you will end up dying out here after all, amongst the beautiful greenery of Pandora. Albeit it not being the way you wanted to go out, it still wouldn’t be the most gruesomest death you imagined happening. You just wished that you were able to kiss Neteyam goodbye one last time.

———

Furious wouldn’t even begin to describe the type of emotion he was feeling at the moment. There probably was no word equivalent to the emotion he currently felt.

Neteyam had ended up disobeying his Fathers orders of him staying with the ikrans, saying that he was ‘too emotionally invested’ and that his anger was too risky for what he was about to face. He thought it was utter bullshit that he wasn’t allowed to aid his parents in rescuing his siblings and his lover from Quaritch. If anything, it gave him more of a reason to focus and get everyone out of there safely.

He had managed to take down two Avatar soldiers in his search for you. He decided that they weren’t worthy of wasting his arrows on, slicing and stabbing them until their throats were practically open wide in exposure or had any time to process the pain. He’d been quick and brutal in his attacks. The more bodies he left behind, the more closer he was to having you in his arms.

His Mother had already released her arrow by the time he arrived on the scene, causing the other soldiers to shoot out into the trees and pull you all up in response. He was forced to hid behind a tree, eyes desperately searching for your familiar figure amongst the Avatar bodies and his siblings.

Neteyam’s eyes finally found your body, still in a soldiers grasp as they tried to pull you away towards where the others were gathering.

His gaze narrowed at the soldiers tight grip on you, robotically notching an arrow and drawing his bowstring back, almost immediately letting it go just as quick as his initial drawing of the arrow.

The arrow lodged itself in between the eyes of the soldier, it’s body slumping backwards as it’s grip loosened on your body, allowing you to follow its descent to the ground.

You groaned out in pain when your body made contact with the forest floor. You were too tired to move out of the way once you realized the soldier that had you in its arms had died, accepting your fall to the floor as gracefully as you could. The knife was still in your thigh, shooting electric hot pain up your leg upon being disturbed from the short fall.

You felt another pair of hands grab you and roughly pull you upwards, you screaming and kicking in retaliation. But just as quickly as their arms grabbed you, they let you go, a loud grunt and hiss following as their body was thrown to the side.

Neteyam had quickly made his way to you once he spotted another Avatar pull you up. He had unsheathed his knife and jumped on the soldier, causing the two of them to roll around on the floor before Neteyam brutally and repeatedly drove his weapon into the Avatar’s body, not stopping until he was certain that he caused enough damage to the fake Na’vi.

Stay away from her, he thought after every stab he inflicted, it’s not her time.

You had looked up when Neteyam delivered the final blow, slitting the insignificant soldier's throat.

You had never seen your mate this angry. Sure there were times where he lashed out at you after an argument or got so angry he hissed and growled at his brother for his ridiculous antics. But never, never have you ever seen him so vengeful. You didn’t even know if vengeful was the right word to describe how Neteyam looked like at the moment. But nothing else came to mind.

“Yawne,” you whispered out, desperate to catch your boyfriend's attention, wanting to get out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.

The teen whipped his head towards you, eyes dilated to the point where they looked like slits in his pupils. His chest was heaving up and down heavily, lungs taking big gulps of air as he did so. A few braids fell in front of his face, masking some of it as he looked at you.

His whole expression softened once he laid eyes on you. He could tell that you wanted to get as far away from the scene as you quickly could, that sad and traumatic look in your eyes at you pleaded with him.

Neteyam quickly shook out of his stupor and gathered you in his arms, being weary of the knife in your leg that he just noticed. Another thing that made him want to kill Quaritch himself.

“It’s okay, I got you yawntutsyip,” he whispered back, dodging all of the flying bullets and arrows he could as he weaved into the heavy forest foliage. His grip on you never faltered as he jumped over logs and ducked under stray branches to get you to safety. His whole body was on autopilot as he ran around, solely focused on getting you out of there alive.

Once Neteyam had decided he was far out enough to not be chased or caught by any more Avatar soldiers, he gently laid you down onto the soft grass, eyes quickly assessing your figure for any other injuries he should be aware about. He let out a sigh of relief when he came to the conclusion that you had no other wounds that needed tending to, softly bringing you into his arms for a warm embrace.

You immediately broke down into the hug, burrowing your face into the crook of Neteyam’s neck and wrapping your arms around his back to bring him in closer. Your sobs were a telltale sign of how distraught you were from the events that just occurred, brain still racing to process it all.

Neteyam softly shushed you as he put one hand on the back of your head and the other on the lower portion of your back, softly rubbing the skin in attempts to comfort you.

“You’re safe now, my love,” he whispered, kissing your hair, “I got you. You’re safe.”.

You relaxed into your lovers arms as he comforted you, feeling safe in his hold.

Neteyam had never gotten that blood thirsty before and that frightened him a little. If he acted like this when you were in trouble, can you imagine how’d he act if you actually died as a result of tonight’s events? He didn’t know the answer to that. All he knew was that you’re his and he’d do anything to ensure that it is not your time yet.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hi Gallus, I'm doing some worldbuilding and you seem like you could be connected enough for me to find an answer to the problem of dwarven agriculture. Many problems are created by the requirement of no sunlight, as even the common response of mushrooms still need light to break down decomposing matter as a primary energy source. Currently, we're thinking that they use a special type of mushroom that breaks down rocks in an energy-producing reaction, giving them enough energy to absorb nutrients and grow - this would serve a second purpose in explaining why building a massive hollowed-out mountain fortress doesn't produce an equally large amount of gravel.

Any thoughts? We're grasping at straws kinda lol

Well, some thoughts:

There's plenty of cave systems (especially Karst Systems) that are at least partially open to Sunlight- especially the kind that have rivers running through them, which is something else that's really helpful for agriculture.

For Example: This Cool AF Sinkhole cave in china that has an entire Forest in it

Now There's a view to put outside the city Gates!

Karst specifically is a landscape where underground rivers hollow out the limestone underground and then the cave roofs fall in. This kind of landscape answers your gravel question nicely: the hollowed out mountain does produce an equal amount of gravel, but the gravel turns up as the sandy banks of the river system hundreds of miles away.

So, there's your sunlight that can be used directly, or reflected or magically transferred deeper into the cave system.

Or they just put more holes in the roof! Unless your dwarves are also vampires, there's no reason for them to not hollow out a few Skylights into the mountain too.

But let's talk some other cave ecology and agriculture!

For starters, your dwarves could be sitting on top of a literal gold mine that would allow them to trade for a lot of needed materials and crops.

And by gold mine, I mean Salt Mine.

Historically, salt comes out of hollowed-out mountains and is worth more than gold.

Also something the humans have historically fought a bunch of wars over, so there's some free political tensions if you needed that!

I can also mean the possible fucking enormous piles of bat guano that accumulates in Karst caves, which is the world's most insanely good fertilizer, and ALSO something that has been worth more than it's weight in gold.

Speaking of Gold, another thing that often lives in sinkhole caves in abundance is BEES. turns out, limestone stalactites are a terrific place to build a hive that is difficult for predators to reach, stays dry and the stone substrate means the hives can reach many tons in weight before they start having structural issues. That sweet, sweet insect-derived liquid gold is already important to Dwarves in a lot of folklore- it's really hard to have a Traditional Dwarven Mead Hall without the honey to make the mead, you know?

So you got your mushrooms, you got your sunlight-grown sinkhole crops, you got your traded goods and you got your source of alcohol- the only thing really missing from an ancient food pyramid here is a staple carbohydrate. To that end, may I propose our good Peruvian Friend: The Potato.

Grain crops aren't actually all that nutritious and were kept around in ancient societies more as legal tender that kept the peasants busy, because wheat or rice takes months to grow, an enormous amount of labor to harvest, and wheat also needs to be milled before it can be turned into food- all enormously time-consuming processes that keep peasants busy and easy to rule tyranically over.

Potatoes though? Pop one in the ground in spring and you can dig up fingerlings all summer, and if you make potato towers, you can harvest up to 40lbs of delicious, easy-to-prepare-and-store carb out of a single plant- a real space-saver for the limited sinkhole skyspace.

If your dwarves have cheese, the potato makes even more sense, because Potato+dairy is the easiest, most nutritionally complete survival food there is.

Finally, consider: Dwarven Vodka.

This post is open for anyone to comment suggestions on, but that's my take: put your dwarves in a Karst-sinkhole cave system, give them a highly in demand resource like salt or guano, bees, and taters. Boom. Whole agriculture, economy and political scheme starters.

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XIII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

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Azriel had spent months planning it, desperate for every detail to be just right. Mating flights were an Illyrian tradition, most males crafting routes from the female’s family home to the home they will move into as a married couple. Azriel had gone a step further. Several steps, actually.

The flight had lasted hours, with several stops along the way. It began in the cabin in Illyria, your first home. Azriel felt like it was right - the both of you had grown up there, albeit in different centuries. He hardly knew much of you as you grew up - your father kept him incredibly busy for the first few centuries of his life, so much so that when the bond snapped when you were fifty, Azriel had only seen you a handful of times.

The two of you had flown through the dark skies, holding hands and synchronizing the flapping of your wings to make a beautiful song, imitating the beat of the bond in your chests. The first few stops were at various restaurants and the places you spent the most time together - the flower shop Azriel frequented, your favorite bookstore. 

The two of you spent a while following the Sidra, allowing its cold water to splash against the both of you as you flew close to it before shooting back up into the sky, laughter mixing with the sloshing sounds beneath.

Your father, High Lord of the Night Court, had not been pleased that you had mated an Illyrian male. He had hoped he could tie you to someone who could provide him with more advantageous political ties. But he accepted the mating nonetheless, reluctantly answering your pleas to allow Azriel more time off to tend to you.

The familiar sight of your apartment came into view, and you began flapping your wings once more, pivoting to make a downward slope, but Azriel’s soft grasp on your hand kept you gliding through the air, passing the street the two of you lived on, continuing your flight over the people of Velaris. He felt your confusion ripple through him, but he sent coaxing love down the bond to soothe.

The two of you moved up in the sky, soaring over the buildings, passing over the roof of one building and immediately feeling something soft falling on you. He watched you look up, searching the sky for rain, only for your ears to ring with the screams of joy from your family - Morrigan, Rhysand, and Cassian stood on a nearby rooftop throwing petals at the two of you. 

Your giggles filled Azriel’s ears as he watched Cassian wind his arm back, attempting to reach the two of you with his petals as you got further away, his last throw unsuccessful. It was better than the threat Rhysand had made about following the two of you on your flight, his offer to serenade you two quickly declined.

Azriel led you to the outskirts of Velaris, your path following the Sidra to a house on the bottom of the mountain. Azriel began banking, and you followed suit. Once he landed, you crashed into him, letting him catch you instead of landing on your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, trying to steady you but ultimately failing, the two of you landing in the tall grass, his back hitting the ground as an oomph escaped from his chest.

“Why do you do this?”

You poked his nose, straddling his waist as his wings cocooned around the two of you. “Because I think it’s funny.”

“I didn’t know you shared Cassian’s terrible sense of humor.”

You threw your head back laughing, and Azriel felt the warmth seep into his chest at the sound, the gentle beat of his heart going ‘I’m yours’, ‘you’re mine’, with each pump of the organ. He sat up, bringing you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he stood and carried you through the tall grass.

“Where are we?” Shadows caressed your hair, pulling stray pieces of grass that had made their way to your head.

“You’ll see.”

He walked up the hill, your face moving this way and that to take a peek at what was behind you, his large wings moving each way you turned to block your view. Your own wings responded by blocking his view, but his steps didn’t falter until he stopped and whispered into your ear, “look.”

He felt the chills you got through the bond, the sensation rippling through his body at his words. The bond was still so new - the only people he knew in his life to have one was your father and mother, a male Azriel despised seeing, a female he adored with every fiber of his being. It had been a year since it snapped - you had told Azriel of the bond one night, and despite your forwardness about it and his own lack of feeling it, he had assumed you would reject it.

He was pleasantly surprised when, instead, you had asked him to go out to dinner. At your invitation, Azriel spent the next few weeks courting you, going through the proper channels of wanting to marry a princess of the Night Court. Which included the shitshow of telling Rhysand, who promptly threw Azriel in a lake.

Your brother was fine afterward, the sight of Azriel dripping like a wet dog enough to calm down his overbearing instincts, offering congratulations once Azriel was within hearing range once more. Azriel had returned the favor nearly two centuries later when they all found out Rhys and Feyre were mates. It only felt right after all.

Before the pair of you stood a piece of land that truthfully wasn’t impressive from the onset. But this past Starfall Azriel had disappeared for a few hours, coming back scattered in the colors that streaked the sky, some poor excuse on his tongue for why he was missing.

And now you knew why.

He had been flying through the sky, catching the colors in jars, vials, and anything he could keep contained, the jars and vials now laid out before you on this plot of land, outlining a massive square with several additional lines, like plans to a house.

“Az, I-”

His hand stroking your arm shushed you, and you clambered out of his arms, moving toward the lights. The greens and blues and silvers you had watched streak the sky a few months ago laid out before you, telling you the story of a life not yet lived, a home not yet made.

You pulled him to you, his lips warm in contrast to the cool night air. His wings wrapped around yours, mirroring the arms that wrapped around your shoulders.

The two of you spent the night laying out on a blanket, reviewing the blue prints Azriel had brought along. How you wanted a big, open house with lots of rooms, but small enough to be cozy. 

The two of you debated for hours that night about the ins and outs of the house, arguments that lasted as the home was built. Opinions the two of you turned into competitions, roping Cassian, Rhysand, and Mor into them, ignoring Amren because she would always skew her vote toward whoever was losing to keep the competition alive.

Azriel was shaken from his dream, the memories of the past flowing in and out of his head as he slumbered to feel a tugging in his chest. His shadows swarmed him, yanking him from the bed, desperate for him to be moving. 

He stumbled out of bed through the darkness, his shadows throwing him a pair of pants and stepping into them as he walked hurriedly. He moved past the dresser, the one with a few jars of stardust buried beneath coats and blankets, a desperate attempt to keep their light. He made it through his door when you came out of your own, running into his bare chest, arms pinned in between your bodies.

“Are you okay?”

Azriel couldn’t get the words out fast enough - you were distressed, that much was obvious. Your hair was out of the bun you had fallen asleep in, your nightgown drenched in sweat, and you were covered in goosebumps. Azriel reached out, trying to wrap his arms around you to get you to go back into your room, but you kept squirming in his grasp, muttering something about Rhys.

Azriel called for him in his mind, a desperate plea for him to wake up, soft shushing sounds coming from his throat to calm you down, doing little to help your cries. The two of you waited several minutes until Azriel heard footsteps from behind him. He felt Rhys approaching from behind, peering at you over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

At Rhys’s voice, your head snapped up, red rimmed violet eyes peering up at him. You started pointing at him, voice full of determination. “I need your help, please.”

Rhys had slipped into Azriel’s mind, asking what was happening, and left quickly at Azriel’s less than helpful I don’t know.

“Anything in my power, I’ll do.”

“I need you to look into my mind.” Azriel’s arms stiffened around you, the mood quickly shifting in the dark hallway. 

“Some male followed me through Velaris. He gave me this really weird sensation. I didn’t-” You gulped down air, Azriel’s hand stroking down your back in rhythm with your breathing. “I forgot about it but he- I dreamt about him again- he’s not good, I just know it.”

Azriel didn’t have to turn to hear Rhys’s long sigh.

“I’m sure he wasn’t following you.”

Rhys didn’t think it was a great time to tell you or Azriel that he had hired someone in Velaris to keep track of you. He lived across the street from Rhys’s River House, a male Rhys has known for a long time. One of the few Velaris citizens to fight when the city was attacked a few years ago, he knew this male could protect you if need be. 

He also knew you would not handle it well if Azriel or himself were caught following you through the streets of Velaris. 

Azriel stiffened at the High Lord’s dismissals of your fears, but he didn’t know what to make of the situation either. Was it just a bad dream? Or had you really seen someone?

“Can you really read minds?”

Rhys nodded, a solemn look on his face, a stark contrast to the hope in your voice. “Then, look into mine! You’ll see him!”

“I can’t.”

Your face fell at the admission. “Why not? I’m giving you permission?”

Rhys sighed, looking around the hallway as if he could find the words on the walls. “You know how you.. Feel people? Their emotions?”

You nodded, eyes wild, not sure where he was going with this. Azriel’s grip on you tightened, well aware of what Rhysand was going to tell you. “Well, I can do something similar. I can gauge people’s minds - if they have mental shields, and sometimes strong thoughts wander into my own.”

Azriel watched him look at you, a sadness settling over his gaze. “When you first came here, I wanted to see how your own shields were, so in a way it’s like I poked you to see if you had any defenses.”

Your eyebrows knitted, not really understanding what he was saying. “But I don’t have mental shields.”

“You do. You just don’t know how they got there. Your mind is like an unkept estate - there are twisting vines and several layers hiding it from even the most powerful of daemati.”

Your mouth twisted, and Azriel felt an air of defeat cover you all before Feyre approached, her steps soft but loud enough to not be a surprise.

“But I swear, this guy I saw in town. He- I don’t know, something was wrong.”

Your words were jumbled, your form shaking in Azriel’s arms. His hand rested on the top of your head, moving back and forth in a soothing, petting motion.

A muscle memory.

One he didn’t know his hands remembered.

One he didn’t realize he was doing until you started calming in his arms.

“When did you see this male?” Your breath shuttered and Azriel felt heat pooling as you wrapped your arms around his torso, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“When we- were out in town.”

Azriel felt Rhys bouncing off his shields, desperate for a way in, your admission news to Rhys.

“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, sweetheart.” The name slipped from his lips, and Rhys was throwing his entire weight at Azriel’s shields, the shadowsinger planting his feet to focus on his shields.

“What if you came with me and I tried to paint them?” You peeked out from Azriel’s chest, looking at Feyre over his shoulder, nodding softly. 

A hole in his chest opened as you untangled yourself from him, his shadows lightly grazing your body, trying to keep you to him, but you walked through them, oblivious to their attempts to get you to stay. His body went colder as you walked away, Feyre wrapping an arm around you as she guided you down the hallway.

Azriel didn’t move until he heard the click of a door, and even then his movements weren’t of his own volition. Rhys had grabbed him by the back of his neck like a poorly behaved dog and dragged him back into Azriel’s room, the soft shut of the door a juxtaposition to Rhys’s manhandling.

“Sweetheart?” It wasn’t a question if Rhys’s growl was anything to go by.

Azriel gritted his teeth. “It slipped out.”

“And you went out into town with her?”

Azriel ticked his jaw, pulling his shadows tight around himself. “Feyre told her she could go into the city.”

“What?”

A new darkness crept through the room, pulling the oxygen from the room, the weight of the dark crushing for a second before Rhys reeled it back into himself.

“I’ll speak with Feyre about that later.”

The two stared at each other, Rhys’s violet eyes practically glowing in the darkness, his anger rolling off of him in waves the shadowsinger could practically see if he squinted.

“Rhys, do you really think someone followed her?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed his face, sure that if he could get into her mind he would see Damian following her through the city. “It might have been someone who recognized her. It’s been a few centuries, but I’m sure several people would recognize her.”

“Wouldn’t they have approached her?”

Rhys shook his head, “I don’t think so. If anyone did recognize her, I think they’d stay back. The wings being gone are a bit confusing for them.”

Azriel nodded, looking at his shadows that crept in beneath the door, updating him on your time with Feyre. “I don’t like her being out in Velaris alone right now.”

“I don’t either.” Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But she trusts Feyre and we can’t go back on what Feyre told her.”  

Azriel growled, “would you really allow her to leave if she wanted to?”

“Of course not. At least, not until she knows the full truth.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Whatever that even is anymore.”

Author’s note: what’s going on 👀👀

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blogand

Thanks for reading ❣️

[heavenlymorals]

Biblical References in Both RDR games.

I love biblical references so much. When it comes to literature, it's probably my favorite type of symbolism. Like I genuinely get so happy when I connect things to the Bible which is what I'm going to do right now 😊😊 I also like the way that religion is incorporated into RDR as a whole, including the main characters' reaction to it.

So yup, here are just a few references or connections that I was able to make in no particular order.

Also, some of these are complete reaches and I'm aware of that, but fuck it, it's my blog and I do what I want 💪🏼

- The character and tragedy of Issac. In the Bible, Issac is the child of Abraham who is asked to be sacrificed by God by his father as a test of faith. God eventually intervenes to save Issac because he only wanted to test Abraham's faith. Dutch is shown as a God-like figure to the gang, as their devotion is to him. Arthur, indirectly, sacrifices Issac by not being there and by following what Dutch wanted. Arthur, Issac, and Dutch are parallels to Abraham, Issac, and God.

- Leviticus is the book that comes after the book of Exodus. After the gang's escape or exodus from Blackwater after the Blackwater massacre, they are met by Leviticus Cornwall, who becomes the next obstacle for the gang. After the gang's exodus, they get in trouble with Leviticus.

- The image of the deer and a mountain. Psalm 18:32-34 in the Bible says, "It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way blameless? He makes my feet like deers' feet, and sets me upon my high places." In Arthur's condemnation of Dutch, Micah, and their evil, he becomes steady in his identity and beliefs, like a deer's feet on a mountain, which is where he dies in the end. W symbolism.

- The mission "Sodom? Back to Gomorrah." In the Bible, Sodom and Gomorrah were two cities that were so morally depraved and evil that God decided to destroy the both of them, saying that if there was even one good person in those cities, he'd spare them, but there weren't. In those missions, you also do two evil acts, going from one and then BACK to the other. You rob the bank and then go BACK to collect the debt from Edith Downes. So you finish one evil deed and to straight to the next. This can also show how morally bankrupt Arthur's apathy made him at this point in the game.

- Micah's guns say "Vengeance is hereby mine." This could be a reference to Roman's 12:19 "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord." Micah's violent nature makes him take his anger out on the world.

- "Your father is seduced by him with the forked tongue. It's no use hoping." The blind prophet to Arthur. Pretty straight forward symbolism, it's a nod to the snake that seduced Eve, just like how Micah manipulates Dutch.

- Dutch walking away from Arthur when he dies and though he realizes his wrong doing and feels shame, his pride forbids him from apologizing or saying he was wrong. This can be a parallel to how Adam and Eve run away from God when they feel shame over believing in the snake, but their pride won't allow them to apologize to God, hence damning them like how Micah damned Dutch.

- There were twelve ACTIVE gang members before the Blackwater massacre. When I mean active, I mean gang members who are canonically consistent (so not uncle, Swanson, Strauss, or the girls) on going on jobs for the gang. Micah, Bill, Javier, John, Hosea, Arthur, Charles, Sean, Lenny, Josiah, Mac and Davey Callender. Christ had 12 disciples and Dutch is portrayed as a savior to the gang, or a Christ like figure. And would you look at that, there is a traitor in both groups of twelve (Micah and Judas).

- Both John and Arthur's graves have scripture from Jesus's sermon on the mountain (Matthew 5:1-12). John's is blessed are the peacemakers and Arthur's is blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

- The go back for the money ending. If you go back for the money and have low honor, you'll see that the camp is engulfed in flames as you try to get the money. The fight with Micah is brutal and you die faced down in the dark. This death is an allegory for going to either hell and purgatory as you choose a final evil act of leaving your brother to possibly die just so you can get money as an act of revenge. If you have high honor, you are still surrounded by flames, but you still have a chance at heaven given that you die facing up seeing the light one final time.

- The help John ending has similar connotations. If you have low honor, you die by gunshot and are shrouded in darkness, which can symbolize the absence of God's light and how Arthur's final act couldn't absolve the lack of guilt he feels for the rest of the actions that he KNOWS are evil (click here for a my interpretation of Arthur's morality). In high honor, though, you get to crawl to the mountain side and see the rising sun, symbolizing heaven, warmth, and a new purity.

- In low honor, the coyote goes down to a dark cave, representing damnation and the rejection of holy light. In high honor, the deer steps into a heavenly field of light. Love that so much to be honest.

- Just the very Catholic vibe of Arthur's redemption. Doing good deeds, feeling guilt, all that.

- John's new life is basically this: "Let him who stole steal no longer, but rather let him labor, working with his hands what is good, that he may have something to give him who has need." -Ephesians 4:28. John gives up his old life to be an honest laborer, a rancher, and a proper man.

- The Strange Man in RDR rides on a donkey, which is pretty interesting because Jesus Christ also made his grand entry on a donkey.

- Just the Strange Man in general to be honest. Some say he's God, others say he's the Devil, and others say he's Cain from the Bible, which is my personal favorite theory but whatever.

- Dutch's horse could be a reference to Revelations 6:8- "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him." Dutch's rash actions caused the death of the gang and RDR's incarnate of Hades or Hell was Micah, following him. Dutch is the only one, canonically, to have a pale horse.

- "Am I prepared for eternal damnation? Am I passed any kind of saving? Or is that just fairy tales?" Arthur in his journal. I love this line so much because of its very agnostic nature whilst still showing the Christian mindset of 1899 America. This line also shows that Arthur is canonically agnostic which is a yippee from me because it's like the only thing me and this man have in common lmao 😭

- "Bad news awaits you, sir. Sadly, sooner than you think. But beyond the news, paradise awaits. Paradise.." Blind Man Cassidy to Arthur. Sorry but I just love that. High honor Arthur lived such an awful life but he still has a chance at paradise and heaven? Love that so much.

- God (pun intended), I love biblical symbolism. Couldn't you tell?

[writers-potion]

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

[mariacallous]

Two weeks ago, Hurricane Helene made landfall as a Category 4 hurricane in the Big Bend region of Florida. From there it carved a path through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee, leaving historic wreckage in its path as it flooded the region in 40 trillion gallons of water. The catastrophic damage in mountainous western North Carolina, especially, has garnered some of the most attention. Storms like this aren’t supposed to happen in places like that. Well, at least, they weren’t.

The all-hands-on-deck scramble to survey the extent of the damage, save lives and livelihoods, and restore power, water, and roads understandably still hasn’t been fast enough for those most affected. And just as understandably, the shock and the trauma of the storm have given way to conspiracy theories as a way to make sense of it all. Among those that have circulated either by word of mouth or through social media are the false theories that the government is razing property for lithium mining, that FEMA is bulldozing structures to cover up dead bodies, or that Democratic officials and the federal and state level are purposely ignoring the most Republican areas of the country.

There was also grumbling, especially in the early aftermath of the storm, that the media refused to cover what was happening in western North Carolina, or that the government had no money to help Americans suffering from the storm because it had spent it all on munitions for Ukraine and Israel. Another far-right theory for why the government supposedly hasn’t been devoting resources to disaster relief—which, to be clear, it has—is because it’s spending its budget on housing migrants.

The grandaddy of all the conspiracy theories going around, though, would have to be one most eagerly promoted by Georgia Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene. According to Greene, an undefined “they”—who, if we’re being generous, is meant to be the Democrats, the deep state, or the “establishment”—“can control the weather.” In other words, “they” are actively working to crush communities with historic storms.

Despite backlash from basically every possible corner, she continues, still, to push this idea that the government can enhance and steer hurricanes on a path that does the most destruction to red America, ostensibly to create a mess in swing states that can’t be restored in time for voting. I’ve covered Congress for a while, so I don’t say this lightly: I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a member say something this disassociated with reality. But there are people who will believe it.

Officials at the federal, state, and local levels trying to manage recovery efforts, Democrat and Republican, are at their wits’ end with the overwhelming amount of misinformation that’s impeding their recovery work. They have emphasized that, actually, they’re impressed with the assistance the federal government has offered so far. Unfortunately, that sobriety—from officials actually on the ground—doesn’t extend to certain commanding heights of the Republican Party.

Donald Trump—as of now—hasn’t gone so far as to claim that Democrats control the hurricanes. But he’s given fuel to plenty of other outrageous and dangerous theories. Last week ahead of a visit to North Carolina, he posted on social media that he was getting “reports” about “the Federal Government, and the Democrat Governor of the State, going out of their way to not help people in Republican areas.” At a rally in Michigan this week, Trump said that “Kamala spent all her FEMA money, billions of dollars, on housing for illegal migrants, many of whom should not be in our country,” and that “they stole the FEMA money, just like they stole it from a bank, so they could give it to their illegal immigrants that they want to have vote for them this season.” He said there had been “no helicopters” to relieve people, and that Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp had been unable to get in touch with President Joe Biden.

All of this is blatantly false. It’s also pretty horrifying with another dangerous hurricane moving through the Gulf of Mexico, poised to wreak even more havoc on the region.

Worse yet is that one of the central pillars of social media is owned by an credulous doofus who’s positioned himself as sometimes consigliere, sometimes rally clown, to the Trump campaign. Elon Musk has used his platform seemingly to spread any rumor that’s come his way. Late last week, he posted a note that said that “FEMA is not merely failing to adequately help people in trouble, but is actively blocking citizens who try to help!”

This has been a recurring theme of his, that FEMA is, effectively, working to worsen the situation. Fortunately, he was able to get in touch with Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg eventually, which calmed him down. That would have been a good first step, of course, before posting rumors about how the federal government opposes helping people.

The unfortunate question here, as we barrel toward Election Day, is: Does this pattern sound at all familiar?

Much of the country is in widespread discontent. Along comes Trump to either offer his own stories or inflame those floating around on the fringes, to give people someone to blame. Local and state administrators of both parties insist there’s nothing to these stories, but Trump and his sycophants push them anyway.

In other words, no: The pattern and spread of misinformation that’s emerged following Hurricane Helene does not give me confidence that the aftermath of the 2024 election, in the event of a narrow Kamala Harris victory, will go more smoothly than that of 2020. It almost feels like a dry run ahead of the election to test that the systems of deceit are still operable. They sure seem to be—only this time, Elon Musk owns the social media platform that dictates the pace of “news.”

What’s most disconcerting about the idea that the government can control and direct hurricanes to maximize wreckage, or that FEMA is actively working to block Republican areas from rebuilding, is the assumption of malevolence at the root of it. Most of the fact checks of Greene’s theory focus on how it’s obviously not scientifically possible for “them” to do what she describes. What’s equally important to stress—and it’s a shame it needs stressing—is that “they” wouldn’t want to do that. Joe Biden and the Democratic Party do not want hurricanes to kill, displace, and destroy the lives of American citizens. FEMA does not want Republicans to have trouble getting water. If you’re willing to believe these things, though, you’re more than willing to believe that an election can be stolen—again.

[humming-fly]

North Carolina Relief Masterlist

One of my close friends is currently living in North Carolina and took the time to put together this really nicely organized list of organizations currently taking donations after Hurricane Helene, and I thought it'd be nice to share it on tumblr as well since I know some folks like these kinds of organized lists! All links and descriptions come from her and her experiences with the orgs below. 👍

Foundation

The Community Foundation of WNC - Read no further if you want a catch-all, one stop donation spot for WNC long-term Helene response. CFWNC is a permanent pool of charitable capital for the 18 counties of Western North Carolina including the Qualla Boundary (land of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians). They are an amazing source of consistent support to many WNC nonprofits via grant opportunities. They have financially supported so many of the non-profits I have encountered or worked with. Donate to the cause of your choice via CFWNC (including the Helene response specifically) here.

Food Security, Farm Support & More

Bounty & Soul (Swannanoa Valley, Black Mountain, and Asheville) - decade-old non-profit currently typically focused on health and food insecurity now working in partnership with World Central Kitchen, MANNA, Hearts with Hands, and many others to distribute food, hot meals, and supplies. They are also working to resume purchasing and distributing fresh produce from farmers in WNC who still have crops to harvest and sell. Donate to their disaster relief here.

Annie’s Culinary Garden - I often frequent this small but mighty Black Mountain restaurant, which is closely partnered with Bounty & Soul. Annie’s was already embedded in health and food justice work pre-Helene but the last 2 weeks, Annie and her team have been working around the clock (using a generator to power their restaurant) to provide free vegan, vegetarian, and other diet-specific hot meals to retirement homes, distribution hubs, and also to feed the staff and volunteers at these hubs. This has been a huge need expressed to me by community members because much of the food available at distribution sites is not able to be eaten by those requiring special diets. Donate to their effort here.

Haywood Christian Ministry (Waynesville) - WNC’s largest food pantry has partnered with MANNA (WNC's largest food bank?) and is distributing food on the ground and requesting donations to help with the emergency disaster response. They are also directly purchasing from WNC farms to distribute fresh foods for folks cooking bulk hot meals and for families who can cook at home. For info and to donate, go here. 

Food Connection(Asheville-based) - I first encountered this org at a food waste solutions summit and thought their concept was brilliant. They rescue high-quality, chef-prepared meals and deliver them to neighbors in need (often those who can’t afford to participate regularly in Asheville’s expensive foodie culture). I have since seen them out in Asheville and beyond to rural communities doing exactly what they do best and delivering delicious, no-cost hot meals to Helene victims. Donate to them here.

Foothills Food Hub (McDowell County) - McDowell was hit really hard and this hub is working to source water and shelf-stable goods to distribute. They will continue to feed vulnerable populations and to support farmers with direct purchasing and a reliable market. Requesting monetary donations, which can be made online here.

TRACTOR Food & Farms (Spruce Pine*, Mitchell County) - In another hard-hit county, this hub is also working, much like the Foothills Food Hub, on connecting local farmers with folks in a system of equitable healthy food access in rural communities. Donate to this local food hub here.

*Interesting aside: Spruce Pine and its quartz mines were extremely damaged by flooding and this threatens the global tech industry. This rural town is home to one of the world’s only sources of high-purity quartz. The mines are currently trying to re-open.

MANNA FoodBank (Asheville) - This very large organization is still doing what they do best and distributing food, water, and more, despite having their warehouse/headquarters were destroyed in the flooding along the Swannanoa River. Donate online here.

Farmer Support & Advocacy

Appalachian Sustainable Agriculture Project (ASAP) (WNC) - this wide-reaching farmer advocacy org is currently reestablishing communications with WNC farmers and getting aid to them. They also have healthy food programs that, once operating again, will serve tangentially in the relief effort. I have worked adjacent to this org for the last year and am a dogged cheerleader of them and their work. Donations can be made here.

Center for Environmental Farming Systems (Qualla Boundry and WNC) -  CEFS works closely with the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, NC State, extension services and more to support food and farm initiatives across WNC. I previously worked adjacent to this org and was extremely impressed by their commitment and effectiveness. Donate (ideally to “Friends of CEFS” for more flexible funding) here. 

Tierra Fértil Coop (Hendersonville) - social and economic farmer cooperative formed by a group of Hispanic community members living in Henderson County that grows and provides culturally-specific foods but also has community programs to support the Latinx community in Henderson county. I have attended some of their educational events and have worked adjacent to them. I am ever impressed by their work. Donate to them by emailing tierrafertilcoophv@gmail.com.

Economic Justice & More

Pisgah Legal Services (all over WNC) - these folks do just about everything “life admin” for WNC's most vulnerable populations and have done so for over forty years. They provide pro bono civil legal aid, health insurance enrollment, and more. I have worked adjacent to them over the last year and could not be more impressed by their broad scope of bi-lingual legal work that maintains incredible efficiency and effectiveness. Donate to them here. 

Just Economics (WNC) - JE works on shaping the economic development of WNC in a way that benefits everyone and promotes a sustainable future. I have attended some of their workshops and found them to be powerfully educational. I am also grateful for their political advocacy for living wages for all in WNC. They are not directly working on the Helene response (as far as I know), but the road to recovery is long and their economic justice advocacy will be especially crucial as WNC rebuilds. Donate to JE here. 

BeLoved (Asheville) - Org working on improving the well-being and quality of life for individuals, families, and communities through our focus areas of Home, Health, Equity, and Opportunity. On-the-ground volunteers are currently collecting and distributing a wide array of supplies and BeLoved will continue to play a significant long-term role in housing and more. Donate to BeLoved here.

Health Services & Equity

Blue Ridge Health (WNC) - Blue Ridge Health is a federally qualified health center that is continuing to provide accessible & affordable medical care and mental health care to vulnerable populations (now including Helene victims) with their sites around the region and mobile clinics. Donate here.

Vecinos (WNC) - This rapidly growing org provides direct healthcare services to underserved, uninsured communities with a focus on WNC's farmworkers at their clinics and with mobile clinics on site at farms. Donate to their continuing services here. 

Asheville Buncombe Community Christian Ministry (Asheville based) - The ABCCM helps run and provide shelter in Asheville and is partnered with the Red Cross. Donations help pay for motel and food vouchers for local residents and long-term support for those displaced. A personal aside: ABCCM also has an awesome medical clinic serving uninsured folks and they were the only medical service I could find that would treat a tick born illness that I had when I first arrived in the US from Canada (I did not yet have health insurance). To donate to their Helene response, go here.

Schools & Youth

FernLeaf Community Charter School (Fletcher) - FernLeaf was partially destroyed by Helene (one of the school buildings was entirely lifted off of its foundation then dropped several feet away in a truly remarkable display of the power of water from a small nearby creek). Donate to FernLeaf here. 

United Way of Asheville and Buncombe County - The local United Way typically works on youth/child food security, educational support, and physical and mental health care services. The org is helping with immediate natural disaster response and long-term support for flood victims. Donations can be made online here.

Other

Blue Ridge Public Radio - obviously these NPR folks have been working around the clock to keep people informed in the old-fashioned way, over the airwaves. You can support them here.

[thorsenmark]

The Impact of Less Along the Blue Ridge Parkway by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While at the Bald Mountain Overlook with a view looking to the northwest across the ridges and draws present in this part of the Northern Blue Ridge. This is along the Blue Ridge Parkway. My thought on composing this image was to zoom into a portion of the setting to my front and have the forest seemingly spill over the image edges and create what an article I'd read many years ago, called the impact of less. The idea is to leave out the full setting and invite anyone looking at an image to use their imagination to fill in the rest.

[suuuupernovaaa]

yayayrnga’

yayayrnga’ [English] adj. confusing

Request from @jumexjuice69​ heyyyy :) I was wondering if I could request a neteyam x reader fic where the reader finally has the courage to ask neteyam out and he accidentally forgets which leads to a misunderstanding. Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you’re doing well!! 

You’ve worked for weeks to gain the courage to ask Neteyam to ride with you, and he doesn’t show up, leaving you devastated and confused.

979 words.

My palms feel sweaty, and my legs shake as I approach Neteyam where he stands with his brother and eldest sister.

Kiri, seeing me approach, breaks out in a teasing smile - she knows what I’m about to do, and will surely begin to tease if I don’t get it out fast enough.

I wanted to find Neteyam alone, but Neteyam is literally never alone. He always has a sibling, parent, or friend nearby. The burden of being eldest son of Taruk Makto, I guess.

“Neteyam?” I ask, clearing my throat as I join their small group. “I’m... going on a ride, tonight. Do you want to join me?”

Kiri giggles a little, but no one seems to notice but me. I can barely look at Neteyam, but force myself to meet his eyes with mine.

He is smiling, wide, down at me. “Yes. Just before sunset?”

I nod, my mouth nearly too dry to speak. “Yes. Meet me at the base of the mountain.”

Neteyam nods, and I scurry away before Kiri or Lo’ak can say anything to tease me.

--

The sun set two hours ago.

I feel like the biggest moron on the planet, but more than that, I feel really angry.

Even if Neteyam doesn’t like me, the least he can do is pluck up the courage to say no, instead of saying yes and leaving me here like an idiot. 

At first, I thought he was just late. After all, he has more responsibilities than anyone else, but once it got dark, I realized.

He isn’t coming. He isn’t coming, and maybe he’s laughing at me somewhere, with his sister who I thought was my friend - or at least, who was friendly to me.

Maybe I was a big joke to them, and they were hiding somewhere, waiting to see how long I would wait for him.

I will not give them the satisfaction. I should not have stood here for this long, letting my hope turn to tears, anger and disappointment. 

Calling for my Ikran, I connect and hop on, leaning forward to wrap a hug around her neck. She croons, feeling how upset I am, and we take off.

The cool air wipes the tears off my face as we fly up higher, higher, higher, and then bank sharply down towards the jungle. I try to lose myself in the ride, in the connection with my Ikran, and breathe in deeply the damp night air.

Txopu banks hard, to the right, and I grip tightly onto her, nearly falling off.

“Txopu!” I hiss, but then I see it. Another Ikran, rushing up below and past us, towards the sky.

Neteyam.

He levels out, and slowly sinks down to ride beside us, gesturing to me to land on the floating rocks nearby. but I am furious. He can show up an hour late, nearly knock me off my Ikran, and now he’s telling me what to do?

I pull away from him, in the opposite direction to where he gestured, back down the side of the mountain where we were originally supposed to meet. Dismounting Txopu, I charge off into the jungle as I hear Neteyam landing behind me.

“Y/N!” he yells, but I’m running now, and I’m embarrassed to be crying again. I run until I find a familiar stream, and I can’t hear Neteyam behind me, so I think I’ve lost him.

I sink down next to the glowing stream and put my face in my hands. It had taken me over two weeks, once I’d gotten the idea, to work up the courage to ask Neteyam to ride with me, and it’s gone worse than I ever imagined it could.

Feeling foolish, I never want to face Neteyam again. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear for at least a year.

Just as I’m thinking of creative ways to disappear, Neteyam appears through the foliage, his chest heaving. “Y/N!”

“Neteyam,” I reply quietly.

“You are fast,” he sighs. 

“You are rude,” I hiss.

Spreading his hands out to the side in a gesture of surrender, he then gestures to the ground next to me. “Can I sit with you?”

I shrug and turn back to the water, extending my legs to dip my toes in. It’s as icy as I feel.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I was so excited about meeting you tonight and I, Tuk came from her lessons crying, something about being picked on and I got carried away with it and I... I forgot.” He looks down at his hands, and I’m surprised at how ashamed he looks. “I went to the spot you wanted to meet, but you were gone, so I thought you might be flying. I would really like to make it up to you.”

“Bah,” I tsk’d. “How do you think you could do that? I waited for too long, Neteyam. It is... it’s embarrassing.”

He was trying not to, but a small smile crossed his lips. “Why did you wait so long?”

I rolled my eyes and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going home. It’s late.”

Neteyam reached up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back down next to him, much too closely. My mouth felt dry again, and my palms sweaty.

“The only one who should be embarrassed is me, Y/N. You do not understand how excited I was when you asked, how honored I felt, and then I... I blew it.” He loosened his grip on my wrist, and moved his hand down to hold mine. “I would like to try again, to really make it up to you. Please.”

Reluctantly, I turned my head and met his eyes with mine. “Maybe I will make you wait.”

He grinned again, his beautiful smile, and it was very hard not to smile back.

“I would wait forever.”

[cryforjudas]

“Dedicated of course to Sasha and to everybody who's even had a hint of what it looks like when your dreams start pushing their elbows through the gauze into the real world of blood & sweat & bone.”

I love goats metaphors,,

[blurredcolour]

We'll Meet Again

[One-shot]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Nine hours is all it takes for Eugene Roe to realize that his hesitance to share his feelings for you was completely misguided.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Pining, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: The title of this fic is based off the song We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn (I recommend the version where she is accompanied by Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of His Majesty's Forces). This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7578

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“Roe it’s not mine, I’m alright. Roe.” Eugene was vaguely aware of your voice as he pulled at your blood drenched field jacket, fingers fumbling slightly as he fought with the buttons before he was able to delve beneath, beginning to tug at your sweater and wool shirt, desperate to find where you were hit. “I’m fine, please…Eugene!” You grabbed his wrists forcefully, your blood-slicked fingers sliding against his skin, but it was enough to finally pull his attention to your face. “It’s not my blood, I’m alright.” You repeated gently as his eyes met yours and he exhaled at last.

He frowned anew as he lifted a hand to wipe at the splatter of arterial spray across your cheek, succeeding only in smudging the scarlet across your beautiful skin, marring it further. You sighed and gestured with your head to the SS officer laying on the table behind him, his now-unseeing eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, the wound at his neck obviously the source of all the blood you wore.

You tugged at his left wrist, which you still held within your grasp, and he looked back to you quickly, following as you led him over to a bank of sinks at the back of the room. As you released him, he watched you grimace slightly at the sensation of the blood growing slightly tacky between your skin and his. You took both his hands in yours and gently began to wash them.

Eugene’s heart throbbed tenderly as he watched the warm water sluice pink before your fingers thoroughly coated his skin with soap then rinsed it clean. Looking up to you with a soft smile, he was reminded of the state of your face and quickly swiped it clean with his wet thumb, lips stretching hopelessly wider at your warm grin.

“Nine hou’s.” He sighed, jaw clenching as his chest constricted painfully, the terror and anguish he’d been desperately trying to hold at bay all day flooding back to him.

“What?” You asked, confusion painting your face and he swallowed roughly, having to fight to focus while standing in your presence after so many months apart.

“Ya were missin’ – a hostage – fo’ nine hou’s.” He pressed his lips together, struggling to hold back the depth and breadth of his feelings on the matter.

He watched you swallow and put on that brave smile you wore for the sake of soothing your patients. “It was just like any other nine hours, except there were German patients and machine guns.”

“Please don’ give me tha’ smile.” He muttered sadly. “Are ya really alrigh’?” He pressed, eyeing you meaningfully.

Your brow twitched, mouth opening, looking about answer his question when the door to the room opened and you stepped back to grab a towel, handing it to him. “I’m just fine, Roe, thank you for asking. The rest of the SS patients are through that door there.” You gestured, nodding to the latest arrival, Webster, who quickly went through to secure the next room with Liebgott hot on his heels.

Roe watched as you assumed your professional mantle, leading him into the room where seven SS men, prisoners now, were being looked after by the rest of the nurses that had been in your hospital convoy when the 6th SS Mountain Division had decided to take you all hostage to provide them with medical care in this abandoned nursing home near Juchen. The women immediately flocked to you for direction and Eugene realized that you now wore a silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia on your collar, promoted since he’d first met you that night in February of last year in Swindon.

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“These heels are killing me…” You muttered as you finally escaped the dancefloor to sit at the table next to Eugene’s, wedging yourself into the corner defensively.

He’d been watching you all night. Watching as trooper after trooper of the 506th from Able right through Item asked you to dance, barely giving you a moment to sit despite how tired you looked, behind that beautiful smile of yours, and how time and again you accepted, too polite to refuse.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your combat boots.” One of your tablemates teased.

A mischievous grin crossed your features and Eugene ducked his head as he found his lips twitching automatically in response to it. “Well, I would have except every time I upend the things, I still find sand from North Africa.”

A chorus of laughter flitted around the table and Eugene was convinced that yours was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, finding himself thoroughly annoyed when it was extinguished by a couple of men sidling over to pull a few of your fellow nurses onto the dancefloor again.

“What was it like…over there…” A timid voice piped up as the band began to play that Vera Lynn song the Brits were crazy about and Eugene risked a glance at your face as you addressed a young woman, she could not be much older than twenty, only the two of you remaining at the table.

“Well, Barbara,” You paused thoughtfully, eyes focusing on some distant memory, the hints of fatigue he’d seen lurking beneath your smile coming to the fore for a brief moment before you turned to your colleague with a reassuring warmth. “It’s exactly like they say it’ll be.” You nodded firmly.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled in relief, nodding in renewed confidence as you each took a sip of your drink. Eugene swallowed, wishing he could hear your real thoughts on North Africa, not just the canned propaganda reels put together to show before the pictures, but the firsthand account of a medical professional. There was only so much training could prepare them for, and they all knew as soon as the weather was right, they were headed for France.

Despite the longing he felt to do so, Eugene did not ask you to dance that night. He drank a few beers and smoked more than a few cigarettes as you forced yourself onto the dancefloor three additional times before you and the youngest of your companions decided to call it a night. Eugene felt that was a sensible idea – the number of buses back to Aldbourne was growing increasingly limited by the hour.

As dictated by the blackout, clumps of people were walking on either side of the road with their flashlights pointed downward, barely lighting their way as vehicles with their headlights reduced to mere slits wended their way through the crowd of inebriated celebrants. Eugene could not help but feel like it was a recipe for disaster, but your laughter, like the peal of bells, pulled his attention from across the darkened street.

“It’s snowing!” You declared with a wonder-filled gasp, and he blinked up at the sky to feel the kiss of melting snowflakes on his cheeks, his breath curling and hanging in the notably colder air.

The peace of the moment was shattered as an unruly group of men from Fox company bolted across the road, trying to reach the same bus stop he was heading for, a drunken straggler not seeing the delivery van and unfortunately the driver not seeing him either – until it was too late. There was a squealing of tires, a ‘crash’ as the load within the van was displaced, and a sickening ‘crunch’ followed by a wail of pain. Eugene lunged into the street, surprised to find you already kneeling beside the victim as you looked him over.

“What’s your name, trooper?” You were smiling warmly, your colleague hovering behind you nervously as the driver had begun pacing anxiously.

“Robert Boye, Ma’am.” He replied through clenched teeth.

Unlike the calm look on your face, your hands were a flurry of movement, honing in on the compound fracture on the man’s leg, lifting your fingers into the slim beams of light to reveal blood from where the bone had broken through his skin. Eugene was already undoing his belt when you turned to him, and you graced him with a brilliant smile that had his adrenaline-fueled heart skipping a few beats.

“I’m a medic, Ma’am. Tourniquet?”

“On his thigh, please, trooper.” You nodded, shrugging out of your overcoat to drape over Boye. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright Robert. Just hold on.” Standing quickly, you walked over to the delivery driver though Eugene wasn’t able to hear your conversation as he finished checking over the man in the road, confirming there were no other apparent injuries.

“You’e from Fox company, righ’?”

“Yeah, that’s right…Easy?” He replied, shaking from the cold or shock – or both, most likely.

Eugene nodded in reply, lifting his eyes as the delivery driver raised his voice at you, the sound of crates and empty milk jugs hitting the sidewalk filling the night air.

“Ya crazy Yankee cunt, what in god’s name d’ya think yer doin’?!”

By then quite a crowd had gathered in the road, and the slur hurled your way had more than just Eugene’s hackles up. Undeterred, you stepped forward, looking the rude and careless man directly in the eye. “You’ve struck an innocent pedestrian and now you’re going to make it right, sir. Your cargo will be right where you left it.”

He returned the look coldly but seemed increasingly aware of the looming threat in the darkness about you, eventually huffing in agreement. You provided directions to a hospital Eugene recognized as the nearest American hospital, surely that was where you were stationed, before sending several men to help him load Boye into the back.

“Medic, please come with me?” You looked to him as you climbed into the van and Eugene nodded quickly, jumping into the back with you as you looked to the wide-eyed young woman standing at the curb, watching you in awe.

“Barbara, go back inside and find Fran. Get her to walk you home.”

“Y..yes Ma’am!” She nodded quickly before hurrying back toward the dance hall as the back doors of the van were closed, leaving the three of you in darkness as the van lurched into motion.

“Medic…” You huffed and introduced yourself properly before asking him his name.

“Eugene Roe, Ma’am.” He replied quickly, turning on his flashlight. He was rewarded once again with one of your heart-stopping smiles.

“Wonderful, you have a flashlight. Thank you. How’re you holding up Robert?” You turned your attention back to the patient, checking his pulse at his wrist, pressing a hand to his forehead – most likely to assess for temperature and perspiration.

“Hurts an awful lot, Ma’am.” He grunted as the van hit a rut and you nodded sympathetically, kneeling on the floor beside him in your dress uniform, balancing easily as the van wove its way through the crowd outside the dancehall with more care this time.

“Thank you very much for being so brave for me. Where are you from?”

“Yakima, Washington.”

“Tell me, Robert. If I were to visit Yakima, Washington what is the food I absolutely must try?” You asked, bracing yourself against the roof as the driver took a wide turn.

“My momma’s cherry pie, without a doubt. My father grows bing cherries. Best in the state. And then my momma makes the best pie you will ever eat in your life.” Robert replied with relaxed smile, conversation taking his mind off the pain in his leg.

“Cherry pie – that sounds positively heavenly. So, you grew up on a cherry farm?” Your practiced smile and encouragement prompted the injured man to ramble on about his childhood playing amongst the cherry blossoms, gorging himself on ripe fruit, and skiing in the mountains whilst you the pair of you subtly kept an eye on his wound and vitals. Ever vigilant for a sudden change in demeanour that might signify a head injury or internal bleeding – your patient management was effortless, and Eugene could only feel his affection for you growing.

He was admittedly a little disappointed when the van came to a stop, the flustered driver opening the doors as a duty nurse came outside and gasped to find the three of you in the back of the unassuming vehicle.

“I’ll be right back with a stretcher!” She called out before dashing inside, returning promptly with two orderlies to help load the injured Boye so he might be carted inside.

The pair of you rushed behind into the temporary hospital in a building that looked like it had begun its life as a warehouse of some kind. The shift Doctor appeared from down the hall, and you quickly provided all pertinent information related to treatment.

“Well, you two had best inform the MPs as well, before that driver disappears on us.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied quickly, shooting Eugene an apologetic look before leading him to the MP office at the front of the hospital to make your report, pulling your garrison cap from your head, reminding him to do the same.

You’d barely started your tale when the MP told you both to ‘take a seat’ and dashed out of the office to try and stop the driver and you looked to him with even more pronounced regret. “I’m so sorry, Roe, I’m sure you were just trying to get back to your billet.”

Your use of his last name undoubtedly came from place of professional courtesy, however a part of him ached with the longing to hear how your mouth might form his first name.

“Not at all, Ma’am.” He gestured for you to take one of the empty chairs, only sitting once you had sunk into it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you very much for your help. I was feeling quite adrift with no supplies but then the universe sent me you.” You smiled warmly and he swallowed thickly.

“Ya did all tha work, Ma’am, I was jus’ there.”

Shaking your head stubbornly, he frowned a little as he watched a small shiver roll through you, belatedly realizing your coat had long since vanished with Boye. He started to pull at the jacket of his dress uniform, and you lay a hand on his arm.

“I’m alright, just tired. Based on your accent, I’d say you need your jacket more than me.” You smiled teasingly and he huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes briefly as he straightened his uniform before lifting his eyes to meet yours quickly.

“It was impressive, Ma’am, how ya stood up ta tha’ man.”

You looked to him earnestly then, not sugar-coating your expression, or your answer, as you had for Barbara. “If we don’t stand up for our patients, Roe, no one will.” You spoke with breathtaking sincerity and all he could muster in response was a firm nod.

The door banged open as the MP hauled the very man in question into the office, his expression going livid as he once again came face to face with you.

“Goddamn Yankee cunt.” He spat at you, making Eugene surge to his feet to stand in front of you protectively, the scent of liquor potent on the man’s breath as he brushed by his rigid frame.

“I’ll be right back to take your statements, one moment.” The MP muttered, putting the uncooperative driver in a back room.

“Could this night get any longer…” You whispered and pinched the bridge of your nose, making Eugene turn back to you.

“How long ya been in England?” He asked, trying your own trick of distraction on you as he resumed his seat.

“Hmm? Oh, landed two weeks ago, I guess. Thought a break from the heat would be nice, hasn’t been quite as quaint as I was led to believe.” You laughed softly and shook your head. “You?”

“Las’ Septembah.”

“Well, I bet you know all the best spots by now then, hmm?” You smirked and he shook his head with rueful smile but did not have the chance to elaborate on his lack of free time as the MP returned to finally take your full statements.

It was nearly two in the morning once all the paperwork was done, the driver of the van turned over to the local police while the MP summoned a subordinate to return the pair of you to your billets.

“See you in a few hours.” The nurse who’d first greeted the pair of you poked her head out of the doorway to the treatment room.

You laughed without much energy. “For sure, Betty. Thanks for your help.”

“You work weekends?” Roe asked quietly, offering a hand to help you into the back of the jeep and you nodded as he settled next to you.

“My days off are Monday, Tuesday.” He must have frowned visibly as you shrugged with a weary smile. “It’s alright, I was the last to arrive here and someone needs to do it.”

As you hugged your arms around yourself tightly in the open back of the vehicle, overcoat still nowhere to be seen, he shifted to try and block the wind with his body. As you shuffled closer, huddling against him slightly, he swallowed thickly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“You’re going to do great out there, Eugene Roe.” You smiled warmly, the vehicle pulling up outside a nearby shop with an apartment on the second floor.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He murmured quietly, taking a shaky breath as you climbed out of the jeep, pausing to wave at him from the curb.

He ought to ask to see you again, to write to you, something, but a part of him was reluctant to start anything he might not be able to see through with his future so very uncertain. He lifted his hand in return as the MP pulled out to drive him back to Aldbourne, regret immediately settling into his gut, leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

Eugene was surprised when his belt arrived at his billet the following Thursday along with a note from you, once again thanking him for his assistance with Robert Boye’s care. You also assured him the patient was doing well and would be ‘fighting fit’ within a few months. He was impressed to see not a trace of blood on the woven fabric, indicating that you had obviously taken the time to clean it for him. Unable to stop the fond smile from unfurling on his features, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his ODs as he heard Spina’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You coming to London this weekend, Gene?” He asked, sitting heavily on his bed in the corner and Eugene found himself shaking his head in return.

“Too much to do.” He replied vaguely, recalling one of the posters from the hospital hallway calling for blood donations.

“You’re missing out.” Spina teased in a sing-song voice, laying back on his bed once he’d taken off his boots.

The smile you greeted him with Saturday morning when he arrived to donate blood thoroughly convinced him otherwise.

“That’s very generous of you Roe, follow me, I’ll get you set up.” You turned to lead him past a few of the occupied beds and he nodded warmly to Boye as he looked up from a letter he was reading. “If you could take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve please, I’ll be right back with the supplies.” You said as you gestured to a cot, unfolding a privacy screen before turning to fetch the necessities.

Eugene complied, swallowing thickly as he watched the way your hospital dress swished around your hips as you walked away, quite frankly preferring this outfit to your dress uniform. Returning with a collection bottle, needle, and some tubing, you lifted his arm to search for a vein. He swallowed thickly at the goosebumps that rippled across his skin, able to smell the scent of soap lingering on you, the proximity nearly killing him.

“I never did ask, Roe, where are you from?” You glanced at him with your professional smile, fingers settling over their target in the inside of his elbow.

“Loosiana, Ma’am.” He murmured softly, watching you insert the needle so smoothly he barely felt more than a pinch before his blood began to fill the bottle in your hands.

“Louisiana.” You repeated warmly, eyes flicking between the bottle and his face, listening while monitoring the volume you were collecting. “Famous for Mardi Gras, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “Tha’s righ’, yes.”

“A lot warmer than England, hmm?” You chuckled and shook your head.

“Did ya get you’ jacket back?” He tilted his head. “Thank ya fo’ returnin’ ma belt.”

“I did, yes. And again, it was the least I could do.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled this time, his heart swelling as he was becoming more skilled at discerning your real versus polite expressions. You pressed a piece of gauze over the needle before pulling it from his arm, the bottle now filled with the crimson fluid from his veins. “Could you apply pressure to that for me please?”

He nodded, fingertips brushing against yours as he took over, a jolt of electricity sizzling through him. Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the task at hand, and he could not help but wonder if you had felt it too. As you lay your fingers over his to lift the gauze and take a peek at the puncture in his skin, Eugene bit the inside of his cheek trying to maintain his composure. Replacing it with an adhesive bandage, you handed him a cookie to eat as you jotted down his information on the label on the bottle.

“Thank you aga–” Your gratitude was cut short by a loud crash over by the nurses’ station that had Eugene quickly on his feet though he noticed you barely reacted. “Sorry about that.” You sighed and urged him to sit back down with the gentle pressure of your palm on his shoulder. “I keep trying to fix that darn shelf, but the screws won’t stay in the wall.”

“Sorry!” Called a timid voice Eugene recognized as Barbara from last Friday’s dance and he looked up to you.

“I’d be happy ta take a look at it fo’ ya.”

You eyed him a moment, clearly weighing your desire to impose on him further. “Eat your cookie and then we’ll talk.” You ultimately said and he nearly inhaled the thing.

“I like fixin’ things.” He murmured once he’d swallowed, rolling down his sleeve and following you over to inspect the carnage Barbara had unleashed.

You helped her stack the last of the clipboards and manuals that were scattered across the floor onto the edge of the desk as Eugene looked over the shelf before eyeing the screws and finally the holes in the wall.

“You’ screws are stripped. Needs some new ones an’ maybe a few anchors.” He added as he eyed the weight of what you intended to store up there.

You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before grabbing a key from the desk. “Maintenance room is this way, shall we see if they have what we need?”

He followed you down the hall and around the corner to a room that was no more than a glorified cupboard. You pulled the cord on the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and he began rooting around, collecting tools in an empty toolbox before nodding to you to signal that he’d secured everything necessary.

“Don’t carry that with the arm I just took blood from please.” You reminded gently and he nodded again, walking back with you. “How can I help?” You tilted your head, nurse’s cap barely hanging on by the pins in your hair, presenting quite possibly the most adorable sight Eugene had ever seen.

“Could you an’ Miss Barbara hold tha shelf up fo’ me, please? Show me where ya’d like it?” He set the toolbox on the ground, grabbing the pencil he’d prepared as the pair of you positioned the shelf on the wall. He made a series of marks beneath it where he would drill new holes and marked the end placements. “Thank ya both, kindly.” He nodded and you set it down with a smile.

The sound of the door opening signalled the arrival of the doctor to do his midday rounds and you glanced at him, looking ready to apologize but he shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, you’ workin’. I’ll get this fixed an’ get outta you’ hair.”

“Thank you, Roe.” You nodded warmly before grabbing the clipboards from the desk and hurrying over with Barbara in tow.

Eugene did a thorough job of re-installing that shelf for you – putting new holes in the studs with the hand drill before tapping in a set of anchors to ensure it would never let you down again. It may have taken him a little longer than necessary due to the numerous glances he stole at you over his shoulder, but when his eyes met yours around the fifth glance, he turned back to his work quickly, cheeks burning, and did not risk another.

Once he was satisfied in the shelf’s structural stability, he began to place the manuals back onto it, hazarding a guess that you would want them in alphabetical order, glancing at you as you stashed the clipboards – now neatly back in their rack – beside them, rounds clearly complete.

“This looks amazing, Roe, I am once again in your debt.”

“It should hold alrigh’, even if ya get mo’e manuals.” He nodded humbly. “It was ma pleasu’e.”

“Well, I assure you we are extremely grateful.” You nodded firmly and he was unable to stop the slight smile that snuck onto his lips, watching as your own grew brightly in return. “Now I’m sure there’s somewhere you’d much rather spend your days off than our boring little hospital.”

He swallowed tightly, quite convinced that was utterly untrue but was unable to verbally disagree. “I’ll leave ya to it then, Ma’am.” He nodded, putting the tools away before shrugging into his uniform jacket once more and heading out into the drizzly afternoon.

It became a habit, spending his Saturdays at your hospital, fixing up little things that were broken but not priorities for the regular handyman. Donating blood every few weeks when you’d let him. It was, of course, all a thinly veiled excuse to see you – not that he would ever reveal that to you. As winter melted into spring, training and preparation for what was to come only intensified, and the potential outcomes remained at the forefront of his mind. If he were to speak honestly, Eugene, like many men, did not expect to survive the assault on France. Hitler had been there too long, had had too much time to get dug in snug as a tick. What they were planning to attempt was nearly impossible – just like his chances of survival.

You deserved better than that. Better than to open your heart to a man like him, if you even cared to, only to have him wiped from the earth by some piece of artillery or some such horrific ending. Eugene had a sense you’d seen enough horror first-hand in North Africa and he wanted no part in inflicting more upon you. So, he remained cordial, friendly, holding his breath and biting his tongue when your hands would brush, when you’d gently fix his tie after he’d gotten it crooked under the sink and when you’d swipe the sawdust from his shoulders before he put his uniform jacket back on.

The domesticity of your care and concern for him made his heart ache something fierce but he bore it stoically, silently, repeatedly like some kind of martyr. A smarter man might have stayed away but Eugene needed those few hours with you every week as badly as he needed the comforting nicotine of his Lucky Strikes. The news that they were shipping out to Upottery in late May was thus a rude reminder that his time, his life, was no longer his own.

The entire time he was packing, Eugene debated with himself before ultimately deciding to jot off a quick note of apology explaining his absence for that coming weekend and wishing you well until ‘next time.’ What a terrible expression it was. Forcing himself to take it to the post office, he sent it to the hospital where you worked before boarding the transit truck to move out. The days passed in almost a blur, the frenetic pace of preparation and practice jumps all leading up to the inevitable.

Eugene was dressed in full gear, having just secured his leg bag when he heard Vest call out his name, waving a letter addressed to him. Settling back down on the tarmac to open it, his brows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Eugene was so taken aback he nearly missed Meehan’s announcement that the jump was off due to bad weather that night, spending several hours re-reading your letter, thinking about the things he wished to write to you in reply. Vowing to put them on paper if he ever saw the end of this thing. By the time he made it back to Aldbourne in July, he made a visit to the hospital where you had been stationed only to be informed by Barbara that you’d left for France with the 47th Field Hospital five days earlier.

He swallowed his bitter chuckle while Barbara kindly scrawled your post address now that you were deployed. “If you’d like to write to her.” She murmured timidly and he took it with a soft thanks before heading back to his billet.

It made perfect sense that you had been sent to France; nurses with field experience were hard to come by and you were obviously too talented to loiter in England. Thus, he had taken the time to reply to you, a proper letter this time, though still withholding his true feelings now that his eyes were well and truly opened to the rapidity with which a man’s fortunes could change.

 Mail was slow, your replies taking a frustrating amount of time to reach him, and Eugene was certain you felt the same, especially as it became increasingly apparent that your paths through Europe were remarkably similar and yet did not cross again. Not until Easter Sunday of 1945.

2nd Battalion had left Belgium that morning, crossing the border into Germany in the grey light of dawn. It had been deeply unsettling to pass so close by their former positions in Bastogne, Foy, and Rachamps the day before. Memories, thick as winter fog, had put a damper on the mood of excitement amongst the men at being on the move again, a hush that persisted into the morning. It was a quiet that allowed them all to hear the frantic honking of a jeep horn, many of them, including Eugene, sitting higher in their transports to see a vehicle painted with the Geneva cross pull up beside that occupied by Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Welsh, bringing the entire convoy to a halt.

Craning his neck, Eugene strained to hear the conversation, but his attempts were futile as they were simply too far away. His brow furrowed as the rest of the batallion’s Lieutenants were called up by Speirs, a map was then unfurled on the hood of the jeep, intense conversation occurring amongst the huddled officers. Like some kind of silent movie without the title cards.

“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Heffron griped beside him, and Eugene shook his head, completely at a loss.

It wasn’t until Lipton returned to the back of their transport, hauled up with the assistance of Luz’s friendly hand, that Eugene understood the gravity of the situation.

“Hospital convoy has gone missing, boys. Left Aachen over four hours ago and should have arrived in Juchen by now. There’s no trace of them.” He began putting on his gear, a silent signal for everyone to do the same.

“Nobody just vanishes in Germany, Lieutenant.” Heffron muttered grimly, securing his webbing.

“Major Winters’ thoughts exactly. We have eleven nurses and four ambulances unaccounted for somewhere between here and Juchen. So, we’re going to find ‘em.”

“What hospital, sir?” Eugene piped up as he secured his satchel around his body, the men glancing at him, reminding him that he rarely spoke.

“Uh, the 47th Field Hospital I think, Doc.” Lipton replied before getting the men off the truck to begin combing the roadside for clues.

The 47th Field Hospital. Your 47th. He stood rooted to the spot, blind to all that moved in front of him, sound muffled as he felt like the only thing he could be sure of – your safety – came crashing down around him.

“Hey Doc, you coming or what?” Heffron called up to him and Eugene blinked rapidly before hopping out of the back of the transport to follow quickly.

Eleven nurses missing. Field Hospitals had roughly eighteen nurses, if fully staffed, meaning there was more than a fifty-fifty chance you were among the missing. He shoved his balled fists into his pockets and began searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. The infuriating feeling of helplessness rose within him like the tide, relentless and uncontrollable.

It took a further three hours of driving, stopping, searching, until finally a farmer reported having heard machine gun fire earlier that morning near Titz. A yawning pit of dread opened deep within his stomach as all manner of possible scenarios played out in his mind. The three companies split up then, with Easy heading into the town of Titz while Dog continued on the road to Juchen and Fox turned towards Gevelsdorf.

He was not able to lay eyes upon you for another two hours, and to find you soaked in blood had sent him immediately into a frenzied state of triage, desperate to keep you alive after finding you at last. Calmed only by the proof that you were unhurt, at the reasonable explanation for the state of your clothes lying dead behind him, Eugene had never been more annoyed with Webster and Liebgott than when they had interrupted his chance to speak with you.

The rest of 2nd Battalion arrived, taking over the building for the night and securing the prisoners until MPs could arrive the next day to take them to a nearby prison camp. Winters had ensured a wing was reserved exclusively for the nurses, though you had assured him a guard would not be necessary. Eugene had offered himself and the other Battalion medics to help with the schedule you were drawing up to watch over the patients, but you politely refused, insisting he had done enough. Eugene certainly did not feel that way.

Finding himself unable to sleep that night, he slipped out of the room he shared with Spina, Heffron, and Ramirez, making his way down to the makeshift treatment space you had set up to see if he could be of any use. He stopped at top of the stairs as he nearly ran into you, making your way up to the nurses’ wing with your wet field jacket in your hands.

“Roe!” You breathed, startled, before smiling at him tiredly. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Ya neithah?”

“Wanted to try and get this somewhat clean for tomorrow.” You murmured, gesturing to your jacket before glancing at him. “But no, not really.” You admitted softly.

He motioned with his head for you to follow him to sit on the ledge beneath a large bay window opposite the staircase. You draped your damp jacket over the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, turning to look out over the landscape as raindrops began to patter against the glass. He slid a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, offering it you and only once you had declined with a shake of your head and kind smile, lit it for himself.

“Nine hours isn’t a long time considering the years I’ve spent away from home.” Your hushed voice, a continuation of your conversation from hours previous, broke through the sound of the rain hitting the windowpane.

Eugene exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “It only takes seconds ta die…”

You eyed him sharply in the dim light, shaking your head. “You of all people know how little control we have over that.”

Swallowing tightly, as you did have a point, he nodded. “Sorry Ma’am.”

You huffed a little. “Eugene, every time you call me Ma’am I feel like my mother.”

“But ya outrank me, even mo’e so now 1st Lieutenan’.” His nose crinkled in confusion.

You hummed noncommittally, an uneasy silence falling over the pair of you as Eugene finished his cigarette, stubbing it out against the windowsill behind him. Neither of you seemed certain of what to say or do next. Of what you were anymore – no longer just acquaintances, colleagues, or pen pals. Despite his best efforts, Eugene was terrifyingly convinced you were a great deal more.

“What’s something you wish you had done before you came over here?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he inhaled sharply before giving you his answer without hesitation.

“Shoulda asked ya ta dance tha’ nigh’.”

He heard your breath leave your lips with a shudder, watching you stand with the sinking feeling that he’d misjudged the entirety of your relationship. It was only when you turned back to him with your hand outstretched that he remembered how to breathe.

“Dance with me now, Eugene.”

His eyes widened, confusion surely evident on his face even as he set his worn and battered hand in yours. “But there’s no music.”

Your fingers closed around his, tugging him to his feet as you began to hum that Vera Lynn song, bringing a smile to his face as he set his other hand on your waist to begin dancing with you in earnest. Your fingers laced through his, a shiver running through him as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder before laying your head against his collarbone.

“Cold?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“It’s nice.” He replied as you started humming again, the repetitive nature of the song making him grin slightly. “Finally got ta dance in you’ comba’ boots.” He murmured, discreetly inhaling the scent of you.

You giggled softly against him, leaning back to look over his features in the low light. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance, Eugene?”

He swallowed roughly. “Ya looked tired, Ma’am. Didn’t want ta make ya suffah any mo’e.”

“Dancing with you is not a hardship.” You whispered, the pair of you still moving to the ghost of the song in the now silent hallway. “I would have said yes with one of those smiles you like.”

He laugh softly, squeezing your hand slightly. “I was worried, too. Worried I’d do somethin’ stupid like make ya care ‘bout me an’ then get myself killed. But then I thought I’d lost ya today…did lose ya fo’ nine hou’s…” His throat clenched with emotion, sealing off his ability to say anything further.

Your feet came to a stop as you eyed him intensely. “Eugene Roe, you have no control over that either.” You admonished gently. “I do care about you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of his heart frantically pumping blood through his body filled his ears as he stared at you in wonder, awestruck by your fierce determination to bear affection for him despite the risks.

“M..may I…” He struggled to speak through the overwhelming adoration he felt for you, and you sighed fondly, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His grip tightened on your waist as his eyes fluttered shut, your soft mouth feeling like the finest silk brushing against his. He sighed dreamily as your fingers abandoned his shoulder to wend their way into his hair, drawing him tighter to you. He indulged in the impulse to slide his hand up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, the feeling of your back arching in response headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Your fingers gently unlaced from his, hand shifting to cup his jaw as you pulled back to press featherlight kisses across his brow and down his nose. “You didn’t lose me, Eugene.” You sighed against his skin, lips traveling across his left cheek. “I’m just fine.”

As you made your way along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss you fiercely, tongue darting past your startled lips to communicate all the things he could not seem to be able to say, holding your body so tightly against his as though he wished he could absorb you into his very being. You clung to him, matching the ferocity of his embrace with a reassuring tenderness of your own that had him melting against you, face burrowing against your neck.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He sighed with a bone deep weariness and felt your body shake against his as you laughed softly.

“Call me something better, Eugene.” You chided sweetly, kissing his temple. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to the column of your throat, trailing kisses up towards your jaw, reveling in the way your breath hitched in your throat in response. “Alrigh’ cher.” He smiled warmly before kissing you gently.

“Cher.” You repeated softly once he released your lips.

“Cajun for darlin’.”

He watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, a grin stretching over your face as you looked to him through your lashes making the muscles of his abdomen clench.

“That will do quite nicely, Eugene.” You sighed before your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him in to kiss him deeply.

You were both short of breath by the time you pulled back, hand caressing his face as your features contracted apologetically. “I should go before someone finds us.”

Eugene nodded begrudgingly as you were once again speaking the truth. “Goodnigh’, cher.” He said softly, loosening his hold on you.

“We’ll meet again, Eugene.” You smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth in the not-so-dark hallway as the light of pre-dawn began to seep through the tracks of rain cascading down the window, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the name of that damn song.

“You’d bettah not be covered in blood nex’ time, cher.” He admonished playfully, freshly addicted to the way your lips ticked up at the corners every time he said it.

“Likewise, Eugene.” You laughed and blew him a kiss before grabbing your surely still-damp field jacket, walking backwards as far as you could until you absolutely had to turn around.

He stood on the porch the next morning, hiding from the rain as he watched you load the nurses in your charge into newly arrived ambulances to complete your journey to the field hospital in Juchen. He barely looked up as he heard the scuff of jump boots on the worn brick beside him, Heffron leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, trying to soak in every last moment of your presence before you were inevitably parted once again. It was a great comfort to know you’d be just twenty-five kilometres behind him, perhaps a sign of kinder times ahead.

“So, you get your hands on some tits in Titz?” Heffron asked with a sly grin, making Eugene turn to him sharply.

“Heffron, watch you’ damn mouth.” He snapped at him brusquely, making the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Sheesh, Doc, she must be somethin’ special. Sorry.” He squawked and pointed at the road. “She’s looking this way.”

Eugene looked back quickly to see you, drenched by rain, waving at him with a bright smile he could still see despite your helmet, and he waved back, cheeks aching a little as his expression automatically mirrored yours.

“You’d bettah keep this to you’self, Heffron.” Eugene rounded on him with a serious look that he hoped was intimidating as soon as you pulled the backdoor of the vehicle shut behind you.

“Your secret is safe with me, lover boy.” Heffron winked, and Eugene did not believe him for a second.

-------------------------

Read the Sequel - Born To Be Yours

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos

[cosmicpuzzle]

Favourite places for each sign

Aries: Gym, playgrounds, training camps, mountains, hill top.

Taurus: Malls, restaurant, Grocery stores, supermarkets, saloons, parlours, landscapes, gardens

Gemini: Libraries, schools, classrooms, Neighbour's home, friend's home, parks, playgrounds, gaming place at malls.

Cancer: Home, seaside, beaches, seafood restaurants, kindergartens, museums, ancient monuments, old historical buildings, day care, hospitals.

Leo: Movie theatre, sports stadiums, children's parks, birthday parties, playstations.

Virgo: Hair Saloons, hospitals, hotel room (especially room service), libraries, gyms, pharmacy, grocery stores, gardens.

Libra : Malls, wedding halls, movie theatres, honeymoon spots.

Scorpio: Night places, pubs, bars, graveyards, funerals, mining sites, underground paths, petrol bunks, toilets.

Sagittarius: College campus, universities, flights, open big parks, mountains, landscape.

Capricorn: Banks, government offices, historical buildings, tall buildings, glass buildings.

Aquarius: Internet, friends places, reunions.

Pisces : Bedrooms (dark), cinema halls , swimming pools, private corner anywhere, bathrooms.

If you have any add to it!

[forgotteneilionora]

OOC | Astairan Wedding Traditions

ok so this is inspired by [ this ] post and these tags:

#ooo.... is handfasting a tradition in astairan weddings?#bc i could see#valentina malconaire objecting to this!#and then astairans not considering the eithne/cassimir union#as valid since it didn't happen#also its just a pretty tradition i love!

i loooove this!!!! both for the tradition and for the ~general vibes for astaira andddd for the plot point it could play!!!!! and i thought we might take this opportunity to talk about weddings in general -- i was literally reading up on traditional irish wedding vows just last night bc we were talking about domhnall's wedding etc!

i can also 100% see @forgottenvalentina specifically objecting to a tradition the astairans hold dear on ~roderick grounds or vice versa specificially w the hope itd invalidate the wedding too smdh so this verrrrrry much fits!

also the wedding vows:

[ “Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, `til our Life shall be Done. You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand." ] “I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day it shall only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning; I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine, never shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next." “I, (name), in the name of the spirit of God that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee (name) to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself. By the power that Christ brought from heaven, mayst thou love me. As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me. As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart, May thy presence be with me, Oh one that I love, `til death comes to part us asunder. “We swear by peace and love to stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand. Mark, O Spirit, and hear us now, Confirming this our Sacred Vow.” “You are the star of each night, You are the brightness of every morning, You are the story of each guest, You are the report of every land. No evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank, In field or valley, on mountain or in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, Nor on shore, in skies above, Nor in the depths. You are the kernel of my heart, You are the face of my sun, You are the harp of my music, You are the crown of my company.” “Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me and just be my friend.” “May the gentle breeze bear witness to this ritual, and carry its message to all lands. May the sun warm their hearts, and its ever burning fire fuel their desire for each other. May the water provide for them from its bounty, and comfort their souls with their sounds. May the land lend its strength and reveal its mysteries."

and like literally swearing by the breeze and the sun and water and land like????? if that aint so astairan!!!!!! there's def tons of other stuff but yeah

also apparently irish brides traditionally wore blue, back in the day, that were long and flowy w intricate embroidery, celtic knots, and a big sash or belt! often including a hooded cloak in weather!

she also traditionally has a handkerchief embroidered w like a motto or the couple's initials or an emblem or smth of significance to them, and then that's used as the bonnet for the firstborn child at their christening, and handed down to them to potentially use at their own wedding etc generation after generation

also the handfasting probs means that 'tying the knot' is an expression in astaira (that would baffle the varmonts too btw!) which is fun <3

[ Ever heard the phrase “your goose is cooked”? ] Traditionally, the night before the wedding, a goose would be cooked in the bride’s house for the groom’s wedding meal. When the meal was fully prepared, it would be seen as bad luck for life to back out of the wedding. So, the phrase, “your goose is cooked” pretty much means there’s no backing out now!

there's this thing w the child of progue that might be done w statues of the guardians?

[ This is a funny Irish wedding tradition. The child of Prague is a statue popularly known to ward off bad weather, which can rue the day. The figure is placed in different ways but performs the same function. ] Some parents leave their children in their hallway the night before a wedding. Others abandon their children outside, while some put the child out under a bush. In addition, people tend to behead the statue before placing it at the selected spot. The rationale is that the figures are not of the best quality. Their head usually fell off by themselves when left out overnight; hence, it was better off already beheaded. Some people even reattach it afterward.

guests have bells to ring ward off evil spirits and discord! they set to ringing them as the couple walks down the aisle and bells are sometimes included in the bride's bouquet

Weddings were civil, not religious, affairs. While some involved a vow of lifelong fidelity, that wasn’t universal. The ancient Celts recognized several types of marriage. And they also had very liberal divorce laws. They knew not all marriages would last, and they planned for it. In ancient Celtic traditions, one could opt for a one-year trial marriage. If all went well, they could take more permanent vows. If it didn’t work out, they each went their way, free to try again. Men and women enjoyed equal rights in the 1100s. Irish brides owned their property; if the marriage ended, they took it with them. They would also take a portion of any wealth the couple acquired together.

so yeah obv there's lots more these were just some things that jumped out at me after a cursory review that felt astairan for one reason or another <3

[stxrslut]

THE OUTER BANKS X HUNGER GAMES AU

new and improved hunger games au introduction post!

lets start with the basics!

what are the significant events in this au?

the first significant event in this au is the 75th hunger games (the quarter quell). It is significant as it is what brings all of the characters together for the first time and is where a lot of my fics are set. the next significant event is obviously the rebellion, and alike is where a lot of my fics are set!

what kind of fics do you write for this au?

the fics that I write for this au don’t really make up one huge story like a novel might. instead the fics I write are just little snippets of the events that happen, often reflecting little, often romantic moments between the characters going through the bigger plot lines.

and obviously as I write for different characters, some of the fics may not match up if you were to try and place them on a storyline.

do any of the characters from the original hunger games exist in this au?

yes! Annie, Cinna, Clove, Cato, Snow, Boggs, Coin, effie, haymitch

what are the useful things to know about this au?

this au follows the movies in the sense that district 4 tributes are all reaped, rather than careers like they would be following the books.

the rebellion is first inspired right before the 75th games, in the period where the tributes are desperately trying to stop the quarter quell from happening. (much less touching then the katniss / rue narrative, but unfortunately I couldn’t find a way to make that work)

once the tributes win their games, they are given the opportunity to live in the capitol, all of the characters take it up.

in the quarter quell, instead of two tributes being picked form the winners of each district, four are picked, two male tributes and two female tributes.

how similar is this au to canon hunger games?

this au is similar! whilst some of the canon characters do not exist, it still follows the same pattern of, 75th games happen, tributes are taken to d13 and rebellion takes place.

what characters do you write for in this au?

in a romantic sense, in this au I write for all of the same people I write for normally, but obviously the hunger games version of them!

HUNGER GAMES AU CHARACTERS

JJ Maybank. district 4.

jj won the 68th games at 16 years old. the arena was set out as a desert with scattered lakes around.

he is known for his combat and survival skills. he fought his way into winning. he used a machete knife retrieved from the cornucopia as his main weapon, his signature move being to essentially gut the other tributes. it was a violent tactic but it worked.

he became known for his charm and charisma after moving to the capitol. the ladies are all over him though he’s never taken too much interest, a one night stand here and there satisfying him enough until he finds someone perfect.

John B Routlege. district 4.

john b won the 69th games at 17 years old. the arena was set out like an abandoned mine shaft, very cold and very few areas had light.

he won his games using his extremely good survival tactics. he set basic traps around him and then mostly hid, using the few recourses he retrieved from the cornucopia to survive the three days that the games went on for.

when moved to the capitol, he reunited with his childhood best friend jj maybank. they became an iconic duo of sorts, always seen together, a pair of heartbreakers to the public. two of the most liked victors in the whole of the capitol.

Pope Heyward. district 3.

pope won the 66th games at 15 years old. his arena consisted of multiple sharp, jagged rocked mountains, white rapid rivers and waterfalls.

he used natural recourses to create electricity, setting it up near the water so that it would react and kill any of the tributes who would unsuspectingly go near.

he lives on the outskirts of the Capitol, much more rarely seen than the other tributes. he’s smug and snarky, though he has enough charm to make people like him.

Rafe Cameron. district 1.

Rafe volunteered for and won the 65th hunger games at 15. his arena was a tropical forest with waterfalls and caves all over.

he was trained well, he used pure combat skills, channeling all of his rage into winning the games. he was determined to prove his doubtful family wrong.

he’s known within the capitol to be quite the ladies man, always attending the big invite only parties and walking out with a different girl hanging from his arm. though there’s another, more angry side of him that’s also known to be seen from time to time. he’s one of the most known victors, loved by all and yet also strangely feared.

Kiara Carrera. district 2.

Kiara volunteered for and won the 71st games at 17 years old. the arena was made to be a big thriving forest, full of poisons and mutts.

she used her training from the district 2 academy to simply fight her way through the games, winning only shortly after the cornucopia.

she lives a life of luxury in the capitol, often showing off her inherently “bitchy” personality in public, she may be less liked but she sure knows how to win some games.

Sarah Cameron. district 1.

Sarah was pushed into volunteering for and won the 72nd games at 18 years old. her arena was filled with snowy ice glaciers.

she used her training from the academy to make herself a shelter and wait out the games, though she was occasionally seen shooting down other contestants with the wooden spears she’d fashioned from her spare firewood.

in the capitol she’s seen as mysterious, only ever making appearances when she absolutely needs to. the other tributes have met her and are on friendly terms with her, though she never goes out of her way to spend time with anyone but herself.

Cleo. district 13.

cleo was born and raised in district 13, and once the revolution begins, is one of the people to help the tributes of the 75th games.

cleo was one of the only children to survive the plague in 13, her parents died during it. she was taken in by boggs, who taught her everything she knows about survival.

she has a tough exterior and she doesn’t trust coin, she is in fact known to be one of the only people in the district that coin is just a little bit scared of. despite this, she is there for the people, and is not afraid to fight for what is right when she needs to. even if what she is fighting for is as simple as demanding a child like primrose everdeen to be able to keep her cat.

thg!reader. district 4.

you won the 73rd hunger games at 18. your arena was built as a ruined city, full of rubble and abandoned amenities.

you used your own innocent demeanour to trick the other tributes into trusting you. once you had them in a good position you’d throw a knife or stab them in the leg or arm with a knife coated in nightlock. you’d make it seem like an accident, keeping them to protect you for as long as you could. by the time they would think about betraying you, the poison running through their blood would kill them already.

you become well known in the capitol, loved by all because of your sweet personality. the other tributes also take a fascination to you, though none of them go further than a little flirty conversation from time to time. little do they know that the third quarter quell is approaching, and they’re all about to be thrown right into the games that they all thought they’d never experience again…

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS

ward cameron : won the games young and quickly rose up the rankings, by the time rafe and sarah were made to compete he had secured a permanent job as presidential advisor for snow himself, subsequently placing incredible pressure on his two children’s shoulders to live up to him

big john routlege : climbed up the ladder as quickly as he could the moment that his son won the games. he valued nothing but fame and status. he became a game maker, earning his sons hatred as he now undergoes the horrors that he designs.

barry : after winning his games for district one young, he decided to stop caring. he lived a life on the edge of the capitol, selling contraband to peacekeepers and learning the ways of the dangerous people. only for his life to change ever so slightly, when he is made to mentor district ones rafe cameron.