wutangsclan

[terramythos]

TAYLOR READS 2024: MORT BY TERRY PRATCHETT

Title: Mort (Discworld) (1987)

Author: Terry Pratchett

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Comedy, Third-Person

Rating: 7/10

Date Began: 1/6/2024

Date Finished: 2/4/2024

Mort, a young man with no clear direction in life, becomes apprenticed to Death himself. While learning the so-called trade, Mort makes a mistake which threatens to rewrite the course of history.

I INVITE YOU INTO MY HOME, he said, I TRAIN YOU, I FEED YOU, I CLOTHE YOU, I GIVE YOU OPPORTUNITIES YOU COULD NOT DREAM OF, AND THUS YOU REPAY ME. YOU SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER FROM ME, YOU NEGLECT THE DUTY, YOU MAKE RIPPLES IN REALITY THAT WILL TAKE A CENTURY TO HEAL. YOUR ILL-TIMED ACTIONS HAVE DOOMED YOUR COMRADES TO OBLIVION. THE GODS WILL DEMAND NOTHING LESS. ALL IN ALL, BOY, NOT A GOOD START TO YOUR FIRST JOB.

For live reading notes, check the reblogs (contains unmarked spoilers).

Content warnings and review (spoiler-free and spoiler versions) under the cut.

Content Warnings: Mentioned -- Suicide, animal abuse. Depicted -- Death (i mean. yeah), animal death, sexual humor, suicidal ideation, fatphobia (kinda).

**SPOILER-FREE REVIEW**

Before I dive into the review, I want to acknowledge that despite several criticisms, I did enjoy reading Mort. It certainly has issues that keep me from rating it higher, but I still recommend it as a fun read despite these flaws.

A major reason for this is the prose. It's difficult to express just how clever Pratchett was as a writer. He has a unique way of presenting scenes and situations which consistently feels fresh and original. Whether it's clever wordplay or a unique spin on tired cliches, he's always catching me off guard in the best way. Saying someone's voice "could have kept milk fresh for a month" instead of "was icy" is one among hundreds of delightful examples. And while there's plenty of witticisms, they feel genuine rather than cynically scripted to appeal to as many people as possible.

Pratchett also doesn't shy away from serious topics despite the general comedic tone, and this contrast makes the grounded parts of the writing all the more poignant. His fantastic style is so omnipresent in his work that to explore it in detail would devour the rest of the review. Even when taking notes while reading I'd have to be selective on WHICH great phrases I wrote down lest I only spend time on them to the exclusion of all else.

One specific thing I like about Pratchett's writing is how specific jokes recur throughout the story but often in ways one doesn't expect. There's a running bit in Mort where characters will call him "boy" or "lad" and he tiredly corrects them with "Mort". As a reader I fully expected him to eventually get fed up and chew someone out for failing to use his name. And… he does! But later the joke is subverted again in a (spoilerific) way I DIDN’T expect, which caught me completely off guard. Setups and payoffs like that are delightful.

**SPOILER REVIEW**

My biggest struggle with Mort is that I found it difficult to care about the plot until the end. There are two things working against Mort's story that made me feel this way.

The first is the main conflict's inciting incident: Mort commits a selfish act and saves the life of a princess who was supposed to die. In doing so, Mort warps reality and the fabric of history itself. The problem is, the only reason he saves Princess Keli is because of a superficial crush on her just from seeing her for a few seconds. The two barely interact before he saves her, and when they do later, there's not any chemistry to make this decision interesting. And yes, I'm aware that this was probably intentional: Mort did something foolish and impulsive and has to deal with the consequences. The problem is that since the rest of the plot hinges on his choice to intervene, and the context around that choice is so lackluster, it brings the entire plot down. I found myself wondering why Mort bothers to keep up the ruse and lie directly to Death when his reason for doing so is so vague and uninteresting. The personal stakes just felt nonexistent to me.

The second issue is how the story is structured. Rather than closely following a standard plot progression, Mort is more like a series of vignettes and scenes loosely tied together. There's nothing wrong with that in and of itself; I'd argue Guards! Guards! follows a similar style, and I'm willing to bet much of Pratchett's work does. The problem is when this lack of focus combines with a weak core conflict. Reality being split and history diverging should be compelling, yet I wondered why I should care at all. The main thing that kept me reading was the clever writing and setups in these scenes. So I found the book fun to read but the story mediocre.

To Mort's credit, the stakes get more personal and involved toward the end. I finally found the story and characters compelling when Mort started to become more like Death. It's jarring when his dialogue intermittently switches to Death's unique typeface. This is probably the only time I've had a font choice genuinely catch me off guard-- unexpected Death dialogue is surprising in other Discworld books, but here it serves a different function because it's NOT actually Death speaking. The true love interest Ysabell also gets a lot of characterization toward the end, which is a shame because she's a great character who should have had plot involvement sooner.

Speaking of characters near the end, it seems like Pratchett suddenly realized the book needed a villain in the third act, so randomly assigned the role to side character Albert. So he's evil for a few dozen pages after showing no indication of this before, then the whole incident with him is resolved by Death with zero problems. It's super weird-- in fact, you could probably cut Albert out of the story entirely and nothing would change. Perhaps I'm missing something but I really didn't see the point of this. There is some context suggesting he is an historical figure referenced in other Discworld novels, so maybe it's more interesting if you've read those. However, having only read Guards! Guards!, this obviously fell flat for me. While inter-book references are fun (I was delighted to see The Librarian, for example), I don't think key components of the plot should rely on them, assuming that is the case here.

On the positive side, there are some small details I loved. One is how Pratchett uses the phrase "There is no justice. There is just me," to refer to Death. Because the moment I read it I wondered when we would hear "there is just us" instead, since the pun speaks for itself. So when we DID get that line during an emotional moment of the story I was cheering and hollering and punching the air and shit. It's one of those predictable things that is nevertheless extremely satisfying as a reader.

Another great detail is that every person has a literal book that describes their life until they die, which is constantly being written. While this is true metaphorically, it's a literal thing in Death's domain. Mort the novel closes with Mort the character seeing his own book and reading from it, and this becomes the narration for the last page or so. It's a clever payoff to a mechanic introduced in the novel.

A last thing to note is that there are still some loose ends. This isn't necessarily a criticism since there is a chance they are addressed in future books, but I'm mentioning them for my own benefit. In one early scene, Mort bungles his job so badly that a witch named Goodie Hamstring successfully manipulates him and escapes dying entirely. Considering the emphasis on this scene and the ominous tone, it isn't addressed at all by the end of the book, so it is possible this character shows up elsewhere.

Something not fully explored is the theme of reality. When Mort rescues Princess Keli, he creates a paradox where multiple realities exist, and one has to dominate over the other, which serves as part of the main conflict. Death's realm is not real despite being a major location in the story-- something that's true in a meta sense (Mort being a work of fiction) but also in the context of the story. Then there's implications throughout the book that Mort becomes "more real" the more he behaves like Death. While Death is the final reality of life, obviously, this is presented more in a mechanical way than a philosophical one. At the end of the story Death gives Mort a pearl of reality that Mort created due to the events of the novel, stating that it can be the beginning of a new universe whenever Discworld finally dies. This is… quite the detail to drop at the end. I feel like reality is explored as an in-universe mechanic rather than a metaphorical theme in the story, which is why it doesn't feel conclusive by the end. It makes me wonder, again, if this is going to come up in a later Discworld novel.

**CONCLUSION**

Overall while I had some issues with Mort as a story, as a reading experience I really enjoyed it. I might delve into more of the City Watch storyline next, since I had a great time with Guards! Guards! and want more of those characters.

[justingrxnt]

His house was bursting at the seams, Orenda had made a firepit of his garden, Duke growing vines up the side of the building while Belle everyday had taken off on an ‘adventure’ without so much as a coat or understanding that you had to wear shoes. It was enough to drive Justin mad, made even worse by the eyesore that was Youngblood’s van, sitting in the back alley while wizards poked at it with varying levels of interest.

No, Justin needed a break. So he fireproofed the house with haphazard Charms, a class he barely passed, then walked to Maekos. Only to find it empty - fine no matter. Justin had other friends.

Which was why he was sitting, eating an ice-cream cone and conversing with a crow who seemed intent to tell him about the shiniest penny he picked up the other day. Deep into the conversation only he could hear, Justin hardly noticed someone sitting beside him. He offered a smile, and wave, “Hullo, nice day right?” 

[blouisparadise]

There are so many amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of December. We’re entering a new year feeling incredibly grateful for the amazing fics we got in 2021, and excited for the many we’ll get in 2022!

Happy reading!

1) Spinning In My Highest Heels, Love | Explicit | 2041 words

Harry fucks Louis because that's how it works.

2) Secret Feelings | Explicit | 2745 words

After having a lads' night, Harry couldn't handle his feelings for Louis anymore and acted on it.

3) Secret Feelings 2 | Explicit | 3598 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #2 on this list.

Harry and Louis explore more of their relationship after their confession the next night.

4) Lads Night | Explicit | 3767 words

Louis gets fucked by his bandmates as a fun night with his boyfriend, Harry Styles.

5) Need Your Knot | Mature | 3912 words

The Tomlinson's are rich. Louis is not the most outgoing omega, and since his parents have the money, they buy an alpha to help ride out Louis's heat. Harry is an alpha.

6) Make This Feel Like Home | Mature | 4473 words

Harry and Louis finally move in together! Basically just a fluff piece.

7) Destined For Heartbreak | Mature | 5046 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis’s rules: 1- Call me sir, until instructed otherwise. 2- I don’t do early mornings. I like my breakfast brought to me. Don’t wake me before 9 unless absolutely necessary. 3- Every Monday night is bath night. I’ll teach you the routine. 4- I don’t clean. 5- I like massages, and will ask for them often. 6- I always get what I want, when I want. An audience doesn’t matter to me. 7- I want to be woken up with orgasms every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, unless instructed otherwise. Prefer blowjobs or handjobs. 8- Weekends off, except for events. 9- Dress comfy, except for events.

And- what? Harry’s eyes widen when he reads rule number seven. Suddenly, he’s not exactly sure what kind of job he’s signed up for.

8) Maple | Mature | 5255 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 30: Louis is crazy about animals, so Harry is determined to get him all the pets he wants even if they are unconventional, like a baby goat. Louis is over the moon when they get to adopt a goat family, but there’s one little problem, and that is the goat not liking Harry…or even letting him get close to Louis. At first it’s all endearing fun and games, but when it starts affecting their sex life and Harry’s dick feeling neglected, he’s determined to try win over the goat so he let him be with Louis. It’s easier said than done - who knew goats could screech that loudly? (Tip: google goat screaming to get an idea how loud.)

9) Just Want You For My Own | Explicit | 5615 words

Taking his phone out of his pocket as he swarms through a small group of students on campus, he looks down to see a text from Niall. The text that reminds him that Niall’s annual pre-holiday break party starts in a few hours. Groaning, Louis slides his phone back into his sweatpants and pulls his beanie down further to cover his ears for the cold walk to his dorm.

10) I Can’t Stop Wanting You, The Way That I Do | Explicit | 6341 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“Can I help you find something?” Louis randomly appeared behind him. It made Harry jump, whipping his head in Louis’ direction.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry,” He giggled.

“Bathroom—“ Harry was an idiot, and he couldn’t help but glance down at himself, and assess the situation. Louis caught his eye, glancing down as well. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped a little.

“Uh,” He hesitated, swallowing audibly. “I can help you with that,” he mumbled, pathetically.

“ What? ” Harry questioned, stupidly.

“Sorry. Um. The bathroom. There’s one down this hall,” He pointed in the direction of a door Harry had yet to get to.

11) My Second Chance Part 2 | Mature | 6794 words

Louis wants his and Harry's relationship to become more intimate and wants to try and move on from the past.

12) Tattooed On My Heart | Explicit | 7209 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Intimidating tattoo artist Harry gives sweet Lou his first tattoo. And something more...

13) Heaven Is A Place On Earth | Explicit | 7926 words

Louis is a high-society omega with a sugar-sweet and fiery attitude to match. A mysterious alpha who arrives to help his family with their garden and home repairs seems to be the only one equipped to handle the little omega's personality.

14) If This Room Was Burning | Explicit | 8629 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Where Louis' cat gets stuck on the roof and Harry is the firefighter who ends up saving her.

15) People Fall In Love in Mysterious | Not Rated | 11055 words

Based on a prompt I found on Instagram: instagram.com/p/CTILWE_hyYa/

16) Butterfly Kisses | Explicit | 11832 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Himbo Harry is smitten with stem cell researcher Louis, who only dates smart people.

17) “I Do”. | Not Rated | 12020 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 522: Louis’ friend can’t wait to introduce him to her new beau. She’s been talking about him nonstop and he’s actually a little nervous to meet him. When her boyfriend walks through the door, Louis feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Louis would remember that face anywhere. (Harry preferably, with a bad past relationship with Louis).

18) His Unrequited Love | Mature | 12387 words

An AU in which Harry Styles is badly misunderstood And it takes him five years to realize his mistake and when he does he doesn't expect himself to do it right.

19) Eyelid Of The Sky | Explicit | 13013 words

Maybe he can let the burn settle down. Just until they are somewhere else where their underbellies are only theirs to attack and protect.

20) If Kisses Were Snowflakes | Mature | 13229 words

The Holiday AU. In which Louis decides to trade houses with a total stranger he finds online for the holidays, not knowing he would be finding more than himself in that little town in England, after the original home owner's brother comes barging through the door.

21) No Lemon Drops No Bubblegum | Explicit | 14979 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

They never interacted in that one semester, in that one class, and never were put in the same group, never sat close to each other. Then again, it’s not like Louis was hoping it’ll turn to something more. Just a fleeting crush, that he’ll get over once he stops seeing him every week.

Except he hasn’t stopped, he’s still thinking about it once in a while. What’s Harry Styles doing today? Has he cut his hair? Does he still eat scones for breakfast every Wednesday? He got his answers now, at least about the state of his hair. Harry’s hair is a lot shorter than the last he remembers, it curls around his ear, framing his square jaw nicely. He’d have to ask about the scone next time. If there’s ever a next time.

University AU. In which Louis is most definitely not pining.

22) Kiss Me On This Cold December Night | Teen & Up | 15914 words

This is a disgustingly self-indulgent Christmas fic, basically, the classic Hallmark film trope where character A leaves town and becomes rich and selfish and distances himself from his past has to come back for some reason and spends time with character B, who obviously love the holidays, which leads him to discover the magic of Christmas again.

Only, Harry is not half as horrible, he never cut ties with his best friend from back home, Louis. They still text and call a lot, he’s just more distant and guarded because he’s been in love with the omega since they were kids and it was destroying him to pretend his heart didn’t break every time he had to see him with other people. So he ran as soon as he could and never looked back, not ready to face him again. Until he has to because Louis has called him in tears asking for help and Harry still can’t refuse him anything.

23) Dandelion Heart | Explicit | 17653 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

After his sister’s death, Louis is granted full custody of his 4-year-old nephew, TJ. It isn’t easy, but with the help of TJ’s other uncle, Harry, they learn to make it work.

24) Let's Make Christmas Merry, Baby | Explicit | 19871 words

Harry and Louis have to play Mr. and Mrs. Claus at a frat party and don’t get on, but keep getting stuck under mistletoe until they do.

25) Where I Should Be | Explicit | 20670 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Louis says. “I loved him. You liked him.”

Harry, far too interested in shattering Louis’ ardent loyalty to Wynn, says, “Such a waste.”

“Who are you to decide?” Louis breathes, craning his neck to glare.

“Who better to decide than me?” He leans imperceptibly closer. Wanting, waiting for him to close the inch of distance.

26) Sweet Revelation, Bitter Wine | Explicit | 20786 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“Yeah, well. It’s not my fault I can’t stand the sight of you. This is kind of all your fault," Louis reminds him, his blue eyes flashing.

“Is that right?” Harry provokes him, clicking his teeth annoyingly. “That’s a shame, since you’re the most distractingly pretty demon slayer I’ve ever met.”

They're silent for a beat. He feels Harry’s fingers brushing over his cheekbone tenderly, before he's grasping his chin and tilting his face up properly to look at him.

Harry’s face is close to his now, his handsome features rendering him weak and leaving Louis to blink slowly at him, appreciating the view of a tall, morally ambiguous demon whose full attention is on him.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Louis asks him, voice honeyed and tempting as the fight leaves his body and he goes limp in Harry's grip.

27) Sun Rise In Your Eyes | Explicit | 21878 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 175: AU where Harry is a human prince that Louis, the fairy prince, has always admired from afar. One day, Harry notices Louis and Louis offers him some berries. Harry, forgetting the age old rule that you shouldn’t take food from fairies, eats the snack and is immediately shrunken to Louis’s fairy size and is now subject to live in his world while trying to figure out a way to return to his human form.

28) The Voice Of Rage And Ruin | Explicit | 25470 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another.

“Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”

29) S.W.A.T | Explicit | 30081 words

Louis works undercover.

Harry and Scott are head of SWAT.

A bust goes wrong, Louis is a target and their relationship is on the line.

30) The Road Not Taken | Explicit | 30393 words

The one where Harry returns back home for the holidays after a successful debut album, leaving Louis to unwrap gifts as well as old complicated feelings. Cue: hometown holiday hookups, overbearing siblings, and a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. A 'Tis’ the Damn Season' inspired AU.

31) I Think I'm In Love This Christmas |  Explicit | 36084 words

Home for the holidays and tired of being single, Louis tells his family that he’s dating his childhood friend, Harry (the fact he’s in love with him is irrelevant). Unbeknownst to him, Harry's the handyman who's been helping his parents whilst he's been at uni. So he's left to confront the alpha and ask for his assistance. Pretending to date your best friend is easier than Louis imagined.

32) A Common Place Affliction | Explicit | 36508 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“You should go home,” Louis muses, and Harry can feel the omega crouch down to become eye level with Harry, poking his cheek with a dainty finger. Harry lifts his arm, taking a peek at Louis’ face. Louis looks tired, he notes, but not exhausted, and there’s an eyelash stuck to his cheek. Harry doesn’t hesitate to lazily reach out and thumb over his cheek.

“Can’t,” Harry croaks, blindly twisting his hand around to grab at Louis’ offending finger and just holding it. “C’mere. Take a nap with me,” he asks after a beat, opening an eye to look at Louis.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “M’not going to nap with you in the middle of the ER, H.”

Sighing, Harry squeezes the young nurse’s finger. “Nobody cares.” He knows they do; they’ll annoy nurses and probably worry patients when they catch sight of a nurse and surgeon sleeping on the job. Let alone in the middle of the emergency ward hallway. Harry can hear the complaints now: ‘these are the people we’re supposed to trust with our lives?’

33) Voicemail Sings A Wreck | Explicit | 37019 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis is the president of the biggest omega sorority on campus, Harry is the president of the biggest alpha fraternity on campus, and they do not get along.

34) Happier, Prettier | Explicit | 40348 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

They were supposed to hate each other, they were supposed to do their job. At least they got one of these things right.

35) Even If It’s Just Pretend (Say You'll Remember Me) | Explicit | 45446 words

An enemies to lovers AU based on Taylor Swift's wildest dreams.

36) Falling Without Caution | Explicit | 50350 words

Louis Tomlinson, a wanted criminal, was captured by the FBI after years of chasing. Instead of being locked up in a high-security prison, he was offered a deal. What was supposed to be the end of a decade long chase turned into a morally grey circumstance for Agent Styles.

37) Slow Dance In The Dark | Explicit | 52533 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis dances around and Harry takes a leap of faith. Eventually, they fall.

38) The Sun And His Moon | Explicit | 52820 words

Note: Please take note of any trigger warnings and tags.

A royal AU fic where Harry is the Crown Prince of England and Louis despises him. Or does he?

39) Carpe Noctis | Explicit | 57622 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

A Regency AU featuring tarnished reputations, religious and political tensions, vampires and hunters, all bearing secrets that lead to moral conflicts.

40) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57890 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with.

But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis.

Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

41) Fatal Cues And Stormy Blues | Explicit | 58630 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Centuries ago, the modernization era generated advancements in technology that inspired the ever-sustaining period of coexistence between secondary genders, free of biological constraints. But what happens when a research opportunity forces twenty-four individuals to reconcile with the primal instincts that they’d suppressed for so long?

42) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

43) Save Your Heart | Explicit | 66293 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry thinks Louis is crazy, but maybe a little sweet too.

And he thinks Louis reads way too many romance novels. Okay, maybe he's also a little cute.

He also thinks that Louis loves the wrong Alpha (because maybe Louis belongs to him, just maybe).

44) In A Twinkling | Explicit | 89204 words

Louis’ Nan just wants him to be happy, to settle down with a nice boy, and bring him around for Christmas.

Louis is too busy with his career to bother about relationships, but in an attempt to appease his Nan, he sends her photoshopped pictures of him and his pretend boyfriend, Harry. The fact that the man in the pictures is none other than Harry Styles, world famous Gucci model—and recurrent star of Louis’ fantasies—is irrelevant. It’s not like their paths will ever cross…

So it comes as somewhat of a surprise when Louis returns home for Christmas and walks into his Nan’s sitting room only to find the real-life Harry Styles happily chatting away with the grey-haired ladies of his Nan’s Crochet Circle.

45) Bless The Day Our Heartbeats Aligned | Explicit | 97454 words

The one where after years of being gone, Knight Harry returns to his best friend only to find out that Louis is betrothed to another.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[morbidly-malicious-muffins]

What Kind of Music Slashers Would Vibe to Headcanons♪

This little thing popped into my head. Fyi, the canon timelines are thrown out the window for this so... Yeah.

Bring forth the bop~

RZ Michael Myers

"Let my weapons be your children, let my armies be your damned. Try to suffer on in silence, try to stop me if you can." --- This Cold Black by Slipknot

I think he'd really enjoy metal in general. I can totally see him unknowingly stomping to some Marilyn Manson and Meshuggah, though the lyrics and message probably will just fly over his head.

He listens to some heavy shit, but probably all the more mainstream bands/artists.

The loudness and organized chaos of the genre fills the void in his soul and reflects the state of his mind, despite his stoic and non-verbal outer demeanor.

Someone please do everyone a favor and introduce Michael to some death metal. Admit it, it really fits his aesthetic.

This is just based on speculation, but I suspect a 70% possibility of RZ Michael resonating with Cannibal Corpse. Fight me.

He hates classical music with a burning passion. Back in Smith's Grove, they played Bach's Air Sul G on tap. (its canon in the first movie lmao) He hates it. Mikey no likey.

Freddy Krueger

"No stop signs, speed limit, nobody's gonna slow me down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it, nobody's gonna mess me around." --- Highway to Hell, by AC/DC

Freddy listens to classic rock, period.

This guy is ngl a supporter of music taste discrimination. You listen to pop? Disgusting. You listen to Jazz? Disgusting. Classic rock is the epitome of all music.

He'll call you music-related slurs you never knew existed.

As stubborn adamant as Freddy is, he does harbor some guilty pleasures, including 70's hair metal and glam rock. Pshh. What a heckin hypocrite.

Some of his all time favorites are Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and AC/DC.

(Basic bitch)

*Hip thrust movements to go with his 'The Sprinkler' dance moves, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N' Roses blasting in the background*

OG Michael Myers

He doesn't listen to music, but if he did, he would probably enjoy Jazz.

Michael only listens to Miles Davis because he enjoys his music and can't be bothered to discover more artists.

Oml Michael I know Miles Davis is amazing but don't neglect other iconic artists plzzz. Someone please make him listen to some Teddy Wilson and/or Dave Brubeck.

I imagine him sitting stiff-straight on a rocking chair (he just likes how it moves), knife in his lap, rocking and zoning-out relaxing to 'Blue in Green'. (I love that piece)

#AfterHeFinallyKillsLaurie

#RetirementGoals

He also hates classical music because of the same reason as RZ Myers. Seriously, if either of them so much as hears the opening chord of Air Sul G, expect the speaker to be stomped to a pulp in a split second.

Bubba Sawyer

Alright let's all be honest with ourselves... 70's pop and country is Bubba's shit.

Look me in the face and tell me he wouldn't adore ABBA, The Jackson 5, and Dolly Parton. Thats right you can't

Everytime 'Dancing Queen' starts playing on the radio, Bubba will drop everything and start busting down.

Ain't nothing and nobody stoppin him. Drayton is powerless against the supreme sovereignty that is ABBA.

But let's also appreciate the fact that our Bubster can motherfuckin get down. *wipes sweat from forehead + heart eyes*

He would also do passionate lip sync with his heart and soul, to Dolly Parton's 'I Will Always Love You'.

50% chance of him starting to cry right after he finishes his earnest performance.

*Holding Bubba in your arms, rubbing comforting circles on his back as he bawls hysterically, incoherently babbling on about how much he loves you*

I also feel for some reason he'd really like Joan Jett & The Blackhearts.

Thomas Hewitt

"For one moment, I wish you'd hold your stage, with no feelings at all. Open minded, I'm sure I used to be so free." --- Citizen Erased by Muse

Y'know what I have a hard time imagining the type of music Tommy listens to. Kutos, Mr. Hewitt, you have defeated me.

siKE

(This is where I yeet the timeline out of the window y'all)

Thomas enjoys Muse, Evanescence, and Radiohead. (Fight me)

He just loves how emotional their songs are. He'd have one earbud in as he works away at his projects for hours. The music helps him concentrate, it is also a source of emotional support to him.

Hearing the heart-wretching lyrical content of 'Lost in Paradise' performed so beautifully by Amy Lee's angellic voice is really comforting to him. It's like hearing about another person's experiences. It makes him feel less alone in dealing with his emotional and mental turmoils and burdens.

The first time Thomas heard 'Creep' by Radiohead, he almost cried.

He also listens to My Chemical Romance sometimes. He only knows the Black Parade album, but he loves it. If 'Creep' didn't make him cry, listening to that entire album from top to bottom sure did. He started sobbing half-way through 'Famous Last Words'.

Tommy is emotional boi 🥺

Brahms Heelshire

C l a s s i c a l

No matter how stinky Brahms is, you can't tell me that he's not classy.

Schubert is his bitch. Schubert's style tends to be quite majestic and/or dreamy, (generally) and can change color/sound very abruptly yet appropriately. (This is just my opinion based on experience with Schubert's pieces, but then I only know his piano pieces soo) (let's still cue that maestoso to scherzando transition)

But of course, Schubert isn't the only thing he listens to. He prefers the romantic period, so Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Shostakovich, Brahms, Schumann, you get the gist, all the staples. Oh yeah Elgar too. To be a proud English lad.

*Brahms swaying in the living room with the grace of a baby giraffe, engrossed in the beautiful melodies in Schumann's Kinderszenen.*

(Oml please check out 'Von fremden Landern und Manschen' and 'Kind im Einschlummern') (For those who play piano, they aren't that difficult too totally recommend) (Ok sorry I'm done now)

Brahms would totally waltz around alone to Chopin's waltzes and nocturnes.

Oh yeah apart from that classy shit, he likes to jam to meme songs.

"Hey now, you're an all star, get your game on, go play---"

*cut to Brahms passionately fortnite dancing*

Listens to The Strange Man Who Sings About Dead Animals for a good laugh. (Please, all of his songs are gold)

Vincent Sinclair

He'll have 'emo' and 'classical' with a side of metal, thanks.

I headcanon that Vinny McWaxy is an INFJ, so the boy is likely prone to crippling existentialism. It would make sense for some aspects of his music taste to reflect that.

*cut to Vincent sitting rock-still on his workbench/stool, hands hover in mid-air, staring straight ahead, some John Cage piece playing*

You'll never hear this from Vincent but he enjoys sexy-time music. He has this whole erotic playlist he listens to while working. (Boy likes to feel sexy on the job, I respect that.)

I think its pretty much canon that Vinny loves MCR. (Hello fellow emo piece of shit 👋) His favorites are everything by them really. A hardcore fan. He used to have MCR, P!ATD, and 30 Seconds to Mars posters plastered everywhere in his workshop until he had to remove them all to add to the intimidation factor of his waxy hell for passer-bys. For the record, he is very gay for Frank Iero.

On the metal part of his spectrum is mostly classic metal, groove metal, and thrash/heavy metal.

Rammstein, Pantera, Vildhjarta, new and old Metallica, Dream Theatre, Coheed and Cambria. His bitches.

He also uses music to scare victims when bringing them down to his workshop. *cue horror movie soundtracks*

*KI KI KI MA MA MA*

Is a whore for the dramatics when in a good mood.

*Lacrimosa by Mozart plays as he makes a point to bring the wax painfully slowly down toward a drowsy and petrified victim*

A lament for your upcoming death, pitiful human.

Bo Sinclair

"The day has come for all us sinners, if you're not a servant you'll be struck to the ground." -- Beast and The Harlot by Avenged Sevenfold

Bastard boy is into dad-music™. (same)

Dad rock, classic rock, pop punk, punk rock, old school pop, his shit.

He listens to a lot of the same bands as Freddy, but Bo (generally) doesn't discriminate and explores a more diverse variety of music.

Its a fandom canon that Bo loves Avenged Sevenfold. I totally agree.

A7x is the perfect amount of cynical, political, and shred for Beauregard, (I hc that ge hates his full name so plz don't ever call him Beauregard)

He listens to the radio whenever he's at work. Whatever that might be.

Will NEVER admit it, but he thinks Vinny's music taste is dope as hell.

He'll turn off the radio just to strain his ears to listen to Vincent's music downstairs. No one will ever know that though. You don't.

Actually likes classical music too. Its not one of his main genres but there's one piece he really likes, Second Movement of Shostakovich Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Major.

He never thought he'd enjoy this type of music. Its so.... Calm. He discovered that piece from Vinny's playlist. When he first heard it on his brother's speaker, he fell in love. It was one of the extremely rare cases in which he'd be committed enough to ask Vinny the name of the music.

Tiny shuffle for man-kind, huge fuckin step for Bo. Good job Bo, we're proud of you.

Also pleeeeeaaase message me or request stuff, I'm bored and have little inspiration 🦊

I might do a pt2 of this, since I didn't write many of the boys and gals🤷‍♀️

Also sorry if I've neglected some genres/artists (Like i've neglected non-piano classical pieces.... Bc ya girl is just a pianist), a person can't know everything😗

---Zali 🖤

[teriwrites]

I’ve-Been-Neglecting-My-Tags Tag Game

So basically, I’ve been dead to the world for awhile, and instead of individually going back and making posts for tag games I’ve neglected, I decided to just compile them into one bigger post! 

Meet the WIP Tag

So @cecilsstorycorner​ tagged me like two months ago and I’m pretty sure I straight up did not process it. But I found it now, and it looks really fun! Thanks for the tag! I’m going to pull out Castle on the Hill for this because it’s been awhile so this can be like a mini reintroduction.

Title: Castle on the Hill 

Logline (1-3 sentence premise): In the early 1960s, a group of young German students face the struggles of university life - finding ambition, relationships, discovering identity, surviving finals, and coming to terms with their nation’s dark past as they look to its future.

Favorite theme explored: There’s kind of a lot going on under the surface, but I think one of the biggest is recognizing internalized biases and understanding the importance of how personal context shades perspective.

A character I’m proud of and why: It’d be easy to say Klaus because he’s one of those characters that just basically writes himself, but I’ll always have a soft spot for Josef. He was the first character I created for the story, and he arguably undergoes the most intense change from start to finish.

That characters tag: yeah, so... if you just search ‘josef’ on my blog he’ll show up. Technically I think I made tags for the Lads, but it didn’t really stick. 

Link to a piece/excerpt/post that I’m proud of: So this is a little old but it sums up the group dynamic pretty well. This one has more focus on Josef and Klaus. 

Any additional info I want people to know/am proud of: I haven’t posted about it in awhile since I’ve been a little more active in other projects, but I’m still working on it! I need a bit of an overhaul on some of the broad strokes (re: basically I’m working on having a little more structure to the plot) but it’s still kicking.

Manuscript Search Tag

Thank you @regan-wickworre for tagging me in this, sorry that it took like a month to respond to! I’m going to use Beneath Alder Creek because that’s the last large project I’ve worked on.

My words: eyes, friend, chance, fear, desire

Eyes

He was standing several paces back, half-hidden by a wide tree trunk, but there was no disguising the wide-set eyes staring at her incredulously.

Friend

“Would you like a ride home, Miss Pewitt?” Leslie asked amicably, as though the two had been longtime friends and not mere acquaintances with an unfortunate history.

Chance

Still looking away, Winnie raised the pin between her forefinger and her thumb. “You’ve been skittish ever since you saw this at Pryderi’s estate. I might not be the most worldly woman, but I’m smart enough to recognize that stabbing my own guide might delay my chance to find my brother.”

Fear

“He left. He’s afraid of the Evenfall Vault and he left,” she said evenly, hoping it would mask the fear gripping at her chest.

Desire

“Do tell.” There was a dullness to her tone, like she had heard of Enid’s offerings before and was merely amusing her, but Queen Ceridwen examined Winnie and Taliesin with interest. Winnie didn’t dare look over at him, in case she couldn’t resist the wild desire to laugh.

Words I’m leaving: accept, voice, near, resent, silence

Tag Game: This or That (Fantasy Edition)

Thank you @medeaes for the tag!

spell or curse ∙ abandoned mansion or haunted cemetery ∙ vampire slayer or ghost hunter ∙ phoenix or griffin ∙ wrist bite or neck bite ∙ fairy godmother or evil stepmother ∙ herbs or potion ∙ ghost or wraith ∙ dragon scales or werewolf claws ∙ druid or mage ∙ elf or hobbit ∙ divination or necromancy ∙ wand magic or hand magic ∙ centaur or unicorn ∙ dark fairytale or disney-style fairytale ∙ sword or bow & arrow ∙ siren or water nymph ∙ garlic or silver ∙ talking animal or walking tree ∙ demon trap or crossroads pact ∙ enchanted fairy forest or mermaid lagoon

Heads Up, Seven Up

Thank you for tagging me, @em-dashes and @akindofmagictoo!

(I can’t do the last seven because I just finished something and it’d spoil the whole thing, but here are a random seven)

“You have new merchandise, Ms. Kim,” Mike pointed out as he dug through his pockets. “I didn’t even know there were spells for maintaining battery life.”

“Yeah, well, some companies intentionally provide weak batteries to make you replace your phone after a couple years. This cheats seems the lesser of the two evils.” I rested my elbows on the top of the register as I watched Mike stack the contents of his pockets onto the countertop. Books, empty potion bottles, a pair of gloves. After withdrawing a black notebook with an engraved monogram and a full-sized human skull, he finally pulled out his wallet.

I had to ask him what spell he used to get that kind of pocket space. 

I’m just gonna start tagging people, and you can respond with whichever tag game you want!

@booksnotbookies @rhikasa @tate-lin @parafoxicalk @absolute-nonsense-scribblings @de-profundis-ad-astra and @riaisntwriting and literally anybody else who wants to!

[dorovahkiin]

SnK chapter 131 - My personal thoughts

- Ramzi and Halil... For me the MVPs of 131. Poor lads. Eren and Ramzi are both very confident and ambitious, but it didn't end well for Ramzi. And I don't think it will end well for Eren either.

- This wasn't Liberio, right? But interesting that a lot of people already escaped (without telling the refugees, what asses)

- Are the warriors' families still alive? I think yes, at least a few of them. If Annie wants to see her dad again they'd have to accidentally meet in Odiha, otherwise I have no clue

- It was nice to see Eren's POV of chapter 123 and to see what was behind that Ramzi memory shard. Well...

- Eren feels sorry - though FELT would be more appropriate. 123 Eren was months before current paths Eren and tbh I'm not sure if paths Eren still feels sorry. He is so different, like a completely new human being. Not to mention he called the humans "animals" last chapter.

- It almost feels like he has two personalities, but I think it's different than Reiner. Eren's "villain" personality was part of him since he was born ("I was born this way"). Imo it's not the result of circumstances, but it has always been there and was forshadowed since his season 1. Circumstances rather trigger it instead of create.

- I used to think Eren is doing this mainly for Paradis and his friends, but I changed my opinion months ago after re-reading chapter 100 and 131 more or less confirmed that there is more behind it:

- Freedom. It's nice that freedom through rumbling was confirmed as "That scenery" because I have guessed that. So no E+H=Y scenery, I doubt there's a second "that scenery" 😂

- Of course part of him is still doing this for Paradis, it's the "good" side inside of him, but I believe the "evil" side of him is doing this for selfish freedom. And now the "evil" side took over completely, therefore his main goal is freedom either at the present, but not at 123 yet!

- We shouldn't forget that the "I'm sorry" parts were flashbacks of 123, not the thoughts of current Eren. Current Eren's thoughts are the kid Eren in Paths imo.

- Age-wise kid Eren looks like himself when he got his titan powers. Ymir also got stuck in Paths with a kid's body, probably the same age as she got her titan powers. Interesting pattern.

- RIP Ramzi and Halil 😞

- OK, what the hell was Ymir doing there? Tbh I first thought she was there physically and is about to get stomped on 🙈 But Isayama drew those white lines through her, so this got to be her as ghost/vision or whatever

- Ramzi is not Eldian, otherwise he would have heard Eren's voice in Paths. But why tf does he see Ymir? Or maybe he doesn't see her at all and she is just watching him? Though it was implied he sees her 🤔

- I don't think Ymir controls Eren. At least I hope not. Ymir being the "end boss" would be underwhelming imo because she was properly introduced pretty late and never spoke a word. She is not as well developed as Eren, actually far away from his level of development! I do think Eren is the "end boss" and Ymir is just watching and sees the consequences of her actions, though I don't know how she feels about it.

- What the fuck, Armin in Paths with Eren? This was a Trost arc parallel when Armin woke Eren up, this will probably have some importance later on

- Let's move on to the AruAni scene: Most of my warrior discord friends will kill me if they see this, but I actually liked the AruAni scene.

- I've never been that much of an AruAni shipper, but I do support and enjoy it. It has been developed since season 1 after all and I was happy about the scene. Congrats to all AruAni fans! Even if my favourite ships are two other pairings I have to admit that AruAni is most probable to become canon at the moment - unless one of them dies.

- AruAni haters used to say Armin only went to Annie to vent, nice that this chapter confirmed that this is bullshit. He just likes Annie, simple as that.

- Bertholdt controlling Armin is bullshit either imo and will hopefully confirmed soon. After all Eren lied about Mikasa being a slave, then I think he also lied about Armin.

- When it comes to Annie's feelings things are more difficult imo... I do think she likes him in a way because she had always acted different around him, but I'm not sure if it's romantic and she probably doesn't know either. Annie is so dumb when it comes to emotions, she is just slowly learning to understand them. I think she tried to push Armin away because she cannot believe someone actually likes her, she doesn't dare to believe, she has such low self esteem. She doesn't really know how it feels to be loved, so she doesn't know how to handle.

- Furthermore the timing was weird because she is worried about her dad, but on the other hand she started the talk in the first place 🤷‍♀️ She took the rare opportunity of them being alone, they don't have much to do on the ship anyway, so it's perfect for talks. Of course she is most worried about her dad, but the Armin situation must be important to her either, otherwise she wouldn't have addressed it to Armin in the first place.

- What I also liked about the scene is that Armin admitted he has done mistakes. Armin and Annie's mistakes are different and not really comparable, but I liked that Armin stepped down from high moral ground. Because I have met some SC fans who say 104th have never done anything wrong, warriors always bad, and this gets annoying sometimes. Because SC are not perfect either. Btw I like both SC and warriors!

- Last page. Wtf is Eren at all 🙈 I think he won't be able to get back to normal human form again. Whether he is asleep or unconscious, his consciousness is obviously inside the kids Paths Eren above the clouds

- It would be crazy if Eren were capable of warging inside birds, but for now this is more or less a crack theory. But on the other hand how was he able to see Falco in that memory shard last chapter? It's so confusing!

- I think Armin will try to wake Eren up, just like in Trost arc. But if anyone is somehow killing Eren, it will be Reiner imo.

- Therfore I'm hoping for a Reiner centred chapter again, or more warrior centred chapters in general, they've been neglected. There is still a lot of talk that has to happen both between the warriors themselves and between warriors and SC. I want to see more emotional talks.

- Eren POV was important, but for me it was not very new, but rather a confirmation of what I already theorised. I hope next chapter (and also next volume!) we switch back to the other characters again

- So my prediction for next chapter: Talk chapter similar to 127 between warriors and SC, maybe also between warriors themselves. I'd like a Reiner focus, but obviously I'm biased 🙈

- I hope the SC will understand Eren's real intention since he no longer does it for Paradis mainly. They are deluded in that matter, but I can't blame them!

- Maybe a Zeke or Floch cliffhanger next chapter? Wtf are they doing? Also will we ever see Historia again (not as flashback) before the final showdown? I hope

- I'd also like more Levi focus again, I need to know his thoughts!

- I'm soo looking forward to the new volume fake preview 😃

- My rate of this chapter: 9/10.

[mickibloo]

Human Rights and Veganism

I speak frequently about my passion for human rights and how this is often dismissed by nonvegans on the basis of me being vegan, and seeing how many other vegans have related to my struggles, I thought it would be useful to compile a list of the human rights issues animal agriculture is responsible for and/or perpetuates. This will not be a list that 100% encapsulates the extent to which human rights are violated by these industries, but I think it is still a really great introduction, if nothing else, to how ubiquitous the oppressive nature of animal agriculture is. This post will be mostly guided by links to sources and some key quotes and phrases from those sources. 

1. Slaughterhouse Workers

Slaughterhouse workers are one of, if not the most, abused, mistreated, and neglected groups of workers to exist within western countries. The traumatization they face as a result of their job is often ignored by almost everyone who is not vegan or who does not research the topic. 

“A Call to Action: Psychological Harm in Slaughterhouse Workers“

“These workers perform a job that, by its very nature, puts them at risk of psychological disorder and pathological sadism. This risk emerges from a combination of many factors of slaughterhouse work, one of which is the stressful environment that slaughtering creates. A large portion of this stress comes from the exceptionally high rates of injury among the workers.

“However, slaughterhouse work is unique among major industries due to its innate violence...one of the most prominent studies investigated the impact of having a slaughterhouse in a community on crime rates within that community, using this as a metric for psychological health... Though the industries they used for comparison were nearly identical in other predictors of changes in crime (namely worker demographics, potential to create social disorganization, and effect on unemployment in the surrounding areas), slaughterhouses outstripped all others in the effect they had on crime. They led not only to a larger increase in overall crime, but, disturbingly, disproportionate increases in violent crime and sexual crime.

“Creating and sustaining oneself with “good” moral character and having another self that can mechanically end lives for hours each day not only serves as another source of psychological stress for workers, but exposes workers to the risk that their pathologically un-empathetic work selves will slip into their community lives. This is another explanation for the “spillover” that affects slaughterhouse workers’ minds and communities.

“Living with the knowledge of their actions causes symptoms similar to those of individuals who are recipients of trauma: substance abuse, anxiety issues, depression, and dissociation from reality.

(Testimonies from slaughterhouse workers): “And then it gets to a point where you’re at a daydream stage. Where you can think about everything else and still do your job. You become emotionally dead.”

“So a lot of guys at Morrell [a major slaughterhouse] just drink and drug their problems away. Some of them end up abusing their spouses because they can’t get rid of the feelings. They leave work with this attitude and they go down to the bar to forget.”

Confessions of a slaughterhouse worker

There are things, though, that have the power to shatter the numbness. For me, it was the heads.

At the end of the slaughter line there was a huge skip, and it was filled with hundreds of cows' heads. Each one of them had been flayed, with all of the saleable flesh removed. But one thing was still attached - their eyeballs.

Whenever I walked past that skip, I couldn't help but feel like I had hundreds of pairs of eyes watching me. Some of them were accusing, knowing that I'd participated in their deaths. Others seemed to be pleading, as if there were some way I could go back in time and save them. It was disgusting, terrifying and heart-breaking, all at the same time. It made me feel guilty."

I know things like this bothered the other workers, too. I'll never forget the day, after I'd been at the abattoir for a few months, when one of the lads cut into a freshly killed cow to gut her - and out fell the foetus of a calf. She was pregnant. He immediately started shouting and throwing his arms about.

I took him into a meeting room to calm him down - and all he could say was, "It's just not right, it's not right," over and over again. These were hard men, and they rarely showed any emotion. But I could see tears prickling his eyes." I remember one day in particular, when I'd been there for about a year or so, when we had to slaughter five calves at the same time.

We tried to keep them within the rails of the pens, but they were so small and bony that they could easily skip out and trot around, slightly wobbly on their newly born legs. They sniffed us, like puppies, because they were young and curious. Some of the boys and I stroked them, and they suckled our fingers.

When the time came to kill them, it was tough, both emotionally and physically. Slaughterhouses are designed for slaughtering really large animals, so the stun boxes are normally just about the right size to hold a cow that weighs about a tonne. When we put the first calf in, it only came about a quarter of a way up the box, if that. We put all five calves in at once. Then we killed them.

America’s Slaughterhouses Aren’t Just Killing Animals

“I’ve seen bleeders, and they’re gushing because they got hit [by a knife] right in the vein, and I mean, they’re almost passing out,” she said, “and here comes the supply guy again, with the bleach, to clean the blood off the floor, but the chain never stops. It never stops.”

In Texas, where private employers are not required to carry workers’-compensation insurance, Tyson has opted out of the state system completely. When a worker gets injured at the Tyson beef slaughterhouse in Amarillo, Texas, in order to get medical care from the company, that person must first sign a document saying:

I hereby voluntarily release, waive, and forever give up all my rights, claims, and causes of action, whether now existing or arising in the future, that I may have against the company, Tyson Foods, Inc., and their parent, subsidiary and affiliated companies and all of their officers, directors, owners, employees, and agents that arise out of or are in any way related to injuries (including a subsequent or resulting death) sustained in the course of my employment with the company.

The pressure to sign was enormous. When a worker named Duane Mullin had both of his hands crushed in a hammer mill at the Amarillo slaughterhouse now owned by Tyson, a manager employed by its previous owner persuaded him to sign the waiver with a pen held in his teeth.

'We're modern slaves': How meat plant workers became the new frontline in Covid-19 war

The company is now measuring workers’ temperatures as they report for work, and began supplying surgical facemasks, but, according to Fields and workers interviewed by the Guardian, Tyson continues to suppress information on employees who have tested positive for Covid-19.”

One worker, a central American migrant who spoke on condition of anonymity to protect her job, told the Guardian that the company was not enforcing social distancing. 'We are all given bathroom breaks at the same time and there are hundreds of us waiting to use them. There are only seven bathrooms,' she said. 'They [Tyson] don’t care about the worker. They don’t care if we get sick.' A spokesman for Tyson said the company was taking 'several measures' to allow social distancing but did not address the bathroom break allegations."

One African American worker at a Koch facility that had been targeted by Ice, spoke to the Guardian on condition of anonymity. He alleged that while Koch had recently begun taking workers’ temperatures before shifts, they had also withheld details of any workers who contracted the virus. 'They ain’t offering nobody no disability, no unemployment, no time off,' the worker said. 'I just keep my hands washed up, my face covered up, my whole body covered, and I pray to myself and hope I don’t catch it. The truth is there’s a chance that everybody in [here] will catch it.'

The sociologist Lourdes Gouveia has studied the meatpacking industry for three decades and said the Covid-19 outbreak is simply highlighting again the dangerous conditions in processing plants. Gouveia said the industry has perfected a formula which allows it to maximize profit while producing relatively safe meat by resisting regulations and utilizing low cost, mostly immigrant, labor in unsafe conditions. 'All of these elements are of a highly perfected formula or maximizing profits that is unlikely to change fundamentally,' Gouveia said."

2. Environmental Racism and Classism

Animal agriculture, and factory farms specifically, tend to locate their facilities near poor communities (often black or Hispanic) who do not have the financial means to take them to court over the ways in which these farms affect their health and wellbeing. 

How Swine in North Carolina Affects real People | René Miller Excerpt

“When you go back and you look at where these hog facilities are located, there’s a disproportionate number of them that are located near communities of color, low income communities. It is definitely a human rights issue.”

“Now see, if you lived here, and saw the way they do, you wouldn’t eat no pork. I don’t eat bacon, because I know where it comes from. When they die, they go into a box, and they decompose because they swell in the heat. A truck come and pick them up, take them to the processing plant in Roseo, ground them up into feed, and feed them back to the hogs.

“It hits you right in the face. Smell like something that you had never smell before. Smell worse than a dead body.”

“When we go to the funeral, he used the spray. If we wanna have a cookout on Sunday, he’ll spray. He always sprays Sunday.

“Do you think it’s also a civil rights issue?”

“Yes, I do.”

When We’re Dead and Buried, Our Bones Will Keep Hurting

Like many other hazardous and exhausting low-wage industries in the United States, this work depends on the labor of America’s most marginalized communities. Most workers in the industry are people of color, many are women, and nearly one-third are immigrants.

In 1983, wages for workers in the meat and poultry industry fell, for the first time, below the national average for manufacturing work; in 1985, they were 15 percent lower; in 2002, they were 24 percent lower; today, they are 44 percent lower. Workers earn, on average, less than $15 an hour.

Jobs in the meat and poultry industry have long been a starting point for many groups of new immigrants to the United States as many positions require little formal education, experience, or English-language skills. In 2015, nearly 30 percent of meat and poultry workers were foreign-born non-citizens—about three times more than the percentage of manufacturing workers nationally.

Even immigrants with work authorization can remain vulnerable to coercion from employers, as many are not aware of their workplace rights, may not be familiar with technical terms in English, or are otherwise hesitant to navigate the complex, and potentially costly, procedures to vindicate their rights. The result is a significant part of the low-wage workforce who are less likely to report workplace abuses or even injuries, and are therefore more easily exploitable than US citizens, for fear of their employers’ power to fundamentally disrupt their lives and the lives of their families. “Us workers are afraid to lose our job,” said Rebecca G., an immigrant worker at a poultry plant in Arkansas. “[P]eople don't speak up or say what's wrong about the chemicals, or the speed of the line, or the discrimination.”

3. The displacement and murder of indigenous peoples

The Companies Behind the Burning of the Amazon

The burning of the Amazon and the darkening of skies from Sao Paulo, Brazil, to Santa Cruz, Bolivia, have captured the world’s conscience. Much of the blame for the fires has rightly fallen on Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro for directly encouraging the burning of forests and the seizure of Indigenous Peoples’ lands.

But the incentive for the destruction comes from large-scale international meat and soy animal feed companies like JBS and Cargill, and the global brands like Stop & Shop, Costco, McDonald’s, Walmart/Asda, and Sysco that buy from them and sell to the public. It is these companies that are creating the international demand that finances the fires and deforestation.

The transnational nature of their impact can be seen in the current crisis. Their destruction is not confined to Brazil. Just over the border, in the Bolivian Amazon, 2.5 million acres have burned, largely to clear land for new cattle and soy animal feed plantations, in just a few weeks. Paraguay is experiencing similar devastation.

After years of remarkably successful conservation initiatives that cut Brazil’s deforestation rate by two-thirds, Brazil’s president Jair Bolsonaro has reopened the doors to rampant destruction as a favor to the agribusiness lobby that backs him. That industry is accountable for the atmosphere of lawlessness, deforestation, fires, and the murder of Indigenous peoples that followed. According to data released by Brazil’s National Institute for Space Research (INPE), deforestation of the Brazilian Amazon in July 2019 increased 278 percent over the previous July. Bolsonaro responded to this news by firing the head of the INPE. 

I would like to close this post by saying that I understand this may leave nonvegans with some questions; What can consumers do about this? Should consumers be expected to do anything, or would that simply be misplacing the blame for these things? Aren’t all industries awful in similar ways since there is no ethical consumption under capitalism? If you have these questions, I am more than happy to engage in a good-faith conversation about them. The purpose of this post, however, is not to answer such inquiries. I made this purely to raise awareness about these issues because the only people I ever see discuss them are vegans, and these are extremely important topics that I think deserve far more attention than they receive. 

[chachamare]

ahh noo, kagami is actually my fave 🥺,, the way he means the literal world to me i cant even explain hhrngh (so much so im considering getting a tattoo of him SHHD😳) , but hanamiya is a very close second!! followed by aomine & kise!!

aarg!! yes!! oldcodex have such good songs 😩💙 walk & lantana i think are my fave ones they’ve done for knb

what do you think about last game? do you like how it ended compared to extra game? 👀 i love to hear peoples opinions on last game shdhd,, bc personally i rly like how it ended!! also i rly like all their new hairstyles even thou apparently lots of ppl hate them? 😭 mido’s hair looks SO much better in last game i- 🥴 but i think im the only one who thinks that hahahsh

Bruh Kagami ✋😔 what a great lad. we do love himbos in this house. the tattoo idea is really sweet! it's definitely a difficult decision, hell, if you want it then do it (just maybe not a huge tattoo all over your back of him or smthg 😂). some people get tattoos for less reasons.

ohhhh the extra game question... going into dangerous waters here, anon! so extra game is manga and last game is movie, right? so. as a takao stan, it's not surprising that i'm also a midotaka shipper and the- the thing midorima and akashi did... 💀 my dude. it's one of those things i always get a bad mood about and they didn't even let takao (or the other backup players) play! such a waste! their hairstyles 👀 i really like kise's, he looks so cute with the shorter hair. murasakibara looks like he got noodles in his face, the mangaka could've drawn it better tbh 😭 and midorimas- friend i- 💀 i wish i could say i like it but. it's not a fair comparison, i'm used to his hair from 3 seasons compared to a movie that felt lowkey forced. i like that his strict eyebrows and eyes are more visible with the new haircut, his serious face... 🤤 i don't prefer it over his previous haircut but i don't hate it. the others didn't change that much but i gotta say the animation from the anime seasons look so much better than the movie style, imo

the ending tho.... ☹️ it was so sad. like idk, it makes sense kagami wants to go to the nba (though i don't understand why he looks for america when japan has basketball teams too?? like idk the schools aren't even really "professional" right? 💀) but when i found out that he only decided that in the movie i was so mad that they gave viewers who don't read the manga such a heartbreak 😭 also big scary changes always stress me out (it's just a manga/anime but STILL 😔). he left his best friend kakdkfkf 😭

overall the movie, as i mentioned earlier, seemed a little forced tbh. they really went overboard with the whole demon eye and akashi's split personality "fusing" with him like homie i- what the fuck was going on 😳😳 it seems to me like fujimaki, the further he got into the story, neglected strategy and individual strengths and replaced it with over-the-top superhuman skills to keep it exciting which is really sad bc basketball games can be so exciting without everyone having eyes that see the future moves of all players lol. it's of course my personal opinion, i also wish he would've given jabberwock more personality (and more screentime causing trouble bc i'm always so ready for conflict 😳 give me the drama)

that was so much text i'm sorry, it's fun to discuss it and i do have opinions 😂

[methmi-mandara]

A Boy with Clouds

Once upon a time, there lived a little boy named Josh who is 4 years old. He was so cute that he had a fluffy blonde hair. When the wind blows, his hair flies everywhere. He lived on top of a hill with his parents in a beautiful little cottage. This family had a little farm with goats. They made dairy product and sold them to have an income to maintain the family. The face of the hill was covered with green fresh grass. There were lavender flowers which made the environment to lovely.            Josh used to sit on a rock and observed the blue sky every day. It was like his hobby. He observed the cloud patterns so carefully and saw a lot of artistic clouds.                        Hey, fluffy white clouds                        Every day I cheer you                      You are like a genie from a lamp                      Wishing, on you I can stamp            As this little lad loved the clouds so much, he used recite poems foe his happiness. He saw clouds in different shapes as animals, magical characters and many more. The saddest days to him were the rainy days                You naughty black cloud                                            So stout        You swallowed my white cloud                                            So loud        Sad inside you is what is what                                            I found            He shouted at the black rainy clouds because when those are there, he won’t be able to observe the surrounding beauty and the white clouds of different shapes.          What do you think about his ambition? Josh always told he wants to be a pilot one day so that he can take the aero plane above the layers of clouds. He loved the clouds as a sky angel without any reason but only because of his hoppy to see them and the beauty he sees through it.        Once, he was observing the clouds and suddenly he stood up and went to his father.                      “Dad?”                      “Yes, Josh?” His father replied.                    “Can you take me to the clouds?” He asked.              “What do you mean?” His dad was shocked at once and thought of this childish request to take him to the clouds.                “They are so far. I am having only a foot bicycle which cannot fly. You grow up quickly and buy an aero plane, so that you can take me also there” His dad said without much caring.                “No dad, it isn’t a joke. I want to go and play there with my cloud friends.” He said again. This father could not escape from his child’s words.              “I have a lot of work son; you also go and mind your business without daydreaming. You know I am working day and night for the betterment of you.” He said as Josh was crestfallen. He went to his mother.              “Mom, I want to go to the clouds. Can you take me there?” His mother had mercy on this Josh’s thoughts.              “I would be happier if I can take you there, son. But the world is so huge that we cannot even imagine”                She said. This 4 years old boy was so close to his mother since the day he saw the light of the world.                “I asked dad whether he can take me there, but he didn’t give a proper answer. I want to know how it feels for the birds when they are among clouds. I will feel it only if I could go there.” Josh cried. Day by day his sadness increased. His smile was fading away as a paint of a cloth fades with water.                His mother’s heart was overflowing with mercy to this childish thought as he requested it every day.              One day his mother told him,              “Josh, my son, I promise I will take you to the clouds.”              “Really? But how? Did you buy an aero plane with the money you saved in the till?”, said the child with a big smile.                “Be with patience and trust me. Soon you can go there,” she said to Josh confidently.                  This mother, with a great idea to fulfill his son’s childish wish, went to meet Josh’s father who was working at the farm.              “Darling,” She called.              “Yes sweetheart” he said.              “I actually… want to tell you something…about…you know…our little Josh.” She said              “Why? What happened?” Josh’s father asked with confusion.              “As I can see, our child is very unique from other children.  You know what other kids are asking from their parents, right? Others are asking for toys and other fancy stuff while our son is only asking to take him to the clouds. He is a gift to us from god. He knows the beauty of the nature at this very little age, He is not asking for luxurious things as others”, She explained.            “So what? Are you asking me to buy an aero plane from with the money I hardly earn from the farm?” His father said as a joke.            “No, nothing like that. You see… Our child’s dream is to fly above the clouds. But to fulfill his dream, we don’t have that much of money for his education. Just the little money we have is also spent for the basic needs. We are poor that we cannot make him happy with worth. But I have an idea to make him happy. It will be like he made his dream come true.” His mother said with pearl like tears falling from her wet eyes.              “Oh, my love, I am always with you and Josh. He is our son. It is also my duty to make him happy with what I have. I know that I cannot make him happy with luxurious items, but I can make him rich with happiness and self- esteem. So, tell me darling, what is your idea?” He said making his wife feels relaxed.            “Our son is facing different problems. He doesn’t have any friends to share his emotions. Once he said that the kids of the village neglect him saying he is a poor guy. I have seen that he is saying all his sorrow to the clouds thinking that they are listening to him and will take away all his sorrow and every bad memory when they are passing by” She said again.          “I know, honey, you and Josh is my world. You two are my best worth. So what can I do to make him happy?” Josh’s dad asked.            “Can you remember the meadow we visited before Josh was born? It is a little far away from the village. It was a really nice environment with little blossoms all around. And the best thing is that area is covered a lot with fog in the morning dew. I still remember the lovely time we had there that day. I want to take Josh to that fog so that he will be thinking that they are clouds and he will be so happy”. She said with joy.          “Great idea! Darling, we haven’t been on a trip due to economic matter since we got married. Maybe our son is also depressed staying at home. He wants to fly above the clouds. Let’s go to the blossom meadow tomorrow.” He said.          Josh’s mother was overjoyed as she ran to her son. Josh’s father’s heart was full of love happiness for his wife’s ideas.        “Son, pack your bag with what you want. We are going to the clouds tomorrow.”        “Really mom?” Are you joking?”        “Not a joke, dear, “she said.        Without thinking of anything, with his joy to meet the clouds, he asked from his mother.      “When do we leave?”      “When the first ray of sun falls on your face and when the first sound of the church bell rings” she said.      He ate up his dinner and went to bed early. This night passes and the first ray of the sun fell on to his face. The church bell also rang”      “Mom! Dad! It’s time to go to the clouds. I am impatient to talk to my genie shaped cloud.” He shouted with excitement.        They got ready, went to the town and hired a cart from the town and his father said,        “Take us to the blossom meadows, please”        “What? Meadows? But the clouds are above the sky, not the meadow” Josh questioned.          As this child knew nothing about a cloud like thing as fog, his mother said,          “Dear, as the clouds are your friends, they told me that they will come to that meadow to see you”          “Really, mom? Are you also talking to them as me?” he asked          “Yes son, I learnt it from you,” The son was very proud when she said that.            His dad was also so proud of his wife’s wisdom to make his son happy.            Finally, they have arrived at the destination.          “Here we are! Now go to your cloud friends my son” his father said.          Josh ran through the meadow between the blossoms into the cold fog whish he thought it was clouds while his parents came gently behind their child, holding hands and being happy by seeing the joy of their son’s face.        “This place looks lovely as the day we two came here that day”, Josh’s mother said to her husband.        “No, today, this blossom meadow is lovelier than that day, because that day, it was only two of us alone. But today our son, Josh is also there. This is lovelier with him” He said as they two with the happiness in their hearts reached the son who was at the fog.      “Mom, these clouds are not having shapes of animals and other things! Why?” Josh asked.      “Yes son, they are so happy to meet you. So, without even caring about their shape, they are hugging you.” His mother said.      “Finally, you took me to the clouds. I love you mom and dad! You two were my aero plane to take me to these clouds on the ground.” Josh said They had a lovely time in this foggy meadow all day

[medea10]

My Review of Tamako Market

How did I get into this anime? Let’s just say that there were several Kyoto Animation animes I’ve neglected to watch and after the horrific incident back in 2019, I wanted to at least see all of the major Kyoto Animation pieces. No matter if this looks like we’re in the same universe as K-ON!

Tamako Kitashirakawa is a normal, ditzy, moe-looking for a KyoAni anime, teenage girl! She comes from a family that owns a mochi shop inside this tight-knit shopping district. One day, Tamako was at the local flower shop and a bird flew into her face. While stuck to her face, she sneezes him off. And then, the bird spoke.

…

I think I’ll just cross off the theory that we’re in the same universe as K-ON! Give K-ON some credit as they didn’t have a talking bird.

So this bird is named Dera Mochimazzi. I will never pronounce anyone’s last name in this anime! Dera claims he’s royalty from some far-off land and says he is looking for a bride for his country’s prince. Although, it just falls to the waist-side (literally and figuratively) when Dera took up residence at Tamako’s home and gets addicted to eating mochi. I guess for the time being, Dera will be this anime’s adorable mascot. Aside from the misadventures of Dera the talking bird, we also follow this leading lady Tamako in her normal life. We get school stories, friend stories, stuff about her sister, stories surrounding the colorful folks in this shopping district, and mochi. Lots and lots of mochi!

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: Ah yes, another Sentai licensed anime. I actually watched the entire series dubbed and only the movie subbed. Aya Suzuki is perfection as Tamako with all of her bubbliness. As for the dub, is it just me or was Jay Hickman trying to act too much like Excalibur from Soul Eater? Was he trying to unleash his inner Troy Baker for this role? Aside from Hickman, there’s really nothing else extraordinary to say about the dub. I will give them credit for not casting Luci Christian and Monica Rial as any of these characters. Love them dearly, but give a little spotlight to some of the other voice actors they’ve got. This was fine for what it was. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

JAPANESE CAST: *Tamako is played by Aya Suzaki (known for Mako on Kill la Kill, Kaede on Assassination Classroom, Takitsubo on Railgun, and Shouko on Happy Sugar Life)

*Dera is played by Takumi Yamazaki (known for Bansai on Gintama, Kayneth on Fate/Zero, and Jillas on Slayers Try)

*Mochizou is played by Atsuhi Tamaru

ENGLISH CAST: *Tamako is played by Margaret McDonald (known for Rikka on Chunibyo, Haruka on Little Busters, Sakura on Maid-sama, Risa on To Love Ru, Sachi on Maria Holic, and Harumi on Citrus)

*Dera is played by Jay Hickman (known for Jouichiro on Food Wars, Kurama on Elfen Lied, and Ryuuya on Air)

*Mochizou is played by Clint Bickham (known for Renji on ef – a tale of memories, Akihito on Beyond the Boundary, Haru on Tsuritama, Isami on Food Wars, Finland on Hetalia, and Mochizuki on Another)

SHIPPING: We’ve got a girl-next-door type of romance happening. Mochizou lives next door to Tamako and is infatuated with her. There are however a few little problems with this. The big problem is that Tamako and Mochizou’s fathers are business enemies. They both sell mochi, they live across from each other, and they have kids that are friends. It’s almost Romeo and Juliet except Tamako seems oblivious when it comes to Mochizou’s advances. Or Romeo here has a brain-fart and forgets vital things he wants to do for Tamako. Like episode one, he forgets to give her a present for her birthday. I will let him off the hook for this because dude already buys her a present and has plans and everything. But because Tamako’s birthday is on New Years and both kids work on New Years to help their families, things like this can be forgotten. So again, I can’t hate on our by Mochizou. His heart was in the right place, but his brain couldn’t catch up.

Halfway into this series, I shook my head thinking these two will never hookup. Tamako’s baby sister had more of a chance with her crush and he moved away.

Then again, this was all from the series. The movie got really deep with the Mochizou x Tamako ship that so much in Tamako changes. The movie kinda drops a ball on us so I’ll talk about it down below due to spoilery things.

ENDING: So it seems like this series moves quite fast calendar wise and the episodes seem to be like a problem of the day kind of thing. Like there will be an episode about Valentine’s Day, an episode where Dera goes on a diet, an episode with a festival, and so on. But along the way we do get a few cute moments like when Shiroi opens up to Tamako and her friends or when Tamako’s father remembers his wife through song. And let’s not forget that halfway into the series, we’re introduced to Choi, someone who serves a prince (like Dera). She really doesn’t do much to move this plot along for a while and is only there to stay with Tamako’s family and keep Dera on a short leash. But then at the end of episode 10, Choi makes a rash decision.

By this point in the series you might be wondering if Mochizou’s mochi balls are going to drop and he asks Tamako out. Well that might not happen just yet as Choi has set sights on Tamako to be the bride for the prince she serves under. But Tamako has no interest in becoming the prince’s bride. In fact, Tamako was more excited about winning a medal than learning she might get engaged to a prince of a far-off land. Add to that, the entire shopping district is excited for Tamako to become a prince’s bride. Everyone except for Tamako’s father! He got mad, stinkin’ drunk. And as for Mochizou, he’s just a sad sack. So no mochi balls dropping for this lad! Tamako did get a chance to meet the prince through Dera’s communication for a second. But once the prince landed in Tokyo, he ends up in the shopping district and meeting Tamako up close. Everyone in the shopping district was happy for Tamako and excited that this is happening. There are just two big things!

One, Tamako is too attached to her home and the people around it to ever leave them to go marry a prince from a far-off land. And two, there was a misunderstanding on Dera’s part where the prince has said that Tamako is not going to be his bride.

Choi and the prince end up leaving to return home. Dera on the other hand decides to stick around at least until New Years. Dera, being the little hammy-bird he is tries to make a graceful exit without saying goodbye to Tamako. He leaves Tamako without a word, but in same Dera fashion, he falls asleep in a pile of flowers and ends up inside a box. Turns out that box of flowers is going straight back to Tamako. Mochizou actually remembered Tamako’s birthday this year and gave her a box of flowers for the occasion.

When she opened it, there’s Dera! Don’t worry, Dera eventually goes back home with the prince and Choi. We just don’t actually see it here.

TAMAKO LOVE STORY: Now that Tamako, Mochizou, and the rest are all in their third years of high school, the thought of what they’re going to do with their lives hits. Like is Midori going to take over her grandfather’s toy shop in the district? Is Kanna going to do something carpentry related? Is Tamako going to continue working in her father’s mochi shop? Well, the story focuses on two things. One is a competition that Kanna gets interested in that involves the girls of the baton club. And the second, Mochizou’s decision to go to college in Tokyo to work on films.

Obviously, that’s the big story in this movie. Mochizou is madly in love with Tamako and they’ve known each other since they were babies. It’s just that he’s never made his feelings to Tamako known to her until he reveals his decision to leave town. After that, the once mochi-loving ditz we’ve grown to love these past 12 episodes changes. This is the first time we see Tamako feeling this way and it’s unknown what she’ll do. Is this the moment where she bails on her family’s mochi shop and go to Tokyo with Mochizou? After being told she’s loved by Mochizou, she goes through a lot of emotions. She’s distant, spacier than normal, avoiding mochi, and avoiding Mochizou. It wasn’t until she gets a nudge from her friend Midori to go to Mochizou before he leaves for Japan.

And right there, along with her handmade cup phones, she tells Mochizou that she loves him.

We end the movie with kind of a video that I assume was made by Mochizou and that’s how Tamako Market ends. I guess these two are a couple. Not sure if Mochizou stays in the district with Tamako and his family or if Tamako ditches her family and moves to Tokyo to be with Mochizou. I guess it’s one of those leave it up to your imaginations.

So…The anime was just okay. The series I mean! Love Story was almost at peak KyoAni perfection. Seriously, look at the animation here. The backgrounds are freakin’ gorgeous. And after watching the series and the movie, it almost felt as though they were two separate animes. Dera, Choi, and the prince were only shown in pictures at the record shop, one second near the end, and that short before the motion picture. Take all of those out and you’ve got something solid. I mean let’s face it, Tamako Market was fluff on the same level as watching K-ON or Lucky Star. You’ve got a variety of random crap happening throughout the span of one year except this series has the great fortune to have an annoying, talking bird. I don’t want to dunk on the series that bad, it was cute. But the winner with me was definitely Tamako Love Story.

We see Tamako and Mochizou express a vast variety of emotions that we never saw in the series. Especially, Tamako! She was always this ditzy girl with a love for mochi. And Mochizou was seen as that dope that’ll never get his shit together and tell Tamako how he feels. He always forgets her birthday, what makes you think he was going to get his shit together? But then Mochizou grows a pair and tells Tamako he’s leaving town and that he loves her and you see Tamako change. She’s not sure what to think anymore. She even goes through a phase where she can’t be around mochi. But I suppose we needed the silly fluff with the television series. After all, it’s not just Tamako, but all of the people who live in that shopping district. And I suppose Dera was a fun mascot character. If you want that cuteness, watch Tamako Market. But if you want a more romantic-driven story, definitely check out the sequel movie Tamako Love Story.

If you would like to watch Tamako Market, Hidive has all 12 episodes and the movie available for streaming.

Now then, what’s next on my Sentai Filmworks list?

Redo of He…

Choose your next words wisely.

Well Medea, do you love anime that’s directed by Kunihiko Ikuhara?

Oh dear God. What fresh hell did I miss from that iconic enigma? And is it crazier than kappas eating people’s asses?

Okay Penguindrum…please do not contain penguins eating people’s asses.

[the--highlanders]

1. Delicious

on ao3.

The crowd milled around Jamie, engulfing him, masses of creatures – of people, he reminded himself – towering over him until he had entirely lost his bearings. He stared after a few of them as they went by, first one, then another, wondering where they came from and where they were going. Some were laden with brightly-coloured bags, others heaving crates or rattling cages, and still others bustling to and fro in smart uniforms. Not one of them paid him any mind as they passed, too concerned with their own business. Once or twice, he opened his mouth to speak to someone as they passed, but they were always gone before he could think of what to say.

Just wait there a minute, the Doctor had said. I shan’t be long. But he had been gone a good deal longer than a minute, and the more Jamie replayed his words in his mind, the more he began to chafe at them. He was not a child, after all. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, even if he was alone on a strange alien planet. And if the Doctor was happy to wander off without a second thought, then surely there was nothing keeping him from doing the same. He stepped forward – bumped into some towering creature that seemed entirely made up of transparent tentacles – yelped at the sudden, inexplicable pain that lanced up his arm – and stumbled backwards into someone else, spluttering and shaking his head.

“Good gracious, Jamie.” That someone spun him around to face them, fussing over his shirt collar and smoothing down his sleeves. The paper bags they held in one hand brushed against his chest, leaving a greasy mark there. “Are you quite alright?”

Of course it was the Doctor, Jamie thought. Just as he had began to think that he might be able to cope on his own for once. But the crowd was even more daunting now, hemming the two of them into their own little bubble, and he ducked his head to grin bashfully up at the Doctor. “Aye, I’m fine.” Even as he spoke, his hand twitched violently of its own accord, and he stared down at it in wide-eyed alarm. “What just happened?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about it.” The Doctor waved his own hand, as nonchalant as if people’s bodies moved on their own all the time. “Humans weren’t meant for contact with the Thryx, that’s all.”

“Eh?”

“That fellow you bumped into just now.” Jamie glanced over his shoulder, scowling after them. “Oh – oh, no, it’s quite alright, it isn’t their fault – it’s just a little residual electrical energy. They can’t help it, it’s simply how their nervous system works.”

“Oh, aye.”

“It’ll wear off soon enough.” Flashing him a triumphant smile, the Doctor held up the pair of bags he was holding. “I know I’m a little late, ah – there was a terrible queue.”

All Jamie’s earlier irritation was draining away from him at the sight of the Doctor’s earnest expression. “That’s alright.” He made as if to bump his elbow against the Doctor’s, but his limbs felt swollen and clumsy, and he settled for knocking their hips together instead. Only after he had stepped away did he realise how intimate the motion had been, and a shudder ran through him, as powerful as the one the Thryx had given him. “I dinnae think I’ll be able tae hold it, though. Can we sit down?”

“Ah – yes, of course.” Taking his arm, the Doctor wove through the crowd with a deftness that belied his usual clumsy nature, ducking and weaving past the taller aliens until they reached the fountain at the centre of the great plaza. The liquid spraying from the top was too thick to be water, falling back into the basin in great purple globs. It was hardly a picturesque sight, but something about the motion was oddly soothing, and Jamie was reluctant to tear his eyes away as the Doctor pressed him down onto a bench. “There we are.” He leant back, folding his arms behind his head and tilting his face up to let the light of the suns fall on his eyelids. “So, what do you think of your first intergalactic port planet?”

Busy, Jamie wanted to say – but that hardly captured it. “It’s like -” He swallowed, his cheeks reddening at the thought of saying something so silly to the Doctor, but he pressed on. “Back home, we used tae go down to the beach to collect seaweed, right. To put on the crops. An’ one time, when I was a wee lad, I walked out into the sea. Only got up to my chest in it before athair – before my father came an’ pulled me out, but – och, I’m no’ makin’ sense, am I?”

The Doctor had opened his eyes again to watch him with a strange sort of softness in his expression. “You’re making perfect sense.

The way the Doctor was looking at him made his heart flutter uncomfortably in his chest, and he swallowed thickly, looking down at his lap. “No, I’m no’,” he said, carefully lightly. If he could turn it into a joke – if the Doctor was joking too – then he would not have to think so hard about why every nerve in his body felt like it was burning. “But that’s what it feels like. Like goin’ into somethin’ so much bigger than yourself, an’ ye feel like ye might drown.”

“That’s a rather charming way of putting it,” the Doctor said. His tone was equally light – but his words were equally careful, as if he were picking his way along the same precarious path that Jamie felt himself struggling to cling to. Perhaps he was – or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. “Now – yes, the pastries. We shouldn’t let them get cold.”

He held out one bag for Jamie to reach into, but the opening was too small for Jamie’s still-unresponsive fingers, no matter how hard he tried to force them inside. “How long did ye say it would take for me tae get better?”

“Mm.” The Doctor tapped his fingers against his lips. “I didn’t. Five minutes? Half an hour?”

It was ridiculous enough that Jamie would have burst into laughter if he had not been so worried. “There’s a hell of a lot of difference between five minutes an’ half an hour, ye know.”

“Yes, I suppose there is.” The Doctor reached into the bag himself, pulling out the pastry inside. Its bright green surface shimmered like the sun on waves as he turned it over, and Jamie shook his head, struggling to focus his eyes on it. “I’ll simply have to hold it for you, then.”

“Hey – Doctor -” Jamie spluttered out a protest, but the Doctor was already pressing the pastry against his mouth. He glared at him over the top of it, but took an obliging bite anyway. “Mm.”

“What do you think?”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully, wondering exactly what the thing tasted like. It could almost have been apples, but there was something pleasantly sour about it that he could not put his finger on. “’S good,” he managed. “Really good.”

“Splendid.” The Doctor beamed, and there was that awful feeling in his chest again, like the twitching in his fingers had reached his heart. Maybe it had, he thought. Maybe there was some terrible side-effect the Doctor had neglected to tell him about, and he was going to collapse. “Didn’t I say you’d like them?”

“Aye, ye did.” The Doctor was holding the pastry to his mouth again. This time he glanced around surreptitiously before taking a bite, his skin crawling with the thought of even a passer-by so much as sparing them a glance. This could hardly be allowed, he thought. Not in broad daylight, in the middle of a public place. Not when the Doctor was still looking at him with his eyes so soft around the edges. “Doctor?”

“Mm?”

I do have one good arm, he wanted to tell him – opened his mouth to say – You don’t have to be feeding me – but he did not want him to stop, not really. The Doctor swiped his thumb over his cheek, wiping away a smudge of something that might have been icing sugar, and scrubbing away any coherent thoughts from Jamie’s mind along with it. The place he had touched was left tingling long after the contact was gone, and Jamie was briefly glad that his numb arm stopped him from reaching up to touch the spot himself. “Nothin’,” he said faintly.

“Alright, then.”

“Just -” Jamie twisted around to face him, fumbling to take the Doctor’s hands and press them against the bench to hold him still. His swollen fingers were still burning with the shock, and the strange coolness of the Doctor’s skin against his own felt amplified a thousand times. “I – I like bein’ here. With ye.” Even as he spoke, the words sounded so pitifully small, far too little to capture the pounding of his heart. But all the things he wanted to say were trapped beneath his skin, caught in his throat, the mere thought of them leaving him trembling like a cornered wild animal. You’re too good for me. I don’t know what I can do for you in return. It hurts when you look at me all soft like that, and I know you don’t mean what I want you to mean, but I never want you to stop.

“I’m, ah.” The Doctor glanced away, his expression flickering into something that looked dangerously like wistfulness for the briefest of moments. Wishful thinking again, Jamie told himself sternly. “I’m glad.”

I wish I knew what you were thinking.

“Aye, well. Good.”

I wish I could forget about what I’m thinking.

“Quite.”

They sat in silence, facing carefully away from each other, their hands still pressed tightly together.

I love you.

[inkytealeaf]

Once upon an end - Asrian fic

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a kingdom spreading from a luxurious forest, shelter to exotic animals and creatures some would only find in books, to a desert where innocent souls had lost themselves seeking treasures that didn’t exist, there was a pirate longing for more adventures. Adventures about fighting sea monsters, other pirates, defending the weak and defenceless, discovering a new island and giving it his name. All those adventures he had dreamt of as a kid, he was living them with each new day.

But there was one adventure, the boy had never dreamt of.

Legs dangling above the waves, Julian watched the horizon, admired the colours the setting sun displayed in the sky. A sigh left his lips, concern on his face. For once, watching the sun set didn’t lift up his mood. Because for once, his captain didn’t seem to know where he was leading the crew. Even though he had told them their next destination would bring them more treasures than they ever had.

They had spent weeks, months, sailing seas, seeing nothing else than the blue sky and calm waves. A few dolphins here and there. A ship to sack. But no precise destination. Julian had sailed with his captain for years, but never had he acted like this, keeping secrets from him, not sharing their exact destination. Their goal. And after all, why would he? Julian was just a mere doctor on that ship. Only useful to patch drunk pirates who had been fighting to death. Their only distraction on that ship, fights, to Julian’s greatest dismay. More than once had he tried to bring them all together, when the moon was high in the sky and the sea silent, to share stories, play music like he had done so many nights with his previous crew. They all had refused, even the captain too busy in his quarters, focused on maps.

Except for the youngest member of the crew, and a curious creature who had caught his attention one night.

Julian sensed movement under him. Slow, barely visible, except for that patch of white hair, and pink tail. He moved on the edge of the window, feet pressed against the wood, and watched the tiny waves hitting the ship with each of their movement, a smile splitting his face in half. Then, as he thought that maybe they weren’t in the mood today for their chat, he saw their face break the surface of the ocean, pale smiling eyes looking back at him.

“Are you going to follow us till the end of the world?” He asked, a grin on his lips.

Truth be told, Julian wouldn’t mind if they did. He liked their company, their talks late into the night when the whole crew was supposed to be sleeping, talks that had started merely a week after they left land. It had been strange at first, to talk with a creature of the sea he had only heard stories about. Not always good ones.

“I’m a traveller,” they said, water to their shoulders. “It just happens that we’re going the same direction.”

“Isn’t it rather because you have a liking for me? Hm?”

“Not a chance.”

“Aw come on Asra, we both know it’s the truth!”

Before Julian could add something else, or even laugh, they jumped out of the water, high enough to put their hands on the edge, nose touching Julian’s. "Is it though?" They asked, mischief in their voice.

Colours found their way to Julian’s face and neck, who could only mumble incomprehensible words. He had always found Asra to be fascinating, in their own way, and the fact that had been following the ship – whether they wanted to admit it or not – was cute. Julian had been daydreaming that day, like every other day when a voice had called him from bellow. And so, they had spent the night talking, getting to know each other as they were so, so different, coming from two worlds far apart. All the while being careful that no one would see them. Because in the middle of that first night, Asra had admitted just how much they hated humans, but couldn’t prevent themselves from stopping to believe some of them weren’t the monsters they had encountered.

And just the same as that first night, Julian talked with them for hours. Unaware that their worlds would be shattered.

* * *

Sat on the bowsprit, just above the figurehead – a winged skeleton holding a spear – Julian started to regret staying so long in the sun. But he was waiting for them. He wanted to see them. Three days had passed, three days with no signs of Asra and their pink tail, scales kissing their temples and shoulders. No signs of their laugh, their hushed words, their palmed fingers brushing his bang out of his eyes. No signs at all, and Julian missed them a lot.

Maybe they had found something more interesting down there. Maybe they had finally reached their destination and hadn’t wanted to tell him goodbye. Or maybe a sea serpent had eaten them, the bottom of the ocean scattered with their bones. And in a few days, Julian would accept the fact that he’ll never see them again, mourn their loss with bottles of rum. If there was still any.

The thought of losing them gave him nausea. Deep down, he hoped they were only exploring the ocean, still following the ship.

“Is everything alright, doctor?”

Julian turned on the bowsprit, facing the newcomer. A young boy, not even in his twenties yet, hair as red as his, tattered shirt and pants too big for his skinny shape, a scar across his left eye. A young boy on a ship full of dangerous men. A young boy that shouldn’t be here. A young boy he had grown close to, one he loved as the little brother he never had.

“It's Ilya for you, Nat. How many times should I remind you this?”

“Sorry doc– Ilya.” He said, cheeks red. “I’m not used to it…”

“Is there something that I can do for you? Cut your finger again?”

“Oh, so you really forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Our chess game.”

“Oh.” Guilt spread to his face, and for a moment he realised just how much he had neglected his relationship with Nathanael. A boy who looked up to him, even though Julian was far from being the perfect example to follow. “Erm, well, you’ve got all my attention now. Shall we?”

“No, I’m not in the mood today.” Nat said, then joined him on the bowsprit. “What’s going on in your mind? You’re acting so strangely these past days.”

“Well, you see,” but Julian couldn’t finish his sentence. Because at the same moment, the captain left his quarters, and ordered to stop the ship.

“That looks no fun at all.” Nat said, more to himself than expecting Julian to listen to him.

In no time, everyone was on the deck, surrounding their captain and listening to him. He told the crew to get the nets and harpoons ready, that they had a visitor, one they had been expecting for days, hoping they would come close enough to the ship for them to capture. He told them that, thanks to their dear doctor, the whole crew would be able to drink, eat and fuck as they please once they’d reach land. Because Julian had gained the creature’s trust. Because Julian, although unconsciously, had made them richer than they could ever dream of.

His stomach twisted. Never had he imagined that his secret talks with Asra hadn’t been secret at all, that they knew of their existence and that they were now in danger because of him. Julian had fucked up. Big times. But he could still maybe jump overboard, warn them, and reach dry land swimming. Julian was no fool. They were too far away from land, even if he’d warn Asra he wouldn’t reach it before weeks. That was long enough for him to die in the middle of the ocean. Or by their swords, treating him like a traitor, making him walk the plank.

“There!” A man shouted.

Julian didn’t move, couldn’t move, only watched them throw their nets and harpoons. Watched them scream to get it. Watched them pull the nets back on the deck. Watched them with horror fall on the ground, blood oozing from their shoulder where a harpoon still was trapped. Watched them hiss and curl onto their body when fighting back led them nowhere. Only to more pain.

“Stories were right,” one of them said, close to him. “Full of pretty mermaids here. Should catch another one.”

“Or leave before the rest of them curse the ship!”

Other remarks followed. How they never tried someone half fish, how pretty they were, how they loved when they fought back. Remarks that only made Julian want to sew their lips shut and throw them overboard, with a bolder tied to their ankles. But Julian couldn’t take his eyes off them. Couldn’t ignore how they glowed with burning hatred.

“Tie it to the mast and let it dry.” A foot on their injured shoulder, the captain pushed them on their back, a sick grin showing missing teeth. “Tonight, we feast.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow lads, we set course for Vesuvia.”

Once upon a time, there was a pirate who would soon realise that not every story had the perfect happy ending he wished to experience.

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Nine

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Please enjoy the ninth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 9 ~~

In the coming days, I have little time for leisure. I am furthermore unable to decide what preparations are necessary for the arrival of my betrothed. Etiquette dictates that we put forth the best Everdeen has to offer. I do not see the point. The man I am to marry has already accused me of fortune hunting. He expects some disrepair and would likely question the presence of too much luxury or well being. Let him see then what he no doubt believes of me – gentile poverty and desperation drove my actions in the Capitol.

There is also the small matter that I have no desire to impress him. Why should I? This marriage is not a celebration but an unfortunate necessity. And he has seen me covered in mud after all.

My mother is appalled when I override several of her mandates, lessening the preparations to what one might be able to get away with your closest of friends paying a last minute visit — someone who knows every detail of your life and shall not pass judgement if a few things are neglected, so long as they are welcomed with love. In truth, I am inviting Peeta’s judgement. It would give me cause to hate him more.

“We are not welcoming a prince, Mother. Please cease wasting everyone’s time on pointless chores.”

She fumes silently and motions for poor Hannah to continue polishing silver fixtures in the house that no one has noticed before and that I doubt Peeta will notice unless it is to comment on our financial situation like the bastard he is. I almost wish my mother would return to weeping over my father’s bedside if that would give me peace.

When I do find leisure time, I spend it with Madge, Maysilee, and my sister. They are a solace of joy and laughter in the chaos of my thoughts. Every day Madge spends here, she grows more beautiful, freer with her words and laughter. I cannot help but compare my situation to hers. She is resurrected after being freed from the shackles of an unwanted marriage while I am facing my doom in entering one.

Other times, I pore over the letters that Effie and Haymitch have sent from town since I left them. Hers carry a bright enthusiasm as she details all the reactions to the altered announcement, the many visitors she has had and all of the well wishes for a happy marriage for me. She effuses repeatedly at how she so looks forward to my wedding. It rings so bright as to sound false to my eyes as I read. I know she cannot be happy at the idea of my binding myself to a bastard, nor at the turn of events after her own insistence that Sir Robert was clearly besotted with me.

Clearly he was not.

Haymitch’s letters carry a different sort of message entirely. Faced with the certainty of my upcoming vows to Mr. Peeta Mellark, Haymitch has embarked on a quest for knowledge, which I likely should have done rather than departing town in such haste. Haymitch writes of a different sort of courtship, one between a man and a father figure to the girl he wishes to marry. Haymitch writes accounts of Peeta’s conduct in my absence, their many conversations, and peppered in between anecdotes are more personal details that make it clear to me… Haymitch has hired a man to investigate my betrothed and discover his secrets.

I can find nothing to persuade me this match will be a disaster. His finances are sound. No debts, no disturbing addictions, no reports of uncontrolled temper, no mistresses even. My only complaint is that I was required to pay more attention whilst playing chess these past few weeks as your affianced is quite the strategist. No bourbon with a pleasant chess match in the evenings for me when Mr. Mellark sits across the board, unfortunately. I must have my wits about me or suffer pathetic losses. In fact, the only secret he seems to harbor is not much of a secret at all — the truth of his parentage — although I’ve not been able to ascertain the identity of his birth mother, so perhaps there is a secret there, but the basic nature of his parentage is common knowledge. Overall, he is most forthcoming with his life with the Mellark family when asked and my investigations confirm all of what he has told me. I recommend you ask him yourself at the first opportunity.

Katniss, my dear girl, I am endeavoring to say that you could do much worse where husbands are concerned. He is as distraught over the circumstances of your engagement as are you. In support of this, I have received several reports of discord in his father’s home that have led me to believe this engagement has cause a rift of sorts within the family. Be at ease and attempt to make the best of your situation. You set out to gain a fortune to support yourself and your sister. You have done that. Your betrothed is now nearly as wealthy as the rest of his clan, legitimately born or not. There is no need for you to cause more trouble. You and he have more in common that could unite you than you realise.

Tell my sister I shall see her soon, and tell your father he’s the devil to pay for what I’ve endured in his stead, if he ever wakes.

~ Uncle Haymitch.

Haymitch’s words annoy me at first reading, then strangely enough bring me marginal relief on second or third perusal. Perhaps my future is not so bleak as I’d imagined. Yet, it is not enough to prevent the final break in my composure.

A guest room is prepared for Peeta, but I also find myself tripping over servants and my mother in my own room two days before my betrothed is expected. The rook is in complete disarray, my belongings shoved into boxes and crates and set aside to allow room for the work being done.

“What is the meaning of this?” I ask and my mother leads me aside so that the maids may continue without her.

“I dare not move your father from his room in his health. Until other arrangements can be made, you and your husband will have to share your chambers for some time after the wedding. For now while we make the changes to your room, you can sleep with Madge.”

“I cannot share a room with him!” I gape at the bed where I so often felt safe and shall soon feel betrayed, and then at my mother as she scowls at me, opening her mouth to no doubt lecture me. I am saved by a servant with a query for her and flee the room before I am presented with any more reminders of the upheaval in my future.

This one is intensely personal. In all my time of bemoaning my fate and nursing my fury at Peeta for trapping me in this situation, I had not even considered the expectations that now loom over my body.

I escape to the woods. The world seems to shrink around me as I consider the ramifications of my actions and curse my own stubborn naïveté. Madge’s words about not wanting my marriage to be like hers rise up to taunt me.

I’ve no idea what Peeta will expect on our wedding night. Likely he will expect what all grooms assume as their rights. My body, my submission. Here I planned to say the vows and be done with it as soon as he arrived and now, confronted with the likely path of events for that choice, I find myself regretting it. We are still strangers, Peeta and I. Haymitch’s findings aside, I know so little of the man I am expected to spend my life with that I cannot fathom giving myself over to him in such an intimate way.

Except… Peeta himself expressed a wish to wait.

Time. Yes, time is what I need and if he is willing to grant it, I shall take it. At least a little time to better prepare myself.

Resolved, I am able to stand and manage to even hunt a little as well as set a few snares for smaller animals.

*************************

The changes wrought to my room over the next few days do little to assuage my concerns. If anything, they heighten them. New furniture has been added, and several of the furnishings as well as nearly all of the linens have been replaced. The light, airy, welcoming feel of my girlhood chambers has vanished on the fragrant summer breeze that enters through the window and sweeps away any innocence left in my mind. It is now the room of a married woman.

I escape to the woods as I always have, uncaring that I now risk missing entirely the arrival of my betrothed. Let him fumble with the introductions to my family and let them see what a brute and bastard he is, I fume, ignoring Haymitch’s analysis of Peeta’s character. What would my uncle know? He is a man and views Peeta’s character as a man would, not as a woman would.

I linger far too long in the woods, but excuse the lapse in my manners with the success of my hunt. We shall have an excellent dinner as shall the servants. They deserve it for all the hard work they’ve accomplished the past weeks, not only in preparing for our guests but also for their diligent care of my father.

“There’s a brace of rabbits and two ducks in the bag, Horatio. See them cleaned and to the kitchen?”

“Yes Miss.” I peel off my gloves and use my sleeve to wipe sweat from my brow. The week has turned blazing hot. No sign of rain in several days has me worried about several of the more delicate herbs we grow. “There is lemonade if you would like a glass. Countess and Miss Primrose have taken several to the verandah already to keep watch for our guests.”

“Thank you, Horatio.” I smile at the lad and help myself to a cup of the tart drink before walking slowly to the verandah. I am a mess at the moment, hair falling from what began as a careful braid, wrapped and pinned tightly to my scalp. Thick strands now stick to my neck, soaked in sweat. Dirt and blood grace the folds of my skirt and it is entirely possible that I have some on my face as well. I’ve perspired straight through the fabric and am certain it shows beneath my arms. I rub at my shoulder where an ache and an itch has settled, and pausing at the edge of the shaded stone area, smile at the sight that greets me.

Primrose and Maysilee play while Madge looks on, sipping her lemonade. Mary sits working diligently on some mending. All four of them wear smiles on their faces and laugh at Maysilee as she chatters on, twirling a flower in her pudgy toddler fingers and squealing about an insect that lands on the petals.

Content and happy. This is how I wish them to remain, without weighty cares. That is for me to bear, not them. This reminder of what is to be gained soothes the agitation I have felt the past few days as I watched the preparations for the arrival of Miss Everdeen’s betrothed. The servants, unaware of the circumstances of our engagement, have worked themselves into an excitement I cannot bear to contain nor hope to control. They are convinced it must be a great love match, given the speed with which it occurred. After all, my parents were a love match.

They believe my marriage will bring such a blessing on our household that will surely mean the turn of fortune for us all. Health for my father, a bountiful harvest. Would that I could promise them such a thing. I cannot, but the spark of hope already burns deep in their hearts. I do not wish to smother it.

“Oh! Look!” Prim exclaims and hurries to the low wall surrounding the verandah.

“What is it?” Madge asks.

“Dust in the lane! He’s here! Mary! Tell Katniss and Mother that he’s here!”

Mary scurries to put her mending away and curtsies as she passes by me, a wide smile on her face as my sister leans over the wall to catch a glimpse. I do not need one. I am already aware of what he looks like on a horse and make my way to the door instead.

Well I suppose there are worse things than greeting my fiance covered in dirt, sweat, and entrails. It is not like I am usually at my best when he sees me anyways.

“Oh, Katniss…should you change your dress or…freshen up a bit?” my mother asks as she meets me at the door. She eyes my appearance and seems appropriately scandalised. I lift my nose and glide outside the house to greet him.

“I think not.” He may as well be reminded first off of what sort of wife he’s getting. I shall not change for him.

Cicero comes to a plodding halt, and dips his head once, shaking his grey mane. If I expected them to dismount at the house, I was sorely mistaken.

“Miss Everdeen,” Peeta says with an incline of his head, and a small, ridiculous shiver runs through me as I curtsy. His mouth twitches and I cannot be certain if he’s laughing or frowning at me with his eyes obscured in the shadows created by his hat. I glare up at him and spit out my words.

“Welcome to Everdeen, Mr. Mellark. Won’t you dismount?”

“Momentarily.” He nods once then looks past me. “You must be Mrs. Everdeen.”

“Yes,” my mother steps forward and from the back of his horse, Peeta manages to take her hand in his. At some sort of silent command, Cicero bends his front legs in imitation of a bow. Peeta mirrors the motion, bending at his torso over my mother’s hand like some knight of old.

“An honour to meet you, madame. Peeta Mellark at your service.”

“Oh,” my mother says, her cheeks turning pink in a way that is not caused by heat nor by the sun. I grind my teeth together and step forward to end this nonsense.

“Will you not dismount and come inside?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“We will see to our horses first, if that is alright.” It is then that I notice Joe, astride his dark brown with an impertinent grin on his face as he tips his hat to me. My hands wish for a bow and a swift arrow, but I manage to nod in agreement and stand back as they depart for the stables.

“My goodness, he is a handsome one,” my mother breathes as they ride toward the stable, her eyes fixed on Peeta’s back. “He takes after Reginald in looks but his manner of speaking…there’s something different and yet so pleasant about it… Where did you say he was educated?”

“I don’t believe he has been. He’s not a legitimate son,” I say and my mother spins to gape at me. My cheeks heat and I glance down at the ground. “Everything went so wrong, Mama. I do not know what to do.”

“Oh Katniss. I do not think it has all gone wrong at all,” she says and then laughs, winding an arm around me and turning me back towards the house. “Whatever it is, it is certainly salvageable.”

“Then… you are not scandalised?”

“Absolutely not. Surprised, yes. Scandalised, I should think not. Your Peeta had no control over the manner of his birth. No choice in the matter at all. The only thing he has control over is what manner of man he is.” My mother leans back and cranes her neck, as though seeking another glimpse of him. She chuckles and turns back to me as a scowl takes over my face. “And thus far, he appears to be a fine man indeed. He could not take his eyes from you and did not even balk at your ghastly appearance.”

“He was perhaps wondering why he agreed to marry such a wretch. Or dare I hope he actually felt apprehension at my fearsome appearance,” I mutter and my mother laughs. The sound courses through me like sweet wine.

“No darling, I think not. He may take after Reginald in the shape and colour of his features, but that look in his eyes is not one his father ever displayed, to my knowledge.”

“You are imagining things where they do not exist,” I tell her sadly. I do not know why it is now that all of this spills from me as Mother walks with me up the stairs towards my room, not father’s. Perhaps I’ve held it in so long that it cannot be helped. Or perhaps I have indeed, truly missed my mother. She has seemed so absent recently, in her preoccupation first with my father and then with preparations for my wedding. “He only agreed to marry me to protect his brother from scandal.”

“You did not mention that,” Mother says and purses her lips as I scramble for words. She shakes her head and waves it away before I can manage to utter a single coherent syllable. “Perhaps that was one of his motivations, but men recover quite easily from scandal. It gives them an air of mystery and danger. They do not marry for such a small thing as that.” I stare at her and she gives me a secretive smile. “Unless I am a blind fool, protecting his brother was not his only motivation for agreeing to marry you, Katniss.”

I sputter and lay a hand over my stomach to control the writhing of nerves and feelings. Before I can work up a proper hysteria or denial at what her words might mean, before I can insist to her that he hates me, she speaks again.

“Where did his scars originate from?”

“I do not know exactly. He spent some time in the infantry.”

“Hmmm, that is likely the source. Does he know of yours, darling?”

“I…no,” I admit and duck my head to hide my expression. “I never found occasion nor reason to tell him.”

Unless Robert told him or… or perhaps Peeta spoke the truth and it was him at the masquerade. But that is such a quagmire in my head still that I am not ready to speak of it with anyone. I still have not even told Madge of Peeta’s preposterous claim.

“No matter. I doubt it shall bother him at all.”

I think back on our last conversation, on his insistence that it was he at the masquerade, the soft touch of his fingers between mine and the warmth that even now seeps into my blood at the memory of touch, how he wanted to speak with me alone before we signed the contracts, and even what Madge said about how viewing it as the past, she thinks that Peeta showed more interest in me than Robert. And how I once again find myself in a position of knowing little to nothing about the man I am to marry, only this time, there will be no masquerade to loosen our guard.

I nod to my mother despite my lingering doubts and enjoy her soft smile as she kisses my cheek.

“Though you may wish to tell him before the wedding night. Now, change and wash your face, attempt some order with that hair, and I will see our guests settled in time for tea.” I watch her a moment as she departs, humming slightly to herself and I wonder at the change in her.

************************

I send word for Peeta to join me in the study once he has had time to freshen up from his travels then abscond to the room I have been sharing with Madge that I might do the same. When I am ready to face the coming battle, I march to the study only to find him already there and waiting for me. I stand in the doorway and watch him, hands folded behind his back as he wanders down the line of shelves heavy with books. He pauses at one title and tilts his head. I gather my skirts and interrupt before he takes on some fool notion that all of this shall be his.

“Mr. Mellark, I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“Quite,” he answers and turns to face me as I move to put the large, imposing desk between us. We’ve not been alone since that day in the gardens, when he made his preposterous claim in regards to the masquerade. I feel as though I have lived a thousand years since then and do not wish to lose my wits for what I am about to say.

“We have matters to discuss,” I say as he comes to stand on the other side of the desk. I lift my chin, pleased with this arrangement, the reminder to him that he is a guest here, and not a wholly welcome guest.

“Shall we skip the idle chit chat then?”

“I think that the best course.”

“By all means then, Miss Everdeen, cut to the heart and let us be done with it. You’ve already made it quite clear you do not wish to marry me, so no need to repeat that.”

“You are a stranger to me yet, Mr. Mellark.”

“Not as much of a stranger as you think.”

“So you still hold to that ridiculous claim?”

“Why is it so ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous or not, it means that I cannot trust you. You have already lied to me at least once.” At this, he has the dignity to hang his head.

“Indeed I have no defense for that other than it was done in protection of someone I care for deeply.”

“What am I to believe, Mr. Mellark? If it was in fact you behind that mask, then how much of what you said was in the name of the act? How much of it was you pretending to be Sir Robert and how much of it was truth–”

“I did not speak a single lie that night at the masquerade,” he says and lifts his eyes to mine. They flash with a warmth and near anger that nearly overwhelms me. I stagger back a step and then regroup. “I attempted to emulate my brother and failed horribly. The only falsehood in it was in allowing you to believe that I was Robert, not myself.”

“It does not matter,” I insist. “What matters is that if it was you, you knowingly and purposely deceived me that night, and if it was not you, you outright lie in trying to claim it was. To what purpose, I cannot fathom, but either way, you have deceived me and therefore, I cannot trust you.”

“And what of you, madame? Can you swear that all of your actions in regards to my brother were honest?”

“That is none of your concern. It is between Sir Robert and myself.”

“I think it is of my concern seeing as how I am now the one who will be speaking vows with you.”

“We are clearly not going to agree on this matter.” I sit in the chair and stubbornly pull papers in front of me, hot fury boiling inside me at his insinuations that I somehow misled Robert. He knew precisely what sort of marriage I expected. I played no games with his heart.

Except that I went to that masquerade with intentions to kiss him…or court him in a way, and he eloped after. I rub my temples and sigh, unsure of myself and how to handle this tricky matter. Peeta echoes the sound and sits opposite me, his hand rubbing his left thigh as if it pains him.

“You are quite right, Miss Everdeen.”

“Am I?” I ask with a soft snort.

“I set out to protect Robert and yet my motivations became…confused and entangled along the road. I cannot remove the deceptions that already exist between us nor erase any hurt I may have caused you in the process. I can only hope to prove to you through time and devotion that I am worthy of your trust.” His words stun me and our eyes lock. His seem so sad and sincere, almost pleading. “We are to be married, whether you and I wish it or not at this point. I do not wish to spend our lives locked in eternal combat over this or any matter.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“If we could…acknowledge what has happened yet not linger on it then perhaps we could build a sort of alliance.”

“An alliance,” I test out the word and lean towards him, the wood of the desk pressing into my chest. “How would this alliance proceed, Mr. Mellark?”

“You’ve need of funds, I assume to keep Everdeen flourishing and to care for your father. You’ve also need of security in the event of his passing. Your mother, your sister, the countess and her charming daughter – all people who rely on you for a home that I assume will be snatched from beneath your feet upon his death. I can provide both of those.”

My cheeks flame and I nod. “Have you an estate that we might call home?”

“I do not,” he says and gives me a strange sort of smile. “The Marquis had no qualms providing me with funds and a commission, but lands are the inheritance of a gentleman. Not his bastard son.”

I manage not to cringe at his speech nor think of the uncharitable thoughts I have prescribed to him given his birth. Pity for him will not do. I need to establish the path forward first.

“The money should be enough to buy us some time,” he offers.

Us. The word hangs in the air between us, an invitation to an accord.

“Miss Everdeen, I have spent my days in a household of an unhappy marriage where the husband and wife are at constant odds. It is…toxic to growth and difficult for everyone around them. Never knowing what is acceptable to one party or the other when sometimes the husband makes decisions merely for the sake of angering the wife and vice versa. I do not wish to continue in such a home after our marriage, and I imagine that you do not either.”

I hesitate in answering, although I already know he speaks the truth. Did I not just think this morning on how happy and carefree my sister and Madge appeared, how I longed to maintain that for them? I cannot do that if I am constantly at war with my own husband, regardless of how our engagement came to be. I nod once and he smiles.

“I knew you were not so cruel,” he says, soft and warm as my cheeks heat inexplicably. “You care far too much for their well being for that.”

At this he nods towards the windows which overlook the garden. A timely laugh reaches my ears to solidify our understanding of one another.

“I will not bow to your dictates on how to run Everdeen,” I say, searching for firm footing in this strange new land.

“I would not ask you to. I have no expertise on the running of an estate. That was not a future I was educated for, although I would like to change that to a degree. I wish to help, to be an asset and an active participate in this alliance, not a burden. And I cannot stand the thought of being idle.”

I tilt my head and wonder at the concessions he makes so easily. “How long did you wish to wait to say the vows?”

“However long you wish to wait. I would take months to court you properly, if you would grant them to me.” The heat spreads from my cheeks down my neck. “I sense however, that while you might have doubts about an immediate union, your father’s health dictates some haste.”

“Perhaps a week then,” I offer and he nods once. I stand and he rises to bow. Despite the lies still between us, it is the first real flicker of hope that I feel sparking to life in my breast. “In the meantime, perhaps you should acquaint yourself with your future home.”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure.” A small shiver runs down my spine and I scowl slightly. It would not do for me to fall ill at such a time as this. I shall need to speak to Mrs. Chilton about the temperatures in the house.

************************

I have heard rumors of life in the city providing many diversions. A life full of social engagements, parties and teas. If it is anything like the month I spent in Capitol, then I can do well enough without it. I much prefer the sort of busy life of the country. There is always work to be done. Crops to tend and harvest, fields to prepare, livestock to see to, cheeses to be made from milk, herbs to be dried, and so much more. Everdeen produces a wide range of herbal remedies for everything from a cough to dry, papery skin. It is a year round occupation of growing, reaping and sowing, processing, packaging and selling. There isn’t a day that passes without some sort of task needing to be done.

And sometimes, when the work is done early, there is time for enjoyment and socialising. A wedding is nothing if not fodder for the gossips, a reason for local gentry to roll up their carpets, sweep their floors, tune their pianos, slaughter meats to be roasted, and invite a host of guests. Peeta’s arrival at Everdeen provides the excuse and an invitation arrives over tea from Mrs. Thompson, whose family of two daughters and two sons lives but a half an hour ride from Everdeen.

“Oh but you must attend our dinner tonight!” She insists and my mother heartily agrees, pausing only to ask my assurance that Peeta is not too tired from his journey to attend.

“He has had a day of rest,” I say, although I would rather decline. I can tell that my mother will not refuse, and it has been so long since she has left the house that I cannot pass on this opportunity. Peeta will simply have to bear it whether he wishes to or not.

“Splendid! I am happy to hear as our cook already began roasting the lamb before I left.”

The remainder of the day is lost in preparations for the dinner we are to attend. Madge fusses over my appearance as I try to wave her off.

“This is not the Capitol. No one will care how I look.”

“It is your first public appearance with Peeta as your betrothed,” she insists. “You will be marry in a week, which will seem quite hasty to some. The gossips will be relentless.”

I wish to ask why I should care what the gossips think, but Primrose wanders in then and squeals over my dress, spinning romantic fantasies that have us all shaking our heads and laughing. Hope blossoms from her eyes and her words, and I cannot bring myself to destroy the seedlings.

Peeta was correct on one thing. I cannot bear to force my family to live in a house full of strife. I will find a way to make this marriage to him work, if only for the sake of their happiness.

It is a strange sort of mood as we ride in the carriage to the Thompson estate. Peeta exits first and assists each of us out. I am last to exit the carriage and his grip on my hand tightens for a moment, halting my steps.

“They will ask questions. How much are we to reveal?”

“I…Not the truth,” I say, sounding scandalised and breathless even to my ears. He smiles slightly and his thumb caresses over my knuckles.

“Perhaps a version of the truth then, omitting your brief engagement to Robert?”

“Yes,” I manage to agree.

Dinner proceeds as expected. Everyone wishes to hear the story of how Peeta and I met. Astonishingly, I remain silent for most of it. Peeta captures their attention from the start, spinning a tale of a young woman bravely filling her father’s shoes and unfortunately running into a mishap with her horse and some mud. He omits the examination of my ankle, much to my relief, and simplifies the story enough to explain without revealing intimate details. Our reunion in Capitol he depicts as happy circumstance, not the result of my pursuing his brother, and tidily wraps it up after that by changing the subject to divert attention away from us.

I am congratulated and praised for such a fine match. He steals their hearts in a matter of minutes and I cannot help but be a little annoyed yet simultaneously in awe.

No one mentions that while Peeta’s father is a Marquis, his mother is an unknown, and I wonder how many of them know the truth regarding that.

After dinner, the music begins. Prim is swept into dances, and a young man braves asking Madge to partner for a set. My mother engages with several friends she has barely seen the past months since my father’s accident. As much as I wish for my father’s recovery, this small scene assures me somehow. The joy is contagious and I soon find myself smiling and bouncing in time to the tune. Beside me, Peeta stands stoic and I cannot resist the temptation to tease him.

“Mr. Mellark!” He bends down to hear me over the ruckus. “I am still owed a dance!” His reaction is slow as he stands slightly and seems to be struggling with something. “Or do you find me a repulsive partner?”

“Never, madame,” he says.

“Then you have something against dancing with your fiance? The gossips will have quite a bit of fun with that tidbit,” I say. Irritation at his hesitance threatens to shift to real anger.

He glances over the dancers before giving me a look full of sadness and apology. “Please believe that this has nothing to do with you, Miss Everdeen.”

“I do not understand, Mr. Mellark.”

He takes my hand in his and before I can protest, leads me away from the dancing, out into the darkened hall, turning to speak to me. “You are not the only one left marked and disfigured by life, Miss Everdeen.”

I nearly run from the hall at the reminder of what I told him – or Robert – that night. And of what followed. The memory of lips on my skin and the scent of night blossoms heavy and seductive around me threatens to plunge me into a depth I am not sure I can escape, but the questions in his eyes hold me captive and grounded long enough to ask him one thing.

“You wear yours on your face. How does that prevent you from dancing?”

“Those are not the only ones. I have a false leg, Miss Everdeen.”

“Pardon?”

“Kick my left shin.”

“What?”

“See for yourself, unless you’d rather I remove my trousers?” he says, a teasing smile lifting one corner of his lips. A furious blush takes over and I lift my foot into his left shin, only to encounter something far too solid to be a flesh and bone leg. My eyes leap to his as a strange echo fills my ears. “Now you know. I would embarrass you far more by dancing with you than I ever could by not dancing with you.”

Before I can form a proper response, he takes my hand in his, kisses it, and then vanishes. I’m left with my head spinning and a thousand questions burning in my mind. How did he lose his leg? How on earth has he managed to appear as though he is still intact? It explains so much – the limp, the slow methodical motions, even why he did not dismount that day in the rain or at the stairs to Everdeen yesterday morning. How then would he get back on his horse?

I lean back on the wall and laugh, only just keeping the sound from veering into the realm of hysterical as I realise… There is far more to the man I am about to marry than I could have imagined.

To be continued…

************************

Dear Readers,

The 2019 Everlark Fic Exchange has ended and despite my best efforts, I was unable to bring this story to a close in time. Given how much work the lovely @javistg and @xerxia31 put into this event every year, I cannot ask them to continue formatting and posting my anonymous submissions. I’d like to make it more simple for them. However, I would also like to finish this story as an anonymous writer. Therefore, I am asking for your help. If you are willing, please comment on or reblog this chapter with a note that you would welcome receiving one or two future chapters into your inbox and posting them on your blog. More than one volunteer is welcome to spread the task around the fandom.

Before you volunteer, I require a few small things. You must have your blog settings configured to accept anonymous submissions and be willing to make sure each chapter is appropriately tagged similar to how EFE tags their submissions. This will make it easier for other readers to follow and for EFE to keep track of chapters as they are posted. Also, you must be able to add in a Read More. No one likes to scroll past an endlessly long text post. These are both things usually best done from the website, not the mobile app which sometimes messes with formatting. I think it goes without sayng that you will not, under any circumstances, alter the story I submit to you, regardless of how you feel about it. Finally, should you figure out my identity somehow, I ask that you keep it a secret.

Thank you all for reading and for commenting. I hope you enjoy the remainder of the story.

~~ M ~~

[kivaember]

Mor Dhona 99 Ch. 5

So, since tumblr is doing the whole ‘not showing links in the tab’ i’ll be posting my fic chapters wholesale on here. If you want to read on AO3 to leave a kudos or comment there, just follow the link to my AO3 profile on my tumblr, and you’ll find the fic updated there! 

But anyways, enjoy the fic!

Title: Mor Dhona 99 Fic Summary:  A series of oneshots following a new arrival to Eorzea's Public Relations and Animal Control Unit: Aza Lynel, renowned for outstanding service on keeping the peace on the Azim Steppes. He's dealt with monster nests, squabbling tribes and sharing the same house as his sister. Now, he's been transferred to the big city in Mor Dhona - with the realisation that werewolves have it a little more difficult here, than out on the Steppes back home... Chapter Title: The Wolfsbane Case Part 1 Chapter Summary: Aza and Estinien get called up to a farm called the Fogfens on a missing person case that just so happens to be a werewolf who didn’t come home after the full moon. It results in a whole can of dirty worms being dug up...

Estinien being visibly excited was the creepiest thing Aza had ever witnessed.

It didn’t help that they were both crammed in a police car, bouncing and bumping along a narrow, neglected country road towards one of the farms lay on the outskirts of the Gridanian border. Aza actually had to wear his uniform, rather than his biking leathers, and it made him feel deeply uncomfortable and exposed. It was nothing but cheap synthetic cotton, not thick, sturdy leather. A massive oversight on the uniform of a unit that regularly apprehended or fought dangerous monsters and magical creatures.

“I hate that you’re smiling,” Aza said when their vehicle squeaked through a near ninety-degree bend, the scratching of low hanging branches scraping across the roof making him cringe, “It’s freaking me out.”

“We’re finally doing something fun,” Estinien said, checking his sat nav to make sure they were still on the right route, “An actual investigation with promise of an arrest at the end.”

“You arrested someone two days ago,” Aza grumbled, “A shoplifter.”

“Yes, because that was incredibly exciting,” Estinien scoffed, “A bewildered Sylph that didn’t understand the concept of money. Technically, they traded vegetables for their items anyway, so it wasn’t even thieving.”

Right. The ‘Beast Tribes’, as they were derogatorily known as, still lived separate from Eorzean society. Occasionally you had a handful that lived in places like Limsa Lominsa, or Mor Dhona, but in the rest of the city states they were very unwelcome. Aza thought it a shame. They were interesting and knew very obscure and odd magics that most modern mages and witches had forgotten.

“What happened with that anyways?” Aza asked curiously. It was one of the rare times their role as Animal Control/Public Relations overlapped with the Constabulary, and the law tended to get very fuzzy and complicated when misunderstandings with Beast Tribes happened.

“The Adders stuck their noses into it, and I let them have it,” Estinien said, “What do I care about some Sylph? They didn’t harm anyone, so the Adders bailed them.”

Aza leaned back in his seat with a wry huff. He could always count of Estinien being equally dismissive of everyone, no matter their race, species or magical creature status. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, considering Estinien’s job, but it was pleasantly refreshing at times.

“This might not have an arrest,” Aza warned, grunting when their car drove into a ford – there was a concrete bridge, but the waters had swelled enough to come rushing over the surface by a few ilms. White, foamy water splashed everywhere, “It might just be a waste of time.”

“Missing Persons are never a waste of time.”

Aza sighed, but slouched further in his seat. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to this assignment for multiple reasons.

It was a simple one on the surface: it was two days after the last full moon of this month – something Aza was still feeling in his aching joints and stiff muscles – and the owner of Fogfens Farm, Blysslona Doesraelwyn, had filed a Missing Persons report for her son, Alyrloef, who was also a werewolf. Her son was reasonably mild-mannered during full moon, albeit not in full grasp of his mental faculties, but he was registered as a low threat to livestock and people if stumbled across in wolf-form, meaning he wasn’t required to be sedated or restrained. Blysslona, therefore, allowed Alyrloef to roam about her private lands, helping keep lookout for any feral werewolves that might try to steal livestock. He was normally gone for the full three days but came crawling back after the last full moon… except this time.

Aza, personally, had a bad feeling about it. Werewolves were unfailingly loyal, especially with those they deemed family, so it wasn’t as if Alyrloef would just fuck off for no good reason. The monster populations out in the sticks like this were dangerously high too, so it was highly likely that Alyrloef was dead. Killed by a monster, or a feral werewolf, a hunter or even another farmer by accident. It made his stomach knot up painfully at thinking of finding a corpse and having to present it to the poor boy’s mother.

“You’ve been in a right snit since Aymeric gave us this job,” Estinien finally asked when the silence turned a bit awkward between them, “What’s wrong?”

“Do you actually care?”

“I care if you’re going to be sulky for the whole bloody day.”

Aza groaned, but muttered, “He’s probably gonna be dead.”

“Rather pessimistic,” Estinien drawled, but he didn’t disagree, “Then we’ll offer closure to her. Either way, some sort of foul play has happened, and someone is at fault for it. It’s more exciting than chasing off ogres from Saint Coinach’s Find for the thirtieth fucking time.”

“Exciting’s not the word I’d use…” Aza sighed, but he said no more on the matter. This was why he preferred simple animal control than dealing with people. In fact, this wasn’t even his gig, but Aymeric thought Aza’s werewolf nature would make finding another werewolf easier – which was true, but still.

The bad feeling persisted.

---

Blysslona was a tall, stocky Roegadyn woman in her late forties. Her skin was a pale blue, dusted with navy freckles, and her hair was a thick, dark brown that she had scraped into a tight, no-nonsense bun. She looked rather weathered for her age, probably from working under the sun for hours on end, but her face was warm and welcoming enough when they turned up on her doorstep just before noon.

“You found the place alright, then,” Blysslona said, letting them inside her modest homestead. It was an old building, probably listed, with stone walls and a still thatched roof, held with a very thin metal mesh. It was warm inside though, a wood burner installed in the open fireplace of the living room practically spewing heat throughout the small cottage. Aza and Estinien were bustled onto the squashy sofa, and Blysslona excused herself to grab some tea for them, despite their protests. She was like a tornado of aggressive politeness, and all they could do was be helplessly swept up in it.

“Alyrloef is in a lot of these photos,” Estinien commented as they heard Blysslona bustle loudly in presumably the kitchen. He tilted his head to one large photograph, framed and fitted above the fireplace – a large, strapping Roegadyn lad with a strong resemblance to Blysslona in a Maelstrom uniform, with his name and date of service etched at the bottom. Five years in the Limsan Lominsan navy, left sometime last year.

“His scent is everywhere,” Aza agreed. The lingering smell of a foreign werewolf itched his senses, but he easily ignored it. Clearly, on the surface at least, Alyrloef lived here comfortably with his mother, though he was curious why he had left the Maelstrom to move in with his mother on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Vylbrand was far from here too, so odd…

“Here we are,” Blysslona said, marching in with a tray of teacups and a plate of biscuits. She set them on the coffee table before them and eased into an armchair opposite them. She was smiling, but Aza could see a tightness about her mouth, dark smudges under her eyes that spoke of restless sleep. She smelled stressed too, even though she put up a brave face about it.

“Thank you,” Aza said, because Estinien couldn’t be trusted to be polite. There a brief pause where they took their respective tea cups and tried to figure out a tactful way to begin the not-interrogation. Blysslona was the last person to see Alyrloef, so…

“So,” Blysslona broke the silence, “I guess you’ll be wanting to ask questions?”

Aza felt deeply relieved at her breaking the ice, and Estinien took lead in the conversation from here.

“We’ve read the details in the missing person report you submitted,” Estinien said, “But it’s best we go over the information with you, to ensure everything is correct, or if you have remembered something since then…”

Aza leaned back in his seat, observing as Estinien mildly grilled Blysslona. When did you last see your son? How was he during that time? Has he ever expressed interest in travelling? Was he happy here? Did he have any known enemies? Any disputes or disagreements with anyone? Anyone threaten him recently? Neighbouring farmers knew to recognise him in wolf form? Etcetera, etcetera.

Nothing new was shed. Blysslona said she last saw him before the first full moon and knew she wouldn’t see him until the end of the last one so hadn’t been worried about his disappearance initially. She didn’t know where he went during the days, but over the past year he always came back, so she never thought much about it. Alyrloef was friendly, well known to her fellow farmers and appreciated, as he guarded the livestock here from monsters and feral werewolves during the full moon. He was happy here, ever since quitting the Limsan navy, and had expressed interest in inheriting the farm when Blysslona got too old to mange it herself.

Aza mulled over this.

“Did he ever say why he quit the navy?” he asked curiously, something about that nagging him.

Blysslona looked surprised at the question, “Oh, well, he said it weren’t for him. They’re very accepting of werewolves in Vylbrand, but even then, they don’t have many career options because of the full moon, you see. So, he quit and came back here.”

Interesting. The Limsan Navy was very progressive and open to working around the lunar cycle for werewolves, provided they were controllable and mild like Alyrloef were. He might not have had a clear shot at, say, an admiralty like a normal person would have, but he still had a good chance of at least commanding a ship if he excelled in his job – with some limitations to ensure safety, of course.

“One more thing,” he continued, “The three days he’s gone for the full moon, you genuinely don’t know where he goes?”

“No clue,” Blysslona insisted, “I thought he just went and slept in the woods somewhere, like wolves do.”

Unlikely. Any werewolf during the days of their full moon wouldn’t pass up a chance to crawl into a warm, comfortable bed and be fussed over by family. You felt ill, achy and rotten when you shifted back during the day, the body strained and burnt out from the effort of shifting forms in such an unnatural way. Alyrloef had to go somewhere to wait out the days, because lying out in the woods in a weakened state would just make him monster food.

But that begged the question: why did he go elsewhere, and why didn’t he tell his mother? It was a mystery that piqued his interest.

“We’ll look at his room – if you don’t mind,” Estinien added belatedly, “See if we can turn up any clues there. We will then examine the immediate surroundings. Depending on what we find, we might have to bring up a full search team up here.”

“Knock yourself out,” Blysslona said, “So long as you find my boy, I don’t care if you rip up the floorboards and turn everything out of my house for clues.”

So, with that strong approval, Estinien and Aza took their tea and wandered over to Alyrloef’s room. It was small, large enough for a bed, wardrobe and two dressers. The curtains were open, letting them see the small garden brimming with all kinds of herbs and flowers. There were Limsan Navy paraphernalia hanging on walls, odd, foreign knickknacks on his shelves and dresser tops… it smelled very lived in, even if the man hadn’t visited it in almost a week. Nothing stood out as suspicious, and if anything, looked as if Alyrloef had fully intended to come back.

“What’re you thinking?” Estinien asked him where they stared at his room for a good, long moment, as if expecting Alyrloef to leap out from under the bed.

Aza didn’t immediately reply, because he could smell… something sharp. It almost stung his nose, and he turned, slowly, towards the bedside dresser with a frown. Setting his tea aside on the dresser, and ignoring Estinien’s inquiring noise, he pulled the drawer open – sitting at the bottom of it, wrapped up in thing clingfilm, were the purple flowers of aconitum.

Or, better known as wolfsbane.

“Oh, hello…” Aza mumbled, studying the plant for a long moment before gingerly picking it up by the clingfilm, taking care not to touch it. He’d rather not be rushed to hospital today, “Why does he have this?”

“Wolfsbane?” Estinien loomed over his shoulder to get a good look, “Self-medicating, perhaps?”

“Hmm…” Aza set the plant down on the dresser and dug into the drawer again. He found two more clingfilmed bunches of wolfsbane, as well as a large pot of activated charcoal. Aza wasn’t confused as to how he got these – farmers used activated charcoal as pesticides and disinfectant, and wolfsbane grew thick and fast around the Fogfens due to its proximity to the Tangle, a wet marshland where most of the moisture drained into. It would be easy enough for Alyrloef to gather these, but why?

Wolfsbane was poisonous to everyone, full stop. Normal people would die without medical intervention if they ingested it, but the effect was a little different with werewolves. If applied correctly, wolfsbane could actually delay the transformation, or ensure the wolf was so sluggish and weak that they weren’t a threat to anyone. The sedatives the government issued contained wolfsbane, for example. It was like, a medically approved poisoning that left you with a thumping headache and weeklong diarrhoea but was reasonably safe.

However, you had to fit a specific criterion to be freely given those sedatives and purchasing them outright was obscenely expensive – more expensive than a farmer can afford anyways. So, you ended up with some who wanted the safety of a sedative, but too poor to pay for pills, self-medicating instead. Sometimes it worked, sometimes the werewolf died, but also…

“He doesn’t need to self-medicate,” Aza said slowly, “His file says his wolf form is calm enough without needing sedatives.”

“But maybe he thinks he needs them.”

Aza bit his thumbnail, thinking. Yeah, probably. Something could have happened that made him doubt his control, but surely Blysslona would have mentioned it? Or… maybe not. Eorzea was very strict on werewolves that ‘acted out’, which was… understandable, considering they were superhumanly strong and could easily kill or infect a man with a single bite. Any sign of a violent temperament in wolf form would have their freedoms restricted in a heartbeat to ensure public safety.

It was chafing, but Aza understood such caution. It didn’t mean he liked it.

“Let’s take a look outside,” Estinien said, nudging his shoulder, “Come on, K-9.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Aza huffed, but he obediently followed him out of the bedroom, leaving the wolfsbane behind.

---

Outside was thick with the stink of farm, and it took Aza a good hour before he found Alyrloef’s scent on the very outskirt of a pasture, on an animal trail leading into one of the thick woods that surrounded Fogfens Farm.

“We can follow it for a bit now,” Aza said as they dithered on the edge of the woods, “The scent is a few days old, so I don’t want to leave it any longer before it vanishes completely. It’s meant to rain tonight, after all.”

Estinien said nothing for a moment, clearly thinking it over. The Fogfens had a high density of dangerous monsters – wildlife kept at bay only by the electric fences and ‘anti-monster crystals’ that marked out the inhabited boundaries of the farms. Aza was confident he could deal with anything out here, even in Miqo’te form, but Estinien was a little squishier and lightly armed.

“We’ll follow it for a bit,” Estinien decided, patting his hip to ensure his firearm was there, “I’m not geared up for a proper fight, though, so we’ll… ugh, be cautious.”

Aza coughed over a laugh at Estinien’s open disdain, and they trudged into the wood along the animal path. Alyrloef’s scent was faint, masked by rotting vegetation and blooming flowers, but Aza kept on it, noting that the woods got quieter and quieter the deeper they went, until it became ominously still and silent.

So, Aza stopped.

“Something wrong?” Estinien immediately asked, looking a bit tense himself. He must have picked up on the unnatural silence too.

“Yes,” Aza said slowly, staring at a fallen long lying next to the narrow path. The trees crowded in thick, its dark green canopy sheltering them from the afternoon sun, as stinging nettles and stubborn ferns overgrew the animal trail at their feet. The overhead leaves cast everything into a dark shadow, making it difficult to see more than ten fulms into the woods – which was fine, Aza wasn’t afraid of dark woods, but the silence…

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a primal instinct reared its head and growled.

“It’s very quiet,” Aza murmured, turning his head this way and that, his nostrils flaring as he took in the surrounding smells. Wet, earthy, rotting… a very faint undercurrent of decay. He assumed it was vegetation, but- no, there was something wrong with it. The silence was downright oppressive now – blanketing everything until his ears almost rang with it. No birdsong, no chattering animal calls, no distant howls of monsters. Nothing.

Alyrloef’s scent was still here, though. Faint.

Aza turned away.

“Let’s go back,” he said in a no-nonsense tone, “Now.”

For once, Estinien decided not to be contrary. He took one look at whatever expression Aza was making and nodded sharply, one hand lingering on his firearm as they quickly backtracked. As they walked, life returned to the woods the further away they went from that dead spot, tentative at first, then more natural. It was warmer too, and Aza belatedly realised that it had been freezing in that too quiet place, biting cold and intensely pressured.

Neither of them spoke until they were on the outskirts of the wood, able to see Blysslona’s cottage with smoke coming out of its chimney, and then lingered on the boundary, warily eyeing the woods behind them with open caution now.

“That was fucked up,” Estinien said mildly, his mouth pinched as he stared back into the trees with his shoulders tensed, “What the hell was that?”

“No idea, but I didn’t like it,” Aza muttered, rubbing his cold hands together, “Alyrloef’s scent led there, though, to… whatever that dead spot was.”

“Okay,” Estinien pinched the bridge of his nose, took in a breath, and let it out, “Shit. This is going to involve Voidsent, isn’t it?”

Aza didn’t say anything. The hairs on the back of his neck were still prickling, like they brought back whatever had been in the dead spot with them. He looked about them, keenly feeling the aether about him, but it was brimming with life and was untouched and pristine. They must’ve caught the attention of what was whatever in those woods though.

“Are there any stories about the Fogfens?” Aza finally asked, “Horror stories or anything?”  

“Just the usual rubbish,” Estinien replied, “There are one or two horror films based on the Fogfens, about some crazed slasher running around terrorising university students camping in there, or something.”

Aza gave Estinien an odd look, wondering why the hell students would go camping in a monster-infested wood. Eorzeans were so weird.  

“Are they based on true stories?”

“They’re based on some idiot getting eaten by a roaming Behemoth or feral werewolves because they thought it’d be a brilliant idea to hike through the woods without even a firearm,” Estinien said shortly, “Happens every year.”

“I see,” Aza frowned, wondering if it really was death by wildlife, or death by Voidsent that made it look like wildlife, “I’m gonna call Aym, see what he has to say about this.”

“Oh, it’s Aym now, is it?” Estinien mocked lightly, but he trudged after Aza as they made their way back to Blysslona’s cottage.

As they walked, Aza mulled over everything. First was Alyrloef and his suspicious circumstances. A werewolf that was low-threat, self-medicating himself with wolfsbane in a dangerous manner, and who also vanished for the entirety of the full moon without telling anyone where he’d be. Then there was the dead spot in the woods, that just made his skin crawl remembering it, and Alyrloef’s scent leading straight to it. If he was in werewolf form, he couldn’t have just bumbled into it. Instincts were sharp then, overwhelming, and everything about that dead spot screamed wrong. No self-respecting werewolf would willingly walk into it.

…

Unless that wolf was very sick, poisoned in fact, and their senses dulled and sluggish…

It was as if Aza had the pieces in his hands, but they wouldn’t fully connect as he tried to understand this whole situation. There were too many questions – why was Alyrloef self-medicating? Where the fuck did he go on full moons? What the hell was that dead spot? Had it always been there? And if it was a Voidsent…

Fuck. He really hoped it wasn’t a Voidsent.

They both piled into their car parked outside Blysslona’s cottage when they reached it, and Estinien turned the heater on full blast when they got in. It helped banish the unnatural chill that lingered over them from their, in retrospect, ill-advised romp through the clearly haunted woods.

“I bet the farm woman knows about it,” Estinien said abruptly as Aza activated his linkpearl.

“What, the haunted woods?” Aza muttered, half-listening as he connected a call to Aymeric.  

“If this was a horror film,” Estinien said, “She would be involved in some way. The killer, or the Voidsent herself, or something.”

Aza rolled his eyes and didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

“… Aymeric de Borel speaking.”

“Hey, Aym, it’s me,” Aza greeted, “You got a free moment?”

“Not really, but I’ll take any excuse to procrastinate from my castle of paperwork,” Aymeric said dryly, “Do you need something?”

“Kinda. Some spooky shit is happening up here, and…”

Aza relayed everything he and Estinien had learned and experienced, with Estinien occasionally interjecting a comment here and there. By then the car had became sweltering, so Aza flicked off the heater and cranked the window, the noise of livestock filtering through the gap. Overhead, dark, greyish clouds started to gather.

“I see…” Aymeric sounded troubled, “Voidsent require a specialist to deal with. They don’t fall under Public Relations or Animal Control for a lot of reasons.”

“We’ll have to call in the Thaumaturges,” Estinien grumbled, sounding beyond sour about this, “To examine the dead spot, at least. We can’t fully investigate Alyrloef’s disappearance until we’re sure that a Voidsent won’t try to crawl up our asses during it.”

“Thaumaturges?” Aza parroted, “Who’re they?”

“The creepy Lalafels on floor five that take Goth way too far.”

Oh. Them.

“I’ll lodge a request for Cocobuki to go up to Fogfens at the earliest opportunity,” Aymeric said, “Though, that might take a few days to process…”

Which didn’t bode well for Alyrloef’s already dangerously slim chances of being found alive or sound of mind, “Isn’t there an emergency Voidsent response team or something?”

“The Thaumaturges are already stretched thin themselves,” Aymeric sighed, “Considering this Voidsent is dwelling deep in the woods that has no civilian foot traffic, they would deem it low priority.”

“And the missing person?” Estinien asked mildly.

“Has been missing for several days already,” Aymeric sounded almost apologetic now, “You know how they would view it.”

Aza frowned but said nothing, an almost tense silence falling between them. Yeah, no doubt the Thaumaturges would go in under the assumption that they would be searching for a corpse, rather than a living person, and bodies could keep for a bit. It was a very bitter pill to swallow, and despite Aza understanding the reasoning of it all… he wasn’t happy with it.

“Guess it’s back to base,” Estinien said, sounding very put-out that the day had ended on an anti-climactic note, “Can’t do anything until Cocobuki gets his ass out here to take a look.”

“Right,” Aza mumbled.

“I’ll try to inject some urgency into the request,” Aymeric said quietly, “Cocobuki owes me a favour, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“Thanks, Aym,” Aza said, and after a round of goodbyes disconnected the call. He slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. That bad feeling was still lingering but, there was nothing he could do now, was there? If this was back home, on the Steppe, a whole bunch of him and his mates would already be charging into the woods to beat the shit out of the Voidsent, but Eorzea was so tangled up in procedure and red tape that it throttled any attempt to do good.

If Aza hadn’t been a werewolf, he might’ve tried to be a loose cannon, do his own thing like Estinien did from time to time. But he was a werewolf, and that meant try as he might, he had to stick with procedure no matter how stifling. Aymeric and Estinien could only protect him so much, and that was when he stayed in his lane.

“I’ll tell the farm woman we have to bring in a specialised team,” Estinien cut into the silence. His voice was gruff, but the offer was oddly kind, “You can drive back.”

“Oh, yay,” Aza said dully, but was internally relieved. He didn’t want to go to Blysslona and break the news that her son might potentially most definitely be dead or in the thrall of a Voidsent. He was a bit of a coward like that, “Fine. Hurry back.”

Estinien grunted but shoved his way out of the vehicle. Aza clambered over the gearbox to sit in the driver’s side, and muttered as he had to adjust the seat so his feet could even reach the pedals. He technically knew how to drive a vehicle, but last time he did was for his driving test last year, in preparation for this job in Eorzea, but, eh, it’ll be fine, he’s sure.

He glanced out of the window, his ear twitching when a few fat drops of water started hitting the windscreen. Here came the rain, and with it, the disappearance of Alyrloef’s scent.

Aza could still vaguely see the treeline of the woods from the car – nothing more than a dark, looming shape beyond the farm’s fence. It looked innocuous, but now that his instincts were attuned to it, there was a pulse of threat emanating from it, something that made him tighten his fingers on the steering wheel and his inner wolf bare its fangs.

Yet, for a moment – his gaze sharpened when he saw sudden movement at the treeline, too big to be a deer. It looked like, was that a werewol-

He almost leapt right out of his seat when the passenger door was wrenched open, and Estinien tumbled back in cussing and blinding. Aza looked away, to see his co-worker get hilariously stuck when he tried to wedge his legs under the dashboard but couldn’t because Aza had the seat draw up close to it.

“What the- you damn midget,” Estinien hissed, contorting into a weird posture as he tried to grab the seat adjuster.

“Heh,” Aza shamelessly sniggered at him, not moving to help in the slightest, “Looking a bit uncomfortable there, Esty.”

“Fuck you.”

Leaving Estinien be as the man finally managed to wrench his seat back enough to properly sit in it, and finally close the door against the wind, Aza glanced back over towards the treeline. The thing he thought he saw was no longer there, and it was just a simple, dark woods once more.

Aza shook it off and turned the engine on.

“Back to base?” he asked lightly.

“Back home, more like,” Estinien grumbled, buckling his seatbelt and leaning back, “Wake me up when we get there.”

“Aye, aye,” Aza muttered, but he put the car in reverse and started the slow, shaky journey back home.

---

And from the dark treeline, nestling in the cold shadows of its low hanging leaves, a large wolf watched them go.

[pinbitch]

aaaaaaand MORE smallville season 5: 

-nice grey sky over the barn. i can see the director shouting "it's a METAPHOR. it represents GRIEF. we are SAD TODAY" 

-clark is fixing a tractor in memory of daddy kent 

-and breaking tools. a well established favourite of mine 

-i guess clark is gonna be a masterclass in repression for the rest of this season 

-oh HAI blue truck ily 

-oh heeeeey mysterious vigilante lady 

-daddy kent is still in the credits rip 

-repressed angry grieving clark has shades of rkc. i love rkc. i miss rkc 

-chloe and clark staging a mugging is exactly the level of silly it needs to be. a classic smallville moment 

-daddy luthor: *holding gun* this isn't a weapon, it's a piece of history. me & lex: u can be... two things

-daddy luthor not realising asking lex not to be melodramatic is like asking me not to cry every time i visit a planetarium 

-chloe and mum kent have a lovely bonding moment over how weird shit is 

-lovely lady vigilante is deaded by the end of the episode i bet 

-lex just used the expression "a freshly laid corpse" and like wut? freshly laid like an egg? what the hell lex who wrote this dialogue? 

-WHO WROTE THIS SCENE?!? lex is threatening daddy luthor with telling martha he met with daddy kent just before he kicked the bucket. he's described it as a "transgression"... but... they just had an angry homoerotic chat in the barn? 

-snake? snake? SNAAAAAAAAAKE 

-it should be sad but actually it's hilarious that lionel likes clark more than he likes lex 

-MUM KENT IN SENATE it makes no sense (or if it does american politics are so incredibly broken, even more so than is immediately obvious ahem) but YAAAAS 

-hmmm not dead but disappeared 

-oh good an episode dealing with mental illness this is going to be handled TERRIBLY 

-lois: can you not do anything ridiculous for five minutes? clark: *punches a hole in a wall* 

-FUCK YOU lex and fuck lana for helping you 

-i love it when clark meets other super humans especially when they're as lovely as victor 

-daddy luthor's massive crush on mum kent is one of my favourite parts of the show 

-lana: whenever you're ready, i'll be waiting, for as long as it takes. me: so you break up this episode then? 

-i feel like this has happened before. clark has been hypnotised before right? 

-jesus christ it’s been so long do you know how far down in my drafts i had to go down to find this ugh

-lana: so according to these incredibly conspicuous maps you’re either going on holiday or this professor bloke is in central america. lex: both! i’m incredibly rich

-lex: i promise when i get back i’ll tell you everything. lana: well honesty is my kink. me: lex has never once been honest in his entire life PLEASE

-clark summarising his powers: i can run really fast. bless my puppy man

-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh this is sexual assault? plot device to make clark and lana break up hypnosis girl has removed clark’s ability to consent and it’s making me SUPER uncomfortable

-HE BENT A STRONG THING I’M NOT ON BOARD WITH THIS EPISODE BUT A STRONG LAD BENT A STRONG THING AND I love THAT

-clark is shirtless but it’s BAD i HAte this episode

-huh plot device to make clark and lana break up hypnosis girl has a really poorly fitting bra

-like. this is different to rkc because that was still clark just without inhibitions but this is him literally being hypnotised into sexual activities he would not have otherwise consented to am i literally about to watch superman get raped????

-”make love to me clark” THIS IS RAPE

-yeah yeah great lana caught them and got her close up crying scene but now we’ve cut to lex’s place but what happened to clark???

-jesus fucking christ this episode is rough

-okay so plot device to make clark and lana break up hypnosis girl is protecting clark’s secret from lex which is nice but she’s sexually assaulted him and possibly raped him at this point so like, this is not a redemptive act and if this episode tries to give her a redemption arc i’m gonna riot 

-chloe please rescue me and clark from this hellish episode

-with all this awful bullshit going on i’ve neglected to mention that lex is randomly in honduras this episode and honestly it feels so detached from the rest of the plot. i’m gonna pretend the rest of the episode isn’t happening

-official smallville pig count: 1. i just thought it was noteworthy that in a show where the main character lives on a farm we have to wait until the fifth season and have to travel to honduras in-universe in order to see a very common farm animal

-as always, lex is aware something shifty is afoot but is completely, tragically wrong about the specifics. some things never change, luckily for milton fine (what a name btw)

-lex looked visibly uncomfortable when someone else started referencing mythology and ancient cultures. “that is my job. only me and my family do that. wait are we related?”

-clark literally tapped lois on the head like *boop* and she fell over knocked out and it shouldn’t have been funny but here we are i have to take what i can get from this episode

-oh thank fuck they confirmed she never raped him that’s something at least

-mum kent: do you think you didn’t tell lana your secret cause deep down you don’t think she’s the one? me: holy shit how is mum kent literally always right

-oh fuck now i’m gonna have to endure lana and lex the Worst Pairing

[prongsno]

For Every Broken Dream

Chapter One (read on ao3) {4557 words} ( chapter two) At seventeen, James Potter's only option is to work in service at the large Evans estate as a farmer. He can't mess this up- he needs it more than ever. Shame things are never as easy as we want them to be.

Amidst a heavy blanket of snow there stands a shivering James Potter. His shoes are weak and frayed, multiple holes give the bone-chilling muddy snow access to his already numbed toes. He shivers, it’s unforgivably cold and the chill bites at his skin but still he marches on.

He fights against the harsh winter elements and pulls his tattered jacket closer around his shaking body. Then he stares up, mouth half open in amazement, at the house sitting on the hills.

The Evans manor looms over the horizon. It’s almost threatening.  

It’s the largest house he has ever laid eyes on; extravagant and massive. Bright lights shine out of every window and hot smoke curls out of the dozens of chimneys, boastful and mocking.

It’s taunting him.

The closer and closer he gets to it the more… breathtaking it becomes.

It’s elegant and his saving grace, providing him with shelter, warmth, food and coin. And yet he has a terrible feeling that in some ways it will be like a prison. That it will, ultimately, also be his downfall.

He lets out a deep, shaky breath.

He needs the money, he needs to escape the madness, he needs… hope . And this opportunity rose out of the ashes like a God-send; he’d be a fool to pass it up. He could not mess this up. 

This was everything to him.

Working for the Evans family, that’s his life now.

“Potter, I presume?” An old woman with striking blue eyes looks him up and down.

He feels her stare, at the state of his mud-splattered trousers and at the drenched jacket. He has half a mind to tell her that he can’t exactly control the weather now, can he? If it was sunny he’d be in a better appearance.

“Yes ma’am.”

But he remembers why he’s here. He remembers how important this is to him. That he can’t mess this up.

He looks at the woman straight and hard, like how he’s been told. Respectful, yielding. He’s in the working world now.

He gives her a clumsy bow, long legs buckle as his back bends. His cap slides off his head almost like it’s flying and lands, gracefully, into the puddle by his feet.  

It’s the woman’s look of wild alarm as he grabs for it and squeezes out as much excess water as he can before placing it back over his windswept hair. But it’s also the precarious shadow of someone in one of the large windows, watching as the woman addresses herself as McGonagall, the housekeeper.

James feels somewhat on edge, like he’s in a lions den.

It’s when McGonagall turns away from the house and he follows after begrudgingly that he can still feel that stare on his back.

He gulps; uncertainty and fear cripples him. But he marches on.

Past the house, up the gravel pathway, and into the never-ending wood where the trees are so numerous and dense that in summer time you probably wouldn’t even be able to see the sky through it.

It’s about a ten minute walk before he’s met with the farmer’s fields.

There’s a thick scattering of frost, but he can make out the allotments filled with seeds and growing vegetables, apple trees and bushes surrounding the large farm that’s to the side. A quaint looking, but relatively decent-sized, cottage smiles at him from across the lane. Animal noises and sounds fill the air, it’s almost refreshing.

A plump and excited looking man stands waiting for them, a dog wags his bottle brush like tail non-stop by his feet.

“Mr Slughorn,” McGonagall states when they finally halt to a stop. “This is the boy.”

Slughorn takes James’ hands and he’s swept up into the most uncomfortable and yet pleasant hug imaginable. Calloused and rough hands then shake him, gigantic smiles and well-spoken wishes fill the air, that James is most welcome and that they’re now family.

The big dog lets out a happy woof, far too excited now by the prospect of making a new friend, and runs towards the newcomer. Dirty paws jump at him and then James is on the floor, laughing for what seems the first time in years as a smelly, wet tongue licks his face.

Despite everything, James finds himself grinning. 

As long as he tries to forget about what happened… as long as tries to forget about the large house acres away and the rich family who reside inside it, he thinks he’ll enjoy it here.

He gets used to the routine pretty quickly.

It’s a fast paced environment; he wakes up early and sleeps late and does chore after chore. But James wouldn’t change it for the world.

He feeds the chickens with a smile on his face, grooms the Captain Evans’ horses with care and even learns how to milk Myrtle (which he quickly dubs Mooing Myrtle, for the cow is always mooing about something).

Slughorn is also quite the character, forever getting into sticky situations to which James is forever and constantly helping the old man get out of. He’s like an old, embarrassing uncle which he’s never had and it’s suddenly as if he’s always been at the Evans estate.

The farm is like his home, the animals his friends and Slughorn the family member he needs now more than ever.

It’s peaceful and full of tranquillity and soon a day becomes a week, then a month and suddenly he finds that he’s been working at the farm for what feels like his whole life.

He’s never seen the family that live on the house on the hills and he's keen on keeping it that way.

He gives the food and milk to the servants, who then take it back to the house in old wooden carts. One servant, a sweet girl named Mary who he befriends quickly, speaks of nothing but high praise for the family. But he’s determined and stubborn.

No one with that much money is good.

He would much rather stay in the quaint little farm and block out the family living in luxury just on the other side of the field, thank you very much. And so that’s what he does.

There are other helpers and workers on the fields, but the main duties rely heavily on Slughorn, and thus, as his new apprentice, James too.

“You’re doing well, m’boy.” Slughorn beams up at James one day (he towers over the short man, but neither seem to mind).

It’s a fine, spring day when the two are out in the fields, checking on the strawberry plants and discussing the many uses of manure as a fertiliser.

“Thank you,” James grins and picks up a daisy, threading it through the top button hole of his shirt. “I never thought I would say this, sir, but… manure is so fascinating.”

“It really is, my dear boy!” The old farmer laughs and, with a shocking amount of force for such an old and small man, whacks him hard on the back. It brings tears to his eyes, but they’re happy.

“I needed a good chortle,” The old man smiles a little absently. “Say, how much do you think you’ve learned since coming here?”

“Quite a lot, sir.”

James begins to list off the duties he knows how to do by heart, bending his fingers as he ticks them off his mental list.

He admits that he’s still rather new to pruning and that shearing a sheep is his worst nightmare, but Slughorn doesn’t see that as a problem and brushes it off with a wave of his hand.

The man clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs, thinking how best to tell the lad.

“Listen, Potter.” Slughorn starts. “I have to run an errand. Just for a short while… can I leave the farm and the fields in your capable hands?”

James is nodding in an instant. Of course, he would have never been able to say no… but the thought of being in control of the farm and (hopefully) getting a few more coins out of it is certainly enticing.

“I’ve already sent word for someone to help you. Sirius, a young lad who lives nearby. He’s helped me on occasion and has kindly agreed to keep you company and to share the workload.” Slughorn smiles. “He’s a troublemaker, but no doubt the two of you will have immense fun. As long as you don’t neglect your duties to the farm then I have no problem. He’ll be here on the second day of my departure, alright?”

“You can count on me, sir.”

Throughout the following days Slughorn helps James with anything he needs, but the man says he has the utmost faith that he will do a good job.

Then the day finally arrives.

Slughorn puts on his ‘going out’ hat, gets his nicer looking walking stick and embraces him in a tight, father-like hug. He tells James he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but will send a letter once his errand is done.

Then he places a rake into James’ scruffy hands.

“Remember, Sirius will be here tomorrow to help. I’m depending on you, boy. Don’t let me down.”

He watches as the man hobbles down the lane, waving one last time before the trees block him from view. James waves the rake, feeling too many emotions at once.

And suddenly he’s alone.

It’s a feeling he hasn’t been used to in a while, since before it all happened. He loves and hates it at the same time; it’s unsettling but the fact that Sirius will be here tomorrow makes it slightly more bearable.

So, he decides today he’ll do his best to relax.

Should be easy.

As he walks up towards the vegetation fields he hums out a merry tune. The sun is hot against the back of his neck and he basks in the delightful southern heat. It’s far more pleasant than the horrible weather he’s been used to.

He closes his eyes and exhales. The peace he feels is so uplifting, it’s like he could float away into the clouds.

Breathing in that fresh air had at first seemed so utterly bizarre. He was used to smog and smoke; pollution and dirt everywhere, the tell-tale signs of a bustling, metropolitan city on the move.

But here the air is crisp and kind, the sky always clear and gentle. Here he can relax and not worry.

That is, until he notices a figure by the batch of strawberry plants. The figure clings suspiciously to a basket that’s full to the brim of flowers, whistling rather merrily as they help themselves to strawberries.

James lets out a furious gasp.

The strawberries that he has spent so much time and effort on. That he has laboured and loved over.

He breaks into a run and races towards them.

“Oi, thief!”

His voice rings throughout the fields, causing a few birds to scatter and flurry out of trees. The thief looks up in alarm then breaks into a sprint.

He swears under his breath and hurries after. His legs ache and his chest burns, but he picks up his speed. The thief is fast but James, thanks to all of the manual labour he’s been doing, has the edge.

He reaches out and, after a few failed attempts, finally catches hold of their thieving little basket and pulls with all his might. The handle rips off and maybe he didn’t think this through enough because suddenly the thief gives out a little yelp.

They trip over a stump in the ground then fall, face flat, into a patch of daisies.

He tries to slow down, but it’s no use. He widens his eyes, unable to stop himself, and flies forwards; he hits the thief’s back and falls forcefully on top.

“Ooof!”

Well, this is one way to catch a thief.

James has no time to check for injuries. The thief groans underneath him and tries to wriggle free but he quickly grabs hold of their arms and winds a leg around the theirs, keeping them locked underneath him.

“How dare you steal from this farm! What gives you the right?” He huffs, breathing heavily in the hopes that his racing heart will quickly calm down.

“I wasn’t stealing!” The thief says hotly… sounding extremely feminine and high pitched for a male.

James narrows his eyes and grips a little tighter. Then, with as much strength as he can manage, flips the thief over (surprisingly an incredibly easy thing to do).

The thief isn’t a man at all. It’s a woman.

James blinks and looks at the girl underneath him.

The strawberry thief…

...she’s blinding.

She’s a beautiful sunset. Soft like velvet against his skin.

Her bright red hair flows out onto grass around them, and wide, almond shaped green eyes look up at him. 

Freckles adorn her smooth looking skin, splattering across her cheeks and nose like a dusting of icing sugar on a victoria sponge (not that he’s ever had the honour of tasting such a delicacy but he’s seen the beautiful cakes through shop windows, when he’d press his nose against the glass, close his eyes and breathe in so heavily you could almost taste the sweetness on your tongue).

James swallows, suddenly unsure on what to do.

His hands still grip onto her tightly but he realises numbly that their bodies are pressed rather unceremoniously close together. He’s so close that he can hear her short gasps for breath amidst his own heavy breathing. Finally he breaks eye contact and nods towards the basket.

“What do you call that then, eh?” He asks, reaching out to grab hold of one of the plumper looking strawberries.

He waves it in her face. In return he receives a lethal looking scowl and eye-roll. The thief grumbles something under her breath then tries to wriggle free from under his grip.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what the hell you think you were doing.” He warns. “And why you’re in boy’s clothes.” He’s only just noticed and stares at her in shock.

She’s wearing an oversized button top and grey cotton trousers. And she’s barefoot.

He opens his mouth to comment on that too, (about how she’s a weird person because, aren’t there brambles and nettles in these parts?) but she huffs and stares up at him defiantly.

“Who even are you? Where’s Slughorn?”

“He’s off doing some errand, he left me in charge.”

He finds it slightly odd that the two of them are making conversation (if that is what you could call it, anyhow) in the bodily situation they’re in and tries his best not to blush. He can’t let the thief know, otherwise she’ll have the upper hand.

He’s never even really talked to a woman his age before, let alone be straddling a young lady and branding them as a strawberry thief.

“Aah.” She nods her head and gives him a smile that throws him off guard.

“So you’re the new protege?” She seems to have no problem whatsoever with the whole situation; she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and his heart skips a beat, his grip on her loosens.

She glances up at him, craning her neck to look at the rest of him.

“You’re a bit… well. Not what I was imagining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m extremely capable, thank you very much.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Strawberry Thief laughs and James has to breathe out slowly again.

He needs to keep his wits and remember that she’s committed a crime.

“I just thought you would be younger. More youthful-”

“I’m only seventeen.” James grumbles. “Not exactly a pensioner.”

When she laughs it’s exactly what he imagines Heaven to sound like. Like something in a dream, in a faraway land under shooting stars and beside hundreds of ancient, shimmering caves.

“Look,” The thief starts, catching his gaze. She smiles at him and this time it’s a sweet and genuine expression.

“If I promise not to run away can you, please, release me so we can both stand? Unless you like being in this kind of position-”

In an instant he lets go, like she’s burning metal in his hands. He hears her chuckle and avoids her eyes as he stands. She’s grinning like a mad-man, looking smugly at him, as he moves his chest back, untangles his legs and leaps upwards. Her smirk widens even more when he offers out his hand and she takes it without a second thought.

She’s tiny, only reaching the bottom of his neck and yet she almost outran him. James can’t believe it.

“What’s your name?” She asks as soon as her feet hit the soft grass.

“Uh… James. James Potter.” He drops her hand and scratches the back of his neck. He’s in foreign waters and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Well, James Potter.” Strawberry Thief nods. “It was fun, but I have to leave now.” She walks towards the basket and James gapes after her.

“Wait, what? I just caught you stealing those and now you think you can get away with it?”

He lunges for three of the berries that still scatter the ground, grabbing them just before she can.

“I have half a mind to report you and bring you to McGonagall. She’s the housekeeper of this estate and runs it for the family who own it.”

“Oh?” She asks, her eyes twinkling. “And what of the family?”

“Dunno. They’re just some poncy rich folk who have too much money on their hands.”

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s saying any of this to her… he could get in trouble for that.  And he’s caught her stealing, he’s just seen it with his own eyes, and yet… yet why is he so reluctant to do what he deems just? She’s just committed a crime.

She’s a thief.

“Then what’s the harm of me taking a few strawberries and flowers?”

He pauses, she’s caught him there. And they both know it.

She stares at him expectantly and folds her arms against her chest, waiting for his answer. He wishes he could wipe that smug look of her face but in the end all he does is sigh.

“Well…” He’s baffled. “I…”

Maybe this girl is poorer than he is. Maybe she’s having as much trouble with life as he was. She only wanted to pick a few harmless flowers and strawberries. Surely he isn't that cruel, right?

“I guess I can let you off this once.” He grimaces at his defeat, trying not to blush when she grins at him and her eyes shine like the stars.

“You can keep those.” She says, nodding to the bundle still in his hand. “For the trouble I caused.”

And with that she skips off down the lane that leads towards the estate.

James shakes his head and follows her with his gaze.

What a crazy woman. Hopefully he’ll never see her again.

Sirius, as Slughorn promised, arrives at the farm promptly at 8’oclock the following morning.

Tousled, messy black hair, bright grey, twinkling eyes. He’s biting a large red apple, chewing it loudly like a cow as he looks James up and down.

“I thought you’d be…” Sirius trails off, crunching into his apple once more. Juice dribbles onto his chin and he wipes his face with the rolled up sleeve of his blue shirt. “Younger?”

“Seriously? What’s wrong with me being the way I am?”

“Nothing!” Sirius lets out a merry hum and walks towards the farm. James has no choice but to reluctantly follow after him.

The lad grabs a spade and hands James the rake with a grin.

“It’s just, well. McGonagall must have really liked you. Usually apprentices are eleven or twelve, y’know old enough to learn and grow but young enough too… are you her son or something?”

“God, no!” James gasps. It’s like something has just stabbed at his heart. He gulps, trying to laugh off the pain. “I was just extremely lucky. At my old home we had a neighbour who was friends with someone whose brother’s wife is McGonagall.”

“Ah, okay. Do you miss your home a lot?”

A deeply personal question, one James isn’t sure if he should (or even could) answer.

“Well I…” He trails off, uncertain. “There isn’t much left for me there. But… yeah. Of course I miss it.”

Sirius nods, biting down the question on his lips.

“So!” He says, trying to brighten the mood. He twirls the spade as they enter the fields. “Have you met any of the Evans lot yet?”

“Honestly, I’ve been avoiding them as much as possible. I don’t really feel comfortable around… um… rich folk.” James says the two words with a grumble, glaring up at the sun as he wipes his forehead.

He misses Sirius’ startled look. That’s not the answer he was expecting. He forces out a huge yawn and stretches his arms up towards the sky.

“They’re not so bad, as far as rich people go anyways.”

As he talks, Sirius shows James a handy trick with the spade. And, once their chores are done, they trail down the fields, towards the farmyard.

They have to load the carts full of dairy produce for the manor today, something that James always hates doing but he’s relieved that he’s got help this time.

It’s Mary who waits by the lane as always, a sweet smile gracing her lips. She has the ability to brighten up any gloomy day and as soon as James sees her he can’t help but relax a little.

“Alright, Mary? Here’s the whats-its and what-nots as always,” James stops the cart, waiting for the other usual servant, Mr Diggory, to catch them all up.

“Afternoon James.” She smiles and gives him a friendly smile and nod. “Who’s your friend?” It’s when her eyes fall onto Sirius that a slight blush appears on her cheeks.

James grins and whacks Sirius, who’s pretending to be fascinated at the dairy produce, hard in the side.

“Sirius.” The boy almost belts out. He glares at James and then finally allows his eyes to fall onto the small girl standing in front of them.

She smiles hopefully at him, her cheeks a little blushed and her eyes full of wonder and hope. He grimaces and forces his gaze to fall onto Mr Diggory, who’s now exclaiming what a wonderful day it is.

“Ello lads, isn’t that sun glorious?” The man smiles and points to the magnificent sun that’s shining so brightly it’s like the manor is sparkling.

James supposes, rather begrudgingly, it is a beautiful sight. And perhaps, when he casts a sneaky glance towards Sirius, who has a tinge of red on his cheeks and is trying his hardest not to meet the gaze of the still awe-struck and bashful Mary, there are some other things in life that have beauty in them also.

Sirius is unusually quiet on their short walk back to the farm (in the short amount of hours James has known him it’s highly apparent that the boy can talk the hind legs off a donkey). He had said goodbye rather abruptly and loudly after the chore was done, forcing James to give a shocked (and definitely disappointed) Mary a sheepish smile as he told her he’d see her later.

What Sirius’ problem is, he has no idea. The boy is definitely handsome and he’s certain he has had his fair share of women showing an interest. But James isn’t one to pry.

“Hey.” He asks, finding it strange to see Sirius so silent. “So what can you tell me about the Evans family then?”

That seems to cheer him up and soon James is listening to an oral essay on the gentry and the manor house.

“The one to avoid is definitely the eldest daughter. Lady Petunia Evans. Horrid woman. She’s betrothed to this walrus of a man and they’re just the most dreadful people. The youngest daughter is nice though, Lady Lily.”

“Huh. I didn’t know they had any daughters.”

They reach the farm. Padfoot runs towards them, woofing happily. The canine jumps up at Sirius, who seems as excited to see the dog as the dog is to see him. Mooing Myrtle moos moodily in the distance, she’s getting a little restless.

“Have you worked here before, then?” James asks, nodding towards Padfoot who Sirius is now cradling in his arms like a giant, fluffy baby.

The boy freezes. “Here?”

“Padfoot’s acting like you’re his best friend. And Slughorn mentioned that you’ve helped him before. He said you lived nearby.”

Sirius lets out an awkward chuckle, puts down Padfoot and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, ha. I err, I just come by sometimes to help is all.”

“So are you from the estate nearby… what was it called again? Like a colour or something…” James grabs hold of a bucket and walks towards Myrtle.

He misses Sirius’ grimace. “Black. It’s the Black Manor.”

“Right. You work there?”

“I guess you could say that.” He grins.

They work in silence for a while, Myrtle seems a lot happier now and the pig Dolores snorts happily in her pen. But James still has that burning question and he finally lets it out.

“Do you get a lot of thieves around here?”

Sirius looks up in alarm. “Thieves? Like... highway men?”

“Like… um. Girls.”

“Girls?”

James nods, his cheeks hot. “There was a girl and she stole some strawberries.”

“Weird.” Sirius shrugs. “I’ve never heard of a strawberry thief around here.”

“She was weird. She was absolutely barmy. Wore boys clothes and was barefoot. I mean, who does that?”

“That is a very unusual thing… didn’t you ask for her name?”

“Ah… I um.” James drops a glass bottle and he moves his feet quickly away from the shattered glass.

Sirius snorts. “Lost your speech to her beauty, eh?”

“No!” They both know he’s lying.  James tries his best to ignore the boy’s suggestive eyebrows. “I err, she didn’t say her name-”

“Well, if she was stealing I doubt she’d give that away freely.”

“I let her go. I could have reported her to McGonagall… but I didn’t.” James scowls as he remembers her. How guilty he felt, how unsure he was. He picks up a daisy, threading the fragile flower through his fingers. “I kept thinking, ‘what if she’s as poor as me?’ and the guilt just gnawed inside at me.”

He doesn’t notice the strange way Sirius scratches his nose. Or the way he looks like he should say something, the boy opens his mouth, but closes it almost instantly. When James turns to look at him he just shrugs his shoulders innocently.

“Guess you won’t find out ‘till you see her again.”

“You think I will?”

The sun is setting behind them. The farmers fields look almost alight under the fierce glare and hot air swirls around them, caressing their faces.

“I bet she’s even closer than you think.” Is all Sirius says.

The two boys watch, Padfoot laid across the both of them, as the sun slowly sinks behind the hills. One day down, another is just about to begin.