#good farm land for sale

[justmewondering56]

do you have a notebook to record bioeffective acts of natural chemical growth?

[aimfarmlands]

Farm Real Estate Investing - AIM Farmlands

Due to increased consumer demand and disposable income, Turkey's food sector industry has been steadily growing in recent years. Agriculture historically has always been a stable investment, and the country provides incentives for those who wish to invest; these incentives include government-advantageous regulations, taxing systems, and investment incentives. Currently, at our company, AIM Farmlands, we provide you with the Farm Real Estate Investing opportunity to invest in farmlands, with exciting projects in Manisa and Antalya.

[english-history-trip]

Portrait of an unidentified young woman by Wenceslaus Hollar, 1645

The reason why we should remember Cattelena, who lived in Almondsbury near Bristol, is that she is one of the few African women to have left a record in the rural Britain of the seventeenth century. All we have is the inventory of her goods at her death in 1625: a cow worth £3, a bed, a quilt, a candlestick, four pots, dishes and spoons, ‘all her wearing apparel’, a coffer and two little boxes. It amounted to £6, 9 shillings and sixpence. She was not wealthy, but she was supporting herself, with the aid of her cow and her labour. She was single, like one in five of the women of seventeenth-century England, and she appointed another woman as her executor. Her name – only a first name was given - suggests she had arrived in Bristol via Spain. That’s all we know, but it’s enough to change our picture of the English countryside.

Almondsbury is a small village close to Bristol. At the time Cattelena lived there at least another 16 Africans lived in Bristol. Just like Phylis Setterford, the way we know about Cattelena is because of the inventory of her possessions after her death. She is described as ‘Cattelena, a negra deceased of Almonsbury in the county of Gloucester, single woman & in the diocese of Bristol’. Her inventory includes cooking utensils, clothes, bedding, tablecloth, and a candlestick. However, Cattelena’s most prized possession was a cow. One cow would keep her in milk and butter, as well as provide an income through the sale of dairy products in the local area. Cattelena would have been able to graze her cow on common village land. This would provide her the opportunity of independence and self-sufficiency. Dairying was women’s work. With around 80% of people living in the countryside, it could be a serious income generator. On a farm you would have one dairymaid to six cows. Anything greater would require more servants, and a herd typically had no more than twelve cows. The best hours for milking were between 5-6am and 6-7pm. From Whitsun (May) to Michaelmas (end of September), a cow could produce a gallon of milk a day, which could be used to make a range of ‘white meats’ – meaning cheese and butter. Catellena’s cow was worth £3 10 shillings, £460.32 in today’s money. In 1625, the year Cattelena died, this would have also bought you 10 stones of wool, a quarter of wheat, and was the equivalent of 70 days of skilled labour. In Tudor times, cows were given names. Some reflected their function, as well as the owner's sense of humour. Eleanor Cumpayne of Halesowen, Worcestershire, inherited a cow named Fillpayle from her father George in 1559. Was this name an order shouted at the cow or a compliment for how productive she was? Other cow names recorded include Gentle, Brown Snout, Lovely, Motherlike, Winsome, and Welcome Home. There is no record of Cattelena’s cow having been given a name, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t, as this wasn’t a typical thing to record in an inventory. There is no furniture in Cattelena’s inventory. This could suggest that she rented a room in someone else’s home. This could be the home of a widow named Helen Ford, who was named as administrator to Cattelena’s estate. Cattelena was unmarried but this was not unusual, with around 30% of the English adult female population single. However, it was rare for single women to live in their own home and only about 5% of single women below the age of 45 were head of their own households. Naming Helen Ford as her administrator suggests she was not living with relatives. The total of Catellena’s possessions was valued at £6 9s 6d (£851.59). The existence of Cattelena’s inventory shows us that Black Tudor women could own property themselves and live independent lives. It is significant that as a woman she owned anything at all, it indicates her relative independence. Not only was she not enslaved, but thanks to her cow she seems to have been able to support herself and was free from service or any family obligation. Imagining Cattelena, a dark skinned, independent woman, going about her day-to-day business, preparing her meals, cleaning her bedding, milking her cow, in her rural village makes us imagine English life of the past in a completely new way. She was independent, but she lived an ordinary life, much like most other Tudors.

[roo-bastmoon]

Our "Why"

If you want to manifest something, you've got to feel the feelings of it already being a reality, until it is made real.

I know why I stream and buy and share tutorials and vote like an unhinged obsessed person, even though I have crazy work and school deadlines.

It's because this very kind-hearted, highly intelligent, extremely talented, breathtakingly humble young man needs to know.

He needs to KNOW his Hot100 wasn't a fluke. It wasn't bots. It wasn't stream farms. It wasn't random luck.

He needs to know that no matter how many haters (online or in the industry) try and mess with him, we have his back. We will show up.

Next week, during that short window of time when soldiers get to look at their cell phones, he should lie down on his bed, open up that screen, check to see how things went, perhaps a little nauseated with nerves...

And see nothing but pure love and triumph! High charting. Sales that make him untouchable. Reviews that rave about his vision and his skill.

He should know in the marrow of his bones.

The thousands of hours of practice, of going back to the basics, of having a hand in every element of design, the physical and mental strain, the raw, aching fatigue--it was all worth it. He's seen. He's appreciated. He's understood.

I do all this because I want a good person to KNOW they are loved for being good. That despite all the corruption and heartache in this world, good things still happen to good people.

I don't want to brag to antis or other kpop stans. I don't want to crow about Jimin's accolades because I feel superior or more powerful. I don't want to feel like *I* accomplished something, here.

I want to be able to sleep peaceful when this done, sure that we all did our best, gave every inch, crossed every barrier, stayed the course and kept going...

All to get Jimin safely landed so securely in success that no one questions his value or his artistic choices ever again -- least of all him.

Do you know your Why?

Manifest it.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A purplish-grey stew topped with olive oil and garnished with piles of pomegranate seeds. Plates of green peppers, bitter olives, olive oil, taboon bread, green onions, radishes, and za'tar surround the dish. The second image is a close-up of the same stew. End ID]

رمانية / Rummāniyya (Palestinian pomegranate stew)

Rummaniyya (رُمَّانِيَّة; also transliterated "rumaniyya," "rummaniya," and "rummaniyeh") is a Palestinian stew or dip made from lentils, eggplant, and pomegranate seeds, flavored with nutty red tahina and a zesty, spicy دُقَّة (dugga) of dill seeds, garlic, and peppers. A طشة (ṭsha), or tempering, of olive oil and onion or garlic is sometimes added.

"Rummaniyya," roughly "pomegranate-y," comes from رُمَّان‎ ("rummān") "pomegranate," plus the abstract noun suffix ـِيَّة ("iyya"); the dish is also known as حبّة رُمَّانَة ("ḥabbat rommāna"), or "pomegranate seeds." It is a seasonal dish that is made at the end of summer and the beginning of fall, when pomegranates are still green, unripe, and sour.

This stew is considered to be one of the most iconic, historic, and beloved of Palestinian dishes by people from Gaza, Yaffa, and Al-Ludd. Pomegranates—their seeds, their juice, and a thick syrup made from reducing the juice down—are integral to Palestinian cuisine and heritage, and images of them abound on ceramics and textiles. Pomegranates and their juice are sold from street carts and cafes in the West Bank and Gaza.

Today, tens of thousands of tons of pomegranates are grown and harvested by Israeli farmers on stolen Palestinian farmland; about half of the crop is exported, mainly to Europe. Meanwhile, Palestinians have a far easier time gaining permits to work on Israeli-owned farms than getting permission from the military to work land that is ostensibly theirs. These restrictions apply within several kilometers of Israel's claimed borders with Gaza and the West Bank, some of the most fertile land in the area; Palestinian farmers working in this zone risk being injured or killed by military fire.

Israel further restricts Palestinians' ability to work their farms and export crops by imposing tariffs, unexpectedly closing borders, shutting down and contaminating water supplies, spraying Palestinian crops with pesticides, bulldozing crops (including eggplant) when they are ready to be harvested, and bombing Palestinian farmland and generators. Though Palestinian goods have local markets, the sale of Palestinian crops to Israel was forbidden from 2007 to 2014 (when Israel accepted shipments of goods including tomato and eggplant).

Gazans have resisted these methods by disregarding orders to avoid the arable land near Israel's claimed borders, continuing to forage native plants, growing new spices and herbs for export, planting hydroponic rooftop gardens, crushing chalk and dried eggplants to produce calcium for plants, using fish excrement as fertilizer, creating water purification systems, and growing plants in saltwater. Resisting Israeli targeting of Palestinian food self-sufficiency has been necessary for practical and economic reasons, but also symbolizes the endurance of Palestinian culture, history, and identity.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System's (Israel's primary weapons manufacturer) landlord; donating to Palestine Action's bail fund; and buying an e-Sim for distribution in Gaza.

Serves 6-8.

Ingredients:

For the stew:

1 medium eggplant (370g)

1 cup brown lentils (عدس اسود)

600g pomegranate seeds (to make 3 cups juice)

3 Tbsp all-purpose flour

1/4 cup red tahina

1/2 cup olive oil

Salt, to taste

Citric acid (ملح الليمون / حامِض ليمون) (optional)

Red tahina may be approximated with home cooking tools with the above-linked recipe; you may also toast white tahina in a skillet with a little olive oil, stirring often, until it becomes deeply golden brown.

For the دُقَّة (dugga / crushed condiment):

2 tsp cumin seeds, or ground cumin

1 1/2 Tbsp dill seeds ("locust eye" بذور الشبت / عين جرادة)

5 cloves garlic

1 green sweet pepper (فلفل بارد اخضر)

2 dried red chilis (فلفل شطة احمر)

People use red and green sweet and chili peppers in whatever combination they have on hand for this recipe; e.g. red and green chilis, just green chilis, just red chilis, or just green sweet peppers. Green sweet peppers and red chilis are the most common combination.

For the طشة (Tsha / tempering) (optional):

Olive oil

1 Tbsp minced garlic

Instructions:

1. Rinse and pick over lentils. In a large pot, simmer lentils, covered, in enough water to cover for about 8 minutes, or until half-tender.

2. Meanwhile, make the dugga by combining all ingredients in a mortar and pestle or food processor, and grinding until a coarse mixture forms.

Dugga and components.

3. Cube eggplant. A medium-sized eggplant may be cut in half lengthwise (through the root), each half cut into thirds lengthwise, then cubed widthwise.

Cubed eggplant, red tahina, and pomegranate seeds.

4. Add eggplant to simmering water (there is no need to stir).

5. While the eggplant cooks, blend pomegranate seeds in a blender very thoroughly. Strain to remove any gritty residue. Whisk flour into pomegranate juice.

Pomegranate juice being strained.

6. Taste your pomegranate juice. If it is not sour, add a pinch of citric acid or a splash of lemon juice and stir.

7. Add dagga to the pot with the lentils and eggplant and stir. Continue to simmer until the eggplant is very tender and falling apart.

8. Add pomegranate juice, tahina, and olive oil to the pot, and simmer for another 5 minutes, or until stew is very thick and homogenous.

Bright pink pomegranate juice in stockpot.

9. (Optional) In a small skillet, heat a little olive oil on medium. Fry minced garlic, stirring constantly, until golden brown. Add into the pot and stir.

10. (Optional) Mash the stew with the bowl of a ladle or a bean masher to produce a more homogenous texture.

Serve rummaniyya hot or cold in individual serving bowls. It may be served as an appetizer, or as a main dish alongside flatbread, olives, and fresh vegetables such as radishes, green peppers, green onions, carrots, and romaine lettuce. It may be eaten with a spoon, or by using كماج (kmāj), a flatbread with an internal pocket, to scoop up each bite.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

You take Stardew Valley requests now?!

Also—you do Morris too?

Hmm. Without immediately getting on the hate train, could I please request a Farmer!Reader getting sick of Morris pestering them to buy a Joja membership? Their reaction to this is to issue the store manager a challenge—since they doubt he’s actually done anything usual for the “company”. Reader worked at Jojacorp previously, they know how cushy manager jobs are. Farmer!Reader states they buy a membership if and only if Morris tries to get through one of their typical work schedules for a day.

Really. Other stores have to be scouted, land cleared, and then built. So it shouldn’t be too far fetched for him to have some experience on the physical of working for the company, right?

Or something like that.

Ohhh I like this one 👀

A little love for Morris for ya'll

.....

"Hello. How are you?"

"Good, thanks. And you?"

"I'm good. Did you find everything okay?"

"Yep. The other place was closed and I needed these seeds for my greenhouse before the season's up-"

"You know you could get them for far cheaper and more by purchasing our Joja membership! It's never too late~"

'Why did I say anything...' Already annoyed, you looked over your shoulder to see Morris, the JojaMart manager, standing at the customer service booth. He had a far-too-cheery smiling spreading from ear to ear, making him look more unnerving than friendly.

After seeing that stunt he pulled at Pierre's yesterday, you knew he wasn't ashamed about boasting his business and trying to push you over to his side.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at the redheaded cashier, handing her the gold and putting the seed packets in your backpack. Now you could say with confidence that you've gotten everything you needed to finish some bundles for the community center.

Wishing her a goodnight, you began heading towards the door--only to see Morris now standing there, once again insisting you buy a membership.

Apparently, ignoring him wasn't the solution this time.

"I mean no disrespect, sir..but the answer's no. I moved here to escape Joja, not get dragged back into it."

"Ah but everything leads back to Joja eventually, dear farmer." He chuckled. "You'll come around, I'm sure. Now you have a goodnight."

"You, too." Grumbling, you practically shoved past him and stormed back home, hopping into the nearest minecart as your shortcut.

Fortunately you had some time to plant the seeds in the greenhouse, knowing your sprinklers will take good care of them from here on out. And then you headed straight to bed, your pet curled up beside you as you dozed off.

........

It was a little past 6AM..and you were already done with today.

You were just 101% done.

That was all because of Morris.

Only now you realized how stubborn that corporate suck-up was...as in the mail he left you an envelope containing Joja coupons and a letter, once again pleading his case.

First he barges into another man's small business and presents a big sale to drive customers away...and now he's trying to bribe you with coupons, knowing damn well how rich your farm is becoming. He was just after your money and nothing more.

You were very close to chucking the letter into the furnace.

Then something dawned upon you..

He's always insisting that his store's products would make your farm work "easier", but what did he really know about the work you do? All that hard labor and hours toiling in the sun to get your grandpa's farm in better shape than it ever was?

You were no stranger to the cushy jobs your managers at Joja Corp had. They only had to do taxes, nag about meeting quota, and barely lifted a finger, lounging in a luxury office while you were cramped in a cubicle, mindlessly typing away on some old computer.

That was the only life Morris probably ever knew.

He didn't pour any blood, sweat, or tears into constructing JojaMart...or did he?

Then again, he liked to tout about building it all "from the ground up", and you wondered if he meant that literally.

That gave you an idea.

You were planning a trip to Skull Caverns today, but now you had something different in mind. Those serpents, mummies, and prismatic shards could wait.

So after checking everything on your farm, you headed to JojaMart right away. Not to buy goods this time, but to talk to Morris about your proposition.

The villagers in town were wondering why you were smiling, yet otherwise said good morning and continued about their day.

.............

As Morris was approaching the store, he was surprised to see you standing in front of the entrance. "Why hello, farmer." He chuckled, twirling the keys around his finger. "I see you've changed your mind? You must really want that membership-"

"Yeah, about that.." You huffed, backpack slung over your shoulder. "I wanna make a deal with you."

"..really, now? I thought you weren't into "business"." He pouted, but after seeing your stare, he sighed. "Fine. Out with it. I do have to open the store in five minutes."

"It'll only take one minute. I'll get the membership-"

His grin returned.

"--if, and only if, you come to my farm for a day and try to get through one of my work schedules."

Immediately it faltered as he gawked loudly, looking as though you tried to gift him trash. His glasses became askew as he physically recoiled, but he tried fixing them, sputtering out nonsense.

You titled your head, smirking. "What's wrong?"

"I--erm..i-is that all?" He managed to compose himself, trying to stay professional. "I mean..it's....how hard could it possibly be? That's why I was stunned. Because it seems..too simple."

"....I thought you were gonna say no-"

"No? Hah! I could never pass up a challenge, dear farmer. If that's all it takes to get you into our membership club and out of Pierre's rundown shack of a store..then why not?"

"Oh good. It shouldn't be that hard for someone like you who built this store "from the ground up"." You reminded him, noticing the subtle change in his expression. He was still smiling, yet he looked nervous. "You must be familiar with toiling for hours in the sun, scouting, clearing land of trees and boulders to make way for the foundation...."

As you went on and on, Morris kept nodding his head. But in the back of his mind, he was panicking.

He never got a spec of dirt on any clothes he wore, nor did he partake in any hard labor, having left that to his construction crew. He only ever managed the finances of the store--none of the physical aspects of running one.

That being said...he couldn't just let go of the 0.1% chance that you'll give into a membership. Not when you're coming to him at this hour with such a deal.

Whatever will give him an edge over Pierre, he'll take it.

"...oh, and there's one tiny string attached."

"Of course.." He chuffed, fixing his bowtie. "What is it?"

"You and your workers aren't allowed to touch the Community Center even if I buy that membership."

Once more, he gawked. "Huh?! But..but...with that extra 5,000 gold, we'll have more than enough to fund-!"

Your stare silenced him, and as frustrated as he was....he finally relented. "Fine. Fine. I'll call someone else to run customer service in my steed. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain."

"Don't worry. I won't leave you high and dry." You smiled, patting his shoulder and ignoring the way he cringed and hastily brushed the dirt off his suit when you moved away. "Come by my farm after work and I'll give you the rundown. Tomorrow morning you start."

"Will do. But until then...care to come in and shop?" He chuckled, unlocking the door.

Yet when he turned back around, you were already gone, and his shoulders sagged with defeat.

'That farmer is a strange one, but I'll get them that membership yet.'

....

"--and finally, between 11PM and 2AM, check the slime hutch and makes sure the troughs are full of water and sell off any petrified slime they may produce."

"..sounds disgusting."

"You want me to buy that membership or not, Morris?" Glaring at the Joja manager, you saw the way he flinched and looked at you with panic. "Because I can just-"

"No, no! It's fine..I agree with all of these..terms and conditions." He looked over the book of instructions you lent him, containing a log of one of your daily work schedules.

By the time you finished writing down the tasks, he arrived on your farm in the late evening in a pair of jeans and a white shirt (with the Joja logo, of course). So at least you knew he was taking this seriously.

Although you're sure he's only trying to convince you that he can do this, and you had some doubts. Even Sam and Shane were taking bets after learning where their manager was gonna be tomorrow, with Sam thinking he'll lose it at the slimes, and Shane betting he won't last an hour on your farm.

Time will tell if either of them win.

"Good, and there's just one more thing....don't mind the Cursed Mannequin."

He did a double take. "I'm sorry, the what now?"

"Oh nothing. I just have a perfectly normal mannequin in the house." You smirked. "Just don't touch it or look at it for too long. Anyways, I got an extra bed set up for you. Don't come looking for me in the morning because I'll be camping out at Calico Desert all day."

Digging a desert warp totem out of your bag, you looked at Morris one more time. "I got a few hours to set up camp, then I'll be down in the skull caverns."

"It's reassuring to know that's not part of this work schedule.." He muttered. "How much did you pay for the-?"

"I made it myself. Get yourself acquainted with the area and rest up. Tomorrow your challenge starts."

His eyebrows furrowed a little, as he wasn't a fan of you bossing him around like this. But then again this was your "business", technically, and he was only playing the role of employee for a day...

He only had to get through one day, and then you'll have no choice but to agree and get the Joja membership!

"Wait, but what if-?"

"You'll be fine, Morris. Try not to burn my farm down." With a wink, you activated the totem and disappeared in a bright flash of light, which made him quickly shield his eyes, wincing.

Suddenly he was all alone in the cabin, and his gaze eventually wandered to the single mannequin positioned by your wardrobe. It was wearing one of your festival outfits...

And, for a split second, Morris swore it was blinking at him.

But he just shook it off as his imagination, deciding to go outside and check over everything like you told him to.

'Okay, maybe this won't be so bad after all...I can do this. For Joja.'

.........

"Thanks, Pam!"

"Oh anytime, hun." The blonde driver chuckled as you were let off at the bus stop in Pelican Town, happy to be back after a long day at the Skull Caverns.

Least to say, it was a super lucky day for you...aside from the occasional swarm of serpents that had you running, ducking, and swinging your weapon like crazy. But you didn't pass out this time, thank Yoba.

You got a few things to donate to the museum, geodes to crack open, and gifts to give to your friends, but the most important thing right now was seeing how your farm was in Morris' hands.

Hopefully nothing burned down.

But part of you realized that if he was okay, that meant buying a Joja membership and having to succumb to the corporation you tried to get away from.

Oh well, you proposed that deal in the first place. It would be cruel not to uphold your end of it.

As you walked onto your farmland, you took a good look around, seeing that your crops were properly watered and the animals were out of the coop and barn, happily grazing in the fenced area. They seemed highly content.

'Well I'll be damned. He did it. I guess it wasn't so bad for him after all.'

Smiling, you headed inside the cabin to organize your backpack-

Only to find Morris passed out on the floor of your kitchen, his face sweaty and clothes covered in dirt and slime residue; not to mention several scratch marks on his skin, more notably his hands.

'Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.'

"Morris?" You got your watering can ready in case you had to wake him up-

Then he abruptly snapped his eyes open, sitting up with a gasp, scrambling to his feet the moment he saw you. He looked extremely strung out and..almost traumatized, even.

"Farmer, you...! Y-You...you didn't....!!"

"Hey, hey. Calm down, Morris." Setting the watering can on the table, you put your hands up. "You're okay. Everything looks good out there-"

"You didn't tell me you had beasts living on this farm! Oh god, I'm a mess. Don't look at me anymore!" With teary eyes, he rushed to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, nearly scrubbing them raw as he tried calming himself down. "Those Slimes were so vicious, they kept swarming me and one stole my glasses! A-And the animals...why didn't you say there were dinosaurs in the coop?!"

"I did put that down, but you must've thrown away the paper I gave you. I told you to look it over carefully."

"And I told you to get an Auto-Petter!" He huffed. "I would've offered it to you at a discount had I known you had so many animals! But noooo...you'd rather risk getting your fingers bitten off, I guess!"

"Oh come on. They're sweet little things who crave real human affection-"

"To you, who raised them, they might be!" Turning around, he could see your small smile, and he frowned in return. "You know what the worst part about all of this was?"

"I'm eager to know." You sat down at the table, your pet coming to sit beside you on the floor.

"...Pierre. He came by to sell you some ridiculous recipe, but instead saw me down on my knees, trying to tear some stupid fruit out of the ground! And he LAUGHED and called me your "new farmboy"!! You have any idea how humiliating that was?!!" His face was turning red.

"I can imagine...what was the recipe?"

"Wh..nevermind that! I represent all of Joja in this town, and if anyone finds out through my rival that I'm....!! I'm....!" As he looked at you and saw your expression, he felt defeated, his anger replaced with tiredness.

"...sorry. I told myself I wasn't going to lose my head." He rubbed his temples, groaning. "And here I am, doing just that. I..I don't know how you do it everyday, [y/n]. All of this work. I'm definitely not in the best shape for it."

"Believe me, I used to think the same thing." You chuckled, glad to see the haughty manager becoming so humble. "You remember our deal?"

Morris perked up. "Yes. You were..serious about that, correct?" His eyes narrowed. "Because if you made me go through all of this just to embarrass me-"

"Relax. You're gonna have a new member of your little club very soon." Sighing, you took out an envelope containing 5,000 gold that you've reserved for this. "Really didn't think you'd last long enough to win...but you did it."

He looked at you like a fish out of water, utterly speechless. But he quickly regained his composure and laughed, standing upright. "Hah! One score for me, none for Pierre! Shall we get you set up right away into our rewards program-?"

"Get cleaned up first, and then we'll talk about that."

"......fine, "boss"." His shoulders slumped as he pouted, heading back into the spare bedroom to wash up and put his black suit, slacks, and bowtie back on.

While waiting, you sighed and looked down at your pet. "That son of a bitch really did it, Miso."

"........"

"Yeah, I should've known better. But it was nice being the manager of him for once."

[brokenpieces-72]

In and Out

Navigation

Just want to say thank you so much for your guys love and support on this series. I genuinely appreciate it. My request box is open and empty and I love getting requests, whether it’s AUs or something else. If you want to be tagged let me know.

Milena knocks on your old apartment door. No answer. She knocks again and still no answer. This was ridiculous, what was the point of this? You’re just some tagger running with some men doing who knows what. Honestly she wants to be going over more of the land deals and getting home and health inspectors into that neighbourhood as soon as possible. More evictions more chances to rebuild.

Milena turns to walk away when she sees you, stopping her in her tracks. You have your bag over your shoulder, wearing a hoodie with a leather jacket overtop. You’re wearing a cap you “borrowed” from Kyle, old jeans and gloves. Of course you also had your scarf on.

If you didn’t know who Milena really was you would be wondering why she’s here, but you have some guesses. Before approaching her you noticed her approaching your building. You’d caught a photo and asked for instructions from your friends. You have a small group chat with them but Price and Ghost were busy doing other stuff. So Kyle and Johnny were left to take charge. Kyle suggested hiding and waiting until she left. Johnny said to see what she wants.

Y/N: what do I say if she sees me?

K: Be nice.

J: mess with her!

The texts came at the same time. Then Johnny sent another.

J: Record it too!

Your phone is recording audio, as you simply stand there waiting for the socialite to start talking.

“Sorry do you know who lives here?” She asks you.

“Yep.” You say. There’s a pause as you just stare at her.

“Um, is the landlord here today? I need to talk to him about this apartment. I was told it’s going up for sale.”

“No it‘s not and no you weren’t.” You say with a slight smirk.

“I’m sorry?” She asks sounding irritated.

“Do you want to take a look around? Seriously it ain’t impressive.” You say walking up to her casually and unlocking the door. She steps back as if you were dog rushing up to bark at her. You step inside and hold the door open for her.

“Still occupied, sorry. But it’s the same as every other apartment if you’re interested in moving in. Come in I don’t mind.” You leave the view of the door frame and go to the kitchen, setting your bag down in the corner. Milena can do plenty, but this is your own personal turf.

“Want a drink?” You ask, opening the fridge, and your garbage. Good thing you stopped by to grab stuff, the last thing you want is a mushroom farm in your fridge.

“Coffee or something stronger.” she says, absently surveying your unit.

“Uh… sorry don’t really have… cider okay?” You ask tossing another expired container into the bin.

“It’ll do.” She says, sitting in one of the chairs in the living room as if it were her own office. You shrug it off and get her a can of cider. Oh shit you forgot you had those. Definitely need to take those back with you for a personal pleasure. Hopefully none of them liked popping boba.

“So uh…” you start as you close the fridge. “You trying to evict me? Like the homes down in the south east neighbourhood?”

Milena looks up at you with wild eyes as you hand her the drink as if you found her diary.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She says taking the drink, eyeing the tab.

“New manicure? Here.” You take the drink from her and open it. “So what’s up.”

“I came to give you an invitation to a party.” She says offering you an envelope. You take it and look it over before looking at her.

“How old are you?” You ask.

“Excuse me?” She says offended. Damn she was easy.

“Milena Romanova, realtor and socialite. You make a lot of money in real estate and land deals. Land deals that don’t land the same money you do. Must be good.” Milena looks ticked.

“Now you’re funding the police, making friendly donations and spending time with the chief commissioner.”

“What are y-“

“Just making small talk. A couple guys I know from the precinct told me you guys are dating.” You say reclining on your old sofa, as if it were a throne. Milena doesn’t know what to make of you. You are certainly…different.

“My love life is my own.” Milena states. You shrug. “The invitation is for an event, inviting a few large names from the city. I understand you’re an aspiring artist.”

“Something like that.” You admit. Hopefully she hadn’t seen your most recent work. It may or may not have involved her posing on houses with… unmentionables spilling out the windows.

“I believe this could be a great opportunity for you. I know plenty of large names and often have art showcased at open houses.”

“Not sure I have the money to afford a nice outfit.” You say.

“If you’d like I could buy a couple of your pieces to cover costs. Of course it’s your choice.” She offers. She stands without you giving an answer, and leaving the open untouched can of cider on the coffee table along with the invitation.

“I have places to be. I hope to see you there.” She says going to the door. Milena steps out but turns to address you.

“I should mention, the chief commissioner has been looking for you. I think he’d like to get to know you more. If you don’t mind I’ll let him know where he can find you.” And without another word, she shuts the door. The room is silent. All you hear is the sound of the carbonation from Milena’s open cider. You take the cider and take a swig before getting to work.

Then you hear a noise from one of the rooms. You keep your phone recording, and go to your bag taking out your gun. You keep it pointed to the ground as you get closer to the closed door. You put a hand on the knob before shoving it open aiming the gun at the intruder.

“You mother fucker!” You shout.

“I can explain.” Graves says.

“Like hell you can.” You say. “Also my bedroom, seriously? This is a whole new level of creepy.”

“Thank you I try.” Graves puts sarcastically. “I came to leave you a note, I assumed you’d return. I wanted to warn you about Makarov but… you just had tea time with Milena.”

“Hardly tea time, she didn’t drink anything.” You say. “She follow you?”

“I hope not. Just in case don’t leave for a few hours.” Graves says. You nod understanding. “Stupid question but why are you here?”

“Came to pick up extra stuff.” You say going around him and getting the duffle bag from your closet. You start packing, and your hoodie sleeve slides up again. Graves notices.

“Who grabbed you… or are you and the boys of the 141 getting clo-“ Graves stops the question after you glare at him. “Teasing.”

“…Nolan grabbed me. I don’t know his last name.” You admit. You haven’t told anyone else.

“Does Price know?” He asks. You shrug and focus on packing extra clothes, before going to the bathroom to grab some extra supplies. Graves is quiet.

“You gonna go to the party?” He asks.

“Haven’t decided.” You say.

“Let me know if you want a ride.” He offers. “Take it Milena hasn’t seen your recent work. Hoo boy that’s some slander.”

You look at him, incredulous. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw works of art, and have no clue where they came from.” Graves says raising his hands. You smile a little but he doesn’t get to see it.

“How are you doing?” Graves asks. “You eating okay? Sleeping well?”

“The guys take good care of me.” You say coming back to the bag with a couple of items. You look around the room to see if you’re missing anything else.

“He’s getting close.” Graves says. “Makarov keeps asking me about you, and I’m giving him what I can without putting either of us at risk.”

“I need a favour.” You admit. Graves raises an eyebrow. “There’s a raid planned. The… a gang went to the docks a while ago trying to take down a drug shipment, but the drugs were protected. I know when the next raid will happen, and if you’re there you can look further into it.”

Graves stands there, admittedly surprised. You were giving him a lead, one to Makarov sure, but one that could get the others in shit.

“Send a tip to the station, make sure it comes to me and only me ya got that.” He instructs. You nod.

“Thank you.” You say. Graves gives a nod, and it’s an awkward silence. Graves looks at your wrist again.

“He grab you anywhere else?” He asks calmly. You rub your arm, and Graves sighs. Without warning he holds your shoulders, before pulling you into a hug. It’s oddly nice. A comfort. You can’t talk to Graves much but right now, you feel like you could spill your guts and he would listen.

“You stay safe kiddo.” He says quietly, not expecting you to hear it. You do. And you just squeeze a little tighter. He lets you go, looking down at you. Graves is about to say something but stops himself.

“Chill here, call a ride, go home.” He says. You nod and after a final good bye he walks out into the night.

Milena came over to Makarov’s home, greeting him with a kind smile.

“They’re all sent out?” He asks.

“Of course.” She says.

“Now we wait.” Makarov says. “The pieces will fall where they need to.”

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @smitten-haematite-quartz @dcnocap207

[keelt9]

Chapter 10

Masterlist

Max kept his promise, he texted me from time to time, even wished us luck on the meeting of Friday morning, which went successfully. 

The owner was so pleased to know his farm will be used for something helpful and agreed right away, we settled the sale in three days.

Two weeks passed as I’m getting used to a new routine in Newport and London, building a new home.

Emma is sitting with me under the lemon tree as we observe how the widows are placed. 

“Do you like them?” Emma asked, tilting her head like she could read my house. 

“They’re perfect.” The loud sound of a truck distracted us. 

Today the stones that will be on the wall that Thomas insisted it had reinforced at the back and put some on the front just arrived.

Thomas and Emma have always been so clear, while things are loaded or unloading I must remain in my safe spot, but from time to time, I’m really curious and tend to walk around…

Mika is standing at the door close, waiting; Thomas and I observe her, and she observes her watch tapping her feet.

When the door opened one of her workmates entered with a cordial smile to her but hard eyes to us.

“Well…” Dr. Hanks walked to the negatoscope to see X-Rays, putting two of the four images of my arm. “It’s broken.”

Mika bluffs as Thomas and I close our eyes, knowing the killing eyes are behind us.

“Here and here.” The doctor pointed out that my arm broke in two parts. “That’s why the pain and the swelling.” He changed to the last X-Rays. “Fortunately, I expect there’s not much damage in your arm, Miss Hamilton.”

“That’s god right?” I innocently asked, winning the scoff of the doctor.

“It’s broken Y/N, it’s not good at all.” Mika said like she’s reading doctors' minds. 

The doctor smiles, he clearly knows the temperament of Mika. “You have a cast at least at the end of the autumn.”

“What?!” Thomas and I scream at the unison. 

“No, no, I mean, I have a big presentation at the end of the summer and a lot of things to do after that.” I grab my arm, the analgesic starts to fade away. “I need to be fine at the beginning of autumn.”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry Miss Hamilton, it’s a fracture.”

I laid down my head against the desk, feeling the cold of the crystal; making plans of somethings I don’t even begin. 

Flogging a dead horse.

After another hour of check ups, I finally was able to go home… with Thomas sticking to my side.

I know it’s my fault, Thomas was pretty clear about walking around as moving big heavy rocks, very dangerous. Even though I insisted I’ll keep within the limits, I got distracted, leaning on the stone wall, but the rocks weren't secure; two of them fell, landing on my left arm. 

Mom looked at me with anger but compassionate eyes. “I’m so sorry Thomas, you should call us and we won't interrupt you.” 

“It’s part of my fault, I can’t do that.” Thomas apologized one more time.

“Here.” Dad enters the living room with a glass of water for my medicines. “Don’t say that Thomas, Y/N is aware it’s on her, right honey?”

“Of course, Thomas don’t worry, I own you a big one after all.” I smile at him, grabbing his hand, making him smile.

After he was gone, mom asked me if I would tell my siblings about my arm, but I hate to make people worry about me or have pity, even though I know they probably scold me too for being so careless.

“No, I mean Lewis arrived tomorrow so he’ll know.” I laid down on the bed with my mom's help. “It’s useless to worry the rest.”

“So stubborn.” Mom said, kissing my head before going to the door. “Try to rest honey, anything you need to call us.”

I smile seeing her closing the door, I see my phone light one, Max is calling.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Lewis is sitting in the dining room with a serious face and arms across. “You already know.”

“I’ll call Mika.” He stands with phone in his hand dialing the number of Mika, probably to know if it’s all safe for me to travel.

Roscoe walks with Lewis, head rising. “Oh, you too?”

Mika told Lewis it’s ok I’ll travel but I must be really careful with my arm and in two weeks coming back for another X-Ray making sure the shoulders it’s out of risk, which coincide with the last week of vacation before the race week of Zandvoort.

He makes sure me and my arm are safe all the time. After a quick flight we arrived in Paris, where he was right there weren't so many cameras pointing at me, all pointing to Roscoe and him.

Roscoe is a famous dog, everyone knew that but it’s the first time in years, he will be a full ambassador of guess what? Vegan snacks.

That’s why they brought me with them, took a break from the work and like me, seeing how much Roscoe loved his snacks. 

After two days of shooting the shelter project came out in a casual conversation, with good results. They said if Roscoe is involved they will be glad to be part of it.

The first posts in the social accounts pop up, the reception was excellent, all expecting what Roscoe is involved in. 

In one of the photos Roscoe was lying down on my lap, everything looks fine until you can clearly see my cast and my face looking down at Roscoe.

One photo triggered a huge wave of messages from my family, friends, my brother teammates, the drivers I’ve known and a few people I barely know. 

I thought Max would be one of the first who would call me or text me but he didn’t; instead his messages and calls become more erratic and sharp for weeks. When he calls something changes in his voice and barely mentions something about his day or wants to know more than I’m willing to tell him.

I’m not a fool, I know he barely knows anything about my accident even though I didn't mention it to him, his frustration this time came in short and sharp messages and calls.

The day of my check up, Dr. Hank told us the shoulders seem right, just a small swelling but with the meds and the proper care will pass in a few weeks, the arm well, the prediction doesn't change at all. 

“For receiving such good news, you seem pretty upset.” Mika said, watching me as we sat in the cafeteria of the hospital.

“I don’t get it.” I whisper with my lips sticking to my bottle of water. “I don't want… I mean, the race is next week, why should I make him worry?”

Mika smirks. “Oh.” As she lays down, her next shift it’s in two hours, we both know we have time. 

“It doesn’t make sense, why do I feel so uneasy?” When I raise my eyes, she has that side smile, arms over the table. “Damn it, I know, I know baby steps.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I heard her as I tossed my hair a sign of frustration.  “Which pass will you use?” I narrow my eyes. “The Mercedes pass or Red Bull pass?”

I scoff laid back with an arm cross. “I won’t go.” Mika nods. “I’m being serious.” She takes the last sip of her tea. 

“Let’s go, the physiotherapist is waiting for you.” Mika already scheduled an appointment for me with the physiotherapist, so he can be on the day of my arm. 

She stands with a smile on her face. “Mika, I’m talking seriously.”

The first two days of the race week passed dreadfully slowly, working on the last details of the presentation doesn’t help at all, the meeting is scheduled in two weeks with the green light of all the investment, it’s time to put it to work.

Thomas has a big smile when he enters my parents house. “Big news, big news. We made it, the painting room is fine and secure.” 

He sat down next to me, looking at my computer. “Do you have a slide with a lot of question marks?” 

I blink realizing my mind is another part. “What?” I look down a full slide with question marks on the screen. “Oh, no, I was distracted, what do you say?”

Thomas smiles repeating his words. “But I guess that is not so thrilling for the way your mind is in another part, right?” One more time until he touched my arm I realized I was thinking of another person.

“Mika told me about your indecision.” I giggle at how something seems to work perfectly. 

One week ago Thomas and Mika made their relationship official, they're officially boyfriend and girlfriend, a happy couple, annoying in a cute way.

“It’s not indecisions.” Thomas scoffs, as I close my laptop. “Why would he be mad? I mean, I don’t tell him anything.”

Thomas shakes his head. “Maybe it’s for that reason.” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t you think you're threatening him like another driver on the grid?” 

I opened my mouth but he didn’t let me speak. “After shearing such intimate days, well, I bet it must be pretty nasty that the person you like shut you down so harshly. And no, that’s nothing to do with the baby steps, it’s about putting him aside.”

“I got scared.” Thomas blinked before I laid down my head. “After the photo came out, Lewis and I arrived at Monaco. I had bouquets of flowers from Bottas, Nico and Mercedes team, bags of snacks from Checo and Yuki. Even Charles, Alexa and Leo send me a few things I could need for keeping entertained.” I lift my eyes seeing more bouquets here in London. “This from family and friends, all wishing me a fast recovery.”

“I don’t get it.” Thomas asks, looking at my eyes. 

A sad smile appears on my face. “I’m aware of how many people worry about me and I’m grateful, but with Max, it’s different. Caleb showed me how unsafe and unsteady you could be with someone who swore you love you.” 

Thomas grabs my hand in a way of support. “I met Max a month ago, after our crashing meeting, there isn’t a moment I’m with him where I don't feel safe and protected.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “What if…what if I made the same mistake?”

“Y/N.” He used the same tone when he met me in my hotel room after we announced we canceled the wedding.

“I lived with Caleb, I saw him every day. I won’t see Max every day, I could miss the moment he stopped feeling this way, I’m scared of losing him.” A tear slipped and Thomas hugged me tight.

“I saw him, yeah, Mika doesn't believe in the fact that eyes can tell you more than words, she and her hard head.” Both of us giggled. “But I don’t know, I think I know what you see in him.” He spits, grabbing my face. “I’m confident you’re not that love blind, anymore.”

I giggle hugging him one more time. “I don't think I’m going anyway.” 

“Oh my word!” Thomas complained.

Through every photo of Zanndovrt you can see orange, it’s Max's home race.

Even when they got the result expected, Max had a lot of disapproval and troubles with the car, that you can hear and see when he’s been questioned about the race, plus his onboard leave it clear.

“What a no surprise?” Mika said as she entered her doctor’s practice after a 6 hour surgery. 

She sits in her chair stretching her arms and legs, the cracking of her bones make me shiver. “I mean, I found Dr. Hank on my way here, he told me, "you come early to your monthly consultation.”

“I’m going to Monza.” Mika smirks. “I’m taking, just for this situation, a 355 km/hrs path.” 

Seeing Max frustrate, the fact when I tried to called him, he just text me back <It isn’t a good moment, I’ll text you back.> Made me feel angry with myself, I mean, who the hell expects he trusts me if I don’t do the same.

“Right.” Mika nods, spinning in her chair. “You count with me, ok? Just be careful.”

I nod as I raise my bag with all I’ll need for the trip. “I have all the cover, don’t worry. And yes, I’ll call you if I need something.”

Mika bluffs seeing my arm cast but my smile grows bigger. “Warn him, if he plays with you…”

I laugh and go to hug Mika by the neck. “I love you so much.”

The Autodromo Nazionale Monza is painted red and yellow, the Ferraris are the center of all the attention, last race from them was pretty great, a few issues on the pit stop complicate the race, they probably could have a tight fight with the bulls.

With the VIP pass of Mercedes I walk all over the paddock; the adrenaline is palpable but my mind is focused on one thing: Find Max Verstappen.

It’s the day of free practice 1, so things are calm. Lewis told us he won’t be in the car today so, as soon as I arrived at the hospitality, the Mercedes crew recognized me. It took 3 seconds to have Lewis in front of me.

In the middle of a hug, he told me I must warn him that I'll probably come, he could make sure I’ll travel with all the facilities.

“Actually, I came for two reasons.” I said as he splits looking at me with narrow eyes.

“The gossip is true.” Rosa announces herself as looks at me with tender eyes. “Do you need something?” She pointed to my arm and my sling.

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” I feel Lewis eyes on me. “Do you mind if I stole him for a while?”

Rosa shakes her head. “He already appears on T.V, tomorrow won’t be possible. We need him in the car.”

Lewis giggled as I took him to the rooftop for a talk in calm. As the practice ended my resumed version of the story ended too.

“I knew it.” I tilt my head. “Max seems really bothered by the fact I comment so lightly about the arm.”

Lewis closed his eyes, crossing his arms. “Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” Lewis looked right to my eyes for a couple of seconds before smiling softly at me and grabbing my hand.

“Either way, I won’t be easy with him.” I laughed holding his hand too. “You know when crumbles of suspicion begin this only becomes bigger, right?”

“Lew, all my life I've been living surrender by the fuss of being a Hamilton.” I smirk laid back on the sofa. “The question is, will he be ready?”

A pure laugh surrounded us. “God, this is the sentimental part of being the older brother I don’t like at all. Just please until all this comes to the light, be here with me, ok?”

“Lewis…” He shakes his head, not willing to negotiate.

“Just until that moment, please.” We heard the noises down there increase the cars getting into the garage. “Let me protect you this time.”

I smile at him nodding. “You always do.”

When the day comes to an end, my heartbeat increases, the nervousness and anticipation runs through my veins; after all, it’s the first time I’ll go to him.

I walk outside of the building feeling my trembling hands, going to the garage where Lewis told me Red Bull is still working, on my way I feel suspicious eyes over me; the hoodie I’m wearing doesn’t help at all.

Max is coming out of the garage suit at the level of his waist, a Red bull in his left hand as his team keeps showing him a few papers and cell phones are recording him; but his posture sparks off tension. 

I stop dry at the level of Mercedes garage, hesitate if I should go right to him or wait all calm around him. Just in that moment our eyes crossed.

Max's eyes turn bigger, he’s clearly surprised but any sign of a smile appears on his face, like time froze. Max waited a couple of seconds before talking with his team, apparently he said something that made his team walk past me by focusing on what they’re seeing or reading.

He waits a couple of seconds before walking to me, in his face confusion and relief.

“What are you doing here?” Max asked, his voice was low but clearly affected to see me like this.

“Lately you seem kind of distant. I don’t want another excuse for a short answer.” I raise my eyebrows faking carelessness.

Max looked right to my eyes before seeing my arm. “I didn't ignore you, it's just…” He scratches his neck trying to find the words. “I’m mad.”

“I know, it seems you have trou…” Max bluffs, laying back his head.

“I’m mad because you didn't tell me about that.” He points to my arm. “I found it in a picture.”

I feel exposed when I see his eyes, Thomas is right, he’s hurt. “The holidays were about to end. You have to focus on the races.”

The sarcastic laugh is painful. “There is something more that bothers me.” I play with my fingers. “That you even think you could distract me; that I’m not someone who you can tell important things.” Max grip became tight in his can. “I don’t have to be the pilot all the time. I also can be here for you Y/N.”

I bite my lip. “I’m here for you, remember, hold on tight?”

His confession took me by surprise, seeing his vulnerable side of Max is something I haven't witnessed before.

The silence turned more dense, full of unsaid things. I take a step to him and question myself if holding his hand will be the right thing to do. “That’s why I’m here, to make things clear. Believe me or not, I’m here for you Max.”

Max breathed out. “I was scared, but seeing you and your honest concern about me, it’s more than enough.” I grab his hand. “Thank you so much.” 

Max doesn’t say another word, he just stares at me. “I get it, take your time, ok, I’ll wait.” I stand on my tip toes to give him a peck on his cheek.

But he tingled our fingers pulling me for a hug. “I’m glad that you’re here. I didn’t expect it… but I need it.”

A side to side smile appears on my face as he smiles too. “Still I don’t mind a compliment.”

Max choke his head, I lift my broken arm. A “Simple Lovely” hoodie. “Believe Lewis was red when he saw it on me.” 

Mas eyes lights on giggling but he looks at the pass. “Yeah, that’s not the right one.” 

I laugh seeing the Mercede VIP pass on my neck. “Hey, this will take time.” 

In a useless attempt to take my hand back, he grips it tighter. “Are you ok?” He see my arm.

“It was a pretty silly way of fracture, but I’m ok, it will take a while to heal but I’ll be fine.” One more time I pull my hand but he smiles and holds it tight.

“Max.” I giggled but he left his can on the floor before helping me to set one more time sling on my arm. 

“Are you here full race?” I nod. “You’ll be in my garage?” He asked, side eyes as he took his can.

“Can you make me change my mind in one night?” Max has a side smile, with his cheek in a soft pink. “Oh my word! No!”

Both of us laughed. “That’s cheating. You know I have to go to sleep earlier, the car is giving us trouble so, I need to be fresh for tomorrow.”

Of course I know, but I’m playing with him. “Such bad luck.” I click my tongue. “Maybe next time, now, if you don’t mind I need my healthy hand for leaving.” 

He just had time to open his mouth before closing it again when we heard someone shooting his name, searching for him.

“Go, they are looking for you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Max moved his eyes to me and in the hallways behind me.

“Fuck!” He reluctantly let go of my hand scratching his nose.

“There you are!” Rupert appears with a relieved expression. “Oh, Y/N, omg, what happened?”

“Maybe it’s broken.” Rupper looks at Max bluffing for his sarcastic answer. 

“So funny Max, let’s go, we have to go.” Rupert wishes me a quick recovery before they leave, Max dragging his feets on the ground, like a kid.

A few minutes after I entered my hotel room, the soft knocks at my door called for my attention.

Max in black pants and t-shirt is holding a paper bag, he didn’t give me any chance to talk, looking at both sides of the hallway, put the bag on my hands and go chuckling all the way until the lift.

Just two seconds were enough for him to come running back, stop, give me a soft peck on my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”  

I wait until the lift closes with him inside, I put it on the table taking out the paper on the top. 

A lot of snacks and under it, 3 different hoodies of his clothing line, all have the lion on the middle of it, one of them had a small post it.

<I couldn’t find the orange one, sorry :c>

I take notes on my mind too, Max loves to write small notes.

..............................................................................................................................

A/N: It’s Mexico GP! 💀

[unpredictable-probabilities]

At a Blade's End || Chapter 1: The New Target

Summary:

Hob declines an offer from enterprising noble Roderick Burgess to buy his land after finding out the man's selfish mindset about his ambitions.

However, Roderick Burgess is not one to take no for an answer.

Word Count: 2,671

Notes:

For Dreamling Week Day 7: Assassins

[Read on AO3]

---

He perched on the lowest branch deep within the tree’s leaves, allowing him a good view of the road below but keeping himself out of sight.

The moon was shining bright tonight, and he was confident that he would spot the target as soon as it arrived. This was the main road out of the village, and most merchants took it to transport their wares more conveniently.

He did not need to wait long, for merely a handful of minutes later, a familiar carriage turned the corner, pulled along by two horses driven by one man.

The carriage would pass by in front of his tree any moment now.

Three.

Two.

One.

He leapt out of the branch and tackled the man to the ground, sitting up and pinning him down.

The horses, feeling the reigns go slack, became restless and swerved in different directions as they dragged the carriage behind them.

“You…!” The man’s eyes widened in recognition and fear.

He lifted his dagger and sliced through the man’s throat.

The man didn’t say anything more, his eyes still wide and unblinking beneath the moonlight.

He would need to modify the look of that wound later. But for now, he had something else to attend to.

He stood up and turned smoothly on his heel, heading towards the carriage.

***

“Don’t you have that meeting with the Burgess fella?” Louise said as she walked over to Hob behind the bar. “Why’re you still here?”

“I’ve still got a bit of time left,” Hob looked at his pocketwatch. He liked to help out at the tavern even for a short while every day, especially during lunch hours like these when the place tended to be busy.

“You work too hard, boss,” Matthew said, bringing in a tray of empty mugs from the tables.

“Maybe he’s makin’ up for how you’re hardly workin’, Matt,” Louise called after him as he walked into the kitchens.

“Not taking that from you, Lou,” Matthew called back, the door closing behind him.

“Go ahead, boss,” Louise nodded towards the doorway of the tavern. “We can hold down the fort.”

“Alright,” Hob relented. “Wouldn’t do to keep a nobleman waiting.”

“Aren’t you a nobleman, too?” Louise raised an eyebrow.

“I’m much more patient compared to others,” Hob said, only half-joking.

He walked past the tables and went out to his carriage waiting outside the tavern.

“Good afternoon, Abel,” Hob greeted his coachman already waiting for him. “Have you eaten already?”

“Yes, sir,” Abel nodded from his seat behind the horses. “Louise got me a table and served me lunch about a half hour ago.”

Hob nodded. “Very well, then. We best be off to Fawney Rig.”

Abel urged the horses to move with a gentle motion of the reins, and the carriage rolled down the dirt road.

***

“I trust your journey has been peaceful, Sir Gadling?” Roderick Burgess asked after his servants had finished laying out their food on the table.

“Indeed, Sir Burgess. The roads were even, and it is not quite so hot out, which I am grateful for also because it allows us to have this meal in your beautiful garden,” Hob said pleasantly.

“My servants would hold umbrellas for us even if it does get too hot,” Burgess said indifferently. “Heaven knows I pay them enough for such a small task.”

Hob’s smile almost faltered, but he kept up his friendly tone. “So, Sir Burgess, the invitation I received mentioned your interest in my farm?”

“Yes,” Burgess nodded and took a sip of his tea. “Your land is along the main road leading to the church and residential areas. I would like to purchase it.”

Hob’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh. I see.” He was under the impression that Burgess wanted some sort of trade agreement, or perhaps to have Hob’s farm be his supplier for another business. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale, Sir Burgess. That land has been within my family for generations, and I am inclined to keep it that way. But perhaps I can recommend other properties? I know a few people who might be more willing to sell their lands.”

Burgess shook his head. “Properties along the main roads are the most profitable. I should like to build an inn or a tavern where your farm currently resides. Name your price, Sir Gadling.”

“I’m not too certain that the main roads would be as good for profit as they once were,” Hob began. “Have you heard of the wolf attack the other night?”

“Nasty business,” Burgess wrinkled his nose. “Not very good table conversation.”

“Yes, of course,” Hob tipped his head politely. “I just meant that perhaps we shouldn’t conduct any new ventures along the main roads until the authorities have set up some security measures.”

“Travellers know the risks. If they go to an inn and get attacked by wild beasts or some other along the way, that is not the responsibility of the inn’s owner, is it? I do not see why the other night’s events should concern me. Besides, only one merchant died, if the servants’ incessant gossip are to be believed. Merchants arrive here by the handful every week. Apparently the horses even got loose from the carriage and were unharmed. You, there!” he turned and roughly called out to one of the servants.

A young woman came rushing to their table with her head bowed.

“Bring us a basket of apples. And be quick about it.”

“Yes, Master Burgess,” the woman dipped her head even lower and scurried away.

“Where was I?” Burgess turned back to Hob. “Ah, yes, the main roads. If you sell me your land, you will not have to worry about any attacks on that area. Whatever happens there would be solely my responsibility.”

Based on the short time he had known him, Hob doubted that Burgess was the type of man who would ever take responsibility for anything. But he saw no use in mentioning that.

“I really am sorry, Sir Burgess, but my farm remains off the market,” Hob said politely. He would have reiterated his suggestion to introduce Burgess to his friends who might be willing to sell, but Hob didn’t actually hate any of his friends to inflict Burgess upon them. “I do wish you the best in your business endeavours, though I doubt you will need any luck or well-wishes given how consistently successful your properties are.”

Burgess snorted. “I did not take you for a flatterer, Sir Gadling. Though I will not contest the accuracy of your statement.”

The servant returned with a bowl of sliced apples, and placed it down carefully on the table before leaving again without a sound.

Burgess picked up an apple slice without so much as a glance to the person who brought the fruit. “Very well. Perhaps I can persuade you to some sort of bargain before this meal ends.”

***

Hob was not persuaded, in the end. Though he did do his best impression of someone who was very interested in what Burgess had to say about astrology and the occult and how it was unlucky to have a farm on such an inauspicious location relative to the sunrise, and how Hob should seriously consider selling to him while the land was still valuable.

Hob thanked him generously for his wisdom after the meal and politely declined Burgess’ offer to have a servant walk him to the gates. He had seen how often and how roughly Burgess ordered the servants around throughout their entire meeting, and he didn’t want any of them to walk with him under the sun which had grown significantly hotter now when he knew perfectly well how to find the exit himself.

He saw a few more servants tending to the garden as he walked; trimming the hedges, watering the plants, harvesting. He thought about his own workers back at his farm, how he had given specific instructions to his foreman for all of them to take more frequent breaks when it was particularly hot, and he wondered if Burgess ever considered things like that.

Lost in his own thoughts and with the sun partially blinding him, Hob didn’t notice the figure turning the corner until they had already collided and a basket of fruit fell at his feet.

“I'm very sorry, sir,” the servant muttered in a low voice and hurriedly crouched down to pick up the blueberries that had spilled on the grass.

“No, no,” Hob crouched down as well and helped, their fingers brushing together as they quickly gathered the fruits. “I wasn't looking where I was going, it was my fault.”

They stood up and returned the blueberries to the basket, Hob carefully letting them roll off his palms.

“Sorry about that, uh… what’s your name?” Hob asked politely.

“My… name, sir?” The servant kept his head down the entire time, and Hob could barely see his face. Christ, did Burgess order his workers to avert their eyes all the time? What sort of man would do that?

“Yes, if you’re comfortable enough to share it?” Hob said encouragingly, not wanting him to feel like he was obligated to give his name.

The servant raised his head and met Hob’s gaze.

And Hob felt his breath catch in his throat.

The man had a fair face and the bluest eyes that Hob had ever seen. The colour of the sea after a storm. Uncut sapphires framed by long dark lashes.

“Morpheus,” came a quiet rumble from rose-pink lips. Then those blue eyes glanced down again. “Sir.”

“Morpheus…” Hob repeated, blinking himself back to his senses.

The man—Morpheus—tipped his head politely. “Pardon me, sir. I must bring these inside.” He walked past Hob and headed into the house.

Hob straightened himself and smoothed down his waistcoat, feeling somewhat disarmed by that interaction, though not necessarily in an unpleasant way.

He walked out of the gates and went back to his carriage.

***

“Morpheus!” Paul appeared in the kitchen doorway just as Morpheus placed down the basket on the tabletop. “I’ll handle that. Thank you again,” the young man said sheepishly, taking the blueberries to wash them.

“You are fortunate that I am the one who saw you with Alex, and not his father,” Morpheus chided lightly. He had come across them in the garden and only just managed to push them behind a topiary as another servant walked by. He had grabbed the basket of blueberries in the process, and used it as an excuse to the older servant as to why he had been standing there.

“Master Burgess never walks outside if it’s hot out,” Paul said, his ears reddening.

“And none of the servants would dare do anything to us,” Alex arrived, standing beside Paul. “I’m still the son of their master.”

“Even so, word could reach your father,” Morpheus reminded him. “And I hope you do not have any delusions that he would react positively to hearing that you two were in each other’s embrace.”

Alex looked down, his cheeks dusted pink. “He only insists on me marrying a noble because he wants me out of this house. Ever since Randall died he has hated me more,” his voice had grown quiet, and Paul put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Alex,” Morpheus said, softening his voice. Alexander Burgess had been like a little brother to him, his only friend ever since arriving at Fawney Rig many years ago. It pained him to see the boy unhappy. “We are both aware that if your father really wanted you out of this house, you would already be on the streets. Regardless, you two must be cautious. Especially you, Paul.”

They both nodded, Alex taking Paul’s hand and squeezing it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Alex looked at Morpheus. “Father wants to see you.”

Morpheus instinctively tensed up. A summons from Roderick Burgess shortly after a meeting with someone usually only meant one thing.

He nodded. “Thank you, Alex.”

He went out of the kitchen and took the shortest route along the corridors to reach the highest balcony at the back of the manor overlooking a river. Most of the servants gave him a wide berth; they were not aware of the exact nature of his job, apart from being Lord Burgess’ personal servant, but it was that very uncertainty that unnerved them.

Morpheus paid them no mind. He had no time for such trifles.

He reached the stairs that would lead to the balcony, climbing soundlessly as he had been trained.

“If I can hear you approach, you’ve already disappointed me,” Lord Burgess glared down at him disapprovingly.

“Lord Burgess,” he announced his presence to the man sitting on a high-backed chair facing the river below them. 

A hand motioned him forward, its many rings glittering in the sun.

Morpheus moved to stand in front of him, as he had every time he would be summoned here.

“I trust that no complications have arisen with your last assignment?”  Lord Burgess asked. “I heard the horses got loose. Why is that?”

Because they were merely doing what they were told, and have neither stakes nor involvement in petty human affairs, Morpheus thought, his facial features remaining impassive.

“They were making too much noise; I did not want to risk drawing the attention of passers-by. And killing both animals would have made it look like a huge pack of wolves had ventured so near residential areas, which could cause a panic and disturb the daily routines that we have so meticulously studied,” Morpheus delivered his prepared explanation.

“Everyone believes it is a wolf attack, then?” Lord Burgess took a sip of wine from his gilded goblet.

“Indeed,” Morpheus confirmed. “I made multiple cuts on the body to mimic the marks of claws and teeth, and damaged the carriage similarly. The patches of wolf fur I placed all over the area have been discovered. The merchant’s death remains unquestioned.”

Lord Burgess nodded, expecting nothing less. “You have a new target.”

Morpheus stood up straighter, already feeling the familiar grip of daggers in his hands.

“The guest I had hosted earlier today. Robert Gadling.”

Morpheus suddenly recalled a pair of brown eyes, warm as the first rays of sun on soft earth. Fingers too callused than what he would have expected of noblemen who never did a day’s labour in their lives.

“Immediately?” Morpheus asked, the phantom daggers in his hands somehow feeling cold and heavy.

Lord Burgess shook his head. “No. That merchant’s death is still too fresh in the people’s minds, and at least a few of them would be aware that he had come here shortly before attempting to leave the village. Another death by someone who had recently stepped foot in my home would be too suspect. First, I want you to find out who would inherit his lands so that I may make the necessary arrangements. Then you can dispose of him. Wolf attack, food that had unfortunately gone bad and poisonous, figure something out,” he waved his hand lazily. “It might take a while longer than your usual assignments, but completing it shouldn’t be a problem, correct?”

Morpheus could still hear Robert Gadling’s voice, the kindest one that had spoken to him in as long as he could remember. He had asked if Morpheus felt comfortable in speaking his name, and Morpheus was so taken aback in his comfort being considered that he had actually looked at the man, despite Lord Burgess’ rule that his servants should never look in the eye those who rank higher than them—Morpheus had earned being the exception when addressing Lord Burgess himself, but he was expected to act as a common servant in the presence of others.

Morpheus tilted his chin up and gripped his phantom daggers more securely. Things like kindness and comfort were not meant for people such as him; he had forfeited his right to them long ago.

“Yes, Lord Burgess. It would not be a problem.”

---

(Chapter 2) ->

(Dreamling Week Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[fuckingliterallyanythingelse]

I kinda have a thing for city design and I've been rolling this idea around in my head for a while, and i think it's come to this; 240 lots ranging from 2500-3600 sq meters, all residential, with 16 3600 sq meter commercial complexes scattered throughout, all within a sq km. The idea is pretty simple: one lot can hold a family and a small farm, or one high density housing structure. High density housing allows for staffing of commercial complexes and housing for remote workers and others who don't want to tend a yard/garden. The one family plots don't even need to be farms, the land can be developed elsewise, as a trade shop or other small business. Furthermore, a full half acre of land is a solid amount of farmland, either in a traditional farm, as an orchard, or even as a ranch or bee farm. Having 16 total commercial complexes scattered across this residential complex means that more people would be able to set up small businesses outside of their houses as well, and allow all residents to have easy access to stores of all kinds. The middle of this lot would likely be dedicated to 1-4 superstores, with a ring of smaller stores around. With none of this needing parking due to the proximity of houses, you could maximize commercial real estate, allowing for maximal convenience, having everything you could need right at hand.

And here's the thing; This needs a socialist underpinning, allow everyone a place to live, not just because it's the right thing to do, but because living on land develops the land, and living in a complex will inevitably contribute to the economy in other ways. Rent is not charged because it is not necessary, living there and actively participating in the economy is good enough. And, in order to really get the economy stimulated, everyone can be afforded a monthly budget, free of charge, that they can then spend on everyone else's goods, which then get taxed via sales or income tax, feeding back into the system. Add tariffs and service fees for mail, waste disposal, and utilites, and now your government is able to generate revenue not only to feed the socialist programs, but to maintain infrastructure as well.

[desertdollranch]

It has become an annual tradition for me to help Antonia put together her farmer's market booth, where she sells all of the fruits, vegetables, and homemade goods that her family's community farm has produced over the past year. Every year, the harvest brings more and more goods. But this autumn, she has outgrown the farmer's market, and is now selling at a roadside stand!

Antonia is ten years old in 1978, when she is inspired by the American Indian Movement to help establish a community farm on land her family owns. It's been a huge success. It has strengthened bonds between friends and neighbors as they all care for each other and make sure that nobody goes hungry.

Whatever is left over after everyone is fed, is then sold at the roadside stand. Antonia is also supplementing with a few special handmade extras that help bring in a little more money. The money will help pay for everything needed to help Snow Mountain Farm grow bigger and better.

Antonia is so proud of what the fields and orchards have grown.

Just look at the size of some of these pumpkins!

Under the cut, Antonia will give you an up-close look at what she's selling....

Everything seen here was either made by me, harvested from the wild, or purchased. (See if you can guess which ones were handmade/bought/gathered!)

The gourd and squash harvest was abundant this year. Antonia managed to coax the garden into producing a few giant pumpkins.

Lots of other fruits thrived as well!

Pears are new this year.

Beautiful pink plums are also new.

Apples are a returning favorite. There are three varieties this year: sweet yellow apples, tart green apples, and a red striped variety that has its own unique flavor.

In the front row are apples, plums, chiles, and pears. On the shelf there are fresh flowers and packaged seeds, various fruit jams, honey, apple cider, dried ground herbs, potted herb seedlings, packaged seeds, and bottles of apple cider.

Up on the shelf there are several varieties of jam: rose petal, peach, grape, prickly pear, and strawberry. Next to them is honey that the farm's bees made from the local wildflowers. The apple cider is made from apples grown in the farm's orchard.

One particular farmer is very gifted in the art of raising flowers. Here you can buy fresh cut flowers, or seedlings for your own garden.

Fruit and vegetable seedlings or seeds are also for sale.

On the checkout counter, Antonia is selling popcorn and apple cider donuts. Directly below the donuts are cartons of eggs, which include white, brown, and speckled eggs.

Below the checkout counter is the small shelf offering some smaller items. In the plastic bags are freshly made tamales, which are like dumplings of meat, veggies, beans, or cheese mixed with a corn dough and steamed inside corn husks. To the right are two wheels of goat's milk cheese. In the middle are skeins of yarn dyed with natural sources, like prickly pear fruits and cabbage leaves. Next to those are bars of soap, in sagebrush or rose petal scent. And on the right end of the shelf are bagged pine nuts, gathered from the wild.

Below that is more produce! On the left, colored corn. In the crates there are potatoes, cherries, strawberries, tomatoes, peaches, and cauliflower.

Antonia is especially proud of the fancy colored corn she has grown. It's fun to open the ears and see what colors the kernels are!

Next to that are giant sunflowers. Above that are the pretty gourds and squashes.

On the bench are some lovely watermelons. And surrounding those are even more pumpkins and squash!

These, too, emerged in all sorts of different colors and shapes. Antonia lets the different varieties cross pollinate, so that the appearances of the resulting pumpkins are a surprise.

Thanks for stopping by! Here, take a sunflower home with you!

[the-witch-with-the-raven-tattoo]

After about a decade of building up my crystal collection, I can no longer close my eyes to what I've been supporting. Far from the good vibes that crystals are purported to have, I need to be honest that their trade funds the same human rights abuses and environmental destruction that I've spent most of my life decrying. I need to address this cognitive dissonance within myself, and can no longer endorse buying mass-market crystals anymore. I call myself an earth-worshipper, or nature-worshipper, yet I'm contributing to the destruction of the Earth and her people. This no longer sits right with me. Yes, there are likely minerals in my phone that were mined using less-than-ethical practices, however a cell phone in this day and age is kind of a necessity. Decorative crystals and fossils, though, are more difficult to justify in this way.

I'm still going to keep the ones I have for now, because, welp, the damage has already been done, and getting rid of them now won't undo what I've been endorsing with my dollar. I still have a box of gems that I bought to make wire-wrapped jewelery with, and I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with those, so they're tucked away until I can decide.

If there's interest, I may make some pieces with them and put them up for sale as a Crystal Clearout sale, since I did spend a lot of money on those supplies. Or I might wear or gift them. We will see.

Back to my spiritual practice. What am I going to use instead?

River rocks!

Or lake rocks. Park rocks. Parking lot rocks. Farm rocks. Forest Rocks. Anything except store-bought is fine. Look at these cool rocks I've found in my city so far! These are geologically tied to the place I live, they carry the history on the land I'm on, which is not mine to live on. It is Treaty 6 territory—the traditional and ancestral territory of the Cree, Dene, Blackfoot, Saulteaux and Nakota Sioux. This territory is home to the Métis Settlements and the Métis Nation of Alberta, Regions 2, 3 and 4 within the historical Northwest Métis Homeland.

These stones carry the memory of the people who were here before me, and that of a not-so-distant history I need to address time and time again, examine my own biases, and do what I can to address inequalities right here, right now. They are a connection to this land, and those who live on it.

These stones can also hold my own memories, for instance this petrified wood reminds me of a day a friend and I went rock-hunting by the river, and on a trip to Ontario with this same friend, we found some jade (I think). Which brings me to another point. I am not a geologist. I plan to learn about minerals local to me, but I'll never have the assurance of some shopkeeper (whatever that's worth) that what I'm holding is 100% a piece of pure amethyst, and here is a list of its properties. Instead, I'll be able to find my own meaning in the stones, feathers and flowers I find while walking in the world, and use them in my practices the way I feel intuitively guided to.

In spiritual practices, what we are working with is energy and intention. The rest are simply tools, symbols for our brain to understand what we are channeling towards or away from. The most important quality you can develop as a witch, a pagan, a yogi, a spiritualist, whatever you wish to call yourself, is self-trust. Trust that you are enough. Trust that this stone made its way to you so that you would find it exactly when you did. Trust that the herbs you lovingly grew, watered, bundled and dried are sufficient for clearing any stale energies. Learn from those who came before you, but at a certain point, you have to free yourself from reliance on corporations, merchants, readers, authors, course creators, and anyone else looking to make a buck off your lack of experience and confidence.

When you have a true need, harken not to others' greed. (the Wiccan Rede)

Consumerism has its hooks in us to such a point where we feel like we have to buy our way out of all of our real or perceived inadequacies.

Feeling down? Buy this sun lamp!

Tummy hurts? It's this scary new syndrome I just made up! Peer review, what's that? Nevermind. Buy this supplement!

Want to feel really cool and attractive? Buy this new outfit!

Want to make friends? Learn a new hobby! Oh, but this hobby requires you to buy all this gear before anyone thinks you're serious about it! And make sure you buy a t-shirt that says you're into this hobby while you're at it, so you can talk about it to everyone!

McSpirituality works the same way. Feel like you don't belong? It's definitely a past life thing, buy a reading with me to find out! Looking for love? Make sure you buy a rose quartz to send a lover your way within 24 hours. Hmm, it didn't work? It must not be big enough. Make sure you buy this one instead! Trying to get into meditation? You'll need to buy a zafu, some mala beads, and a buddha head with some very questionable history Are you broke after all these purchases? You can just buy this abundance generating spell kit, and this $10K course (I have seen this price point, it's not hyperbole) on dissolving your subconscious blocks to abundance!

It's not your fault, it's the system we all live in. I was, and still am, immersed in it too. If you're in a tough place, it can be so easy to be swept up by the promise of a quick fix, because spiritual work is hard. You'll have to confront yourself in some tough ways, work through traumatic experiences and spend years building discipline and focus.

It's a lot easier to just walk into a crystal shop and pick the one you like, isn't it? But I want to remind myself that life doesn't work that way.

Do you just walk into a store and pick out the partner, the job, the house, the experiences, the circumstances that look prettiest?

Okay, maybe some of you do if you're very lucky or have certain privileges, but these choices aren't always the ones that guarantee long-term compatibility or happiness.

In real life, it's a lot more like walking down a riverbank with a friend, catching up on life, and showing each other the cool thing you found, maybe deliberating on what it might be. Your rock might look different than hers, but you found it and it feels good to you. Maybe the shape feels satisfying and built just for your hand. You feel like it was waiting for you all this time.

Or maybe it's like walking home after a difficult day, and seeing the little sparkle of something glimmering in the sunlight. Maybe this represents hope and silver linings. Maybe a bird eyes you as you examine your rock, offering you company and understanding in a way that words fail to.

That feeling certainly isn't for sale in stores, or online. If I find it at a garage sale, I'll let you know.

[acti-veg]

hey, i haven't seen any posts about the measures in berkeley denver & sonoma county this year but i'm too social anxiety to make one myself, could you say something about that?

Sorry for the late reply, I had to make some time to look through the ballot measures for both but there are quite a lot on there and I wasn't sure which ones you wanted me to comment on initially. After reviewing them all I think you're probably referring to the industrial slaughterhouse ban in Berkeley and the CAFO ban Sonoma County (it passed in Berkeley but not Sonoma) and the fur ban in Berkeley, which also did not pass from what I can see. I think that opposing any large-scale slaughterhouse operations and factory farms is a very important thing for communities to get behind, even purely based on their enormous impact on local ecosystems, air quality, water quality, and land values. From an animal rights perspective more generally though, so long as the demand is there then they just get built somewhere else, unfortunately. That said, the more places that are 'blacklisted', the harder it is for these companies to establish new slaughterhouses and make a profit, which is a good thing for animals.

As for the fur ban, we have similar proposals in the UK and much of Europe, targeting 'new fur sales', import and export. Again, this is obviously a good thing, I just find it a bit hypocritical that there is no similar political appetite for a ban on leather, for all the same reasons. Still, fewer people buying fur means fewer animals dying for it, and it is a shame they didn't manage to get the proposal over the line.

[crustaceousfaggot]

Hob Gadling traditional folk music collection.

Been thinking about a sort of Hob Gadling character playlist composed entirely of British folk music. Songs he might have listened to throughout his life and resonated with. This is also just a little excuse for me to share some of my favorite folk songs from across the history of the British Isles :) Most of these are British in origin, but a couple are Scottish.

Some of these choices are loosely based on the fic And In The Waking World We Want And Wait by @qqueenofhades because at this point it's basically canon to me and has considerably influenced my perception of the character. Furthermore, I'm writing this with Dreamling in mind because... Well because I want to.

I'm attaching recordings for each piece, but keep in mind that, by the nature of folk music, songs (both melody and lyrics, as well as accompaniment and performance choices) are intrinsically altered in every performance and there is no single correct interpretation of a piece. If you don't like the recordings I picked, I encourage you to seek out your own :)

I am not a music historian, just a classical singer with a love of traditional folk and a cursory education on music history.

Lastly, keep in mind that folk music in the Late Medieval and Early Modern music exists in a much different form than it does today, both in its lyrical and melodic content. Of the songs surviving from that period, the majority are liturgical in nature. Those that aren't are generally about farming, changing seasons, and (of course) drinking. I've done my best, but most of these pieces aren't perfect fits. Still, what character playlist is?

Arranged in rough chronological order.

1200s: "Sumer is icumen in" (composer unknown) (Note: This song is the oldest recorded English language folk song. I think that's pretty neat.)

Sumer is icumen in Loude sing cuccu (cuckoo) Groweth sed (seed) and bloweth (bloometh) med (meadow) and springeth the worlde new

(Full text)

~1450: "Tappster, Drinker" (unknown composer)

Tappster, Drinker, fill another ale, Anonn God sende us good sale. Avale the stake, avale, here is good ale y founde. Drynke to me and y to the and lette the cuppe goe rounde.

(This is, as far as I can tell, the full text)

~1513: "Pastime with Good Company" (King Henry VIII)

Youth must have some dalliance Of good or ill some pastance Company methinks then best All thoughts and fancies to digest. For idleness Is chief mistress Of vices all Then who can say. but mirth and play Is best of all.

(Full text)

1500s: "The Ballad of Tamlin" (composer unknown) (Note: Yes this one is @landwriter 's fault. Go read Oaths. Also, I'm using one of many translations of the original ballad, but there's also an excellent folk punk adaptation by The Forgetmenauts which you should listen to if you like the story. Generally, I'm not doing this ballad any justice with my little 2-line snippet and I encourage you to look into it more yourself.)

"For if my love were an earthly knight as he is an elfin grey, I'd not change my own true love for any knight you have."

(Full text)

~1580-1650: "Greensleeves" (composer unknown)

Alas, my love you do me wrong To cast me off discourteously And I have loved you so long Delighting in your company

I have been ready at your hand to grant whatever you would crave; I have both wagered life and land Your love and good will for to have

(Full text)

1700s: "A Maid in Bedlam" (composer unknown)

My love he'll not come near me To hear the moan I make, And neither would he pity me If my poor heart should break, But, though I've suffer'd for his sake, Contented will I be, For I love my love Because I know he first loved me.

(Full Text)

1800s: Black is The Colour of My True Love's Hair (composer unknown) (Note: although the most famous variations of this piece are from 20th century America, the piece is believed to have originated in Scotland some time in the 19th century.)

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair, His lips are something rosy fair, The fairest face and the gentlest hands I love the grass wheron he stands.

(Full text)

1813: "The Last Rose of Summer" (Thomas Moore) (Note: I was a bit conflicted about adding this one. The song is about the pain of losing those you love to time, and the loneliness that comes from outlining your companions, both of which are sentiments I feel are very applicable to Hob. However, the song also implies that death is a mercy in the face of such loneliness, which obviously doesn't align with Hob's worldview.)

'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone. All her lovely companions are faded and gone. No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh.

(Full text)

1902: "Whither Must I Wander" (Ralph Vaughan Williams, from the song cycle "Songs Of Travel") (Note: This is technically not a true folk song but shhhhh. This was the song that inspired this whole list because I absolutely adore Vaughan Williams and particularly this cycle.)

Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces, Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child. Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland; Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild. Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland, Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold. Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed, The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old.

(Full text)

1904: "In Dreams" (Ralph Vaughan Williams, from "Songs of Travel") (Note: I will not apologize for using two pieces from the same cycle. Y'all don't understand I'm so autistic about these songs. Also, I had to pick at least one song with "Dream" in the title haha.)

In dreams unhappy, I behold you stand As heretofore: The unremember'd tokens in your hand Avail no more. [...] He came and went. Perchance you wept awhile And then forgot. Ah me! but he that left you with a smile Forgets you not.

(Full text)

1946: "Come you not from Newcastle?" (Arr. Benjamin Britten, original composer unknown) (Note: Although the text of the song itself doesn't necessarily have any strong Hob Vibes, the most widely known arrangement of this piece was done by Benjamin Britten, one of the country's most famed composers and also a fairly open homosexual. This, combined with the text of the song and the time that this arrangement was written, gives the song a distinctly queer vibe, at least to me, and so it makes the list. The recording attached is by Britten's life partner, Peter Pears.)

Why should I not love my love? Why should not my love love me? Why should I not speed after him, Since love to all is free?

(Full Text)

And that's all of them! Please let me know if you have any traditional folk songs you know that fit the bill, as I'm always looking for more good traditional folk music. It holds a special place in my heart :)

Consider reblogging if you got anything out of this post, since I did spend quite awhile on it and I'd love it if it got out to the wider Sandman fandom.

Resources: 1 2 3 4