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#or are they seen as stupid because they are from rural areas?
aeruthien · 1 year
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Now we've seen Whitestone, I want to comment on Culture in Critical Role, and how there are some fundamental aspects of DnD which make it unsuitable for exploring cultural differences.
I've seen some very valid posts about how Marquet in C3 isn't used to its full potential as a cultural setting, among others because most of the PCs are not native to Marquet. But while I fully agree, I want to broaden the argument even further: neither were Wildemount, Xhorhas or Tal'dorei.
I believe that Dungeons and Dragons is ill equipped to explore cultural differences, because there are key aspects of culture that it actively ignores: language, food and weather.
To start with language. In almost all versions of DnD or fantasy, everyone speaks common. This solves one of the main issues in world building, because it allows the players to travel the world without the issues that stem from not speaking a language. However, language is one of the main tools people use to distinguish themselves from others. Language, accent, tone, vocabulary and even grammar change based on who you are, where you come from and whom you're speaking to. But because everyone in Exandria speaks English like the cast do, they have a uniform culture, whether they are from Wildemount, Tal'dorei or Marquet. Even Caleb, who comes closest to breaking this pattern, is not truly Zemnian, because Liam (and Matt) doesn't actually speak German. Apart from the German accent and some German words, he doesn't speak like a non native German English speaker would.
Next up, food. Apart from some quick mentions of breakfast or dinner, food is almost always an afterthought. The Bell's Hells do not stop for lunch, and rations are almost never a problem. However, food is intrinsically linked to culture. What food is served, when food is served, and with whom food is eaten differs from place to place and from class to class. Is the food imported or is it grown locally? Is food served at 6PM sharp or much later? Do you eat with the whole family and is there always a surplus or do you have to fight for the scraps? What is the street food like? What spices are used? How does Xhorhas' cuisine differ from Wildemount, given that they live in perpetual night? But ultimately, the pie in Marquet is no different from the pie in Byroden, because again, the default will be the casts' default.
Finally, weather. While it might seem arbitrary, weather influences almost all aspects of our lives, from our homes, to our clothes, to our relationships. Is it warm enough to sit outside during the evening? This will encourage parties and late bedtimes. It is cold and rainy? People will sit inside pubs to stay warm. Colder and warmer climates, hot and dry climates, each of these influence when people are active and how they behave. Apart from the extremes, like the snow in Eiselcross, or the heat in the Fire Plane, the characters never have to deal with rain, or mist, or cold. They don't have to take shelter, they don't wake up cold, they don't need to keep a fire going or set up tents. And as such, there is no difference between a warm and hot jungle surrounding Jrusar or a high mountain trail in Zephrah, nor are the people who live there different.
There can be much more said about each of these three aspects of culture, and there are probably more examples to be given. And this is not intended as a excuse, or a reason for Matt not to try better. But sadly, DnD as a system glosses over most of the day-to-day interactions that make a city a particular city, or a culture a particular culture. And the default will always be the players' default.
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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months
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Cabin in the woods (yan!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!Horangi)
You and your friend group are definitely not a part of a typical slasher movie. Two weird guys you met at the corner store somewhere in rural Austria definitely not serial killers. You are definitely going to be saved. You are definitely not going to like being their little trophy.
TW: Yandere, Age gap(Reader in her early 20, murder husband in their late 30), Serial Killers, Mild Gore, Extreme dub-con(Bordering cnc), Blood, Horror, Kidnapping
CHAPTER 1 You meet two weird locals at the corner store in a city in the middle of Austrian woods. Your timid nature is going to be your downfall.
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Come to the woods, your assholes-of-a-friend said. Come on, he said, I know that for someone like you, dwelling in some shitty forest for three or more days only to drink mediocre beer and probably have even more mediocre sex while mosquitos are biting at your vagina sounds like your worst nightmare, but! Have you considered it could be fun? 
Yeah, you have considered it. Considered it, thought about it and already decided not to engage with the idea. Spending the holiday in your own country, your own city and by your computer was far better than running around some random Austrian forest – and so you decided to kinda…ditch the idea. 
Considering what happened in the next few days, you really should have been more true to your words. 
Because you agreed to the proposition – because you don’t want to antagonize your friends, because you already feel strained from them, because they are assholes and they continue to be assholes but they are the only ones you have. Maybe you shouldn’t rot in your room, maybe you should agree to spend Spring break with them, getting drunk in the woods and maybe chasing some wild boars across the place. 
— Sorry. 
Some asshole – not the friend one, just an asshole in general, like everyone else in this fucking country that is so stuck up at being in the woods and mountains, that you are literally going to be sick – took the last remaining bottle of coke that was still left on the shelve. You were not having it because it was almost night already, the last remaining store open in the area, and you needed your sugar fix and something to mix alcohol with so you wouldn’t get drunk and stupid immediately. 
You aren’t letting go of the bottle. 
The guy doesn’t let go either. 
— Sorry, I think I got it first. 
You hate how weak your voice is. Never be the active, social one of your friends, you’re stuck being just a dumb girl who has literally everyone walking all over her. You decided to dig your heels into the ground and sent this asshole where he belongs – so, your grip on the bottle intensifies. 
— Haven’t seen you. 
He tugs the bottle back to him – and he has some arm strength, surprisingly for someone in this town. To be quite honest, you are too intimidated by his deep, annoyed voice to even consider looking at him, so you don’t know what the guy looks like. Maybe it’s an MMA champion – celebrity shop at some weird corner stores in abandoned Austrian cities too. 
— I am very sorry, but I really, really need this bottle. 
You don’t, actually. There are multiple bottles of Pepsi right here, and not like you have a very specific preference for the drink that is bad for you. You just got tired of people walking all over you, tired of your friends that constantly getting you into their shenanigans without asking for your opinion and you just want something good happening to you at least once. So, you tug the bottle back to you, and press it against your chest, hoping that whoever this man is will get the memo and get the fuck away from you until you’ll get your pepper spray. Ah, right, you forgot to bring one…well, he doesn’t have to know about that. 
— What do you need this bottle for? 
— Important reasons. Secret reasons.
The man sneered and you finally got a good look at him. And…fuck. 
Tall, broad, maybe more on the leaner side, but you can clearly see his tight muscles that form this perfect, thin type of masculinity that makes you think about greet athletes and that weird webtoon you were occasionally reading because you don’t have anything better to do with your life. You lick your lips, nervously, suddenly aware of the fact that you wear some old hoodie, battered jeans, and exactly zero makeup – you were supposed to get chased by the bears in the forest, not a meet-cute annoying strangers. 
He is Korean if little doodles on his jacket and an accent are saying the truth. You force yourself to get your gaze away from the mask that was covering more than half of his face, black glasses that obstruct the view even more, and messy black hair – the only thing about his appearance that you can actually see. 
Maybe, it’s good that you can’t see his face – you need to get out of here, preferably with a bottle of coke and some other snacks before your friends start questioning why the only person who didn’t want to go is so reluctant about leaving the store. Besides, it’s already almost closing time and you need to gather your thoughts. With a deep sigh, you push the bottle closer to you. 
But this time, he didn’t humor you with softness. He kept it close to himself and suddenly, you are very aware of how much weaker you are than him. You could put up a good fight against a mouse, maybe, a squirrel on a good day – but in this tugging match, you were no, pun intended, match for him. You look closely at his cargo jacket – the patches look official, normal, making you think about the military and what the fuck Korean soldier is doing in the small town somewhere in the rural, touristy-foresty-mountainy part of Austria. 
— Please, sir, it’s getting silly. 
— Yes, it is. Give up now. 
He has that weird calmness in his voice – a low grumble that makes you shiver, the urge to just give up your control and present him your neck like a good pet makes you want to vomit. God, it’s humiliating – you just hope that your friends won’t be here to witness your utter humiliation. 
— I really, really need this bottle. Please? 
You master your best puppy eyes, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze, hoping he has at least a somewhat working and aching heart inside of his lean, muscular chest. The dark glasses of his don’t allow you to see his face clearly, but you can feel how he slowly eyes you from head to toe, slowing down at how much your hands are trembling at the confrontation. 
In a normal situation, you would give up already. But this isn’t a normal situation – you wanted to learn how to be brave, independent, and stand up for yourself in small things, even if your friends still going to swirl you around into making dumb decisions. 
— I was the first to grab it. Why should I give it to you? 
His voice is mesmerizing – you didn’t expect something as deep from a random stranger in the corner shop and here you are, embarrassed, cheeks heated because you want to ditch your friends and look at the random guy you just met. Ah, the tragedy of meeting someone remotely attractive and closer to your age – or at least looking like it – in a mundane place so that the horny thoughts would make room inside your head. 
— Because this would cheer me up really nice, sir. 
You master even puppier eyes – and you lick your lips some more, hoping to elongate the point of how shitty your day was, and how nice it would be, just to have a bottle of coke to cheer you up. Man lets go of a grumpy noise, shaking his head. 
“Fucking tourists” he mutters – and you feel even more embarrassed immediately. If anything, he is probably a tourist too! 
— Sir? So the coke-stealer has manners after all. 
His laugh is dry, and you want to take the bottle and leave – but when you yank it closer, he doesn’t let go. If anything, he grabs it even firmer, thin plastic deforms under his touch, and the tactical gloves he is wearing are only empathizing with the vast difference between you and him. 
— I’m not a coke-stealer. I had dibs on this bottle. 
He stares at you, tilting his head to the side. You look stubborn, like an angry little kitten – and, god fucking dammit, Horangi loved cats. Always wanted to get one or two, adorable furballs that would lay on him and Konig, maybe destroy the wildlife around their house. he loved cats and never had time to take care of them because of their combined jobs – so when he looks at this stubborn little woman – little more in her posture than actual size – he feels all the desire to take a kitten home gets straight into his pants. 
He has to find Konig. Ah, and get the bottle back. 
— Dibs don’t matter if you can’t even hold it. So, the bottle is mine. 
— Sir, if anything, this bottle can’t belong to you yet. You haven’t paid for it! 
— You too. 
— But I will. 
— Just as I am. 
He chuckles, more amused than anything. You look angry, you look pissed, you munch on your lower lip nervously because you don’t want this man to walk all over you, but you also really want his – it belongs to the state, actually – coke. So, you yank it one last time, already preparing to give up and drink Pepsi as the loser woman you are. 
Instead, the bottle goes right into your hand with ease – and you fall on your back, losing the connection between your legs and the ground. You prepare to fall and crack your head on the floor, just like a wet kitten of a person you are. 
Instead, you stumble into…something. You want to say that it’s something soft, maybe a snack aisle or the pillows that are being sold in this store for some reason, but this mysterious “something” under your cheek is firm, tense and warm. 
Just like in the worst romantic comedies you ever saw, you are crushed into a broad male’s chest. Don’t mess it up with another man’s broad chest, those are actually two very different individuals and the concentration of pecks on the square meter already makes you feel uneasy. You bite your lips nervously, wanting nothing more but to disappear – you finally have the bottle in your hands and you can swiftly retreat to the cashier on the other side of the shop, but the man behind you stops you. 
— What’s going on, Tigeren? 
Ah, good. The wall of muscles behind you smells of generic male deodorant and something metallic – and has the voice of a Greek god mixed with the most stereotypical Austrian accent ever. Not like you are an expert on accents or voices or tones because you’re not sure that Greek gods would have such high and grumbling voices, but you stand not corrected, drowning in your bad decisions. 
You feel the firm hold on your shoulder gently put you away slightly, as the man comes to touch the asshole’s hand. Softly, gently, you want someone to touch you like this. You lift your gaze from the pair and…
Did you miss a Halloween party with the tough rule of wearing a mask all the time, even when you’re going out to grab some more snacks? You lower your gaze from the man who also wears a generic black mask and dark glasses, your eyes slowly go down to his pants and…
Did you miss a horse-riding party? 
— Some tourist tried to steal my coke. Nothing, Ko. 
— I’m not a tourist. 
You mumble, under your breath. You don’t want to be here – the area suddenly becomes intoxicating, you feel out of place and you want to run away as fast as possible but the only thing you can do is to just strive on, hoping that you’d at least keep your beverage with you. You take a step to the side, hoping to retreat quietly, like a ninja – but they both notice and turn to your side immediately. 
— This is a dangerous place, lady. 
The tall guy – well, they are both tall, but the second one is fucking enormous, towering over the shelves and making you feel insignificant compared to him – grumbles it gently, almost carefully. You are inclined to listen to him, taking up his words like a damned prophecy. You know this place is dangerous – it’s a forest in the mountains of Austria, of course, it is dangerous, you tried to tell your friends this, but…well, to no avail. Useless as usual. 
— I’m aware, thank you. Can I…excuse me, I will leave now. 
— With my coke. 
Korean guy snorts, the clear amusement in his voice. You don’t like the way he emphasizes the point of you stealing it from him – you both are entitled to it, if anything, he is the weird one to think that he has some special dibs for this. The bottle is already warmed up from your combined touches and you groan from the fact – now you will have to choke on the warm cola while all of your friends have fun with their dumb alcohol cocktails and ice cubes and everything you forgot to bring because you were the last one to get here. Because you were the last one they asked to join – feeling like an afterthought, you lick your lips nervously. 
— Of course. The one you wrestled out of my hold. 
— You let go of it, sir. 
— Didn’t want to make a scene with a little thing like you. 
You feel the tips of your ears burning. Oh, how you wanted to punch both of them – the tall one and the slightly less tall one, both chuckling like a pair of grannies on the porch. Like this fucking place needed more bears. 
— You should be careful around these parts. Weird things going around. 
The mountain has spoken again – weird, but all of his phrases feel more like something straight up from a horror movie. Combined with the eerie dim light of the tiny store and his mask, it sent a shiver down your spine. Gosh, you need to watch fewer horror movies and read less terrible dark romance books. You are jumpy, nervous, anxious, everything that doesn’t combine well with a forest trip. 
You take a step back and the blue eyes follow you. When did he take off his sunglasses? Why do they both need sunglasses at night? 
He looks at you and, fucks sake, you stumble into the aisle again. With a bottle of coke in your hand, which isn’t the best weapon in the world, you stumble to the cashier. 
Cold gaze follows you. Oh, how he follows you. 
You nervously bring the coke bottle to the old man behind the counter, listening to the tired German speech – you recognize the numbers, memorize the price of a single bottle, and yet…you feel the eyes glue to your back as you desperately rummage through your pockets. You swear to god that you had cash on you this exact morning – but you go through your pockets, through your backpack, and try to search for maybe some old cents and cards. 
Nothing. 
God, you feel like a failure – embarrassed that you wasted so much time trying to get this bottle only to put it back on the shelf in defeat and…
— On me. Move your ass, tourist. 
The Korean guy notches your side and you glare at him with a mix of anger and shame – he pays for the bottle, probably grinning from how well he taught this annoying as fuck tourist a lesson, and also for the few snacks he bought, probably for himself and his…friend? Boyfriend? 
You move your ass obediently, going out of the store, and your head hangs low in defeat. Your friends are smoking outside, everyone is visibly annoyed with how long it took you only to go out empty-handed. Jenny, one of your girlfriends, a tall brunette with a perfect fucking body that shouldn’t belong to someone in the real world and not 90-era comedies, looks…worried. 
You went to ask her what was wrong, but she shook her head, looking somewhere behind you. 
You stare at the ground, watching as your shriveled shadow from the single-store light swiftly being absorbed by someone’s much larger frame. You gulp, not wanting to look behind you, knowing what – or who – you might want. 
Tall guy with a…coke bottle? Well, you weren’t expecting that. He gives you the bottle and you can almost see the condescending smile on his face as his fingers linger on your hand for longer than they should be. You take the offer, not really understanding what the fuck is really going on. 
— Thank…you? 
— No problem, kleine. 
You can hear the smile in his voice and your hands are trembling. Jenny looks at you with surprise, clearly not expecting nerdy ol’ you to pull someone so…well, not nerdy and maybe old. 
— What the fuck? Who is…
— I’ll explain in the car, alright? 
— Did you drop it or something? 
— I…I think I lost my wallet. Have you seen it? 
She stops for a second, thinking. There are a few things Jenny is good at – burning the tip of her tongue with a lighter, wearing crop tops, eating men alive (unless they are the most annoying ones alive). Lying isn’t one of them – not because she is a good person, but because she would rather flip your shit upside down and make you as upset as she possibly could. 
— Chad took it. Said you’d find the nearest bus to get the fuck out of here if you’d have it. 
He…
You can’t fucking believe this. All this humiliation because her annoying boyfriend didn’t want you to ruin this little unfriendly gathering. You feel angry tears in the corners of your eyes, almost ready to sniffle like the needy thing you are. God, you’re weak and pathetic and…
The Austrian guy behind you coughs, attracting attention. 
— Ladies like you shouldn’t go out this late. Bad things might happen. 
Jenny snorted and you already wanted to close your eyes. She was clearly not having it and she had a very short temper – you take a step back, towards her, hoping to set her down. Instead, she took one look at your pleading expressions, and it made her even more annoyed. She was never good with locals. 
— We’re getting out of this dump as soon as possible, sir. Didn’t ask for your opinion though. 
He chuckles and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. 
— Just wanted to warn you. Tourists are disappearing around these parts. 
— We’re not some dumb tourists. 
— Ach? You aren’t? 
Jenny fails to hear the amusement in her voice. You tuck the Coke bottle in your arms, hoping that they would stop. 
— We’re not a bunch of dumb tourists and we will call the police if you’d proceed harassing us. 
— Just wanted to give your friend what she forgot. Keep an eye on each other, ja? 
— We will. Fuck off before I’m calling the 9-1-1, verstehen? 
You feel even more embarrassed as she storms off to the truck where Chad and everyone else is staying, not even paying you a glance – too used to your sorry ass going right after her, like a lapdog that your other friend likes to bring everywhere in her tiny pink purse. 
You sigh, feeling horrible. The guy is creepy. Tall, looming over everyone, both of them are fucking terrifying – but they paid for the coke and the Austrian one is genuinely trying to tell you something. A bit paranoid, maybe, but you see the cargo jacket he is wearing, so he is probably either a paranoid survivalist or maybe a part of the military. You like having someone worried about your safety, even in more of a scary horror movie-esque form. 
— I’m…sorry for Jenny. She isn’t always like this, we’re just tired after a long road. 
— You were driving whole day? 
— We’re, um…on a trip. You know, a little getaway in the woods. Would have been nice. 
The giant tilts his head to the side. You just noticed that his hands are twitching a little, fidgeting with the bottom part of his jacket. You find it almost cute, endearing in a way – at least he is as anxious about talking to you as you are to him. You find yourself also fidgeting on the bottle, swirling it in your hands, never understanding what you should do in a somewhat normal social situation. 
— Be careful, kleine Hase. Like I said, it’s a dangerous place for young ladies like you. 
The way he said it, calling you a young lady, made him look extremely old – and made you feel even more embarrassed and uncertain about your future. Here you are, wasting your youth on shitty road trips to Austrian woods instead of reading horror books and watching romance movies. 
— Thank you, sir. I…I’ll keep that in mind. 
— Are you two alone on the trip? 
Alright, it was a bit creepy. his cold blue gaze bores in your face, making you feel small. 
— No, Our male friends are with us. 
He humms, almost sounding amused. 
— Good. Wouldn’t want it to be too easy. 
— Sorry? 
— Wouldn’t want someone bad to hurt you so easily. 
You smile. He is nice, even if a bit creepy – you nod slightly, taking a step towards the truck, since everyone else already got in and you still have a long road to the place of your camp. 
— Thank you for the bottle, sir. 
— You are welcome. Keep yourself safe, ja? 
You nod. 
Keeping yourself safe sure does sound nice. You can do it, right? (You can’t,  but you don’t know that yet)
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Hi! Big fan :) You're an environmental lecturer, right? I recently got into a debate with someone about rewilding in the UK, and the clash with farmers and agriculture. To me, this is a no-brainer - I absolutely do feel for farmers losing their livelihoods, and I think there needs to be a system to help them transition to something else, but also, the planet is dying. But you explain things well, so I wondered if you have thoughts? Particularly on the Welsh side of things. Thank you in advance!
Hah. I literally have a lecture on this. Or, well, a chunk of a lecture, anyway; so yes! I have thoughts. I'll use those notes, and stick a big reference at the end in case you want to read more
I'll talk about this specifically from the Welsh perspective, okay so:
The rewilding project in Wales is the Cambrian Wildwood, launched in 2004ish by a guy who bought an abandoned farm in the northern end of Mid Wales with the express intention of rewilding it. The aim is to convert some 7000 acres, and the initial mission statement said they'd reintroduce wolves and lynx. That's the project I'm going to talk about, because it's a great case study for how to spectacularly fuck something up (and eventually realise you've spectacularly fucked up, and do something about it.)
These are the Cambrian Mountains:
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When looking at that, there are two competing viewpoints that are relevant here:
The Cambrians are ecologically depleted. Their biodiversity has crashed since the Second World War, when modern farming methods were introduced. Environmentally, there is a perception of emptiness and degradation.
The landscape is a glorious one that has been shaped by the human actions taken on it for generations, as we are a shepherding culture – culture and land are inextricably intertwined.
That's a big fundamental difference! Two people can look at that same photo, and see something diametrically opposed. But there's more lying on it, so you also need to understand the socio-political background.
Socio-Political Background
(I know! Headings! So professional)
A lot of rewilding – Cambrian Wildwood included – is taking place in areas where farming is declining for various political/socio-economic reasons, so this can be ENTIRELY FAIRLY seen as yet another threat. This goes hand in hand with rural migration and community decline, too.
In Wales, we’re mostly rural, and characterised by extensive upland livestock farming (sheep in particular). Most farms are small to medium family-run setups. ON TOP OF THAT, the vast majority of Welsh farmers are Welsh-speaking, and the right to operate a farm the ‘traditional’ way without UK government oversight is seen by Welsh Nationalists as an important post-colonial act.
Many of them didn’t even like the National Parks being set up, as they were seen as an English outsider imposition that ignored the working nature and cultural history of the land. Remember: the farmed uplands are often seen as a heartland of Welsh identity, and those have historically been intentionally destroyed by UK central government land management decisions (e.g. Tryweryn, Elan, Claerwen, etc)
“Over the past half century we have witnessed the arrival of countless environmental fundamentalists… seemingly oblivious to the fact that their new-found paradise is already occupied by people whose connection with the land is deep rooted, dates back thousands of years, and is embedded in their language and culture.” (Nick Fenwick [Farmers’ Union of Wales] 2013)
SO IT’S CULTURALLY DICEY
(And in my opinion an incredibly stupid idea to go and give it a primarily English name with a Welsh translation as an afterthought but that is Elanor’s Opinion and not Scientific Fact)
(But fr fr if you ever have to get involved in these sorts of projects you will go a long way if you have the basic respect of learning the Welsh names and pronouncing them right rather than lazily expecting everything to be in English sorry sorry I digress)
From the Cambrian Wildwood’s Mission Statement on their website, their objective is:
“To rewild or restore land to a wilder state to create a functioning ecosystem where natural processes dominate by carrying out habitat restoration, removing domestic livestock, and introducing missing native species as far as feasible.”
Can you see the controversial bit of the statement
Can you see the bit where they directly say they want to remove domestic livestock
Jesus Christ
Cultural Differences
AND THEN HERE'S THE BIGGER PROBLEM
‘Culture’ in Welsh is diwylliant – literally, a ‘lack of wildness’. There is no direct translation into Welsh for the term ‘rewilding’ – the closest you can get is anialwch or diffeithwch, which mean ‘wilderness’ in the sense of ‘desert’ or ‘wasteland’. So right off the bat, if you tell a Welsh-speaking farmer that you want to rewild the place, what they hear is "We want to make it dangerous and empty and degraded."
A related concept is cynefin - knowing one’s ‘patch’ and the feeling of belonging associated. The term has its roots as a description of the way grazing animals know their area of mountain land, but it is also used to describe how people come to form an intimate experiential knowledge of place - and specifically, a Welsh farmer's cultural attitude.
Basically, Welsh literature and oral traditions speak of a relationship with the land, not a separation and longing for an untouched wilderness. Farmers feel this especially keenly. Culturally, this is a big part of why they do it – they’re rooted to the land, and therefore to their identities.
“Interviewees conveyed this by referring to areas proposed for rewilding as being comprised of “a quilt of cynefinoedd: interwoven stories, the layered and collective place-making of families and individuals over-generations, co-constituted with the physical landscape” (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)
So, to them, rewilding is erasing and disregarding these stories. To them, this is not just a land-use change, but the latest colonial attack. They've known the family who lived on that farm for generations - every birth, marriage, death, joy, triumph, loss, everything. You are saying that you are going to strip that family, all those stories, all those people out of that land, to be forgotten.
However. There is a counterpoint to this.
Many farmers taking this view have therefore identified themselves as the only “truly Welsh” people in the debate, accusing environmentalists as being outsiders. The problem with this being, most of the environmentalists involved with the project are also Welsh; so who the fuck are they to say who is or is not Truly Welsh? It's what we on the internet would recognise as gatekeeping, with a big side order of No True Scotsman fallacy.
Also this quote sums it up well:
“Sheep farming in this country goes back a few hundred years. I think if you go deep enough into our culture and ancestry, we have a really deep native relationship with wild forest areas and with the wild animals that are native to this country…I just don’t agree that sheep farming is really part of our traditional culture.” (WWLF Interview [15] 2016) (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)
This is also a fair point. It is true that upland sheep farming, the way we now practice it, is only a few hundred years old, and at the current intensity only a few decades (since WW2).
On top of which, there has been plenty of exploration over the years of farmers as being a government-subsidised landed gentry, which I won't go into here, but it also contains some fair points.
In truth, all of it and none of it is true. It’s far more complex and nuanced than either side might want to believe.
Solutions So Far
This is an ongoing project and they're still learning and changing new things and stuff, but a big thing they did was get someone in to basically be a mediator and listen to both sides, because Jesus, those sides were not listening to each other.
But to date:
They actually worked with a first-language Welsh speaker (WHY DID THEY NOT DO THIS FIRST I'm sorry I'm fine). Originally the Welsh translation of the project was Tir Gwyllt – wild land. But given that Welsh connotations with gwyllt are something out of control or dangerous, Coetir Anian has been chosen – anian refers to a sense of natural order and creation, a sense of health and vitality. Similarly, ‘rewilding’ is being translated as ‘di-ddofi’ – ‘de-taming’. This acknowledges the labour and culture taken to tame it, and just suggests an avenue for discussing some relaxation of farming practice in appropriate locations rather than, you know, releasing packs of wolves directly into sheep pens
In online materials and in community engagement events where traditional storytellers and musicians have performed to celebrate the Wildwood, the trustees have drawn heavily from Welsh myth in the form of the Mabinogion. Enormous amounts of the Mab lovingly and respectfully feature wild woods and wild animals. The emphasis is therefore on how wilderness is also part of Welsh identity – and arguably a much older part, going back to the Celts. (This is clever, in my view, but something to approach with care - it's rarely a good idea to play the game of "What's the most Welsh". But so far it's been done sensitively)
Land purchased for the project has so far been wholly limited to that available in the public domain. The main site, Bwlch Corog, was empty and unfarmed for six years before purchase, which has been stressed in all media interviews and releases; this is important, because farmers do have a sense of "Productive land is being stolen by environmentalists".
Large predator reintroductions have largely been abandoned. Lynx and wolves are no longer on the agenda. It’s possible they’ll be included in the future, but it is acknowledged as currently impractical (both from clashes with farmers and lack of habitat).
Instead, they’ve supported smaller species reintroductions, such as the Vincent Wildlife Trust’s pine marten translocations, and some proposed red squirrel ones.
Bwlch Corog is to be managed as an experimental plot that farmers are encouraged to engage with.
Assessing the potential for new income streams (from improved tourism and educational activities) rather than just the ecological benefits – this has become central to the project, and the emphasis is on how this might benefit farming communities and keep them together. This has been huge, and has also been successful in rewilding schemes in Europe.
Tensions are a lot lower now than they were ten years ago, but ultimately the problem was a bunch of outsiders came in and decided they knew best without listening to anyone else's point of view, and that meant both sides really dug their heels in. Much better now.
Ultimately... yes, I am in favour of rewilding, in a general sense. But I think it needs to go hand in hand with supplying farmers with the necessary subsidies to transition back to more traditional and sustainable farming methods, and the two elements run side by side. You can't do one without the other, not if you want them to succeed. The Pontbren Project is a great case study for how a farmer-led scheme can successfully aid them economically while also improving environmental outcomes, and we need to learn and incorporate more lessons from it when discussing this kind of landscape-level management.
Also, with land management in general, I think you're a fucking idiot and dangerously arrogant if you think you can get anything done without all stakeholders being on board. And potentially wandering down the ecofascism path, circumstances dependent.
Anyway, those are my thoughts. Source:
Wynne-Jones, S, Holmes, G & Strouts, G (2018), 'Abandoning or Reimagining a Cultural Heartland? Understanding and Responding to Rewilding Conflicts in Wales - the case of the Cambrian Wildwood.' Environmental Values, vol. 27, no. 4.
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sisterofthesouth · 4 months
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Roddacember Day 9: Symbols and Signs. Or, my thoughts and headcanons on piercings in different Deltoran cultures:
del: it's very common to see people with pierced ears or noses, given that del is a diverse city full of sailors and trade and people from all over. but while nearly every career sailor from anywhere in the world has some kind of piercing, the popularity of piercings in del cannot be chalked up simply to the impact of sailors and trade. many del tribesmembers wear ear piercings proudly because adin himself had his ears pierced during his time with the mere, and earlobe piercings came to be seen as a celebration of del pride and deltoran unification. it later became part of the Rule that the monarch and their immediate family also have one set of earlobe piercings to emulate the first king.
ralads: while it is not unheard of for ralads to wear ear or nose piercings, it is far more common for their clothes to be pierced. sashes, purses, capes, pockets, shirts and tunics will often be pierced with decorative hoops and jeweled studs to accent their embroidery and show off the riches or skill of the wearer.
broome: citizens of broome never wore jewelry during dragon times, especially not women, but as dragon populations waned, non-metallic jewelry (made from bone, shell, wood, etc) became more fashionable. after the total disappearance of the dragons, piercings and jewelry made of gold and other precious metals exploded in popularity and you’d be hard-pressed to find any broome resident without at least one piercing.
opal territory: ear piercings may have been somewhat common centuries ago, but fell entirely out of fashion after the hira rat plague began. because of sanitary taboos, hirans (and noradz residents) never wear piercings. among opal residents outside of hira and noradz, especially those in the more rural areas near the lapis border, occasional ear or nose piercings may be seen due to cultural exchange with the mere, but they hold no significant meaning to those of the opal tribe.
the mere: in the mere if you don't have piercings you're literally cursed lmaooooo. everyone has some combination of ear, nose, or facial piercings, and non-standard piercings like tongue, belly button, and nipple piercings are extremely common as well. piercings may be worn simply for aesthetic reasons, but it is far more common for each piercing and piece of jewelry to have a deep symbolic meaning to it’s wearer. as with mere charm culture, there is a deep history of fortunetelling and superstition within mere piercing culture. many mere will consult a piercing expert or soothsayer to determine what piercing placement, metal, and charm combination will bring them the best fortune. after the unification of the tribes, it became popular for many mere to wear an array of 7 piercings on one (or both) of their ears.
dread gnomes: dread gnomes may sometimes wear piercings, but they do not deal in metallurgy and do not wear piercings for fashion. spikes of wood or bone in the ears or nose are worn to as markers of membership to certain clans or families.
torans: torans do not wear piercings.
jalis: while tattoos are standard jalis practice, piercings among the jalis are uncommon because they are such easy targets to tear out in a brawl. however, it is extremely common for the very old who have grown past their fighting years to wear ear piercings as a rite of passage into elderhood. if you do happen to see a young jalis with piercings, they are either someone very foolhardy and stupid, or perhaps a tenna birdsong storyteller who is not likely to see combat.
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altermay · 4 months
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Tw/ transphobia, discussions of dysphoria, brief mention of suicide, descriptions of child abuse
Getting unbearable. Feeling sick. Started working to afford hormones only to find out the service that is most accessible to me (plume) doesnt offer T in alabama anymore due to changing laws. Fuck all these stupid politicians putting their noses in others lives.
Thought people at work wouldnt make a super huge deal, as I was selective with who I told, so i thought maybe I could hold out a bit longer and at least i wouldnt have to feel so dysphoric all the time, since all my coworkers knew me as Monte. But then instead of my name, people who would usually call anyone else by their name started calling me “Miss” and “maam”
Even the ones I had come out to, and even the ones who told me they were accepting.
Whatever, im from a small rural area, so transphobia is not new to me, what is new to me, however, is being openly trans in an unfamilliar environment. I thought I could start T quickly and maybe people would ever forget that im trans in the first place, but now its been so long.
Some people call me He, and use the right pronouns, but increasingly lately Ive received a myriad of transphobia.
Being called tranny loudly while my coworker kicks my broom as I try to sweep (kicking hard enough for the broom to almost leave my hands and hit another person behind me) , Getting called “it” behind my back. Stuff like this is becoming more common.
The two coworkers who called me it, have been spreading lies about my work performance these past five days, Ive been told my three different people that every time I leave to go do something they start talking badly of me. So I got to my breaking point, at this point it had nothing to do with the pronouns, I was just upset that two forty+ year old adults were purposefully making my job harder to do while I was also struggling with a ton of other stuff (ptsd, seasonal depression, a family members recent suicide) and so I couldnt stop crying.
Despite this situation having nothing to do with me being trans, they are now trying to spread the narrative that Im just being sensitive because they were misgendering me while they were borderline bullying me.
If I was not trans, people would take me seriously on these issues. But now, because I am upset, suddenly Im just a stereotype. A sensitive trans person who is offended because someone used the wrong pronouns a few times.
I will be one to say, I do not give a SHIT about my pronouns. Ive been called the wrong ones my whole life by a majority of people. That was never the issue. But because Im trans, that is the only issue people can perceive for me to have. The ONE issue I had with them regarding my pronouns was them calling me “it” and thats not because its the wrong pronoun, thats because its DEHUMANIZING.
But now I have other coworkers who know NOTHING about the situation saying shit like “well if she claims shes a man maybe she should suck it up” “well if she wants to be seen as a man maybe she shpuld cut her hair”
Fuck you. How about YOU get beaten for 17 years, YOU watch your siblings get beaten near to death for 17 years. YOU have flashbacks of things you dont understand all day every day and we will see how fucking well youre able to “suck it up” you are WEAK. YOU ARE ALL WEAK. And you dont know what its like to be me. My mother tried to kill me. My mother almost killed my sister, I was neglected, never went to a doctor, and I STILL dont know how to take care of myself. And I still havent recovered all of the memories.
Ive had SHORT HAIR ive had LONG HAIR Ive had a MOHAWK, ive had a BUZZCUT ive been BALD. And people STILL fucking saw me as a woman. Im tired of conforming to this bullshit just so people can treat me the same as they always do
Fun fact though, since Ive had long hair Ive been gendered correctly by strangers MORE than I have with ANY OTHER HAIR STYLE.
These stupid fucking transphobes and their stupid fucking stereotypes im so fucking sick of it all. And corporate wont do anything about it, Im sure of this.
Why is it so hard for me to just live my fucking life.
Im so sick of it all
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whitedemon-ladydeath · 4 months
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I know cities tens to have more, uh, liberal views or whatever but as someone who spent a majority of my life in rural Iowa, who was then forced to relocate to a city in Minnesota (I would never step foot in this state if I had the choice. its FREEZING) I've never met so many self centered and self serving people in my damn life
i got this coworker who's this white kid from a middle class family who spouts off at the mouth regularly and she says so much shit about rural Iowa if i ever complain about how much I dislike the culture shock here. but it's always "it's so boring" "lol trump?" "weee have the mall of America. there's nothing in Iowa" and im sitting here so uncomfortable bec like
rural areas are regularly forgotten about? we are deep knitted cultural communities bec the government won't Help us? Democrats won't help us. we're uneducated and stupid and ignorant nevrrmind it was systemically created that way for voting. The leftists I've seen (this kid) are full of classism and ignorance
I remember that as someone who grew up poor as fuck in Iowa, we had limited channels. You know what that was? Fox News. We didn't have thr fancy channels and all the 20 different news channels.
Republicans need rural areas poor and divided and angry to get votes. get them mad at the minorities also looking for jobs to keep their eyes off the people further driving up prices. Keep their schools poor and underfunded
Pride in family and community and tradional IS a part of "small town thinking" and a lot of those things are because that is what keeps our towns alive. we have no choice But to help each other. Our pride is our armor and it gets thicker and more bullheaded the more we keep getting called ignorant and stupid
i know there's definitely a lot of problems with rural areas especially for minorities. as a queer person w different pronouns Im hesitant about living in one again and there's also the violence w bipoc and queer communities
and the thing is is that I know a lot of liberals/some leftists here in the city I've seen who will take that struggle and use that as a shield against their own hateful attitudes towards bipoc and queer communities in cities and it takes away a lot of the visibility of the queer and bipoc people who choose to live there
Virginia (unless it was West and I just forgot can't remember rn) was a blue state until Obama came in and took the jobs after promising new and better jobs and communities. Republicans and Democrats both use the Appalachian region and people for their own benefit and Republicans and far right politicians rely on desperation
a lot of leftist things I see are long term plans, that help everyone for the better. these people don't have the luxury of Waiting for Better. Keeping poor folks, in rural areas, desperate is a key tactic from Republicans bec at least they Pretend to care about them. (I have never voted for a republican and I never plan on it LMAO)
you see "pro cop", I see "that's my cousin". you see "pro military". I see "that's my late brother". you see "evangelical church preying on poor people" I see "that's how im going to make dinner tonight"
We didn't get colleges coming to see us. we got the national guard and the army coming to see us. bec the poor, desperate boys wanting an out are the best bet to getting bodies for a war they're too young to grasp
I dunno I just. I hate cities. I hate the shallowness and self centeredness I keep encountering. The unwillingness to help others. the unwillingness to take on an inconvenient few hours to help my understaffed coworkers. and i understand that it's just different cultures and societal expectations but it's really, really lonely. I hate all the buildings. I hate all the concrete and lack of trees and plants and cows and ducks and farms
rural areas are so beautiful and have a lot of nature and I just don't want to give up on my home
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purplelupins · 2 years
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Bad Moon Rising
|The Quarry|
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
Sheriff Travis Hackett x fem!reader
Summery: two years after the curse was ended, you find yourself on your way to the small town of North Kill. It was all because of a favour to your grandparents, but this simple trip to look after their summer cabin during the winter became more than what you bargained for when you found yourself smitten with the curmudgeon of a sheriff.
Warnings: angst, self hatred
Note: this is a nsfw story so minors DNI
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Cold toes.
That was your first impression of that little county that no one seemed to know about. Even the old map you had dug out from your parent’s house didn’t show the whole area. North Kill was a strange area set deep into the wilderness of upstate New York, and you found that as you watched the trees thicken, a certain comfort began to envelop you. You know that with a small community came it’s own challenges -like locking up your garbage lest a raccoon or bear rummage through it- but you couldn’t help but feel at ease.
While you were not stupid, nor naive to the horrors of the world, you had taken up a friendly trucker’s offer to drive you up there- it was along his route anyway, and his eyes were kind. He reminded you of a relative of Santa Clause…who swore like a sailor. In return you bought him a hearty lunch at a road-side restaurant, and he didn’t bother you about how quiet you were; you two got along swimmingly. All in all, the journey was a success.
It was only when you hopped out of the semi truck at the gas station that the September air made a chill run through you. You held onto your suitcase and began the hour long walk into the town. The road was so baren that you almost wondered if you were walking into nothingness. By the time you made it to your grandparent’s summer house, your toes were freezing cold, and that was the only time you cursed at the rural community.
The keys you had been given shook in your chilled hands as you tried to get the metal into the lock. You sucked in a long breath, closed your eyes, and tried again. Finally, you succeeded and the door swung open, welcoming you to your new home for the next six months. It was simple, and you thanked god that there wasn’t copious amounts of taxidermy or creepy trinkets like you had seen in horror movies of cabins in the woods. It was a sweet cabin they had built a few years ago to spend their summers, and as soon as you looked around, your distain for North Kill vanished.
Ever since the town gained popularity again, more and more people had gotten similar ideas, which resulted in a small community taking shape. Small businesses and tourist attractions that stemmed from the beautiful forests, and the stone structures that once held a Quarry.
You hadn’t spent any time there, but when your grandparents mentioned that the cabin was in need of someone to watch it during the cold months, you accepted their offer. After so long of not having any time to yourself, the temptation to hide away for half a year was too strong.
And that’s exactly what you planned to do.
It didn’t take long to settle into the community- evidently as soon as you mentioned your last name, you were welcomed. You didn’t realise your grandparents were so involved in the community, but it was apparently your ticket to getting into the slightly nosy local’s good books.
After a week of finding your footing so to speak, you decided that a part time job would make the time pass even nicer. It wasn’t like you had to worry about commitment or paying bills while you were there, so you knew it would be fairly low stress.
You decided that working in the local coffee shop would be the easiest way to make a few friends and get to know the community. Caffeination was the best way to almost anyone’s heart, and if that didn’t work, then the fresh baked goods would.
On the morning of September 15th at 6:13 am, two week after you had arrived, your shoes squeaked ever so slightly on the dewy road. The thick trees began to slowly thin out and houses turned into small businesses. Nestled in among them was The Crow: the town coffee house. It was a small shop that only had a few tables, but you liked how cozy it was. You liked that when you looked out the big front window you could see the trees past the street.
You hurried around the back and let yourself in through the propped open door. Just as you did every morning, you tied your apron around your waist, and began prepping the shop with your coworker; that day it was Dan- the owner’s son. He was nice enough but flirted a little too much. He took your quietness as bashfulness too, which was embarrassing at times. But you didn’t mind him- he let you play your music and he was as a good worker. Then there were the bakers in the morning who made the goodies for the day, and they often left an extra extra batch of something sweet for those on shift, and you could hardly wait for your share.
Nearly every day was the same, and you had grown comfortable quickly.
That morning was just like every other day until you opened up shop. Normally, you’d open up, and very slowly your morning customers would trickle through; usually the first one didn’t come through until 7:30am.
That morning, however, not ten minutes after flipping the closed sign to open, the bell above the door chimed. The sound made you jump a little in surprise as you finished stocking the shelves behind you with the last bran muffins. You turned to greet the customer, but stopped once you looked over your shoulder.
A man in a black police uniform, complete with a badge, radio and pistol on his hip was making his way to the counter. You had to admit you hadn’t seen a lot of officers in the area, but upon closer inspection of his star shaped badge, he was no officer at all.
“Mornin’ Sheriff!” Came a voice beside you. You hadn’t even heard Dan come from the back until he was right there, his hands on the counter.
Your eyes were still trained on the officer, and you only looked away when the older man looked at Dan and gave him a short nod.
“Usual?” Dan asked, already reaching for a cup. You did your best to finish up, and steal a couple more looks at the Sheriff as you turned the espresso machine on, and mindlessly made yourself a morning coffee.
“Yeah.” The man grumbled.
You didn’t know what it was that made your eyes flick to his gaunt face, but you couldn’t help it. He was tall, and had fascinating features…you bet he had a nice smile. Judging by his dark hooded eyes, he might not be the most cheery type.
You finished steaming your milk for your coffee, and watched Dan give him a simple cup but you had missed if he put anything in it. You bet that it was just black. “Take care, Sheriff.” Dan gave him a simple wave and the older man took his leave. But to your poor heart’s surprise, he cast you one more look as he turned. You wished you could have smiled or waved, but your voice was caught in your throat. He must have thought you were so strange…maybe a little creepy even.
“W-who was that?” You asked quietly, taking a sip of your drink.
“Hm?” Dan asked absentmindedly, not looking up from the note pad there for the schedule.
You sighed. “Never mind.” And left it at that.
The rest of the day went smoothly, and you found that you only had to ask Dan a couple times for help. But try as you might, no matter how charming and sweet your co-worker or the other residents of North Kill were, you couldn’t get those strange, fathomless eyes out of your head.
That was the first time you saw that grumpy old sheriff.
Little did you know that it hadn’t been the first time he saw you.
The next morning was warmer than usual, and you indulged in a summer dress that you justified wearing with knit tights, boots and a sweater that was a few sizes too big. The morning walks you had into town had become a favourite part of your routine, even with the unnervingly thick forests on either side of you. When your grandparents had told you to brush up on wilderness survival, you had laughed to yourself, but now as you always felt as if eyes were on you, you were thankful for the copious amounts of articles you had read. Every video or article seemed to say the same thing- everyone thinks they’re invincible until a bear is pissed or a moose is swimming after them.
With your hairs standing on end, you continued the journey and ignored the unease that threatened the tranquility of your morning walk. Instead, you let yourself smile secretly as you remembered that aquiline nose that was framed so handsomely by tired eyes and sharp cheek bones. You hated that you couldn’t remember his voice, having been too invested in trying to look at him while not burning your hand. The selfish, silly side of you wondered if you would see him that day.
After a half hour, the looming building of The Crow finally came into view. You quickened your pace and almost sweat through your sweater as soon as you stepped inside the kitchen. You tore off the heavy knit and waved at your other co-worker, Georgia, as she joined you in tying her apron.
“How you doin’ mouse?” She asked. It had been a nickname her and Dan used since your second day- evidently you being a little shy made an impression.
“Good. Happy it’s a little warm today…you?” You asked, grabbing a tray of banana bread to take out front.
“Not bad. You know that order I placed online like last month? Well apparently now it’s in Atlanta!” She moaned, “Is it so hard to send a package to this stupid town?”
You laughed quietly. You liked Georgia- she was sweet and boisterous. Her and her boyfriend made you pine when he would pick her up from work every day and he would pretend to be a customer just to see her. You watched how the men of the town flirted with her and her bright brown eyes and beautiful caramel skin.
“I think they’re out to get me.” She huffed, turning on the espresso machine.
“They might just be.” You mused, sending her a little smile that made her laugh.
The rest of the opening went quietly, and you found a calm playlist to fill the cafe for the day. By the time you unlocked the door, your head was so full of which coffee you wanted that morning and what you wanted for lunch that your head was admittedly a little in the clouds.
You were torn out of your thoughts went Georgia suddenly popped up from the mini fridge under the bar, “Shoot, I’ll be right back. You got the front?” She asked, holding what you assumed to be an empty milk container.
You nodded, “Take your time.” She ducked into the back as you finished the fresh brewed coffee, and fixed the cups for the fifteenth time. Then, your eyes gravitated to the front steps when you heard them creak. You thought your eyes deceived you for a moment, but when the door opened, you knew you were very much seeing what you thought.
“Good morning, Sheriff.” You managed to smile gently, and placed your hands delicately on the counter as he approached you.
He stared back at you like he was thinking, or taking you in. It should have unnerved you, but you just held his gaze, and after a second he gave you a half nod.
Nope. Not a morning person.
You had seen your share of cranky locals in the morning, and you could only assume his case of the morning grumps was even worse as sheriff. In an attempt to make his morning easier, you kept your voice calm and light so as to not jar him.
“Can I get you something full of caffeine?” You asked. You didn’t know what it was, but your heart was beating aggressively in your chest as he stood before you.
“Yeah, thanks.” He murmured, looking to the side, and crossed his arms.
You ignored the fact that you liked his voice, nodded and punched in a simple medium roast coffee.
“$2.50, please sir.” You said, and accepted the change he placed in your hand. You noted he was careful to not touch you.
As a sheriff, you assumed he didn’t have a great deal of time to kill, so you poured his coffee and placed it on the counter for him quickly, “There you go.” You chirped. The sheriff took the cup, and raised it to you in a silent thanks.
The sound of his boots filled your ears, and before you could stop yourself, you called out to him, “I hope your day goes okay!”
In response, he cast you a look over his shoulder that you couldn’t decipher, and disappeared outside and into his cruiser.
You watched his car pull away and barely noticed Georgia coming out from the back until she was rambling on about something. But you didn’t hear her, not really.
Those black eyes and harsh lines were seared into your mind.
-
“One oatmeal cookie, chocolate zucchini bread and two lattes will come to an even $15, please.” You said, reading off the couple’s order, and grabbing two cups.
As you tore their receipt form the printer, you were acutely aware of the bell chiming once again. It had been an usually busy morning, even though you had only opened up a half hour ago.
You grabbed a paper bag and turned away from the counter to pick up the cookie and breakfast bread in your tongs, “I’ll be right with you!” You called over your shoulder to whoever had come in.
Once you finished up, you turned back to hand them their goodies but jumped when you were greeted by those brooding black eyes again.
The Sheriff.
His hand was on the flap covering his pistol in a relaxed gesture, and just like last time there was not a wrinkle on his uniform.
“I-I’ll be right with you, sir.” You breathed in deep and made quick work of whipping up the waiting couple’s lattes before passing them off to their hands. They gave a a friendly thank you, but you barely registered it.
When you turned back to the older man who was waiting, you smiled shyly.
“Mornin’.” He muttered, with a little downward flick of his eyes.
You’re brows rose, surprised by the greeting. “Good morning, sheriff. Good to see you again. Coffee?” You asked politely, placing your small hands on the counter.
He swallowed, and sighed, “Yeah.”
You noted that he didn’t hold the strongest eye contact with you. Though you had to admit that you didn’t mind- if he stared you down your brain would cease to function.
For a fraction of a second, you let yourself observe his face better this time. He really was a handsome man, in a sorrowful way, but those bags under his eyes didn’t lie.
He looks so tired…
“Okay, same as yesterday or would you like something different?” You tried to get a little more out of him.
He just stared at you, and you shifted on your feet.
“No. Just the coffee.” He said firmly.
You nodded, but still offered him a small smile which he didn’t return.
That was the most you got out of him for the first week.
However, you noticed that he was one of your most prompt regulars since that first morning- always arriving between ten and forty five minutes of opening.
Neither of you said much to one another, but you sometimes braved an extra comment, only to have him hum. At one point you wondered if he was a robot with only a certain amount of programmed responses, which had made you laugh accidentally in front of him. He had arched a brow at you, and you hadn’t been able to look at him until he left.
It made you nervous when your stomach was so unsettled around him…it had been such a long time since you felt that around someone.
After he had left with yet another cup of coffee that morning, you had asked Dan and Georgia, if they knew much about the sheriff, to which they both gave a similar reaction.
“Sheriff Hackett, that grumpy ass? He’s practically an urban legend. People say he saved this town from monsters or something…I’m pretty sure it was just come kids from the camp that made it up after he told them to stop fucking in the woods.”
They laughed it off, but it only left you wanting to know more.
An urban legend?
You had just hoped to learn his name and maybe a little about his personality, but something about the specificity of ‘monsters’ made you wonder if there was more to North Kill than just it’s unique name. Your mind spun as you wondered just what that old sheriff had been though.
That thought stuck with you right through to the next day.
One of your afternoon regulars, a middle aged woman named Shirley, came through the doors as you were lost in thought; cleaning the counter for the second time in five minutes.
But her footsteps quickly caught your attention, and you greeted her with a practiced smile, “Hey, how are doing?” You asked as the woman approached you.
The woman rolled her eyes with an aloof smile. You liked Shirley- she was a widower with an eye for young men and she had a good wit.
“My back is stiff and my dog got spooked by a bird this morning but I can’t say I’m half bad.” She said.
A laugh escaped you.
“Well let’s wake you up a little more, hm? Hazelnut latte?” You asked happily, already reaching for a cup.
“You’re a dear.” She nodded, taking out a $5 bill. “So how’s the town treating you?”
Shirley rested her hand on the countertop, looking around at the half full cafe. You smiled and walked to the espresso machine, “Oh it’s nice, the people are so welcoming…it’s hard to believe most everyone here has only been here for a few years or so.” You said, trying to steer the conversation where you wanted.
If there was anyone who could fill in the gaps of your image of the Sheriff, it was her.
The woman nodded thoughtfully for a moment, “Oh yes, this town has quite the history.” She said, twitching her brow.
You looked at her as you steamed the milk, “Oh?” Your ears burned.
She nodded and looked around secretively.
You knew she didn’t want anyone to overhear- she had done the same thing when she told you about how a man living three houses from her had a sugar baby in New York City.
“It’s just Georgia here and she’s on break. The customers don’t care.” You said, hoping she would tell you her thoughts.
Shirley sighed, and leaned onto the counter. “Alright. But you need to remember no one here likes to talk about this…especially no one with the last name Hackett…” she warned you.
Your heart beat harder, “L-like Sheriff Hackett?” You asked, leaning over the counter.
“Yes. Now I’ll keep it short and sweet, dear…you never know about these gossipers here.” You had to stifle a laugh at that- you’re one of them Shirley, “About eight years ago, the town here nearly shut down…well it did shut down. There were…strange disappearances and deaths of people that began happening. My husband was one of them…People got scared and left- became a ghost town over night. The only people who stayed were there to run the basics- the Harbinger and the gas station down the way, and the summer camp…”
“They kept the summer camp open?” You asked when she paused.
Shirley nodded.
“They figured it was safe enough…you know how far out of town it is by the old Hackett Quarry. It was a gamble, but it paid off in the end…the only person who stayed to find out what was going on was that sheriff of ours…”
You almost dropped the cup as you went to place it on the counter for her.
“…that man didn’t rest until he got rid of whoever or whatever was raiding this sweet town.” She said, taking the latte. You stared right back at her, dumbfounded. “We owe that man the world…”
A moment of silence fell between you, but there was a burning question you couldn’t help but but ask.
“So what was it?” You asked finally. But Shirley only shrugged.
“He won’t talk about it…some people think it was some kind of ghost, or a transient serial killer…it doesn’t matter though. What does matter is that this town is back and running.” She took another sip and hummed in appreciation.
Your heart began to go a little faster, “He’s…he’s a hero.” You murmured almost to yourself.
Shirley nodded.
“He is. An angry one, but certainly a hero of some kind. If he was a little nicer he would have to beat the ladies off.” She laughed.
“He’s not married?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
Her eyebrows rose, “No…haven’t even seen the man with a woman before.” She laughed again.
You nodded slowly, and rubbed your arm absentmindedly.
“…well thanks for telling me.” You said, “I feel a little stupid for just thinking he was just another man in uniform.” You laughed at yourself.
“He’s quiet enough to remain unassuming…I think he likes it that way. Don’t let his brooding charisma of a damp paper towel fool you.” Shirley added and she drank from her latte.
The bell above the door chimed, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the very man walking through the door. Your cheeks already began to heat up, and your hands went all clammy.
Shirley turned to you to say goodbye, but when she saw your face, she looked between the sheriff and you and smiled. “Bye y/n!” She called a little louder than usual. Either to snap you out of your trance or to make sure he knew your name, “Sheriff.” She murmured as she passed the approaching man in question.
You watched the man in uniform carefully, and couldn’t help but smile as he came closer, “Hi Sheriff, one coffee isn’t enough for today?” You asked, already getting him a cup.
“Mhmm.” He hummed, though it was barely audible as he pulled out the change to give you.
After hearing about his riveting story, you laughed a little to yourself now seeing him doing something so simple. So mundane. You thought about him making breakfast. Checking the mail. Grocery shopping. Then as you let your brain run away with itself, an image of him sleeping in a comfortable bed flashed through your head- you bet he looked peaceful when he slept.
You mentally scolded yourself.
This was a good man. Better than most.
A warmth heated up your cheeks. Instead of putting the coffee on the counter, you held it out for him to take. He looked down at your hand, and grasped the cup, grazing your fingers in the process. You felt your heart skip over.
“Thanks.” He murmured, though you didn’t see the tiny upturn of the side of his mouth. Then, instead of him so carefully placing the money in your hand, his fingers rested against yours for a moment until he pulled away, and cast you a look you couldn’t place.
“You’re welcome.” You chimed as he turned away, “H-have a good day Sheriff Hackett!”
At the sound of his name, he half turned back to you at the door as he pushed it open. The older man gave you a tiny nod, and you swore there was a small smirk on his face, but you could barely focus on anything but the fact that he had touched you and acknowledged your well wishes.
When the door shut, you did a little jump behind the counter, happy that the cafe was practically empty at that point. If anyone had seen you, would would have burst into flames.
But he saw you.
He knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help it.
You were like a breath of fresh air, and you didn’t look at him with some preconceived idea of who he was.
When you said his last name, his heart nearly stopped all together.
Did you ask about him?
Were you curious about him?
Did you think about him?
Or did someone just mention it in passing?
He sighed and ran a hand over his face for the fifteenth time that day.
He couldn’t think these things. He felt like a filthy old man as his mind wandered, but he couldn’t help it.
You were so fucking cute.
He huffed and pulled out of the parking spot before driving begrudgingly to the station.
Y/n. That was your name.
He said it over and over in his head as he parked and sipped at the warm drink you had given him. He ignored the deputies and officers who eyed that fresh coffee in their sheriff’s hand.
It wasn’t like he needed to go out for it, there was perfectly good coffee in the lunch room.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
@theroadreader @honeycovered-bandaids @spaghetti-spider @darling-disastrous @otassbek
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This might be the summer heat…
Hangman x female!reader
Warnings: Smuttish. 18+ If you continue on reading you consent to being over 18.
Y/n Mitchell joins her father at Top Gun for the summer, as she is flirting dangerously with Hangman.
Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5
You were used to the heat of California, though being in such a deserted rural area was not something you had been used to in a while. This was what you have been missing as you stepped out of the car strudding to the Hard Deck. The music was already to be heard, as you heard a female voice singing. Penny must have been hiring someone because she had the voice of an angel. You opened up the door, and let the smell of smoke and booze infiltrate your nostrils. “Y/n. Long time no see.” Penny said, as you settled your bag down. You move your sunglasses to the top of your head. “I missed dad. Speaking of, have you seen him?” You asked, looking around the bar. Your eyes fell on a group of aviator’s that were playing pool. A man looked up from the pool table and made eye contact. Typical douchey fighter pilot was already undressing you with his eyes. You roll your eyes, and see Rooster bumping his pool stick to the other guys making him miss his shot. A big smile plastered on his face, as he called out your name. You leave your bags by the bar and make your way to your childhood best friend jumping in his arms. “Peach.” He said, as kids you made up callsigns and pretended you two were fighter pilots like your dads. “Hey Brad.” You said, holding him a little tighter.
“I didn’t know you had a girl, Rooster.” A guy in an aviation jacket said loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity. Roosters cheeks started to look rosy as you felt the heat under yours as well. Before any introductions could be made you heard Penny call for you. You walked over to Penny when you saw your dad in his aviation jacket sitting at the bar. You pecked a kiss on his cheek. “Hi dad” you said, almost in a singing tone. “How was your flight?” He asked, you had spent the last semester on the east coast, much to his dismay. He thought studying at Berkeley was too far away already. Though it was not your fault he got sent to the middle of nowhere to test fly planes in the first place.
Last night you got into an argument with your dad about your life choices. He wanted you to stay here at the base where he could keep an eye on you. Over Worried, and overprotective, in a sense no dad should be. What you wanted was to have fun this summer, and go with your friends to Lloret de Mar. One last summer. But, your father practically forced you to join him on the North Island. You walked over the tarmac towards the aviation hall. You saw a man doing push ups by a F-18 being overseen by Hondo. You stopped right in front, and said hi to Hondo. “Good to see you again, Y/n.” He said, you give him a smile. “You too.” You said: “This one was a bit cocky, I see.” The blond stopped, and looked up at you, and his face had a stupid smirk. “ Nice panties, sweetheart.” He said, you try not to look surprised. But, you feel your cheeks heat up, and his smirk makes you tingly inside. Hondo scolded at him assinging him more push ups, as you stepped back a little not realizing your skirt gave him a clear view.
Rooster was the best. He introduced you to all the aviators, and invited you to play pool with them. The pilots let loose more and they were wild. Payback was handsome, tall, and muscled. His uniform fit him perfectly, not too loose and not tight around any place. Which is how you believed his place at lieutenant had him be. Comfortable clothing, making him focused on his job, and having fun off the clock. But, Hangman on the other hand wore his uniform tight, it enhanced his torso, thighs, and biceps. He knew what he did with that. It showed confidence, and arrogance as he knew he looked hot. Tonight you wore a revealing outfit because after a week of you helping Penny at the bar, and hanging out around your dad, and his googly eyed minions it was starting to become a game of pissing off your dad by becoming close with the pilots. He did not want you to date anyone. Let alone fighter pilots.
You must’ve lost your train of thought as Rooster poked you in your side, and you made your way over to the pool table. Hangman was standing close to you. As you bend over the table, letting your ass stick out more than you normally would. You focus for one second, and shoot the nine ball in the corner hole. You sign, and lean back up,pretending not to notice Hangman had been looking at your ass. “Is something wrong, lieutenant?” You ask him, Bob took his turn, as you heard the balls hit behind you. Hangman has piercing blue eyes that make your mind foggy. You switch your gaze to his lips, and look back into his eyes. He takes a step back. You look around the room as if you snapped out of his trans, and nobody was paying the both of you much attention but were focused on the game of pool that Bob was actually winning.
You decide to go over to the bar to grab some more beers. Which you were followed by Hangman though you pretended that you didn’t know he followed you. “Looks like the innocent daughter isn’t so innocent after all.” He said, cocking his brow, and letting his hand touch the bare skin on your back midriff. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Hangman.” You said, looking at him innocently. A smirk appeared on his face as he recognized the game you were playing. “ Such a shame you want to play.” He said, leaning forward so he was only audible for you. “You looked hot bending over like that.” His words took you less by surprise than your reaction to his voice as you felt it in your core. You take the toothpick out of his mouth, and throw it in the ashtray on the edge of the bar, and leave him standing there.
Every morning after his time at the gym, Hangman would take a run along the beach. You had already finished your run along the beach when you saw Hangman approach the beach on his run. You contemplated staying on your run longer to join him. Instead you figured maybe you could tease him a bit, after all it was a hot august morning. You take off your shorts leaving them on the beach shore. Next up was your top before ditching it as well as you made your way to the ocean, the water was cold to your feet. Within a couple of seconds you emerged yourself in the cold ocean water. You swim towards deeper water, and you hear a voice calling out to you. Looking over to the shore was Hangman who had finally reached your pile of clothing. You didn’t hear what he was saying over the sound of the waves crashing on the sand. “Come here.” You yell out. He shook his head for a second but then started to strip down. He walked in the water, in his shorts, and you see him shudder from the coolness. He swam over towards you as you floated on the waves. “ You know it is dangerous to swim alone in the ocean right?” He said, when he was close to you. “Are you trying to be my hero then?” You said, swimming closer to him. “What is my reward as a hero?” He asked. He was now a couple of feet away from you. You thought for a second, and decided to unclip your sports bra, and hold it up to him. A smirk appeared on his face, and he came slowly closer to you. “My dad will kill you if you come any closer.” You warn him. He shook his head, and kept still for a second.``Are you okay?” You ask. “ Yes. Yes, I'm just comparing pro’s and con’s.” The second yes was more enthusiastic than the first. He seemed convinced of himself when he swam closer. When he was less than a foot away, you decided to create more distance. “Afraid of me?” He asked teasingly. “I think I want to make you work for it.” You said, splashing water at him. He was faster than you are, as he caught up with you. He took you in his arms, your bare breasts against his chest created a nice sensation for your hard nipples. Biting your lower lip as Hangman had a smirk on his face. “Can I-“ he was going to ask. Instead you pressed your lips against his. Your hands on the side of his face pulling him in. As two of you kept knocking your feet against each other trying to stay afloat. He responded quickly by kissing you back. Kissing him felt like a drought coming to an end. Like spring, and salt. His lips on yours caused your insides to twist and turn. Like you could not even think straight any more.
After that morning, Jake was nice, he told you to call him Jake. Well, he said either call me Jake or Lieutenant sexy thing. As you could never say the other one, Jake it was. It was only a kiss at that moment, as he needed to go to work otherwise you’d been caught. Your father lived in a separate quarter on the base. It had been days after the incident. You were going over to the military base to ask Rooster if he had plans tonight. Your father was going over to stay with Penny, and it was going to storm, something you refused to let your father know was that you were still scared of heavy Californian storms, and they named the one of tonight Bernie. It was already pouring when your walk over to the main base ended. The others were prepping gear, as there was not much chance of flying today. “Y/n, what are you doing here? Your dad left already.” Rooster said he was busy with some screws and what looked like cooling tubes. “I’m here for you. I wanted to see my favorite poultry.” You said, seeing Jake walk into the hangar with Phoenix. You sit down on a dusty old couch. Phoenix comes to join you on the couch. Jake sits on the big armchair next to Phoenix's side. “What is the occasion, sweetheart?” Jake asked. Rooster glared at Jake. “ Don’t you dare, Baghag.” He said, pointing his screwdriver to him. Jake held up his hands as if held under gunpoint. “Only in my dreams.” Jake said, giving you a wink. You roll your eyes, that was too cheesy even for you. Rooster told you he would only take half an hour longer, and after that the two of you would go to the Hard Deck to meet up with Payback, Bob, and Phoenix. You went to the kantine for a moment to get a cup of coffee, as you grabbed a mug out of a cupboard, Jake came walking in. “Hey Pretty.” He said approaching you. “Hello lieutenant” you said, with a smile on your face. He placed his hands on your hips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” He said, leaning in, pecking a kiss on your lips before going in again to deepen the kiss. He slowly moved his hands up, and a smile appeared on your face putting the kiss on hold. A smirk appeared on his face when his hand reached your breast. Like he was some thirteen year old that would still laugh at the word boobies. Quickly you returned to the kissing action. He raised you up on the counter, nudging himself in between your legs. Returning his hand back under your shirt, like it hadn’t left. The kissing, and him groping you led to you wanting more, as the longing sensation between your legs began to grow. Clearly he wanted to as well, considering the growing bulge that was pressing against you. “I’m going to motherfucking kill you!” You heard Rooster yell, as he pulled Hangman away from you, sucker punching him right in the face. Hangman fell down on the ground, and his nose started dripping red. “Jesus Rooster!” You yelled out. Both Roosters and Hangman’s eyes were shooting flames. “Y/n, what the HELL” he said: “HIM?” You looked at Rooster, to you he was like a brother, he was always used to come over and see you till the stunt your dad pulled. Even after that he would be in contact with you. You could cry at how angry he was at you. “Can you calm down?” You try to act calm. He glared from you, to Hangman and back at you. “How are you not seeing how wrong this is? He is like 10 years older than you!” Rooster said. You shrug. Which made Rooster even more annoyed, Hangman had meanwhile gotten up off the floor. “I’m not done with you.” Rooster said, pointing his finger angrily at Hangman. However, he backed off. Leaving the two of you standing in the kitchen. Quickly, you rushed to get Hangman napkins for his nosebleed. Though the blood had already dripped down his shirt. “I’m so sorry.” You said, he leaned his head up, looking at the sky. “It’s fine. We butt heads all the time.” He said, you couldn’t help but feel like this was more extreme. You knew Bradley was overprotective but this wasn’t normal.
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kteezy997 · 1 year
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I'm With You- Part Six// Lee (Bones and All)
Info: reader missing Lee, depressed Lee, some fluff
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You spent the next couple of weeks sleeping in the truck in secluded areas of rural towns. Spending nights in cheap motel rooms, and trying to heal from what you had seen. It was hard to unsee it, to unfeel it. You forced yourself to think of the happy times you had with Lee, and luckily, they outweighed the bad thing. Somehow.
You had never felt so seen, so loved in all your life. You didn't see a future for yourself without him. You missed him terribly. But you were terrified of the things he had done, and of what he could do in the future. However, you knew him, how tender and sweet he was to the core. How selfless he was and how incredibly kind he was with you.
"Don't disappear on me forever." he had pleaded with you, "Please, find me again, let me explain!" You kept repeating his words in your mind over and over. His voice in your head broke your heart. You pitied the part of him that you knew so well: the lonely drifter whose only source of love was from his sister that he couldn't be too close to. He was an outsider, just like you. You knew what it was to be alone. Now Lee, you knew, was more alone than ever.
You had to see him, at least one last time. If he wasn't meant to be in your life, you'd feel it. You drove back to his hometown in Kentucky. The very same town that you had shared a Wendy's meal in his aunt's abandoned home, and you had laughed more during that meal with him than you had in a long time.
As you drove the truck through the town, you saw his sister, Kayla, entering an ice cream parlor with some friends. This was your chance at finding Lee. You parked near the ice cream place, and nonchalantly leaned against the truck. "Hey, Kayla." you said to the blonde girl as she walked out of the building, ice cream cone in hand.
"Hey." she answered, eyeing you. "I met you a while back, I-uh, I'm Lee's friend." you said, nervously. "Yeah, I remember." Kayla turned to her friends, "You guys go on ahead, I'll be there in a minute." Now the two of you were alone, and she joined you at the front of the truck. "So, have you seen Lee?" you asked. "Yeah, yeah he's been staying out at the lake, just outside of town. I'm glad he's been staying close, but he just ...seems to be going through somethin', I guess."
"If you don't mind me asking, why did he not come around much anyway?" "Ugh, it's so stupid, people don't even remember what happened with the cops anymore. That was three years ago. He spent three days in jail, and they let him out." "Jail? What happened?" your heart started pounding. "It was our dad, he and Lee got into a fight because dad hit me, and he hit Lee too. Lee told me to call the cops, and I did. But when they got there, dad was gone and there was blood on Lee, but it was all Lee's blood."
After your talk with Kayla, you wanted to hear Lee's side of the story more than before. You wanted to know everything, you wanted to understand. Kayla gave you directions to the lake where Lee had set up a tent. You parked the truck and walked around, looking for him. You saw him from afar, sitting on the bank by himself. You ran toward him, "Lee!" you called out.
He turned and looked at you, getting up. "Y/n?" You ran into his arms, hugging him. He didn't know what to do at first. He was surprised to see you, let alone the fact that you had your arms around him. After a moment, you felt his hands on your back. You took a second to pull away and look at his face. "I've missed you so much." you admitted. "So, you're not scared of me then?" he asked, his eyes were darkened with melancholy. You shook your head 'no.' Lee smiled weakly and pulled you into another hug. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you." he said, holding you tight.
That night, he took you swimming in the lake just as they were setting off fireworks for the Fourth of July. You both looked up from the water, watching the colors spread out across the sky. You swam around a little, and felt Lee come behind you and he took you in his arms. Your back was pressed against his naked chest. You felt at ease again, for the first time since you had been separated.
You let him hold you and you watched the remainder of the firework show. You leaned against him, and let your hand run slowly across the top of the water. “Lee?” you asked, resting your head against his. “Hmm?” “We should put your tent to good use, and just get lost somewhere.” You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was smiling. He squeezed you a little bit tighter, nuzzling his face into your neck.
You felt him shift slightly and his lips met your neck with sweet, wet kisses. It was like time had stopped since you last saw each other, Lee wasn’t missing a beat. “Let’s leave tonight.” he said, his breath hitting your skin as he spoke. “Okay, I’m down.” You turned, facing him and placing your hands on his shoulders for stability in the water. You loved how cute he looked with wet hair and tiny droplets running down his face. His lips turned up into a grin, and he slowly leaned in to kiss you. And you welcomed his lips on yours, feeling elated that you were in his arms again.
@chalabagellunafluff @gatoenlaciudad @sexylifestylesblog @quicksilversg1rl
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gratisdiamanten · 2 months
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Hello it is me plaid shirt anon. Tyyy for answering that cause for some reason every time I see a picture I’m sent into a passionate rage about the fucking flannel (in other news think I’ve realised I don’t like flannel lmaooooo). I def love the Jos lore you graciously provide us and so a follow up question would be what are jos’s outsiderisms that you mentioned and also randomly how country is he? Like is it more southern ‘girlie’ or is it country country like I’m eating deep fried pickles while riding a horse on a prairie kinda country?? (I’m so British it’s painful 😭😭)
Okay I definitely giggled! Deep fried pickles sounds like something the Dutch should pick up on. I don't think there's a great analogue for the kind of country he is in like, pseudo-American terms because rural in the US and in the NL are very different things because the Netherlands are so densely clustered and there's very little undeveloped/uncultivated land. I do kind of see him in American terms as like. He would live in a small town in a wooded area where hunting is popular, he'd like riding on a quad, steel toe boots are normal wear to school for some kids, etc. His dad would own a bar same as he does irl etc. He had a redneck ass mullet back around 1990 and I swear to god I knew dozens of kids like that back home.
In terms of outsiderisms I've seen a lot of people not even just criticize him on grounds of being an abuser (which is like exceptionally reasonable and encouraged) but like. Kind of straight up leaning into a kind of classism. Jos didn't grow up poor, he was middle class and well off, but he comes from an area that is stereotyped as stupid or uneducated because of a slower/softer/drawly kind of accent compared to accents farther north. I've seen in comment threads people saying since he's from Zuid-Limburg, that's the closest thing you can get to a caravan. Another called him a "tokkie". Dutch for "this guy's trailer trash".
Limburg is also kind of seen as sometimes keeping to itself, or sometimes as effectively being Belgian. For this reason he wasn't ever entirely embraced by the NL as a representative driver even early on (the way Max was) and when he faced failures he mostly was made fun of, especially for his accent. I talk about the quality of his accent a bit more here. I actually find it pleasant! It's funny cause Dutch people poke fun at it, but as an American it probably sounds the least silly to me because the vowels feel more familiar, or at least more relaxed.
Lots of instances of him generally being the butt of jokes because of his failed career (which was largely a product of mismanagement, undertraining and then lost momentum/wasted potential). Dutch people tend to not cut slack but it was kind of continuous.
Also in my less academic more insane voice his masculinity was a bit failed and his posturing was received poorly and subconsciously he was tagged a bit as homosexual LMAO
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Update on The Species
There are the primordial beings known as angels and demons as well as the more common werewolves, vampires, fiends, elves, unicorns, dragons, harpies, imps, merfolk, selkies, and various sea monsters.
Werewolves live in packs away from most humans due to the fear of them, though they do have some good relations with humans, it is highly uncommon for werewolves to go solo
Vampires live in caves in the mountains and deep forests, they don’t leave their sanctuaries unless it is night, and when they do it is to trade with humans and other mystical people
Fiends usually use mystical disguises to look human, they are spread all over the kingdom and usually work as mercenaries or traveling merchants (basically tieflings).
Elves are rarely seen as they are often poached by other species, though they are more common in rural areas.
Unicorns are fierce goat-like horses that live in forests, plains, and even mountains depending on the breed, only the most skilled trainers keep these beasts. 
Dragons vary in size and habitat depending on the breed, but one thing they all have in common is their violent, territorial nature attacking anyone stupid enough to enter said territory though some are kept as pets. 
Harpies live in mountains and forests and are the first beings created by the angels, they are seen as messengers of angels
Imps are the first beings created by demons and live in caves and dense forests, they are the messengers of demons.
Merfolk only interact with humans that live in small fishing villages because more significant populations allow for a bigger chance of someone wanting to harm the merfolk, they are also able to take the form of humans with gills and fins.
Selkies are believed to be related to merfolk but there are no definite links, they take the form of seals and are able to shed their seal skin to walk the land as humans.
The title of sea monster covers a wide range of creatures both proven to exist and only spoken of as a myth, one thing these creatures of the deep have in common is their mindless bloodlust.
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Hey I’m also queer and I use it as an identity label. I don’t agree with people excessively trigger tagging it when it’s not necessary, but I’d really suggest you educate yourself on its history as a slur. I am a gay trans man, so this is absolutely not terf rhetoric from me. But I was called queer in a derogatory way my entire life because I lived in a rural area where it was absolutely used as a slur. Maybe consider that ppl asking for trigger tags are also LGBT and not your enemy lol
Like go ahead and isolate yourself from other queer ppl all you want but just bc some ppl are genuinely triggered by the term doesn’t mean they’re attacking you for using it, lmfao
I know you probably mean well by this ask, and I see where you're coming from. I disagree, but I will give a good faith answer in return.
To understand where I'm coming from, let's compare the words queer and gay. Both words originally referred to general sexual deviancy in a pejorative sense, only later being reclaimed as proudly worn identities. Both words have been used as slurs for a long time afterwards, queer being more popular in the mid 20th century and gay gaining popularity as a slur in the later 20th into the 21st century.
I know way more queer people in real life who have a complicated relationship with the word gay than the word queer because gay was the word that was slung at them as an insult and a weapon their entire childhood. Gay was The insult of the 80s, 90s, and 00s. Anything bad, or weak, or stupid was "gay". There were whole campaigns to try to stop the use of gay as an insult, that's how bad it got. It's given a lot of people a lot of pain connected with the word.
But I have never, ever, seen someone tag a post "g slur". Why? Two words, both initially pejorative, both reclaimed, both continuously used liberally by those who hate us as a slur and an insult. Isn't it interesting how the more inclusive of those two words was targeted in a concentrated effort that started just a few years ago in terf communities? Isn't it interesting how the more narrow, less inclusive word, despite being the one more recently used as a slur and insult, despite the people in the community who still flinch when they hear it, was simply left alone?
To be clear, I don't think that we should be trigger tagging gay, or starting some "gay is a slur!" movement. I'm just pointing out parallels and questioning why the attitude towards two words with similar histories are so vastly different.
Educate myself on its history? I know it was used as a slur. So was gay, so was lesbian, so was every goddam word we have ever used to describe ourselves because it is not the words they find disgusting, it is us. Queer has been reclaimed and used in a neutral or positive way for decades and decades.
Context matters. "you dirty queer" = slur "I went to the queer student group meeting last week" = not a slur "ew that's so gay" = slur "I came out as gay when I was 16" = not a slur
No one is denying that queer has been and can still be used as a slur. But this specific "queer is a slur in any context!" movement legitimately did come out of terf communities in the last few years. I'm not accusing you of being associated with terfs. But "queer is a slur and triggering no matter how it's used" is terf rhetoric, and they've managed to spread it beyond their community. To claim that a word that has been reclaimed for decades and used in a neutral-to-positive context is a slur is disingenuous, and they know it, but they've successfully gotten other people to parrot it by hiding it under a layer of false concern.
One final thought: I have literally never seen anyone ask for queer to be tagged because they personally are triggered by the word. It's always people speaking on behalf of some hypothetical person who can't stand to even see my identity written out in a neutral-to-positive context. And if anyone really is so genuinely triggered by the term that they can't even stand to read it, they can just filter the post content, tumblr lets you do that.
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do you prefer Clark to move to Metropolis instantly from Smallville or should he have done some traveling first? and if he did travel, what do you think he was really doing before he decided to settle down?
He absolutely should travel. Ideally it would be part of his college years, when you can fly or run really fast, it's not like there's anything stopping you from spending a weekend in another country.
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My take is that Clark wants to see and experience as much human culture as he can. Being cooped up in Smallville for most of his life should leave him eager to explore the rest of the world. Hearing and seeing the world with your powers isn't the same as actually participating in it, and that's what Clark is eager to do. Meet new people, see new places up close, learn other languages, hear music from other cultures, read books written by the natives of the area he's in, and start figuring out how he can use his powers to help people. This period should have Clark in disguise, even wearing a mask because he lacks the confidence to reveal himself yet, helping people with their problems in various ways. Here's where he learns about the complexity of humanity, and grows to appreciate just how tough it is to fight for justice, that it's a "never-ending battle".
Clark travelling provides two major benefits. The first is that it renders the "he's just a sweet naïve farmboy" interpretation null and void. That viewpoint was always stupid, but you can't seriously argue he's oblivious to the cruelties of the world if he's someone who has actually travelled and seen said world. The second is that it means his values don't just stem from his upbringing in Kansas. Trying to argue that a small town in rural America is the moral epicenter of Earth raises some eyebrows these days, rightfully so. Instead Smallville and the Kents are crucial factors, but not the only factors in why he turned out the way he did. Meeting other people, especially ones outside America, inspired and shaped Clark too. They're just as responsible for shaping his conception of Superman as his adopted parents and Smallville family.
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mouseratz · 8 months
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"I don't like the idea of Smallville sometimes being a bad place for Clark and in this case lex to live" I do. I came from a small rural town myself & I have a lot of nostalgia for it; that's my childhood and family- but it is, also, a backwards ass place with a lot of people that would reject me for a lot of reasons. it's both, and when that's reflected in these stories, I like it. (it is NOT Midwestern, however, but I think it's besides the point since......
the reason it seems a lot of people worry about this characterization of small towns always being bigoted.....well, it's not that it's technically untrue, the stereotype kind of does stem from real experience on that angle. the problem I see is that people from more progressive areas tend to rationalize the bigotry and mistreatment as "Because Rural People Are Stupid Hicks And Just Haven't Seen The Rest Of The World, They've Never Met A Gay!" ....it misunderstands the motivations and assumes this kind of naive ignorance of the people who do wrong, and often ends with "why don't marginalized people just Move Away if they experience so much hatred there?" as if we don't care at all about where we came from, as if everything about the place itself is unloveable just because there are bad people there too.....so, yeah, no.)
back to superman, I think idyllic smallville only really makes sense from the idea of Clark having a wholly unproblematic childhood, and idk. that is kind of boring isn't it? especially when it feels like the story about him loving his home and current family but feeling conflicted and isolated knowing he's something Other & how it parallels with his identity as both the Kents' son and the last survivor of an entire alien world being Right There narratively. a nuanced Smallville makes sense. with people who both love him regardless and those who mistrust him because he's different..... It makes sense. to me anyway. it's just more interesting than "Clark had an entirely happy childhood with no conflict whatsoever and it wasn't until he grew up everything was bad" (I would still say that he does overall have a pretty good childhood, especially by superhero standards.....but that doesn't mean conflict-free, and his backstory is always informed by the initial tragedy that causes him to lose his bio parents and *everything and everyone* from his original home, even if he doesn't fully remember it/is always fully aware of it.)
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neuroticboyfriend · 1 year
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ty for the “we don’t have to consider the dui ppl evil monsters forever.” This you can skip I think now if you don’t want a story of why your post is gonna change my life a little bit.
I have a owi from a boss getting drunk as hell with me and I very much went along with the evening for like idk stupid professional relations reasons I guess, and ended up in a ditch etc. I unfortunately received another dui after I was drinking at home in my backyard two years later sorta mid-meltdown, and after an exchange with an equally intoxicated neighbor was chased about 120 ft to my car which I drove to some neighbors (rural area) about 2 min away l, but literally got pulled over by the cops along that stretch as they kinda park-camp there.
My life was ruined. I was not well in jail for 90 days after the second one, as was denied anti-psychotics, sleep aids, and anti-depressants so stuck in a suicide suit and in solitary. I had worked for the state for a decade but no longer could, and I was stuck in the county that had no mental health services for me due to the limits of our CMH. I had to live with friends for two years of probation because I couldn’t drive or work without being able to drive. I did some wfh stuff during Covid (thank god wfh surge saved me tbh) but had to bike 10 miles each way or get a ride a couple times a week for drug tests, support meetings, classes etc for 2 years. I had to borrow money and pay ppl back years later for covering the costs of the drug tests and classes.
I had worked for the state for nearly a decade, graduated with a degree, had an apartment, boyfriend, the whole works: but I had no mental health access for a decade and had essential emergency services trying to toss meds at me, when I would ask to be hospitalized or finally was, and after about 7-8 years I was maladaptive as hell unable to get counseling or med management, drinking with bosses and melting down in my backyard.
I finally got mental health and other services: I have Tourette’s, autism, adhd, and ocd. And a nice helping of the cptsd but idk that one’s pretty managed. I have a bunch of broken teeth from clenching from stress and Tourette’s. The only help I got out of that county was Christian substance abuse services in classes that I had to do for probation for two years. I cannot imagine how different my life would be if I could have gotten the services the judge said I had complete access to.
I have never felt like anyone could be capable of understanding that I’m not a monster and I didn’t want to do anything bad. I understand very well why ppl are so aggressive against drunk driving as I’m in one of the worse states for it and we have some of the strongest laws for it. It’s a felony in Canada and I can’t go there anymore because of it. And it’s been idk 5 years now that I’ve never seen or heard a message like this and it is just so moving.
I’ve been holding myself back so much because I did a bad and I don’t feel like a deserve to like use social services or anything anymore like anything that could burden the state or community. I fell so far like possessions wise, asset wise, materially, professionally, in housing etc. that I need those services frankly. I don’t do things or try to interact with people, I’ve done like 5 years of shame vs regret exercises but it doesn’t matter I just don’t feel like I should get to be part of society and that no one wants me to be anymore. And I think if I saw things like this just once in awhile amongst the regular dui messaging it would be really great.
I do run a smart recovery meeting which is like science backed substance abuse program very much online nowadays but I want to do more but I’m still very in my head about it. I’m gonna try to think about this perspective from time to time. So thank you.
Anon I am telepathically giving the biggest hug ever, and if you dont want a hug then. I'm sending so much support and understanding your way. I'm so happy you found my post, especially since I've gotten a little bit of hell for it. Knowing it comforted just one person makes it worth it.
You're not a monster, and what the state did to you is not okay. It's inhumane, and you didn't deserve a single part of it. It's not even remotely fair that your right to health and safety was so grossly violated. And I'm glad you seem to be doing better than you were. I hope as time goes on, you find more of your place in this world.
I know things will never be the same, and I know how much stands in your way - even though I can't truly conceptualize it. But there will always be more people than you know who see see your humanity. Who want you in this world with us - not just tolerate it. And I think it's really wonderful you run the recovery program. You've probably changed a lot of lives, for the better. That's awesome!
And thank you for trusting your story with me. I've been struggling with some substance abuse lately, and I think getting this ask is gonna get me through another night of not. Fucking up. Sometimes people just need to feel connection, I think. So you changed my life a little bit, too.
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loominggaia · 2 years
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How is obesity seen and handled in each of the great kingdoms? Which nations are the most and least fatphobic?
This is very difficult to answer because opinions on obesity differ greatly even within the same kingdom, in most cases. Most Great Kingdoms contain many different cultures, and how one culture views fatness can be opposite to another, even if they are geographically close to eachother.
I would say that overall, Seelie and Mogdiri cultures are the most fatphobic. Elven supremacist attitudes run rampant in these areas, and since it's so hard for elves to gain weight, they are naturally thin and see the most beauty in this body type.
Strangely enough, Zareenite culture is quite fatphobic too. You'd think that wouldn't be the case, since the majority of Zareen Empire's population is overweight, but its fatphobic attitude can be traced back to capitalism.
Here's the situation: Half of Zareenites are dworfen. Dworfs put on weight easily. Zareenite's automation tech leads to sedentary lifestyles and shitty food. This has all led to a lot of overweight citizens. Capitalists saw that and thought "hey, we can make a lot of money off these people if we make them insecure and ignorant enough!" so begins the Zareenite diet industry, a storm of stupid fad diets, gimmicky gyms, snake oil supplements, and so on. Meanwhile the citizens remain ignorant about how to actually lose weight because they're bombarded with so much bullshit information from the media...so they keep spending money on crap that doesn't work, they stay fat, and spend more money. Rinse and repeat for centuries. The point is, the media has convinced Zareenites to be self-loathing and insecure about their fatness.
Matuzan cultures generally revere fatness, as plump body types are associated with the wealthy. But this can be toxic too, because in some cases, elves and other species who naturally struggle to gain weight are holding themselves to impossible beauty standards. They end up comparing them to plumper species and feeling bad about themselves.
Evangelites also generally favor fatness, but you'll get some mixed opinions here. Rural Evangelites see fatness as a positive thing, but only for women. If a woman is fat, it means her husband works hard and puts plenty of food on the table, which allows her to stay home and do sedentary domestic tasks. If a man is fat, it means he isn't working hard enough, because Evangelite men are expected to do "outdoor" tasks like farming, which burns lots of calories.
Urban Evangelites feel a little differently. They tend to work less physically demanding jobs than rural folk, so being fat just means you have a desirable job in an office and plenty of money to put food on the table, whether you're male or female. Big muscles or a sinewy body aren't considered very attractive here because it means you probably dig ditches or something.
The Etiosi also appreciate some fat on both men and women, but only if it's accompanied by plenty of muscle. Obesity is not considered attractive because it impairs health. For the Etiosi, being built like a fridge is the height of beauty. Children are also expected to be a bit overweight to protect them from harsh winters and possible famine. If your children are stringy or average sized, you are considered a bad parent.
Meanwhile the traditional trollish cultures of Gaia, particularly those in Wokina and Serkel, revere extremely obese women. I mean really obese, to the point that these ladies are immobilized by their weight and must be tended to by a caregiver (usually her children) to survive. But the same cannot be said for trollish males, because if they are fat, they're seen as lazy and not providing for their families. Male trolls face a finicky standard of beauty because they are seen as lazy/broke if they're either too fat or too thin. They are expected to be well-muscled with a healthy layer of padding, but not too much! Who knew people who live in dung-houses could be so picky?
As a general rule, you'll find the "fat women good, fat men bad" attitude is quite prevalent across Gaia. Ogrish cultures are an exception, because female ogres are naturally bigger and stronger than males, so they don't take domestic roles like other species of women tend to do. Thinness is considered ugly for both men and women in these cultures. The most beautiful ogrish women are the biggest, burliest ones. If she's built like a heavyweight pro wrestler, she's the real hotness in the eyes of traditional ogres. Male ogres are more valued for "softer" body types, maybe a little chunky but not obese.
There are just too many different opinions to get into. Overall it really just depends on the species, their lifestyle, and the culture around them.
As for obesity as a societal issue, it's a real problem in Zareen Empire as I stated, but is also becoming an increasing concern in Matuzu Kingdom and the urban cities of Evangeline Kingdom as well. Matuzu and Evangeline are responding with education campaigns and produce vouchers, among other solutions. Meanwhile Zareen Empire is just throwing diet pills and surgery at the problem to make more money and not solving anything.
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Questions/Comments?
Lore Masterpost
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