#like i want them to have more of a farming culture than they do in the game

[thefaeriecreek]

Continuing my series of botw redesigns, I'm working on my boyfriend Revali!

[reasonsforhope]

"Discarded shells from restaurants and hotels are being used to restore damaged oyster ecosystems, promote biodiversity and lower pollution in the city’s bays...

Nestled in between the South China Sea and the Pearl River Delta, Hong Kong has been seen historically as an oyster hotspot. “They have been supporting our livelihood since ancient times,” says Anniqa Law Chung-kiu, a project manager at the Nature Conservancy (TNC) in Hong Kong. “Both oysters and their shells are treasures to humans.”

Over the past five decades, however, the city’s sprawling urban development, water pollution, as well as the over-harvesting and frequent seafloor dredging by the lime industry – which uses the crushed shells to make construction material – have destroyed Hong Kong’s oyster habitats and made the waters less hospitable for biodiversity.

The more oyster colonies falter, the worse the problem gets: oysters are filter feeders and purify water by gobbling up impurities. Just one Hong Kong oyster can filter up to 200 litres of water a day, more than any other known oyster species. But decades of rapid industrialisation have largely halted their water-purifying services.

The depletion of Hong Kong’s natural oyster reefs also affects the ability of local farmers to sustainably cultivate their oysters in a healthy environment, denting the reputation of the city’s 700-year oyster farming tradition, designated by Unesco as an “intangible cultural heritage”.

Inhabitants of the coast feel abandoned, says Ken Cheng Wai-kwan, the community leader of Ha Pak Nai on Hong Kong’s Deep Bay, facing the commercial city of Shenzhen in China. “This place is forgotten,” Cheng says. “Oysters have been rooted here for over 400 years. I ask the question: do we want to lose it, or not?”

A group of activists and scientists are taking up the challenge by collecting discarded oyster shells and recycling them to rebuild some of the reefs that have been destroyed and forgotten in the hope the oysters may make a comeback. They’ve selected locations around the island where data they’ve collected suggests ecosystems still have the potential to be rebooted, and there are still enough oyster larvae to recolonise and repopulate reefs. Ideally, this will have a positive effect on local biodiversity as a whole, and farming communities.

Farmers from Ha Pak Nai were among the first to hand over their discarded shells to the TNC team for recycling. Law’s team works with eight oyster farmers from Deep Bay to recycle up to 10 tonnes of shells every year [over 22,000 pounds]. They collect an average of 870kg every week [over 1,900 pounds] from 12 hotels, supermarkets, clubhouses and seafood restaurants in the city, including some of its most fashionable establishments. About 80 tonnes of shells [over 176,000 pounds] have been recycled since the project began in 2020.

Restaurants will soon be further incentivised to recycle the shells when Hong Kong introduces a new fee for waste removal – something that is routine in many countries, but only became law in Hong Kong in July and remains controversial...

Preliminary data shows some of the restored reefs have started to increase the levels of biodiversity, but more research is needed to determine to what extent they are contributing to the filtering of the water, says Law.

Scientists from the City University of Hong Kong are also looking to use oyster shells to increase biodiversity on the city’s concrete seawalls. They hope to provide tiny, wet shelter spots around the seawall in which organisms can find refuge during low tide.

“It’s a form of soft engineering, like a nature-based solution,” says Charlene Lai, a research assistant on the team."

-via The Guardian, December 22, 2023

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi! Big fan :) You're an environmental lecturer, right? I recently got into a debate with someone about rewilding in the UK, and the clash with farmers and agriculture. To me, this is a no-brainer - I absolutely do feel for farmers losing their livelihoods, and I think there needs to be a system to help them transition to something else, but also, the planet is dying. But you explain things well, so I wondered if you have thoughts? Particularly on the Welsh side of things. Thank you in advance!

Hah. I literally have a lecture on this. Or, well, a chunk of a lecture, anyway; so yes! I have thoughts. I'll use those notes, and stick a big reference at the end in case you want to read more

I'll talk about this specifically from the Welsh perspective, okay so:

The rewilding project in Wales is the Cambrian Wildwood, launched in 2004ish by a guy who bought an abandoned farm in the northern end of Mid Wales with the express intention of rewilding it. The aim is to convert some 7000 acres, and the initial mission statement said they'd reintroduce wolves and lynx. That's the project I'm going to talk about, because it's a great case study for how to spectacularly fuck something up (and eventually realise you've spectacularly fucked up, and do something about it.)

These are the Cambrian Mountains:

When looking at that, there are two competing viewpoints that are relevant here:

The Cambrians are ecologically depleted. Their biodiversity has crashed since the Second World War, when modern farming methods were introduced. Environmentally, there is a perception of emptiness and degradation.

The landscape is a glorious one that has been shaped by the human actions taken on it for generations, as we are a shepherding culture – culture and land are inextricably intertwined.

That's a big fundamental difference! Two people can look at that same photo, and see something diametrically opposed. But there's more lying on it, so you also need to understand the socio-political background.

Socio-Political Background

(I know! Headings! So professional)

A lot of rewilding – Cambrian Wildwood included – is taking place in areas where farming is declining for various political/socio-economic reasons, so this can be ENTIRELY FAIRLY seen as yet another threat. This goes hand in hand with rural migration and community decline, too.

In Wales, we’re mostly rural, and characterised by extensive upland livestock farming (sheep in particular). Most farms are small to medium family-run setups. ON TOP OF THAT, the vast majority of Welsh farmers are Welsh-speaking, and the right to operate a farm the ‘traditional’ way without UK government oversight is seen by Welsh Nationalists as an important post-colonial act.

Many of them didn’t even like the National Parks being set up, as they were seen as an English outsider imposition that ignored the working nature and cultural history of the land. Remember: the farmed uplands are often seen as a heartland of Welsh identity, and those have historically been intentionally destroyed by UK central government land management decisions (e.g. Tryweryn, Elan, Claerwen, etc)

“Over the past half century we have witnessed the arrival of countless environmental fundamentalists… seemingly oblivious to the fact that their new-found paradise is already occupied by people whose connection with the land is deep rooted, dates back thousands of years, and is embedded in their language and culture.” (Nick Fenwick [Farmers’ Union of Wales] 2013)

SO IT’S CULTURALLY DICEY

(And in my opinion an incredibly stupid idea to go and give it a primarily English name with a Welsh translation as an afterthought but that is Elanor’s Opinion and not Scientific Fact)

(But fr fr if you ever have to get involved in these sorts of projects you will go a long way if you have the basic respect of learning the Welsh names and pronouncing them right rather than lazily expecting everything to be in English sorry sorry I digress)

From the Cambrian Wildwood’s Mission Statement on their website, their objective is:

“To rewild or restore land to a wilder state to create a functioning ecosystem where natural processes dominate by carrying out habitat restoration, removing domestic livestock, and introducing missing native species as far as feasible.”

Can you see the controversial bit of the statement

Can you see the bit where they directly say they want to remove domestic livestock

Jesus Christ

Cultural Differences

AND THEN HERE'S THE BIGGER PROBLEM

‘Culture’ in Welsh is diwylliant – literally, a ‘lack of wildness’. There is no direct translation into Welsh for the term ‘rewilding’ – the closest you can get is anialwch or diffeithwch, which mean ‘wilderness’ in the sense of ‘desert’ or ‘wasteland’. So right off the bat, if you tell a Welsh-speaking farmer that you want to rewild the place, what they hear is "We want to make it dangerous and empty and degraded."

A related concept is cynefin - knowing one’s ‘patch’ and the feeling of belonging associated. The term has its roots as a description of the way grazing animals know their area of mountain land, but it is also used to describe how people come to form an intimate experiential knowledge of place - and specifically, a Welsh farmer's cultural attitude.

Basically, Welsh literature and oral traditions speak of a relationship with the land, not a separation and longing for an untouched wilderness. Farmers feel this especially keenly. Culturally, this is a big part of why they do it – they’re rooted to the land, and therefore to their identities.

“Interviewees conveyed this by referring to areas proposed for rewilding as being comprised of “a quilt of cynefinoedd: interwoven stories, the layered and collective place-making of families and individuals over-generations, co-constituted with the physical landscape” (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

So, to them, rewilding is erasing and disregarding these stories. To them, this is not just a land-use change, but the latest colonial attack. They've known the family who lived on that farm for generations - every birth, marriage, death, joy, triumph, loss, everything. You are saying that you are going to strip that family, all those stories, all those people out of that land, to be forgotten.

…

However. There is a counterpoint to this.

Many farmers taking this view have therefore identified themselves as the only “truly Welsh” people in the debate, accusing environmentalists as being outsiders. The problem with this being, most of the environmentalists involved with the project are also Welsh; so who the fuck are they to say who is or is not Truly Welsh? It's what we on the internet would recognise as gatekeeping, with a big side order of No True Scotsman fallacy.

Also this quote sums it up well:

“Sheep farming in this country goes back a few hundred years. I think if you go deep enough into our culture and ancestry, we have a really deep native relationship with wild forest areas and with the wild animals that are native to this country…I just don’t agree that sheep farming is really part of our traditional culture.” (WWLF Interview [15] 2016) (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

This is also a fair point. It is true that upland sheep farming, the way we now practice it, is only a few hundred years old, and at the current intensity only a few decades (since WW2).

On top of which, there has been plenty of exploration over the years of farmers as being a government-subsidised landed gentry, which I won't go into here, but it also contains some fair points.

In truth, all of it and none of it is true. It’s far more complex and nuanced than either side might want to believe.

Solutions So Far

This is an ongoing project and they're still learning and changing new things and stuff, but a big thing they did was get someone in to basically be a mediator and listen to both sides, because Jesus, those sides were not listening to each other.

But to date:

They actually worked with a first-language Welsh speaker (WHY DID THEY NOT DO THIS FIRST I'm sorry I'm fine). Originally the Welsh translation of the project was Tir Gwyllt – wild land. But given that Welsh connotations with gwyllt are something out of control or dangerous, Coetir Anian has been chosen – anian refers to a sense of natural order and creation, a sense of health and vitality. Similarly, ‘rewilding’ is being translated as ‘di-ddofi’ – ‘de-taming’. This acknowledges the labour and culture taken to tame it, and just suggests an avenue for discussing some relaxation of farming practice in appropriate locations rather than, you know, releasing packs of wolves directly into sheep pens

In online materials and in community engagement events where traditional storytellers and musicians have performed to celebrate the Wildwood, the trustees have drawn heavily from Welsh myth in the form of the Mabinogion. Enormous amounts of the Mab lovingly and respectfully feature wild woods and wild animals. The emphasis is therefore on how wilderness is also part of Welsh identity – and arguably a much older part, going back to the Celts. (This is clever, in my view, but something to approach with care - it's rarely a good idea to play the game of "What's the most Welsh". But so far it's been done sensitively)

Land purchased for the project has so far been wholly limited to that available in the public domain. The main site, Bwlch Corog, was empty and unfarmed for six years before purchase, which has been stressed in all media interviews and releases; this is important, because farmers do have a sense of "Productive land is being stolen by environmentalists".

Large predator reintroductions have largely been abandoned. Lynx and wolves are no longer on the agenda. It’s possible they’ll be included in the future, but it is acknowledged as currently impractical (both from clashes with farmers and lack of habitat).

Instead, they’ve supported smaller species reintroductions, such as the Vincent Wildlife Trust’s pine marten translocations, and some proposed red squirrel ones.

Bwlch Corog is to be managed as an experimental plot that farmers are encouraged to engage with.

Assessing the potential for new income streams (from improved tourism and educational activities) rather than just the ecological benefits – this has become central to the project, and the emphasis is on how this might benefit farming communities and keep them together. This has been huge, and has also been successful in rewilding schemes in Europe.

Tensions are a lot lower now than they were ten years ago, but ultimately the problem was a bunch of outsiders came in and decided they knew best without listening to anyone else's point of view, and that meant both sides really dug their heels in. Much better now.

Ultimately... yes, I am in favour of rewilding, in a general sense. But I think it needs to go hand in hand with supplying farmers with the necessary subsidies to transition back to more traditional and sustainable farming methods, and the two elements run side by side. You can't do one without the other, not if you want them to succeed. The Pontbren Project is a great case study for how a farmer-led scheme can successfully aid them economically while also improving environmental outcomes, and we need to learn and incorporate more lessons from it when discussing this kind of landscape-level management.

Also, with land management in general, I think you're a fucking idiot and dangerously arrogant if you think you can get anything done without all stakeholders being on board. And potentially wandering down the ecofascism path, circumstances dependent.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Source:

Wynne-Jones, S, Holmes, G & Strouts, G (2018), 'Abandoning or Reimagining a Cultural Heartland? Understanding and Responding to Rewilding Conflicts in Wales - the case of the Cambrian Wildwood.' Environmental Values, vol. 27, no. 4.

[hyperlexichypatia]

Prescriptive diet culture, especially (but not exclusively) the sort aimed at losing weight, is ableist and sizeist, with frequent undertones of racism, classism, and sexism. It relies on the premise that all bodies can and should fit into a certain size and a certain range of “health” and ability, that fat and disabled bodies are inherently lesser, and frequently relies on patronizing or limiting the options of poor people for their alleged “own good,” stigmatizing or patronizing the food choices of non-European cultures, and judging women’s and perceived-women’s bodies more harshly than men’s bodies.

In response to this, various fat liberation, body positive, and health-at-every-size movements have arisen to challenge this narrative to varying degrees. One of the alternatives often promoted in these contexts is “intuitive eating,” in which people eat what their bodies crave, whenever they’re hungry, instead of following a prescriptive diet or schedule. This is framed as radical, liberatory rebellion and self-actualization against diet culture.

Intuitive eating is great for some people. However, there are some problems with promoting it as a universal solution.

First of all, “Everyone should eat intuitively” is just as prescriptive as any other prescriptive diet. It still frames food choices as something with a right and a wrong answer. What superficially sounds like “Eat whatever you want” actually becomes “You must eat whatever you want, and examine carefully whether you actually want it, and defend your choices accordingly.”

Secondly, intuitive eating is fundamentally inaccessible to the majority of the world’s population. Perhaps if we lived in a Star Trek universe where we could just command a replicator to create food and have it instantly ready for us, then most, if not all people, could eat intuitively. But in our own world, our food choices are constrained by time, money, and availability, as well as restrictions like allergies and sensitivities.

When I think about what food I want to eat, I have to think about what I already have. What I can afford to buy. What I have the time and energy to prepare. I might “intuit” that I crave a steak, but what I have readily on hand is a bowl of cereal. Intuition won’t help someone with chronic fatigue who can’t stand at a stove for long or chop vegetables, or someone on food stamps who has to stretch their budget, or someone who works long shifts and comes home exhausted, or a parent of three children with food allergies who only feeds themself leftover scraps from feeding them. Who has time and energy to cook a meal from scratch? Who has money to go out to a restaurant? Whose invisible and underpaid labor -- farm workers, grocery workers, restaurant cooks, homemakers -- does this system rely upon?

The third problem with promoting intuitive eating as a universal solution is that many foods are manufactured in such a way as to sensorily mislead the eater about their properties. The idea that “artificial” or “processed” foods are somehow “worse” than “natural” foods -- or that those are meaningful categories -- is ridiculous and baseless. However, it is a fact that many foods are made to mimic the look, taste, smell, and texture of foods they do not actually contain. This makes it harder for eaters to “intuit” a food’s properties by the usual means. Eaters may have to rely on ingredients lists and nutritional information rather than sensory input alone. This is especially true for people who have specific nutritional needs, like allergies or nutrient deficiencies, to either avoid or seek out specific food attributes.

Finally, even if all other obstacles were eliminated, some people are just not good at intuiting their own food needs. People with executive functioning disabilities may forget that they’re hungry, or not recognize their bodies’ hunger signals. Not everyone is naturally good at piloting a meat suit. Food is difficult, and it’s okay to need external reminders to refuel.

Intuitive eating rhetoric can sound suspiciously similar to the common rhetoric of the “natural” “wellness” movement, stemming from the premise that all bodies are born with a natural alignment to a certain standard of “health” and normative ability, and only external factors and individual choices can “corrupt” it. In reality, there are no normative bodies or abilities. Plenty of people are born with food-related disabilities, whether difficulty remembering to eat, anxiety, susceptibility to nutrient deficiency, allergies, diabetes, or all kinds of other conditions. Food is hard. Harder for some people than others. And that’s okay.

There’s nothing wrong with intuitive eating, but it’s not a universal solution to everyone’s food difficulties. We need affordable, accessible food for everyone. We need everyone to have the free time and support they need to perform all activities of daily living. We need living wages for everyone at every part of the food supply chain. We need clearly labeled food ingredients and nutritional values. We need a society where everyone has the resources, time, and support to eat whatever they want, and the information to know what they’re eating. And then, maybe, intuitive eating can be a more attainable goal for people who want it.

We also need a society in which bodily autonomy is respected, and people’s food choices and other health and bodily choices are rightly regarded as no one else’s business. We need widespread recognition that there’s no standard of health or ability that anyone “should” have and no way that anyone “should” eat, and that what matters is ensuring that everyone has equitable access to resources, which each individual can choose how to use, whether that’s eating frozen dinners every day, growing vegetables for fun, eating only purple things, or using a timer to remember when it’s time to eat. But until we achieve that society, “intuitive eating” might as well mean “let them eat cake.”

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

[samwisethewitch]

How I Get the Most Out of Meat When Cooking

As someone who 1.) was 100% vegetarian for ethical/religious reasons until very recently, and 2.) recently had to reintroduce meat for vitamin deficiency reasons, limiting waste as much as possible when I cook with meat is really important to me. For one thing, I feel like I owe it to the animal that died to get as much use as possible out of its body as a way of honoring its death. For another, meat is expensive (ethically raised meat even more so) and I want to get my money's worth.

I recently bought a bunch of lamb for my family's holiday dinner, so I wanted to share my attempt to practice the Honorable Harvest in my meat consumption. This is new to me, but I wanted to document the attempt because it's been a fun learning process for me! If you want to actually learn about honorable consumption I encourage you to read the works of Robin Wall Kimmerer and other indigenous ecologists, since the Honorable Harvest is based on indigenous North American practices. (Though there are other cultural practices all over the world.)

Step One: Sourcing the Meat

I am very fortunate to have enough disposable income to buy ethically raised meat, which tends to be more expensive. This is a privilege. Other people are not able to spend this extra money on their meat, and that doesn't make me better than them. Feeding yourself is morally neutral, and a tight budget is not a moral failing. Most meat alternative products (Beyond Beef, Impossible, etc.) are also pretty expensive. If the factory-farmed meat at the supermarket is the only thing in your budget, use that.

If you DO have some extra funds, local farms are a great place to source meat. The reason we had lamb for the holidays is because a local farm recently culled their herd and had lamb on sale. In the past we've gotten beef from a relative who raises cattle. I encourage you to learn about farms in your area and what they have to offer. CSAs and farmers' markets are great places to start. You can also ask around at local restaurants about where they source their ingredients.

When I say "ethically raised meat," what I'm really talking about is pasture-raised animals. Cage-free animals may not live in cages, but they can still be kept in cramped, dirty, inhumane conditions and be sold as "cage free." Pasture-raised animals are able to graze and forage and generally wander around within a paddock. For some animals like chickens you can also look for "free range," which means the animals are unfenced and are able to wander freely. Since I don't cook meat often, I try to get free range or pasture-raised meat when I do buy it.

In some areas, you may also be able to find certified ethically slaughtered meat, which means the slaughtering process has been designed to cause as little suffering to the animal as possible. That kind of certification isn't really available where I live, but it might be for you!

And of course, hunting or fishing yourself is also an option. If you kill the animal yourself, you know exactly how it died and can take steps to limit suffering as much as possible. Hunting isn't a skillset I have, but if you do more power to you!

Step Two: Cooking the Meat

This is the easy part. Depending on the cut of meat you got and the dish you are cooking, you may need to remove bones or trim fat, but aside from that it's just following a recipe.

For our holiday lamb stew, I used this recipe. I have Celiac disease, so I subbed gluten-free flour and replaced the beer with red wine. I also added rosemary and garlic for a more Mediterranean flavor to compliment the wine.

Step Three: Organs and Bones

This is where the breakdown is for a lot of Americans. We don't cook with bones or organs very often, and we tend to throw away whatever parts of the animal we don't want. That is not honorable consumption. Part of the Honorable Harvest is using every part of the being that died to feed you.

Most organs make great stew meat. My favorite Nicaraguan beef stew is made with tongue, and my indigenous Hawaiian relatives make stew with pig feet. And while I don't like them, lots of my Southern family members love chitlins (pickled pig intestines). Lots of cultures eat organs, and you'll find plenty of delicious recipes if you look!

Bones are typically used to make stock, which can be used as a base for future soups and stews. There are lots of recipes for DIY stocks and broths, but I usually fry some onions and/or garlic, deglaze with wine, and then add the meat/bones and the water, plus salt, pepper, and herbs for flavor. Most animal bones can produce two batches of stock before they lose flavor. (For really flavorful stock, leave some meat on the bones.)

Once the stock is done, you'll still have bones to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, cooked bones are not safe for dogs to chew on. (But raw bones usually are!) Instead, I strip any remaining meat and gristle from the stock bones, give those scraps to my pups as a treat, and then use the stripped bones for something else. With a little extra processing, the bones can be used as a fertilizer in a garden, a calcium supplement for chickens, or a safe treat for dogs and/or cats.

This was my first time processing bones, but after boiling them for, like, 12 hours in water with salt and vinegar, they were soft enough to break apart with my hands. I'm going to grind them to make bone meal.

[star-anise]

You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

[pastxlscorp]

Palia Character Characterizations/Impres.

(impres. is short for impressions btw! also big ass rambling)

I started Palia the other day and I'm amazed it's free. Aside from some obvious glitches, the game is pretty good and it's on par with some games that charge money. I've been doing some quests but I'm not too far into the story, but I have some strong feelings about some characters. This might not have a big fanbase but if there is only one fan, I am one! I'm just gonna give some first impressions and how I headcanon some characters personality wise based on other impressions of them from the villagers n shit. You should try it out if you already haven't!

Nai'O:

STARTING OFF WITH MY ANNOYANCE FOR THIS MAN. I know a big controversy with him is that he's in a monogamous relationship with another villager (spoilers: Kenyatta) yet he is still a romancable character. Although in his culture it is normal to have poly relationships, he has some pretty inconsistent writing (im gonna get into this more later with Reth). He argues that Reth flirts with everyone, which he clearly is annoyed by, but if he falls in love with the player, he actually is fine dating both you and Kenyatta depending on your dialogue choices. Seems inconsistent that he would get pissed at Reth while he was over here flirting with the player. ALSO— Kenyatta literally calls Reth hot, so she’s not even fully loyal to him either. He seems aware of this, since it honestly sounds like his disliking of Reth is more jealousy than anything. I personally don’t see the significance of having the two of them date monogamously if they’re clearly open to poly or having an open relationship. Aside from that, he's a very sweet villager who I knew I was gonna like from the start. Farm boy himbo that knows what he's doing until it comes to social cues. Romance him if you wish! He's a sweet boy who wants what's best for his family but aside from that, he's a fairly simple character. As far as I've explored the world and quests, I haven't found any deeper nuance or lore with him since his family is pretty wholesome. Nothing wrong with simplicity, but I love characters with a little more complexity and nuance since there is so much more to dive into, analyze, and admire.

Reth:

my boyfriend First impression was how this man was a flirt. It's pretty heavily implied imo that Reth is a womanizer and sleeps around. His boss, Ashura, mentions something about Reth likes having his nights free and Nai'O blatantly just says this man flirts with everyone in proximity. I find the beef between him and Nai'O interesting, as it implies either Reth is jealous of him or dislikes him because he considers him cowardly for hiding his relationship with Kenyatta. When Nai'O sends you off on a quest to deliver something to Reth, he calls Reth "loverboy" and he calls out him and Kenyatta for sneaking around and also Hassian's love poems. This is kinda reiteriated when he makes a comment about Hassian's love letters being not-so-secret. He's aware how he's an obvious flirt, which I find admirable. He does not give a fuck about how anyone perceives him and is open about it, which is why he shames the other two for sneaking around with their romance lives. In another quest, he makes another comment about stealing Nai'O's muscles. Initially I thought he was interested in Kenyatta but I think him flirting with her is more of a rivalry between him and Nai’O. Amongst the villagers, they are the two canonically best looking, which is an interesting dynamic. It makes sense why Nai’O would then be pissed off Reth was flirting with Kenyatta, as he knows she does find him attractive. I headcanon that Reth is one of the few characters that would be romantically interested in the player even if they didn’t romance him because of his voicelines. Some of them are like “uh oh, gotta go uh…” and he’ll make up an excuse to leave sounding flustered. Reth, to me, is one of the more complex characters because of how much shit goes unsaid with him. He comes off as very easygoing because he's stressed because he has a hard time saying no and ends up lying, which gets him into a load of shit. His small talk is really sweet though, I like to headcanon he's flirty so the (spoilers) cartel can’t tell who he’s close with. I'm currently romancing him and one other man! I really find it cute how he sweet he is to his sister. Bold move to abandon the family careerline (especially since he is I think the only dude in the village who is not carrying family tradition) and he knows all eyes are on Tish (his sister) because of it. It's cute that he only cares about how people talk about him when it impacts his sister. I assume this is why he usually takes all the shit the other villagers give him because he knows it would go on his sister otherwise. I felt so bad bc I actually didn’t cover for him in one of his friendship quests because I thought ashura would’ve figured I was lying. In Reth’s letter, he writes if you covered for him or didn’t and says there’s no hard feelings and that he was using the free time he got to spend with his sister. I’m sorry pookie 🥹

Hassian:

Really liked him at first, but he became unlikable really fast. He's super attractive if you're looking for a black cat boyfriend or a tsundere, but it gets old quick. He comes out rude even when he's trying to be nice and in real life this shit would be so toxic. In game reasonably it's more tolerated but it just is not my cup of tea. I'm usually a sucker for dudes with this archetype too since it's just nice to see people soften up and get comfortable, but Hassian just can be overbearing. I was leveling up my friendship with him and he sent a letter saying "You'll probably freeze to death without my help, so take this. You'll thank me for it later." like lil bro fuck u. Jokes aside, I'm not a fan of the fact he's romancable mainly because it's revealed later on (spoilers) that he is in love with another villager, Tamala. It's lowkey fucked up because there is a whole quest where you have to deliver one of his letters to her and if you deliver it to her on the first try, she laughs at his letter, showing it's clearly not reciprocal, at least anymore. On his romance quests (I searched it up bc I got curious) she admits she led Hassian on because she wanted a fling and he wanted marriage. I felt so bad for bro but lowkey he brought this shit on himself. Tamala affirms what I'm arguing because she explains they broke up b/c of his "sour" demeanor. Again, cute on paper, but if you don't write any development it gets old fast. It kind of even feels like you're a rebound for Tamala. I do like that the villagers know he has a soft spot for Auni (one of the 2 children villagers) because he always plays with him. This could have been a great premise for character development but unfortunately it just does not go anywhere. I know there's a reddit thread complaining about Hassian's lack of development and another for Nai'O being in a relationship and romanceable-- if anyone's is interested in reading more.

Hodari:

First impression: dilf. I'm not crossing that out I'm being honest. I instantly wanted to romance Hodari but honestly as I kept playing he lowkey came off as such a dad and then I realized bro is in fact a father. If you want a dilf, go for it. But if you have daddy issues like me, you're gonna look at bro in a different light when you get to know his character. His lore is pretty fucked up but it's sweet he's trying to look out for his kid, just the way he goes about it is not the best. I did really like one dialogue in idle chat with him that he admits he knows his daughter sneaks out and he doesn't say anything about it because he knows he can be a helicopter dad sometimes. I'm still debating as of now if I'm gonna romance him or not but I haven't seen any red flags with Hodari as of yet, just that he's reasonably a little closed in and dry, but he's not nearly as hostile as Hassian.

Jel:

bros side profile is immaculate. my HUSBAND. Loud and proud bro. At first I genuinely did not fuck with him because he was so mean initially. He made it sound like you were a peasant. He develops quickly through small talk though and it's so cute, like he easily became my favorite. He goes on night walks and enjoys the beauty of literally everything: some of his favorite gifts are insects and shells. He finds everything potential of beauty. He's a little corny when he's greeting you (he'll talk abt how you brighten his loneliness bc he's so dramatic) but I adore it. Also call me odd but I find that when a man has a girl best friend, immediate green flag. His relationship with Tish reminds me a lot of me and my best friend I adore it SOOO much. I'm in the process of romancing him and BRO I found out through youtube tutorials that if you're romancing him and someone else he comes to your house and tells you "If you were trying to keep this from me because you thought it would affect things between you and I, you're wrong. I'm a big boy. I know how to share." WHAT? WHAT? WHAT. Anyways I would 100% recommend romancing him I see no flags if they are any, red is my favorite color. goodnight.

[escapismmaxing]

mudwing headcanons

(PLEASE click on her she is so beautiful to me and tumblr kills her with hammers)

physical traits

another huge tribe; longer than ice wings, shorter, but very bulky and muscle-y (think alligator)

alligator is pretty much the keystone of my design for them, and also their design is probably the most canon compliant one i have (said moments before i go against this)

i do like the idea of giving them thicker tails, more adjacent to seawings than any other land dwelling tribe, and also just leaning into the swampy aspect of them more

depending on how aquatic of an environment they’re incubated in (and also depending on parent’s genetics) a mudwing can hatch with fins! it’s not entirely uncommon (fins smaller than seawing fins)

mudwings can have tail fins, fins running down their stomach, and their neck. this is distinct from seawings as mudwings never have fins running down their spine or fins on their limbs

mudwings have HUGE horns and ears to siphon heat away from their face

they also have a throat sac like icewings! they produce a variety of throat song, mostly akin to various frog sounds

also,,, tusks protruding from their lower jaw! (that i just realized i forgor to draw,,,,) this is used for foraging, and also agriculture (tilling soil, etc) which mudwings are particularly proficient in

mudwings also tend to have ecosystems growing from them,, algae and duckweed etc on their backs, necks, and tops of heads which helps camouflage them

speaking of camouflage,, colors,,,, well you know

mudwings only being brown is actually the most boring concept i've ever heard 😭so they’re not! brown is still the most common, green is also very common, muted reds, oranges, and yellows as accents float around as well

culture <3 (social structure)

okay i actually love the SCRAPS of culture content we have of the mudwings

so i guess i want to start out with family structure and community,,,

the whole “breeding night” is so fucking funny to me,,, and it’s staying. i will keep it. i think this can also coexist with courting and mating and committing to another dragon singularly, and maybe all mudwing communities just consist of really complicated polycules 

although parents aren’t always directly and singularly involved in the raising of their clutches, the adults still communally raise/look after the hatchlings, even if it’s somewhat from a distance

also, i think clutches know their parents and vice versa, even if there’s no special connection, you have to avoid incest somehow,,,,

so sib groups grow up together and rely on one another, like how it is in canon

if a bigwings egg is a “dud” and doesn’t hatch or is,,, abducted from the nest for the purpose of a false prophecy,,,, it’s actually really detrimental to the other eggs and can put them at risk to not hatch

clay’s sibs successfully hatching and growing up is,, a miracle im saying. the bigwings is the CRUX of everything. first to hatch, fastest to develop, grows the biggest, etc etc

i also think bigwings can produce fire at a slightly wider range of temperatures in order to keep their sibs warm if they’re ever under duress

on the topic of clutches and bigwings and,, everything

one egg clutches are considered crazy bad luck, and they need a lot of maintenance from an older dragon in order to actually hatch

if it’s feasible (like a clutch of a bigger size was laid on the same day) the single egg will be transplanted into that bigger clutch asap

also a similar feeling about 2 egg clutches, but it's not as bad

single and 2 egg clutches happen VERY frequently with hybrids, so often a hybrid will be in another sib group and all of their sibs go “yes they are us. oh they’re purple? they’re literally us what do you mean”

on the topic of hybrids, seawing and mudwing hybrids are insanely common, to the point where the majority of mudwings on that border are at least a liiiiitle bit seawing

there’s a lot of communal learning and passing down traditions in agriculture, farming, and animal rearing, and oftentimes a family farm is passed down from one sib group to another

(i don’t only make humble farmer mudwings though, there’s also a lot of artisans, scholars, the equivalent of dragon environmentalists, etc)

so moving away from family groups and stuff,,,,, onto wider society, let’s start with the royal family

mudwings pass the crown down from eldest daughter to eldest daughter, through a “royal” line

basically, one group of sibs has the crown, then the oldest/first clutch will be promised the crown, but it can very easily be abdicated and passed to a different clutch if the oldest clutch doesn’t want it or seems not fit to rule

there’s not a lot of competition for the crown because sib groups rule together, and the queen position really doesn’t mean anything, at most acting as a tiebreaker

obviously, sibs never fight sibs for the crown. that’s like speed running a revolution from the mudwing commoner population. but also, cousins don’t tend to fight either because of this strong wider communal feeling

fashion, jewelry,,

i think mudwings don’t have a lot of fashion/accessories because of how swampy and wet their environment is. royals will have jewels embedded into their scales (like moorhen) but even this requires somewhat regular cleaning to actually look,, pretty and shiny? so it’s not common

other jewelry consists of tight bands of wood and clay around horns, clay earrings, rings and armbands

clay jewelry is especially common! including clay beads that represents their sibs

clay fired earrings, strings of clay beads draped across the body, etc is commonly found

jobs! (and also a rant on cuisine apparently)

briefly touched on earlier, idk how much expanding i’ll do here tbh

farming is pretty common, crops including rice, cranberries, watercress, taro, water spinach, water chestnuts,,,, you get the point. there’s a lot of crops to be grown and mudwings grow them!

not in monocultures though, there’s a lot of mixing of crops on the same farmland

also with farmers, animals are raised! but closer to the less swampy edges of the kingdom

they’re still partially wild honestly, but mudwings rear cows and boars very commonly

so much of mudwing economy revolves around food, so they have a very robust cuisine, and they grow/trade for a lot of spices and herbs (with the skywings) and they have a lot of practices surrounding food/sharing of food being sacred

oh god.,,,, the tangent is taking over,, im so sorry

marriage!! i think when mudwings want to get married there’s a long string of cooking for one another!! back and forth making beautiful dishes for one another until they make a beautiful dish TOGETHER. god i love them

aside from farmers, a lot of mudwings are artists! they carve wood and make clay sculptures and jewelry as well as weave baskets and jewelry and thatched roofs from fronds and other wide-leafed plants

pottery is also common

tanners make leather from cow and boar hide, and bookbinders make books (after contact with pantala) and trade with sandwings for dried parchment

also butchers, cheesemakers (cows milk)

as well, the typical circle of scholars and nobles that keep rigorous records on the queendom’s history

and of course, royal diplomats

religions/superstitions

less superstitious than icewings perhaps,, but i do think they have some shared beliefs

perhaps just in a “mother earth” “all mother” type of concept? a dragon that gave them swamps, and then all other life came from swamps, etc

of course, the egg superstitions from earlier

there’s a lot of superstitions/outright magic about sharing food and the etiquette around sharing food

oh, one of you dropped your utensil while eating? in the future you’re going to save each other from mortal danger

someone gifting dishware is considered a proposal,, but it can be platonic or romantic

the monarch spilled their drink? the rainy season will be rainier this year

just a lot of really niche things

yoppee, i love mudwings so much. i think there is so much untapped potential and what we have now is beautiful. love drawing them, love their color palettes, love their sib groups. yeah not much else to say here. as always, send a dm or an ask if you want to know about something further!

[elbiotipo]

If you're from Argentina, you've probably heard about the Iberá wetlands, and you know the tourist pitch: a vast expanse of natural wonders in the middle of Corrientes, full of beautiful lapachos, cute carpinchos and yacarés, and now home to the fastest-growing wild yaguareté population, all with the unique Guaraní influenced culture of rural Corrientes.

Now, things aren't as shiny as they look, since the creation and management of the new national park is still a point of contention in many ways, but you will be suprised that this kind of thinking about the Iberá is very, very recent. Most people considered it an obstacle to progress, a big bunch of swamp in the middle of what could be a very productive ranching province. In a geography book from the 1910s (unfortunately I lost the screencap) it says something like "the biggest obstacle for the development of the province is this swamp, and it should be drained"

This took me to the other side of the world, to the Netherlands. They're known for land reclamation, from literally building their country from the sea. Especially when we're facing rising sea levels because of climate change, the Dutch seem like miracle workers, a look into our future. You will find no shortage of praise about how with some windmills and dams, the Dutch took land "from the sea", and turned it into quaint little polders, making a tiny country in Europe a food exporter and don't they look so nice? But when you look about it, you can barely find anything about what came before those polders. You have to dig and dig to find any mentions of not "sea", but of complex tidal marshes and wetlands, things I've learned are ecologically diverse and protected in many places, but you won't find people talking about that at all when talking about the Netherlands. It's all just polders now. What came before was useless swamp, or a sea to be triumphantly conquered. It's like they were erased from history

The use of that language reminded me of the failed vision of draining Iberá... and the triumphing vision in the Netherlands, and many other places. Maybe those wonderful places, those unique wetlands, would have been a footnote, you wouldn't find anything unless you were a bored ecologist who looked, and not even then. Now, far it be from me to accuse the medieval Dutch, who wanted to have more space to farm, of ecocide. And don't think this is going to be a rant against European ecological imperialism either, as the most anthropized places you can find are actually in China and India. But it does get me thinking.

I work with the concept of landscape, and landscape managing. (Not landscaping, those guys get better paid than me) The concept of landscape is somewhat similar to the concept of ecosystem you know from basic biology, but besides biotic and abiotic factors, you also have to involve cultural factors, that is, humans. There is not a single area of "pristine" untouched nature in the world, that is a myth. Humans have managed these landscapes for as long as they have lived in them. The Amazon, what many people think about when they think about "unspoilt" nature, has a high proportion of domesticated plants growing on it, which were and are still used by the people who live on it, and there once were great civilizations thriving on it. Forests and gardens leave their mark, so much that we can use them to find abandoned settlements. From hunter-gatherers tending and preserving the species vital to their survival in the tundra to engineers in Hong-Kong creating new islands for airports, every human culture has managed their natural resources, creating a landscape.

And this means these landscapes we enjoy are not natural creations. They are affected by natural enviroments; biomes do exist, species have a natural distribution. But they are created and managed by humans. Humans who decide what is valuable to them and what is not. The Dutch, seemingly, found the tidal marshes useless, and they created a new landscape, which changed the history of their nation forever. We here in modern Argentina changed our perception of Iberá, decided to take another approach, and now we made it a cherished part of our heritage, which will also speak about us in the future.

Ultimately, what is a useless swamp to be drained or a beautiful expanse of nature to be cherished depends in our culture, in us humans. We are the ones who manage and change ecosystems based in our economics, our culture, our society. This will become increasingly important, as climate change and ecological degradation becomes harsher and undeniable. We will have to decide what nature is worth to us. Think about what is it worth to you.

[agent-8449]

The Negatives: Masterpost

"Howdy there, to the audience beyond the screen! I'm your host Eris, and this is Late Nights With Disharmonia..."

The Negatives AU was borne, long long ago, by me fucking around with the ancient joke of Soul 2. Mind 2, Heart 2, Whole 2, etcetera. It evolved into something more sophisticated if light-hearted, and now it's psychological horror. Oops!

Firstly; Eris, this Whole, is American. That's the first part of the joke. The second is that he's supposedly everything a normal golden Whole isn't-- loud, confident, in control. The third part is that he's exactly like a normal Whole in those respects anyway. He might have willed away the loop amnesia, but this cold war he's started with himself might be worse.

Total and godlike control of his own Psyche means nothing if he can't stop himself from splitting anyway. His Thirds know what he does, and they're horrible like him too.

Phobos, the Green Heart, is the distillation of what Eris thinks makes him different to other people; acting and ingenuity, sure, but also a casual disregard for their wellbeings and a violent streak. His impulsive, or intrusive, thoughts.

Deimos, an Orange Mind, is what Eris believes the world wants him to be; a pencil-pushing pushover, dull and boring and content with mundanity. Deimos might be calculative, but that's in the literal sense. He's a calculator, with about as much personality.

Nemesis is where it gets interesting. This Teal Soul isn't needed to pretend to be him at all, not really. He's less so Identity, and more... self-hate. Sure, Eris intended for him to be an embodiment of social pressure/"cringe culture", yet all that's done is make his Soul even more viscerally self-aware of the futility of this all. Nemesis was built to hate. To hate what Eris wants to be-- to be critical, never-pleased, and cynical. By god does Nemesis fulfill these criteria. Because-- well-- what is he supposed to do? Not hate this? This insufferable, useless war? These two tumours Linked to his thoughts? The fact that him hating at all is decreed by Eris, and he's playing his role perfectly? So he hates, quietly. The other two overpower him, and Eris uses him again and again and again for the things he himself doesn't want to do.

What a cheery quartet!!!

The delicate balance of Whole and Thirds was disrupted by their additions to the chat. Entirely sick of <making his Thirds> running Youtube content farms, Eris seeks a way to monetize this supernatural happening. Mixed with his total control of his Psyche <due to being his Psyche>, it's a recipe for something finally interesting. Eris is more of a filmmaker than a songwriter, and to create The Perfect Story is his goal. If only it was that easy. Pretending to be nice and helpful in chat, in order to lure somebody over, did not go very well at all. Neither did exploiting the phenomenon of his self-duplication; the fact that sending constructs from his Psyche is literally sending chunks of his Psyche, i.e., him. If they're in the right shape to walk and talk and think like him, well, they do! Eris clones 3 and 4 both met separate grisly demises.

Why? Long story short, they're filled with assumption goop, and if Reality questions that too hard, it becomes real goop. They melt. This is what happened to 3. 4..... got beheaded. By Nemesis. OOPS! Turns out the breaking of the pattern gave the Whole-adoring Heart and Mind enough grievances for Nemesis to convince them to murder him. And thus ended a doomed attempt at coexistence. The following month unsupervised screwed up Eris' life, too, on his return. Punishment only made them hate him more, and now it's all collapsing...

Now, desperation makes men do terrible things.

This is all a very quick summary of the Negatives, of course. Feel free to ask for clarifications! I might even respond in-character... Toodles for now!

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hayloft.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to farm.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, implied minor character death, and implications of violence/forced cannibalism.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

“Sounds fun! Looks so too!”

Mahito’s fingers tap and tap on the glass, unsurprisingly never leaving any fingerprints or smudges. He is a curse, after all. It makes sense. Not that you have to be reminded of such, with how little he knows of human culture, the world at large, or with how much he shapeshifts into a disembodied head at night to scare half-awake you. 

You are both sitting on a giant bean bag in the shape of a green slime of all things that Mahito brought in an hour or so earlier. Mahito, as expected, takes up most of it with a malformed arm wrapped around your shoulders and back. 

In your hands is a Nintendo Switch, the sticker case on the joycons, and the screen itself somewhat peeling off, but still the pink bunny and strawberry drawing designs stay intact.

The YouTube app is on, showing a playthrough of Stardew Valley. This part of the sewers had two bars of wifi from the little ramen place above it, something you are grateful for in some aspect. Because of it, you have one more piece of entertainment that is now Mahito bringing you back stale snacks and stuffed animals (that you pray to whatever higher power that they were not alive before Mahito got his hands on them) and nearly smothering you with hugs. 

This is calming. When you just read the dialogue of the characters and listen to the music and pay attention to the satisfying sight of the farmer planting pumpkin seeds and apple tree saplings, it is calming, you are calm, Mahito is, at least partially, calm.

Mahito wanted something to watch today and brought the Nintendo Switch for you to play with as he simply observes. It could be worse, you reminded yourself before you attempted to protest, stopping yourself. It could be much worse. He could turn you into the Nintendo Switch, or much, much worse.

It can be so much worse. He can be so much worse. Your life as a captive can be so much worse. Everything can be so much worse. That is a line you never want to cross because everything can be so, so much worse than it already is.

Mahito raises his free hand, and you pause the video, just as you were taught to. He then points again at the field of two-dimensional, square-like crops all in multiple rows of hoed soil. 

It’s springtime in the game, you think, from how the cherry trees have pink blossoms and petals falling onto nearby ground all around it.

Mahito counts with his fingertip, jumping from one plant to the next and then from one row to the next.

He whistles, and it makes you flinch because that is the same noise he makes whenever you scream, a reaction to when he brings a body part of someone you loved here, throwing it down beside the small dog bed you were given for good behavior, the blood staining the fabric as it falls with a grotesque, sort of plopping sound.

If Mahito wants to grow vegetables and fruit in the few places this sewer has sunlight, he can be your guest.

“Potato, cauliflower, garlic… green beans, kale, parsnips, rhubarb, strawberries…” He says each word like he has never heard of them before. Considering he has never really set foot in a grocery or convenience store for anything other than chips, it is not all that surprising. With another wave of his hand, you rewind it to the moment where the farmer character starts watering the seeds when they are freshly planted. He waits. So do you. “Sounds good! We can make some cheese cauliflower, parsnip soup, pizza, hashbrowns… just imagine it! Yum… I can just picture it now.”

With yet another wave of his hand, you stand up and so does he. Relief goes through you, like a ghost, both horrifying you and making you feel the smallest bit of hope that for once Mahito can act normal.

…

“M-Mahito, vegetables don’t grow that fast.” You say, looking down at the plate of baked fish with what smells like kale and garlic underneath, along with lemon and salt. “H-How-”

“It’s simply the power of love!” Mahito exclaims, inhaling loudly to smell the dish in front of you two. He sighs softly. “A pure demonstration of my love, all I do for you, and all I will do for you in the future.”

You could have sworn that there was the smallest voice from the fish if Mahito’s bragging of how much work went into making you a dish from Stardew Valley was not so loud.

Help me.

“Dig in, cutie!”

You would do anything for Mahito’s grin to not turn into a frown, so you pick up your fork with trembling, scarred hands.

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

New Hozier music got me in my TFA Megop feels. Here's part of a fic I'm working on. I did not spellcheck this at all so if you see any grammar errors, no you didn't. Full version coming soon!

💜💜💜

There are few things Optimus is sure of in such odd times. 

One of them is that he can be too much for some bots. 

Not as a leader, no, he had long since seen his ability and potential as a leader flourish and be solidified before his optics. He means more in the interpersonal sense. 

Sure, friends were easy to have. It was easy to sit back and chat with various bots and have a drink with them. Humans were shockingly easy to connect to, even more so now that he spent so much time on Earth and became more acquainted with their culture. 

Even cons were easy to befriend, usually connecting through shared complaints over the Autobots High Council or, more often than not, complaining about Sentinel being a pain in the aft. 

No, it was the deeper, romantic relationships that he struggled with. 

He had dated some during the Academy, but it always fell apart. The most common critiques were that he was “too much” in all sorts of ways. Too attached yet too distant. Prioritized his training over others too often. Too strong a sense of justice and too passionate. 

After expulsion, he shoved all that behind him. After all, if those flaws ended a relationship when he was a Prime candidate, they would surely kill even the prospect of such a thing being a Prime only in name and never in true meaning. 

Then he had called a temporary ceasefire with the Decepticons to help Earth with their Quintesson problem and things got complicated. 

When he wasn’t zipping around a battlefield or stuck in endless meetings, he was passed out in his berth. Even the few small snippets of free time he got he was technically busy. So finding a relationship wasn’t on his radar. 

And there was the larger issue of the odd way his spark jumped around the last mech he should be having any romantic thoughts about. 

He’s not a stranger to attraction, not at all. Which is why, the first time his chest tightens around Megatron, he nearly runs out of the room. 

They’d been in a meeting, Optimus fully zoned out, nursing his cube of warm energon. They’d been up all night chasing Quintesson ships out of Earth’s atmosphere and just his luck Sentinel wanted a video call right as they arrived back on their temporary Earth base. A smattering of other bots and cons sat in the meeting room but he largely ignored them. 

The cube in his servos was so blessedly warm. The energon contained within it was more bitter than what he was used to, having been farmed and processed from the energon crystals popping up across Detroit. But its taste was richer and more complex, like the essence of the ground it sprung out of lingered in its molecular structure. It was quite nice in his opinion. 

He was thinking of his berth and the recharge he would be getting when he snapped back to attention at the mention of his name. 

“Sorry Sentinel Prime, could you repeat that?” he asks. He didn’t catch the words but he caught the tone and knew it wouldn’t be good. 

Sentinel huffs and crosses his arms. The video feed lags behind the audio by a few meager clicks. “I said, we wouldn’t have to be worrying about this whole mess if you could actually do your job and eradicate the Quintessons already! But you charged ahead without Council permission and made a deal with that backwater planet and now we’re stuck putting time, credits, and energon into a mess that wasn’t even ours to begin with!” 

Optimus sits up straight. “First and foremost, we are not wasting energon nor credits on protecting this planet. Need I remind you the only reason Earth is being attacked by the Quintessons at all is due to the energon crystals bursting out of the ground. The deal is that if we defend Earth and eliminate the threat, all energon would be split equally between the Autobot and Decepticon armies. Even taking into account only getting half of the energon crystals, we have seen an increase in credits and do not need energon imports as we process everything here.” 

Sentinel opened his mouth to argue and Optimus continued. “Secondly, I went ahead without Council permission because it was an emergency and as the temporary appointed Magnus I had every right to send forces to Earth. Alongside that, I did not send all of our forces, which I could have done, but didn’t because I knew if I did, it was likely Quintessons would take advantage of an unprotected Cybertron and attack. I sent myself and a small portion of forces to defend a planet we have ties to. And finally, if you would use your processor and think for even a milliclick, you’d understand that sudden Quintesson interest in energon is a sign of something bad happening in the future. They have largely used other forms of fuel and energy sources, but considering energon is highly concentrated and the primary agent in most intergalactic combat weapons, whatever they want it for cannot be good.” 

Sentinel is clearly angry but desperately trying to hold it in. His arms are crossed and his optics wide but his mouth is shut tightly. Everyone around Optimus has gone silent but he doesn’t even bother looking at them. He misses how Bulkhead and Bumblebee share an excited smile at seeing Sentinel getting chewed out, the proud smug grin on Ratchet’s face, and how Lugnut mouths wow at Strika who just nods enthusiastically in agreement. 

And he most certainly misses the look Megatron sends his way. If he had seen it, he would likely call the expression a mix between fondness, infatuation, and wonder. 

[centaurianthropology]

Ashton and Silence

One of the things that has fascinated me this campaign is how ready-built Ashton is to be a leader, but how Taliesin plays low charisma to constantly stop them from being one.  Ashton has great ideas, and tends to be one of the two most grounded members of the group.   He has excellent moral intelligence (far better than they’ll admit), and one-on-one Ashton excels at talking people down from their worst points.  

But they also are in constant pain, and they’ve spent their entire life being told that they’re worthless as anything other than a slab of muscle.  So they silence themselves.  And the more unfamiliar the environment or the more people around them, the more they clam up.

Last episode was one of the best examples I’ve seen yet.  Ashton was almost entirely silent this episode.  He admitted to hating camping, likely to do with the chronic pain, but also to do with the unfamiliar environment.  Ashton is a city barbarian through and through, and they thrive in cities.  They are far more confident in cities, even when they don’t know them as well as Jrusar or Bassuras.  But the wilderness?  On an unknown continent?  He’s already on the wrong foot.

And then they go to the village, and before they know it things are spiraling.  It turns out this place was a powderkeg waiting to blow, with two factions that are, at least from appearance, both highly suspect.  The Vasselheim faction are clearly outsiders come here to impose their culture on the locals, taking too much from their land, bleeding their farms dry for distant tribute, and recently sending more and more armed thugs and more religious oppression.  Add to that the Flameguide being clearly an asshole who won’t listen to reason (very classic lawful stupid paladin, and I agree with Emily, likely a Conquest Paladin, some of the worst to deal with), and the Dawnfather folks are clearly assholes who aren’t wanted there.

But though the townsfolk in general seem sympathetic and just want to live free and worship as they will, their charismatic leader also seems to be full-on with Ruby Vanguard ideology.  She wants to tear the gods down, mistaking gods who are behind a divine gate and can’t interact with humans without a great deal of faith, with the corrupt religious institutions that sprung up around them.  But at the same time she gives a distinct feeling of hating those institutions because she’s not them.  She flat-out said that she didn’t want to stop with the town.  She wanted her own elemental worship to take over the world.

It’s a great set-up, because the townsfolk just want to be free, so they’re throwing in their lot with someone who has grand and terrible ambitions.  It’s Ludinus writ small, and playing out on an intimate scale.

And the team wasn’t really given any choice.  Once they were exploring the options, they were already sort of stuck with the elementalists.  And they mostly just want to prevent casualties, but the people in charge of those potential casualties have no care for the people who could die.  They see only glory and their own faith.

Orym spoke up, because that’s what Orym does.  But Orym’s confidence has been shaken, and there was little to no way he was going to manage to sway two fanatics.  Denise sort-of spoke up, as did Laudna, both trying but both also failing.  Bor’Dor and Prism were both basically on the side of ‘let’s fuck up the gods, whoo!’ from the off, Bor’Dor because he doesn’t really know what’s going on, and Prism out of academic bitterness.  In another life, she would have been hard-core Rube Vanguard fairly easily.

And then there’s Ashton, silent in the back, deeply uncomfortable, surrounded by an elementalist group that feels a lot like a cult with a charismatic leader.  How much must he be associating this with the Hishari?  Does it have any connection?  Some remnant faction?  Are they fighting on the side of his nightmares?

But they say nothing.  They stay silent.  They are barely noticed, despite being a big rock person in an elemental-worshipping town.  People should be all over them in fascination, but they aren’t, because Ashton has practically vanished.  They needed to speak up.  They needed to stand with Orym to try to de-escalate things, but instead they are sneaking in the background.  Why?  Lack of confidence.  Self-loathing.  Fear.  This is where Asthon’s low charisma springs from: they will never trust themselves to do the right thing, to say the right words, to really step up and be counted.  So they hide, and things crumble.

[avegool]

City Boy, Farm Girl

Read on Ao3 Here.

 The little bar was hidden in one of the back alleys of one of the many culturally distinct sections of the City. It was one of the only animatronic-friendly bars and was often full of them. Animatronics didn’t necessarily drink, but they wanted to be able to go to social places, too, without the possibility of being attacked for not being “normal.”

 What even was normal in the world? You could be more robot than human, but you would still be ranked above the animatronics.

 Animatronics were seen as lesser beings. Servants. Slaves, to some. To you, they were friends. They were just like everyone else, just without the human parts hidden beneath the metal.

 Though, the one looming over you at the bar was one of the least pleasant ones you had the misfortune of meeting. For someone who only came up to your shoulders, they were sure adamant about hitting on you. They even made lewd comments about your ass. You ignored the ferret-shaped animatronic at first, continuing to drink the whiskey in your hand.

 Then, Ferret got handsy.

 Now. You weren’t confrontational in the least. You tried to keep the peace in any situation you were put in - a rarity in the City. Most people would throw a hit or whip out a gun whenever the smallest little problem arose.

 You chalked it up to being raised on a farm, not in the crazy urban City that never ended, never slept, and never stopped. No wonder people were violent here. You would be too, if you grew up in such a toxic environment.

 But when the Ferret touched your ass. That was it.

 You placed your cup down on the countertop and swiveled on the bar stool to look at him. He leaned against the counter and grinned at you, his fluffy ears jolting upright.

 “Touch me again, I dare you,” you warned, “I might not be a city girl, but I know how to put an animal down.”

 His inner fans whirred and he leaned closer. Ferret clearly enjoyed your threat. He grabbed onto your arm with his claws and gazed up at you with half-lidded eyes-

 “Wow, a fleshy that can turn me on just like that, please say-”

 Another claw, larger, sharper, and greener rested on the ferret’s head. The smaller animatronic turned his head, his neck creaking from the excess weight now placed upon it. His speckled-green eyes widened at the sight of the newly arrived gator- or maybe he was a crocodile. You weren’t sure.

 “Now, I know ya weren’t hitting on my girl,” the gator said, “You know what I do to creeps like ya?”

 The fact that a second, larger animatronic was now here and claiming you to be his was terrifying. What did you do to deserve this treatment? Is it the lack of cybernetics that most of the other City dwellers have? Or did you just give out a vibe? You had no clue, but you regretted going for an overpriced drink in the slums of the City. You might have been better off just going to your hotel room and snatching a drink from the fridge.

 The ferret recoiled from the alligator, nearly tripping on his own tail trying to get away. Whoever this gator was, he was clearly known around the bar. Once the ferret was gone, the gator took his seat in the bar stool beside you.

 You wearily watched him before rotating your legs back under the bar. You downed the rest of your whiskey and wondered if you should run while you had the chance.

 The gator rapped his knuckles on the bar, “Another one of what she’s having.” he demanded.

 The human behind the bar nodded. Her bangles and rings jingling as she moved to get the bottle of whiskey from the shelf. She poured an amount into your glass before disappearing onto the other side of the bar again.

 You stared at the glass and shivered. Now you were in the gator’s debt. Whoever he was.

 You decided to nip it in the bud before you got yourself in too deep.

 “Thank you,” you said, “But I can handle myself. I was doing fine before you came in.”

 It came out ruder than you expected, but it was good enough. Maybe he would get the hint and move on. You weren’t interested. You weren’t staying in the City very long, and you didn’t plan on making friends or anything else.

 “Sure looked like ya needed help,” he grumbled back, lowering his star-shaped glasses to get a good look at you with his red eyes. “You’re a fleshy. Doubt you could last long against one of us.”

 He…made a point. Unlike the majority of the population, you did not have any enhancements. No super strength. No super agility. Nothing. You were just a plain-Jane human. An animatronic could easily overpower you. There was no comparing a fleshy and an animatronic. Would the ferret have gotten pushier? Would he have forced himself on you? You’d never know, now.

 You finally grabbed the glass and took a sip of the whiskey. He got it for you. You might as well drink it. He did you two favors. You won’t let them go to waste.

 You say your name.

 The gator grunted. He was just as rude as the ferret.

 You downed the rest of your whiskey and stood up, placing a tenner on the bar top. You patted down your cargos.

 “Thanks for the drink,” you mumbled, “See ya.”

 You didn’t make it very far before the gator grabbed onto the sleeve of your leather jacket. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do stop. He obviously wanted to say something.

 “Monty,” he said, “That’s the name. You’re not from around here, are ya?”

 You chuckled and stashed your hands in your pockets. “Is it that obvious?”

 “Yeah, it is.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Let me walk ya home. Streets get dicey at night. Especially ‘round here.”

 Your immediate answer was ‘no.’ But. The ferret could still be lingering around outside, waiting for you. Or something worse. Your first night here you were harassed by a group of men. Everyone made the City out to be so great, but in reality, it was just a cesspool of the worst people.

 You turned to look at Monty over your shoulder. “Yeah, that’d be nice, thanks,” Came out of your mouth before you meant it to.

 Well, no changing your mind now. Monty stood up from the barstool, and you realized just how tall he was. He easily towered over you, and the size of his arms made you completely understand why the ferret was so terrified. Monty was gigantic and looked strong. His bright-red mohawk and beard paired with the leather trousers he wore tucked into large combat boots was downright…no it wasn’t as scary as you thought. It looked good on him. Monty didn’t wear a shirt, though, you supposed he didn’t need to.

 He sidestepped around you and walked toward the bar door, waving his hand at the patrons he passed. His tail swished back and forth as he walked, though it was elegant. It never got close to knocking anything around. A few of the other customers waved and called his name, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out why he was so well-known. Monty wasn’t your friend. He was just a dude walking you home.

 The door jingled as it closed behind you. Monty was standing a little ways up the alley, waiting for you to come lead him. But he wasn’t looking at you. His piercing red glare was aimed for something just behind you. You looked over your shoulder, and the ferret was standing there, petrified. Good call having Monty walk you home.

 Monty’s tail beat against the wet stone of the alley, impatient, probably. You spared the ferret one last, nasty glance before hastily making your way toward the gator.

 As you approached his side, he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Where to?”

 “I’m staying the hotel on Third,” you said, “The Jefferson.”

 Monty began to walk toward the direction Third street was. He knew the City well, you realized. It was so large. You got lost the first day you came. The underground was confusing, and you struggled to decipher it. But he knew exactly where he was and where he was going. Maybe it was an animatronic thing. Maybe they had an inbuilt GPS. With your sense of direction, you were a tad bit jealous.

 You followed behind him, careful to not trip on his tail. It swayed left to right in a pattern, and you couldn’t help but watch it.

 “How long ya stayin’ for?”

 You barely recognized that Monty was talking to you. In fact, you nearly missed the curb he stepped off, causing you to stumble. He just watched you over his shoulder with humored eyes. Smooth, smooth. Only you would be a clumsy dumbass in front of this monstrous animatronic.

 Your brain finally registered his question.

 “Oh, only a few more days.” you replied, “I only came here to settle some family matters, then I’m going back to the farm.”

 Monty grunted in reply, stepping up onto the next curb. There were no cars on the street. In fact, cars were rarely used in the city. Most people used some sort of flying scooter contraptions or the Underground.

 “Ya live on a farm, huh?” Monty mused, “I bet that’s borin’.”

 You almost stumbled on his tail when you stepped onto the curb. But Monty grabbed ahold of your sleeve before you could step on it.

 “Not too boring,” you countered, “I like the peace. Don’t you ever get tired of the toxicity of the City?”

 Monty stopped walking at your question. It was an innocent one. He recognized it. But truthfully, he never thought of leaving the City. It was the only place that animatronics were “welcomed.” He was built and raised here.

 Before he could reply, a scooter zipped by, and you jumped. They were loud when they were too close to the ground. You even fell backwards onto the cement of the sidewalk. Ouch. Monty growled in the direction of the scooter, but said nothing about your damaged pride.

 He offered you a hand.

 Gratefully, you accepted.

 Once on your feet, the two of you continued to walk. Third street was a few blocks up, so you didn’t expect to make it there for at least a little while.

 Finally Monty gathered an answer. “I don’t think I’d like it out there,” he said, “At least here, people tolerate us.”

 It was a weird way to word that. You hummed to yourself in thought. Animatronics were certainly looked down upon here. They weren’t treated well at all, and were still considered sub-class citizens. They couldn’t vote. They had little to no rights. Most places didn’t even allow animatronics in the doors.

 “My neighbor’s an animatronic,” You said at last. “Everyone treats him well. He even comes to repair my machines, sometimes. Really good guy.”

 That was news to him. He’s never heard of an animatronic leaving the City. This was where they would go to get repaired. Upgrades. Anything they could possibly need.

 “What does he do if he gets damaged?”

 The question left Monty’s mouth before he could stop it. Life outside the City was a curiosity, now. If another animatronic lived out there, then surely more could.

 “He lives with the tech, actually,” you replied, “Some dude that used to live here got sick of the life. Brought Bonnie and a few others with him. Now he lives on a farm, but Bonnie’s the only one that tends to it. He’s been good at upkeeping Bonnie, though.”

 The two of you crossed the street again until you were on Eight street. Monty kept his thoughts to himself now, though you didn’t seem to mind the questions.

 You were rather charming, in a way. Different from the other humans Monty got along with. You didn’t look at him like he was beneath you, either. The fact that you chose an animatronic-friendly bar spoke volumes to him. Especially since it was nine streets up from your hotel. It meant that you had actively sought it out. Though, he wouldn’t say that out loud. He appreciated a good human now and then.

 A few kids were tossing a ball-pod back and forth in one of the alleys. Two humans, and one animatronic. They were all giggling, and shoving each other around. You watched in curiosity as you passed, though Monty didn’t give them a second look. He was used to seeing the children that lived in the slums. Hell, that’s where he grew up. This was Monty’s domain.

 “Hey Monty!”

 “Hi Mont!”

 The children started bellowing and calling out to him, waving frantically as they spotted him. You looked from them to the gator walking in front of you and grinned. Monty waved in the direction of the kids, but didn’t stop to talk to them. No matter. They continued to play with the pod.

 “So. You’re quite popular here, huh?” you teased, “Are you famous or something?”

 Monty was chuffed to hear that you could recognize his popularity. “Ya could say that,” he said, “Used to play in a band when I was younger. Now that I’m older, though, I just pick fights with the fleshies that think they can bully us.”

 Ah. He was a vigilante of some sort. A punk. Though, he easily defended you against one of his own. Maybe he just had some hero complex.

 “You ever get tired of that?”

 It sounded ruder than you intended. Accusatory. In reality, Monty wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of.

 “No,” he replied, “It makes life worthwhile. Don’t ya get tired of digging in the dirt?”

 “No, ‘it makes life worthwhile,’” you instantly replied, “There aren’t a lot of farms left in the world. It’s nice growing something non-synthetic. I’d invite you to visit, but I don’t think you’d like it.”

 The truth was, Monty would like it. A large open field to run around in? No one to rely on him? Sounded like a vacation. Sounded like magic. The only grass Monty had ever seen were the rare bits and pieces that poke up in the sidewalk before maintenance. Everything about your life was completely foreign to him.

 “It can’t be too bad,” he said, “If someone like ya can handle it, I definitely can.”

 You laughed at that. It was a nice laugh. Not musical or melodical. Real. Rough. A little dorky. It was endearing in a society where everyone had to be perfect.

 Monty watched you from over the tops of his glasses, entranced by the look on your face. He almost wanted to laugh too. Your laugh was contagious. He even felt his silicone lips rise in a grin.

 “Fine then,” you countered, “You’ll have to come spend a few days on the farm. I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be a farm boy in no time.”

 Hospitality was rare. The fact you openly invited an animatronic you just met to your home, whether joking or not, was odd. Weird. You were weird. Trusting in a weird way.

 Seventh street was quite busy. It had a few clubs and restaurants that were open to those that lingered well into the night. For people like you. People like Monty, too. Fleshies glared at him as he walked by. He ignored them. You glared back.

 Monty only knew you for maybe half an hour by this point, but he liked your guts. And your smile. And your laugh.

 “Keep your eyes to yourself,” you hissed at a passing woman that had additional, robotic arms.

 Why humans would fashion themselves with robotic limbs yet act in such an awful way toward animatronics was beyond you. Imitation was a form of flattery, but in this case, humans were trying to just be better than what they were imitating. It was annoying. It was shallow. Monty watched as the multi-armed woman huffed and entered the line for the nearest club. A few other humans that were commenting quite rudely on Monty’s looks withered under your glare.

 Monty believed you now. You could defend yourself, at least against humans. And here you were defending him against humans. You were something else.

 Sixth street wasn’t much better. But at least most of the humans on this road elected to just ignore Monty’s presence. You walked quietly beside him, looking around at the different neon signs in windows, eyes wide with curiosity, not unlike a child’s. The City was still so new to you, and you were leaving so soon, too. As much as you hated it here, there was just something so…nice about having anything within walking distance.

 Monty watched you from the corner of his eye. He watched you looking around, bewildered and amazed.

 He took these views for granted. They were all he’s seen his entire life. They weren’t interesting or cool or even pleasant anymore. They were just there, in the background of his mind.

 “How ya sleepin’ here?” he asked, “Is the light annoyin’?”

 A good question. You wondered if you looked like shit to prompt it, though.

 “Eh,” you kicked at a stone as you passed it. “The lights are annoying, but I can sleep anywhere. The City just makes my insomnia a little worse is all.”

 It was true. Your insomnia was a lot worse in the City. You knew you could be out wandering the streets and looking at things. The constant drabble of people talking. The lights constantly on and flickering. The noise was enough to drive you insane. The first night you didn’t sleep at all. Then one of the neighboring ladies in the room next to you offered ear plugs. She was a saint.

 “Insomnia, huh?”

 Monty didn’t know much about it. He didn’t “sleep” the ways humans did.

 You hummed in response, tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket. That was another thing you noticed in the City. It was never cold. Your jacket was just anxiety deterrent. It had no other use. You could walk down the street naked and be perfectly comfortable with the temperature.

 It was especially strange since it was October.

 It definitely explained why so many people dressed in so little clothes. That wasn’t for you. Fancy clothes did not bode well on the farm.

 Fifth and Fourth street were practically deserted. A few humans slithered around the entrances to casinos and strip-clubs, but most were assumably inside. A strange looking animatronic sat on the front steps of a brothel, smoking some sort of pipe. How he managed to do that without lungs was beyond your comprehension.

 “Hey Mon’gomery,” the robot breathed out a puff of multi-colored smoke, “Didn’ know you had a human fe’ish.”

 Your face burned at the accusation, and you immediately looked away from the Fox-shaped animatronic. Is that why Monty was helping you? To get in your pants? Did animatronics even have anything in theirs?

 “Nah, not like that,” Monty said, “Fergeusson was botherin’ her and I’m just walkin’ her home.”

 The fox slapped his knee and chuckled, more smoke puffing out of his mouth and nostrils. You noticed he only had one good hand, the other was painfully absent. In fact, he looked really tattered, damaged. His ears with broken in different places, and his one eye was sunken in and covered in a patch. Dude had a rough life.

 He also wore a security guard uniform. No doubt the guard for the brothel he sat in front of.

 “Aye, he’s such a weasel tha’ Fergeusson,” the fox rolled his singular eye, “She is qui’e a beau’iful lass. Nor surprised he sough’ her ou’.”

  Monty laughed a little, too. “She’s nice,” he waved the fox’s words off, “She’s a farm girl. Not used ta the City.”

 The fox laughed a long. “Farm girl, huh?”

 You nod, meekly, “All my life. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cut the conversation off, but I really need to get to my hotel.”

 “Righ’, righ’,” the fox nodded, “Sorry bou’ tha’, maybe nex’ ‘ime. See ya la’er Mon’gomery.”

 “Later Foxy,” Monty grunted.

 Monty nudged you to start walking again, and soon you were on Third.

 Your hotel was on the corner. It was the smallest and dingiest of the buildings on this street, but otherwise nice. It was one of the only remaining brick buildings in the City - most had been replaced years ago. The front desk lady had told you all about it. The hotel was a historic building. It was the oldest building in the City, supposedly. You didn’t know if that was true or not.

 If it was, you thought they would take better care of it. Alas.

 You stopped right in front of the hotel. The door was held open by a stone. The window on the left was shattered. There were leaves covering the porch. It wasn’t much. But it was your temporary home.

 You turn to look at Monty. “Thank you for walking me here,” you said, “And thank you with Fergeusson. Ah…wait hold on.”

 You pulled your wallet out of your pocket and flick it open to dig for some cash. But Monty grabbed your wrist before you could pull it out.

 “Don’t need ta pay me,” he said, “I reckon you would’ve gotten back just fine without me, anyway. Just consider it a pit stop on my way back.”

 Your eyebrows knitted together, but you elected to put your wallet away anyway. If he didn’t want money, then you wouldn’t force it on him. (It was money for the train ride home, anyway.) But, you didn’t want to send him away with nothing.

 You motioned for Monty to come down to your height. He rolled his eyes behind his glasses but did bend closer to you. He assumed you were going to whisper something in his ear? Not that he had an ear, mind you.

 But you didn’t whisper anything.

 You stood on your tiptoes to reach the rest of the way and pressed your soft, pink lips against the side of his snout. And just like that, the warmth was gone and you were skipping up the steps into the hotel. Monty watched you disappear inside the door before he straightened his spine.

 He gently touched the side of his snout that you had just kissed. More than a little surprised.

 Monty never realized how warm humans were.

 He spared one last glance at the door and turned around to walk back to the bar. He had a bone to pick with Fergeusson still.

 You spent all day in the lawyer’s office, only to get nothing done. He spent too long on the phone with other clients, which, you supposed was fine since they were actually paying him. But your lawyer, who was your cousin, was doing your case free. Pro-bono. It wasn’t even really your case. It was your father’s, but he was too ill to travel anymore, so it was up to you to handle.

 It wasn’t even a big deal. It just had to do with your father’s medical issues and his power of attorney should be. Your brother immediately demanded he be it. But he wanted to trash the farm. Sell it to the City so it could expand and he could make a profit. But you wanted the farm. You did all the work for it, and it was originally meant to be yours. Your father just never finished his will before he fell sick.

 After a long ten hours, you called it quits for the day. You were hungry and nursing a poor mood, so you elected to once again go across the street into the alleyway to the only animatronic-friendly bar. That was how you found it yesterday. It was closest place that served food to your cousin’s office. The animatronic-friendly bit was just a happy coincidence.

 You had never seen so many animatronics before entering the city. It was amazing yesterday being in the presence of them in the bar. Today, you hoped it would be just as amazing. Without the ferret harassing you. Hopefully. Maybe you would even bump into your new friend, Monty. You had asked your cousin if he knew Monty.

“Oh him?” he had sounded annoyed, “He’s a bit of a brute. Are you sure that’s the right name? I can’t imagine someone like Montgomery Gator walking a girl home at night. Bit of a ridiculous image if you ask me.”

 You brushed him off at the time. Monty had been nothing but- well. He was considerate. A little gruff, but really not a bad guy. He was nice to talk to. He was really the only one aside from your cousin that you’ve spoken to all week.

 The bar was less populated now than it had been last night. It was only a little after lunchtime, so you weren’t surprised.

 The stool you sat on yesterday was unoccupied, so you immediately maneuvered to situate yourself there. You were a creature of habit. You enjoyed sitting in the same place every time. Once sat, you looked at the menu sitting off to the side to see what sort of foods the bar offered. You didn’t expect much, especially if mostly animatronics hung around.

 As if like magic, shortly after you sat down, the bar’s door flicked open again and the bell jingled with the movement. You didn’t look toward the source, instead you continued to look through the menu. There were normal things you’d find at a bar - pizza, wings, fries. You weren’t really hungry for any of those things.

 You’d kill for some of your mother’s cooking right now.

 Fresh vegetables and fruits right off the farm? Sign you up.

 The bartender noticed your indecision and approached, placing a glass of tap-water in front of you. There weren’t any other humans around right now, so he didn’t have anyone else to really attend to except for you.

 “You’re not from here, huh?” he questioned, “You’re looking at the menu awfully hard, need any help?”

 You wondered if you had a sign taped to your forehead that said you weren’t from the City. Every single person you had the pleasure to talk to could just tell. Was it the clothes? The lack of enhancements? Just your face in general?

 “Don’t really need help, no,” you mused, “I’m just hungry, but not that hungry, I guess, as none of these seem to be interesting.“

 The bartender crossed his arms and hummed, “We could go off-menu, I’m sure,” he encouraged, “The chef rarely gets to do anything special since we’re mostly busy with them robots. Whatcha hungry for?”

 You wondered. What exactly were you hungry for? If a chef was willing to make you whatever you wanted, you should really take advantage of that.

 “Stew,” you finally said, “Beef stew. With lots of potatoes.”

 “Got it.” the bartender nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen through the doors behind the bar.

 “That sounds pretty good.”

 The stool beside you creaked with the weight of its new guest. You turn to look away from the kitchen doors and find yourself face to face with Monty again. Today, he’s wearing dark-washed jeans with platformed boots. A dark t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. No sunglasses, just tired eyes stared at you.

 “Oh hey,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting to run into you again. Did you get home alright yesterday?”

 The alligator looked at you incredulously at such a weird question - “Did-did I get home alright?“ he repeated. He was going to say something nasty, but at the look of genuine fondness and worry on your face, he had to bite his tongue, ”’Course, no one’s better than me.“

 You beamed. Your smile was contagious, and Monty couldn’t help but grin back, eyes half lidded and face resting against his hand. Why were you so cute?

 “Are all farm girls cute like ya?”

 You weren’t expecting a question like that. Hell, he wasn’t expecting a question like that either.

 You blushed furiously and averted your eyes, covering your face with a single hand as you looked the other way. Monty’s fans whirred to life in his chassis, and he, too, looked away from you.

 Awkward. Awkward.

 The bartender handed you another cup of water. You hadn’t realized you chugged your first one down. Or that he came out of the kitchen. You took a good few sips of this water, trying to ease the warmth in your face just enough so you could look at Monty again.

 When you finally looked over again, he was staring. So much for getting rid of your flustered face.

 “Didja sleep well las’ night?” he asked, “I know ya said it was makin’ your insomnia bad.”

 Oh. He remembered your conversation from last night.

 “Oh, well,” you rubbed at the back of your neck, “I barely slept, honestly. My insomnia was pretty awful, but I was also anxious about my meeting today.”

 Monty tapped his claw on the bar-top, “How’d tha’ go?”

 You didn’t remember exactly what you told him about your meetings. But you were pretty sure he knew you were here specifically for them.

 “Alright, we’re almost done,” you said, “Should finish it all up tomorrow. I’ll probably take the late train home.”

 Monty hummed in reply, his red eyes moving from your face to your hand clutching the glass of water. He couldn’t tell if you were relieved or anxious to be going home so soon. He had a general idea of how you felt about the City (not good), so he assumed you’d be happy, but something about your body language told him that wasn’t the case.

 “Homesick?” he offered.

 You took another sip of your water, watching as the kitchen door swung open and the bartender swept back into the room with a tray. He placed the tray on the bar beside you and moved the bowl off it onto the top in front of you, as well as a bit of bread and butter on a smaller plate.

 “Yeah. I am,” you admitted to Monty, “At the same time, it’s nice to meet new people and spend time with my cousin. It’s kinda lonely at home.”

 You took a deep smell of the stew in front of you and hummed. It was delightful and you couldn’t wait to dig in. Unravelling the napkin bundle, you pluck out the singular spoon and scooped a spoonful up, getting a fat chunk of potato with the broth. Perfect.

 It tasted as good as it smelled. Gently salty. You could taste garlic and onion. It wasn’t as good as your mother’s, but it was a close second.

 “Why dontcha stay, then?”

 You swallowed the mouthful and placed the spoon down. Monty made a very valid point.

 “Because I don’t like the City,” you replied after a few minutes, “It’s not for me. The countryside is where I belong, even if it’s a little lonely. I think I’d be just as lonely here as back home. Don’t you get lonely here?”

 The truth was. He did. Monty didn’t have a lot of friends anymore. Not since Roxy and Chica moved away. He and Freddy never really got along.

 “Yeah,” he grunted, “Yeah, I do.”

 The conversation lulled.

 You ate more of your stew. Monty watched out of the corner of his eye. Well. This was awkward, but you supposed that was to be expected. Monty wasn’t your friend. You barely had anything in common. He had just been nice enough to walk you home last night…and sit next to you today.

 You nibbled on your bread, avoiding his gaze. He was staring at you, still.

 Once your bit of bread was gone, you had no excuse to ignore him though.

 “Don’t mind me, but I’m going to be a little forward here,” you cautioned, “You’re strong, and I could really use your help getting the farm set up for the autumn. I’d pay you, of course, and house you. Any repairs would be on me.”

 Monty looked at you, surprised this time - “Look, kid, that’s nice an’ all, but we just met,” he said, but honestly? Monty did wonder what the countryside was like. And he liked you. More than he should for just meeting you last night.

 You were interesting.

 “Just, think about it!” you countered, “I’m usually pretty good at telling when someone’s a good person. I think you’d really like it on the farm, and…I think I’d like you on the farm, too.”

 Monty looked away, rubbing at his snout and trying to calm his whirring fans down. You were so tantalizingly different than the other humans he met in the City. Trusting. Open. But you can handle yourself. You weren’t afraid of making a fool of yourself, either.

 “I’ll think abou’ it.”

 You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. Monty really would be good to have on the farm. Plus, then Bonnie wouldn’t be as lonely.

 The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while longer.

 You spent all of the next day with your cousin once again. He was busy most of the time and couldn’t spare your issue too much focus, but in the few minutes he could spare, he did a lot. By the end of the day, you had all your paper work explained, signed, and tucked away. You had planned on staying in the City at least another week, but you weren’t too sad about going home.

 Your cousin had shooed you out the office after he completed everything, telling you to finally go home and rest. You clearly weren’t built for City life if you looked this tired.

 Instead of going to the animatronic bar like you had the last few days, you elected to just go back to the hotel room. You had to pack. You had to book a train ticket to get home. It would be expensive for a same day ticket, but you so badly missed home. You were sick of the City sights and smells.

 You just had one little misthought about leaving.

 Monty.

 Even though you had only known him a handful of days, he was a quick friend. He had sat with you every time you attended the bar. The last day in particular, he was very interested in how things worked on the farm.

 “What kinda plants do you keep?” Monty had asked, “It’s gettin’ cold so I can’ imagine you plan’ a lot right now.”

 You had chuckled. “Yeah, we’re kinda just getting ready for the winter season,” you replied, “We still have some things growing - corn, pumpkins. My family makes corn mazes every year for the neighborhood kids to enjoy.” 

 “That sounds really redneck, no offense,” Monty had laughed, “Corn mazes? Do ya have pumpkin carvin’ contests, too?”

 “It’s more fun than it sounds, I swear!”

 You were going to miss him. It would be easier if you didn’t say goodbye. If you saw his face, you might just stay. You didn’t have a lot of friends, and now that you had one.

 It was rough.

 Your heart ached at the thought of leaving him, though. Admittedly, you were feeling a little bit of a crush for him. Though, you shoved it down as far as you could. You couldn’t love someone from the City. You couldn’t live in the City to be with someone.

 You needed to go and say goodbye. And you would once you finished packing. You had to go that way, anyway, to reach the train station. Fortunately, you didn’t have a lot to pack. A few clothes. Toiletries. A few knickknacks you purchased in the City for presents. Each of those fit neatly in your duffel.

 All you had to do now was pay for the hotel and leave. You double checked you packed everything before you left the room and closed the door behind you. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for the manager. He stood at the desk for the first time in days, scrawling something in a ledger. He looked up at you as you entered the lobby, smiled softly, and placed the pen down.

 “Are you checking out?” He asked.

 You nodded and pulled your wallet out to fish for cash. You handed him the remaining cash you had - just enough to cover the hotel room. Your cousin was generous enough to at least pay for that since he couldn’t house you. The manager counted out the bills in front of you, placing each one in an envelope as he did.

 “Alright! Thank you for staying,” he cooed, “I hope you have wonderful travels. Hope to see you soon!”

 You thanked him profusely. Then, you left the hotel too.

 You had a late train, not until almost eight at night. You only had around an hour. But that should be more than enough time to go and say goodbye to Monty and then make it to the station on time.

 The walk to the bar seemed so quick. Maybe it was because you were sad. Maybe it was because you had been there so often the last few days. Or maybe you were just moving fast, didn’t want to delay the inevitable. But you did know that the closer you got, the sadder you became. You didn’t want to say goodbye to Monty. It was nice having a friend in the City. And you doubted you would ever see him again after today.

 That was even more depressing.

 But you two weren’t particularly close or anything. At least. Neither of you said you were. You were just friends hanging out together while you visited the City. You told stories of your lives to each other, and nestled into booths in the back of the bar for privacy so you could get to know one another more.

 But you couldn’t help but think back to when Monty had saved you from that Ferret animatronic. Claiming you were his girl.

 Imagine wanting to be an animatronic’s girlfriend. It was weird, you told yourself. But you liked Monty. He was so nice to you, and he treated you so specially.

 And he didn’t care that you weren’t from the City.

 You shook the thoughts out of your head. No need to get yourself even more upset at leaving.

 The bar was lively at seven. Lots of people and animatronics alike were piled in, watching the football game on the television, drinking to their hearts content. One animatronic couple were canoodling in the back of the bar in a corner booth, too.

 You didn’t catch glimpse of your gator. Uh. Monty. He hadn’t arrived yet. You frowned and sat at one of the empty bar stools, placing your duffel between your feet. You would have to leave in a few minutes, with or without saying goodbye to Monty. While you waited, you ordered a rum-and-coke. It would help dull the anxiety in your chest over the long train ride coming up.

 It didn’t take too long fort he bartender to get to your order. He placed it in front of you and frowned - “Are you looking for Montgomery?” he asked, “He hasn’t been in today. Said he had somethin’ to do.”

 “Oh. Thanks.”

 The bartender nodded and went to serve another patron. You stared at your rum-and-coke and frowned deeper. You supposed that you wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Monty, then. He was probably off with his friends. Or maybe he really did have a girlfriend, and you were just being some loser clinging to him every time he popped into the bar.

 You sipped your drink and sighed.

 Wow, you really hyped up a friendship that clearly wasn’t a friendship, huh?

 He had magically shown up every time you were at the bar, but now that you were actually leaving, he was absent. You didn’t even have his phone number to call him and wish him goodbye.

 You placed a tenner on the bar after you finished your drink, spared another look around the establishment, and decided you would leave. You couldn’t waste anymore time here.

 You palmed your duffel and wished the bartender a goodnight. Then, you were out the door and back on the street. You had around thirty minutes to get to the station. It was about a twenty-five minute walk, if you remembered right. You didn’t waste anytime.

 Montgomery had wanted to pick you up from the hotel. You made it pretty clear the night before that you were almost done with your cousin. And you probably would be leaving in the next few days. So, he “joked” about taking you out on a real date. Clearly you thought he really was joking. He had asked the manager if he could call up to your room. But the manager informed Monty that you had already checked out.

 He knew he fucked up at that point. He should have made his intentions more clear from the beginning. Monty really liked you, for a fleshy. Not that he didn’t like fleshies. He just never thought he’d like one.

 Monty had just left the hotel when Trevor, the bartender, sent him a text that you were there. With your bag. And you looked sad. Monty hadn’t even wanted to go to the bar today. He wanted to take you to his favorite hangout and introduce you to his friends. But of course, plans change when you don’t actually make plans.

 By the time he got to the bar, you were gone already. He wondered if you had a train coming soon. He swore there wasn’t a train until nine, but he could be wrong.

 He would just meet you at the train station, then.

 You stood on the platform, just behind the yellow line. Your duffel was slung over your shoulder again, and your hands were hidden away in the pockets of your leather jacket. It was getting chilly the darker the City’s natural light got. You didn’t mind too much. You’d be on a train in a few minutes.

 According to the board, your train was even arriving a little earlier than intended. You were glad you got there when you did. As much as it saddened you to not see Monty.

 You really missed home, though. And you already checked out of your hotel. You couldn’t wait around on the hope that your gator friend would show up just to say goodbye.

 You kicked at the bumps on the yellow line. There weren’t many others taking this train. It was the last train that led out of the City for the night. Your last chance to get home for today.

 As you toed the line, you could hear the train approaching in the distance. Two minutes before eight, early like the board said. You watched it appear from a dark tunnel, its lights blinding you as you stared. This train connected to your neighboring town’s line, and you would just walk home from there. It was a peaceful walk through the corn fields, and you didn’t normally mind it.

 It slowed down as it reached the platform, coming to a shaky and loud stop. Its doors pulled apart, and the passengers poured out. You waited patiently for the carriage you stood in front of to clear before you stepped into it. It was fairly empty now that most of the passengers had gotten off. You walked down about halfway before sitting at a seat with a table.

 Then, you gazed out the window, waiting for the train to resume its journey once more.

 Only a few more people got on your carriage. You ignored them in favor of looking out at the platform, more than a little sad to leave the City behind.

 Someone sat beside you, much to your displeasure. The train was practically empty. Who in their right mind would sit next to a stranger-

 “Hey, kid.”

 You whipped around hard enough to nearly give yourself whiplash. Monty sat beside you, taking up one and a half seats with his giganticness. He had his head leaning against his hand which was propped up on the table by his elbow. He just stared at you.

 “H-hey,” you said, “Wait. You can’t be on the train. It’s going back to my home.”

 You shoved at his shoulder. Trying to nudge him to get up.

 He let out a bark of laughter, gaining several glares from other passengers. “I know where it’s goin’,” he mused, “Wherever you’re goin’, I wanna go, too.”

 Your face burned. Instead of shoving his shoulder, your hand relaxed and just sat there. Monty pulled the sunglasses of his face. He supposed he didn’t need them in the dark. He wanted to see you better.

 “But what about your friends?” you asked, “You can’t just impulsively decide to come with me.”

 Monty laughed again, “Are ya tryin’ to get rid of me?” he said, “Y’know, I came by your hotel. Wanted to take you out on a proper date, but ya weren’t there. Imagine my surprise.”

 However red your face was before, it was triple so now. “What? I thought you were joking about that,” you said.

 He gently grabbed a strange of your hair and gave it a gentle tug. “I wasn’t,” he replied, “I realized that I like ya. I like ya a lot.”

 “But I’m not worth you throwing your life away to live in the middle of nowhere-”

 “Shh,” Monty wrapped his arm around your shoulders, “City life ain’t for me anyway. I’ve been bored for months. And ya make farm life sound fun. ‘Sides. Who don’t like corn mazes and carvin’ pumpkins?”

 “But Monty-”

 “No, I’m serious here. Let me come and stay with ya, see where the two of us go. Consider it an adventure.”

 Instead of arguing further, you leaned your head against his chest. He hadn’t expected that, and you could hear (and feel) his fans kicking on.

 Something about him making his life alongside you an adventure stirred the butterflies in your stomach. Whether Monty meant to or not, he was causing waves of affection to just roll through your body. You never thought you’d like an animatronic like that. But in all honesty, you only knew the one from home. Monty was, by all means, alive. He might have been made out of metal and silicone, but he was real and alive and you could touch him.

 “I’m glad you’re coming,” you whispered, “I didn’t want to leave…you…behind.”

 “But ya didn’ want ta stay,” Monty said, “Me neither, honestly. City gets boring. And I’d like to see more of the world.”

 The train finally began to move again.

 “You know you’ll have to help around the farm,” you said, “Bonnie won’t let you be lazy.”

 Monty shrugged and grinned, “I’m not afraid of some hard work,” he said, “I think I’ll enjoy life on your little farm.”

 You wanted to laugh. Your farm was anything but little. He’ll see eventually.

 But for now, you were just content leaning against him and thinking about the future you might have together.

-

[strawberryraviegutz]

I really REALLY hate those kinds of stupid “hot take” posts. I think they’re just garbage to purposely farm more discourse to cause infighting, but I’ve been holding this in for so long and I need to get it out of my system so here it goes.

Alastor fans are allowed to dislike Valentino. Valentino was made to be a dislikable Villain while Alastor BY VIV’S OWN WORDS is a chaotic neutral antihero based off of Dexter with a moral code. Of course people are gonna like Alastor more than Valentino. The antihero/vigilante is a very popular beloved trope. I mean just look at Magneto and Venom.

You guys claim to want more nuanced characters but when we try and tell you that Alastor is more nuanced BASED OFF OF EVIDENCE FROM THE CREATOR and little possible context clues in the show we get accused of “babying/woobifying him”(as if Val fans haven’t done that to Val). This isn’t a hit piece against all Val fans/simps btw. I may hate that moth, but you guys should be allowed like him without receiving hate and or death threats.

It’s not “hypocrisy” to dislike Valentino or the Vees and like Alastor for the reasons I said above and the four of them aren’t comparable. Yeah they share some traits but overall the only thing Alastor and the Vees have in common are the mistreatment of the souls they own. Like I said, Val fans shouldn’t be attacked for liking him but the thing is…if you’re gonna preach those words then do the same for Alastor fans/simps because we get attacked too.

(Again it’s not all Val stans but it sure it a lot of them. I’ve all so seen Val haters do it too.) Yall claim not to harass people over fictional characters yet will go under Alastor posts and or discussion threads and be like “Uhm actually him and Valentino are the same🤓☝️”.

“He’s worse than Val” “Why can’t we just have a good villain” “Just accept that Alastor is a villain stop babying him” when we’re just minding our own business. Not to mention people going under fanart of Angel! Alastor and being like “erm actually he’d never go to heaven🤪”.

Along with yall bullying the hell out of Alastor selfshippers/simps and using tumblr sexyman as an insult(which reaks of internalized misogyny btw because majority of Alastor simps are women + women are always the first to be made fun of when it comes to characters that Classify as tumblr sexymen being found attractive by them or any character you personally wouldn’t find attractive.)

And yall going around and keep calling Alastor ugly under posts about people gushing about him and i don’t mean lighthearted jokes either because i make fun of the back of his head sometimes too. And full blown harassment. When an Alastor fan provided evidence of Alastor being a more nuanced character which were clips from Viv’s streams, people in the comments and qrts were being extremely rude and dismissive. It got so bad that op deleted the og tweet.

Don’t go around and claim to be against cringe culture but then make fun of people for finding Alastor attractive. And for goodness sake STOP FUCKING CALLING HIM A SLAVE OWNER. And yes he owns souls but that doesn’t matter.

Alastor is canonically half black and its overall disgusting to slap the label “slave owner” onto him knowing damn well that he grew up in the Jim Crow era of America in the Deep South of Louisiana. His existence as a mixed black person back then was basically considered an abomination. With how terrible it was for black people back then, Alastor probably bore witness to a lot of messed up shit growing up and if that’s the case then it’s no wonder he’s so messed up in the head.

This type of behavior has been going on since the days where we only had the pilot and it’s only gotten worse since the show came out. As soon as I saw that scene with husk and Alastor in hell’s greatest dad I automatically knew what was coming. I’m not saying that Alastor Is a good person nor am I saying that what he did to husk was ok. But to go after/make fun of Alastor fans,purposely denying evidence of his character while in the same breath preach against bullying people over liking certain characters makes YOU the hypocrites. So much for anti-harassment. I’m tired. Bye.