#I have a turkey named Marsh

[thaidakar-is-hot]

No I will not be eating Marsh for thanksgiving.

Everyone expects me to slaughter Marsh for the holiday when he's a royal palm! My beloved Marsh will never be eaten. He's too pretty and funny for that.

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

You know, I can’t stop thinking about animal rescue shelter worker Stan Marsh, and not just domestic animals, because he would be bringing home exotic animals too, to “tend to their wounds” and ultimately ends up adopting a few.

Kyle: Hey… Whatcha got there?

Stan, with a chinchilla chilling on his shoulders: A smoothie.

Kyle:

Stan: Oh- Oh this? His name is Chilly.

[For context, yes I have a Chinchilla. Yes, his name is Chilly].

Okay first of all I LOVE THAT YOU HAVE A CHINCHILLA NAMED CHILLY!!!! My girlfriend in college had one named Sebastian and we all just called him The Round One. And YES Stan would totally bring home the strangest critters like “Stan why is there a kiddie pool with an eel in it in the living room?” “Oh that’s Flotsum the other eels were bullying him because he can’t eat very well until his broken jaw is better he’s just chillin.” One time during the holidays there was a wingless turkey named Snowball just vibing

[simshousewindsor]

By Cameron Dorly | Published by SNN

ABDENSHORE, Brindleton Bay (SNN) - - Queen Katherine I and Prince Rainier celebrated the second Christmas of her reign.

Last year — during the first Christmas of Queen Katherine's reign, taking place just months after the death of her father, King George I — the royals did not partake in any of their traditional holiday outings. Queen Katherine had also given birth to twins less than 45 days prior.

Yesterday morning, numerous members of the House of Windsor stepped out to attend the Church of Mt Table Church. As they walked to and from Christmas service, they greet the members of the public who came out to wish them a Merry Christmas. Queen Katherine and Prince Rainier led the royals, joined by Katherine's son and heir Prince Phillip, and their other children Princes Grace, and twins Prince Michael and Prince Samuel (in their Christmas walk debut!).

Longstanding traditions were kept, from exchanging gag gifts on Christmas Eve to a festive turkey feast following the church outing at Beaverdam.

Directly following the Queen and Prince consort was the Queen Mother and the Earl and Countess of Boykins with their newborn son, Eli.

The Queen and Princess Grace coordinated in reds for the holiday, while the boys opted for suits.

As per royal family tradition, the royal kids likely didn't open their presents that morning, but on Christmas Eve night.

In a 2017 interview, The Queen (then Princess of Brindleton Bay) spoke about the royal family's Christmas Eve traditions: "We were at Sumpterson in a big room with a long table covered with white cloth and white name cards. By custom, at the start of the night, each of us located our place, stood before our mound of presents. Then suddenly, everyone began opening at the same time. A free-for-all, with scores of family members talking at once and pulling at bows and tearing at wrapping paper."

The Kent family followed behind the Boykins. Prince Louis and Margot smiled at awaiting sims as they walked into church service.

Of the Christmas walk tradition specifically, Prince Louis said “I have strong memories of walking down here, and my father [King Edward II], he used to walk so fast that there’d be huge gaps and spaces between all of us walking down, and there’d be us at the back with little legs trying to keep up,” Louis continued. “You know, I think over time you start to feel quite attached to those moments and those memories before, especially with mom's recent passing.”

Their grandchildren, Lady Sadira Grimaldi and Lord Martin Grimaldi, followed directly behind.

The Duke and Duchesses eldest son and heir, Prince Leo, followed with his wife and son, Lady Jazmyn and Lord Jackson.

His sister, Princess Anna, who seems to have rekindled her on-again off-again romance with estranged husband, Marsh Grimaldi, followed.

The Duke and Duchess of Hastings followed the Kents. Their two children were slated to join but the unexpected snow storm delayed their arrival.

Aside from a few years in the 1960s when the royal family spent the holidays at Windsor Castle, they always stayed at Beaverdam Castle for Christmas and New Year's, which meant that come Christmas Day, they attended services at Mt Table. After George I became King, he preferred Sumpterson Estate for Christmas and New Years.

The Queen, who favors Beaverdam, is returning to the tradition of the royal family spending Christmas and New Year's at Beaverdam.

As the Queen left church, the royal twins were seen quite tired and fussy by sims who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the royals on Christmas day.

After greeting the public, they returned to Beaverdam for a Christmas lunch that included a traditional feast of turkey, glazed ham, roasted potatoes, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and Christmas pudding, after which they viewed the Queen’s annual Christmas speech, which aires at 3 p.m. U.K. time each year.

[corndoggod]

Walkie Talkie

It’s Wednesday evening, about an hour of sun left, and I’m walking down to the old penthouse in Flatbush to retrieve my new apartment keys. It’s moments like these — walking, doing dishes, a 30 min break between meetings — that I’d call my Dad. 

I can hear his excitement picking up the phone: Connor boy! We’d start with the weather. It’s a beautiful day here, I’d say. One of those days where the weather can’t quite decide what it wants to be, flitting between big blue sun and sudden gray with spastic rain. 

I’d tell him I’ve been running more and that I think I’m gonna sign up for a marathon near Albany with the goal of qualifying for Boston. It’s a friendly qualifier, according to Google, and we have some friends nearby we could stay with. I’d tell him I saw Chris Hayes on my lunch run — he was walking his dog in his PJs on a work cal. I knew it was a work call because I knew when his editorial team met to discuss the evening lineup. And that’s not all. This was actually my second sighting of Hayes. The first being at a bar in Gowanus before I really worked in media. How rare to encounter the same celeb twice in the New York wilderness? 

I’d tell him about bowling, though surely he would’ve called the following day to hear how we did in the playoffs. I’d regret to inform him we lost in the first round to a team of toxic old creepers. But I bowled well -- a 146 in the first game and then a 170 to close the season. I’d promise to send him the article about a Dallas bowler’s near-900 game, an almost unheard of string of three consecutive perfect games. In other words, 36 strikes in a row. A turkey to end all turkeys. The seventh extinction. 

He’d probably feed me some essay idea and remind me how much he loves my writing and remind me I got my work ethic from Mom. 

I’d tell him I won a hail mary bet, how it was a must-win otherwise I would’ve depleted all my FanDuel dollars, after which I promised to stop betting like I had been every week for the last two months and he’d say Oh yeahhh like the Kool Aid man (kool aid btw was invented in Nebraska). We both bet on Denver to repeat as champions so we’d prematurely discuss their first playoff game and what it portends for June. 

I’d tell him no I haven’t spoken to Ethan recently but we both love you deeply. 

Dad would hem and haw when asked what’s new with him. There never was much. Life was filtered through TV, current events, books, visitors and his window overlooking the parking lot with an American flag planted center stage. One of the nurses told me he offered up his grandpas flag honoring his WWII service to replace their tattered flag. 

He’d surely ask what I was reading. New York 2140. I borrowed it from you. It was perfect you had it, because that’s exactly what I wanted to read after Vinson Cunningham’s debut novel Great Expectations. I read it flying into New York and saw how vulnerable the city was to a rising sea-levels. We landed in LaGuardia, which has its ass hanging out on the water. Tunneling through the East River to Manhattan I saw the ancient screws coated in dust holding the center fast against past and future. 

It was a very New York book, too, with some interesting finance elements (liquidity, stoking then shorting the bubble, Ben Bernanke’s heroic levers). One of the main characters was a super, another was a degen finance bro. It indulged in geographic specificity, from street names to developed marshes, making several detours down local cul de sacs into forgotten pockets of history and waxing poetic about that famous New York energy. 

It flagged a little 400 pages in, but the animating premise -- a resilient New York that adapted to a 50-foot surge in sea levels after the ice shelf collapsed -- was endlessly fascinating. Downtown was “intertidal” with skyscrapers partly submerged in water at high tide, while sky bridges criss-crossed overhead, and cloud communities circled above superscrapers hundreds of stories high. The author imagineered a SuperVenice and it was a beautiful triumph against the odds. You would like the cloud influencer who shepherded animals at risk in her blimp-ark. 

He’d tell me about an interesting book review he read in the Washington Post and the book that would soon be delivered and of course the many others he had his eye on. You have plenty of reading material already. Read what you have! I’d normally say shaking my head. But this time I’d say those all sound great and I promise to take good care of them. I’ll read them all with you. 

Inevitably we’d both get quiet. I was always perplexed why Dad got anxious during any conversation lull, but he did and would proceed to wrap things up. I took advantage of this sometime. But not today. Today I’d say don’t go, the words will come, just stay on the line. 

[dansnaturepictures]

16th December 2023: Fishlake Meadows

Flora, fauna and fungi pictures taken in this set are of: 1. A rodent I observed along the canal before reaching the reserve, I believe a young rat I did see other rats too. 2. Viburnum along the canal path which I enjoyed seeing. 3. A sea of gorgeous turkey tail which I was taken aback with on a tree stump. 4. A cheery Robin. 5. A ravishing Red Kite which was a treat to see, I was captivated by watching it. I excitingly saw one from the train on the way and also I believe two on a tree from the train on the way back, exciting to see them doing well here. 6. Grey Squirrel. 7. One of a few Mute Swans I enjoyed watching whilst having a blissful lunch at the viewing screen. 8. A majestic Marsh Harrier, another raptor I love which it was delightful to watching soaring over the reedbed and water a couple of times. 9. Dandelion. 10. Cormorant.

In swashbuckling moments before reaching the reserve along the canal I saw a beautiful Kingfisher perched and catch a fish, a riveting encounter with another favourite of mine. Completing a super six of my visit alongside the Kingfisher and two birds of prey were two pleasing passerines, crimson Stonechat which I'd not seen here before and powerful moments listening to the siren like call of a Nuthatch and watching this eyecatching birds as well as stunning views of a Great White Egret at the screen perhaps the closest I've ever been to this angelic egret I was just too slow to get a photo before it flew. Other bird highlights on an amazing walk round were Goldcrest, Wrens, Chiffchaff, the energetic burst of sound from a nice few Cetti's Warblers calling, Long-tailed Tit seen well for a second day running, Blue Tit, Great Tit heard and seen well, Collared Dove and House Sparrow along the canal, Mistle Thrush feeding on mistletoe (how it gets its name) which was memorable, Blackbird, Magpie, Grey Heron including parading over nicely, Moorhen, possibly a Water Rail seen quickly too, the regular sight and sound of Greylag Geese, Shoveler and Wigeon key waterfowl of the day and Common Gull. Other key plants seen were pretty forget-me-not, ivy including mixed well with mushrooms, hazel catkins, white deadnettle, rose hips and burdock seed heads. Candlesnuff fungi spotted only from being beside the rat in the photos I took seen for a second day running was nice and possibly mossy maze polypore among other mushrooms were good to see. On the way to the station this morning seeing winter heliotrope at Lakeside and further on and hawthorn berries, dandelion and hearing Magpie by Lakeside were good moments with Jackdaw, Goldfinch, House Sparrow, Starling and Collared Dove enjoyed at home today. My Mum is currently recovering from a major operation so as I don't drive I'm doing some trips to nature reserves via trains, so far last Saturday and today and I'll do more in the New Year, and it makes it a really interesting and enjoyable day taking a different route to get out to places. Today at Fishlake Meadows and getting there was a fantastic day of nature watching and appreciating being outside.

[caramelmochacrow]

@karamell-sweetz has enabled me to do this so I'll explain why the Rondo concept CD is called Murasaki.

(I'm using Wikipedia for everything because I'm just some guy that's crazy about this DJ unit, I'm not smart, also this post is super long so I'm not explaining why the songs chosen are those songs even though I want to.)

The kanji used for Murasaki in the song is '茈'. Which can mean Water Chestnut in Chinese and Gromwell in Japanese. I'll be focusing on Gromwells since Water Chestnuts doesn't have very big connections to anything Rondo. Other than the fact that it grows in the water like Crinoids, which are marine creatures (but in muddy water and marshes not the ocean), and that they remain crisp even after being cooked or canned like lotuses.

Now, onto Gromwells! It can refer to two plants that have closely related genera, Lithodora and Lithospermum.

First is Lithodora because I thought this one wouldn't take long. Lithodora is a genus of flowering plants in the family Boraginaceae, native to southwestern Europe, southern Greece, Turkey and Algeria. They are low-growing, evergreen shrubs and subshrubs.

So, another flower I need to bring up are Camellias, the flower that Tsubaki is named after. Camellias are also evergreen shrubs and for some species are low-growing like Lithodora. That's the only connection it has but they also grow nicely under the shade and I'll stop that part before I ramble about a whole other thing. Just know that in Celsius they bring up that the world is dark and cold, but the monster and the person with them -- the singer -- are trapped in that world but still thriving and living, similar to how Camellias can grow even under the shade.

Now, to return to the original point, Lithodora has a species called Lithodora Fruticosa (This is because they're fru--). Which is usually called a shrubby gromwell. It can grow on dry ground and stony hillsides usually on limestones.

Limestones are formed when minerals precipitate out of water containing dissolved calcium. It can take place through both biological and non-biological means, with the biological process being an accumulations of corals and shells in the sea. I bring this up because Crinoids were much more abundant and diverse in the past and apparently some thick limestone beds down underwater during the Paleozoic to Jurassic era are almost entirely made up of disarticulated Crinoid fragments. This is the only connection I found that doesn't sound like I'm grasping straws.

Now, onto the other plant, Lithospermum. I'll talk about two things, so I'll start with Lithospermum purpurocaeruleum, or the purple gromwell. I will be calling this the purple gromwell to avoid confusion between the two.

The purpurocaeruleum part of the name means 'purple and blue', referring to how the buds of purple gromwells look purple-reddish hue and when it fully blooms it becomes a dark blue. The flowering period of these gromwells are April to June, which is spring. Rondo has two songs connecting to spring, which is ARCANA and Celsius, making it connect back to Celsius yet again and making it have another connection to ARCANA. The first connection being the fact that one of the lyrics is 'murasaki no hana', which translates to purple flower.

Now, that's it for the purple one, onto Lithospermum Erythrorhzion or what I'll be calling it in this post, the red gromwell.

It can also be called a purple gromwell (duh), red stoneroot, red-root gromwell and redroot lithospermum.

Red gromwells in China (they're called zǐcǎo if you were curious) are used for herbal medicine with various antiviral and biological activities. In Japan they've been used ever since the Nara period for its herbal medicine and dye properties thank to its root. Like every other way of making purple dye, it's super long and complex which caused them to make a sumptuary law in the Heian period that only people of high-ranking or the Empress and her ladies in waiting can wear clothing with the dye.

The reason why I'm bringing up every time they say red is because the Hiiro part of Hiiro's name literally means 'red color', also because Rondo in their second anniversary outfits are based on high-ranking or important chess pieces.

Aoi and Tsubaki have a clear connection since they're the king and queen pieces respectively, Hiiro is the bishop which makes her important since bishops act as the right-hand man to the king and queen, and Nagisa is the knight, the chess piece might not seem important, but the knight is the only chess piece that can go over other pieces, making it important or 'high-ranking' in the game.

That's the only connections I knew and found so far connecting murasaki to some stuff important to Rondo, if I found any more connections after it drops (looks at prayer remix) then I might make a post about the songs in the album and why they were chosen.

[culttvblog]

Detective: Death in Ecstasy and a Side Excursion into Don't Open 'Till Christmas (1984)

A break from Ann Way season for this my Christmas blog post and as is my custom I'm still not blogging about Too Many Christmas Trees. Instead I've chosen an unseasonal mystery and a side excursion into a film which is actually Christmas themed.

Detective: Death in Ecstasy (1964)

Detective (1964-9) was an anthology series of dramatised crime stories by famous detective writers, which meant that its episodes tended to feature well-known fictional detectives. In fact some of them were introduced by Rupert Davies in character as Inspector Maigret. It also served as a source of pilots for series made afterwards. It partly remains in the archive but has never been commercially released as far as I know, and the episodes are as rare as hen's teeth so I was pleased to find this one on YouTube.

Death in Ecstasy is based on a novel by Ngaio Marsh published in 1936. Those familiar with her later writings will miss the complex characterisation and plotting for which she is known, here: instead the plot is much more straightforward and the characters more like the sketches we find in Agatha Christie. Inspector Alleyn's journalist friend shoves his way into the House of the Sacred Flame to see what is going on, only to discover that in the midst of the service the woman selected as the 'chosen vessel' collapses dead. He calls in Alleyn because he thinks he might be interested.

Even without my personal interest in cults and New Religious Movements, I would have to say that more murders should be set in cults because the group is an absolute gift to television. I am not sure whether we are intended to be shocked by the group and all its adherents or whether we are intended to think that they are just bohemian as you would expect. Probably it would have been more shocking in 1936 to find that the group's priest was dealing heroin than it would now. Even more fascinating to me personally is that the cult is based on a real one (which didn't have any murders) that Marsh knew in New Zealand in the 1890s and which I'm going to have to find out about.

The novel is also a gift to television in the sense that the entire story takes place in the group's church and the priest's flat so it only needs a small set. This doesn't come across as limited or cheap, because it's quite an exotic set!

I don't have any criticisms of this myself, however I see two criticisms are commonly made by Marsh fans, which is that Alleyn is too old and also that the show pronounces the name AllANE rather than ALlan, which is how Marsh wanted it pronounced. This may be an unpopular opinion but my own opinion is that if you want people to pronounce your detective's name in a particular way but spell it in a way inviting the public to pronounce it another way, you're inviting a lifetime of having to correct people.

My absolutely favourite bit is the place where the police re-enact the events of the murder and all kneel down around the altar (pictured).

Don't Open 'Till Christmas (1984)

Regular readers will know that I like nothing better than trying to rehabilitate some TV show which has been critically panned but I personally like and that is the pretext for one of my periodic side trips out of the world of TV and into film. Don't Open 'Till Christmas (1984) is an almost universally critically panned slasher film about a serial killer targeting people dressed as Father Christmas in London.

This is one of those occasions when I'm going to suggest viewers on't watch this film primarily for the plot, which meanders along in a rather confusing way. On one level it's fairly predictable because every time you see a Father Christmas costume you know some violence is on the way. On another level everybody says that this film is barely watchable and a complete 'turkey'.

The film took over a year to make. The reason for this is that it was plagued by conflict between the production and director who also starred in it. Ultimately he left and another director took over; unfortunately by this time most of the original cast were unavailable and large parts had to be cut or remade. The new director was then sacked. Helpfully the original director then returned and so much of the original footage could then be used again. If merely reading this is confusing it explains the impact of these events on the film, and their effect of leaving the film feeling like it's rather been stitched together from random stuff. Personally I don't dislike this effect, and honestly I think it enhances the numerous red herrings the film sets up about the identity of the Santa killer, but obviously the rest of the internet and the critics disagree.

Apart from this massive problem, honestly I think this film is just delightful. It has a marvellous atmosphere of a 1980s Christmas in London, juxtaposed with the terror of a serial killer loose in the city whom the police just seem unable to catch. I suppose it's one of those things where for me the atmosphere trumps the detail. Perhaps this could be some sort of personality indicator!

A happy holiday to all my readers.

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[wonderandwanderinginmexicocity]

The Grasshoppers of Oaxaca

I have always been interested in the connection between food, history, and culture. I previously wrote about how the food of today can be a road map of past migration and cultural fusion, and how it can explain the evolution of a place like modern Mexico. Like communion in the Catholic Church, food can be a connection to our ancestors, a process and ritual that transcends time and generations. Food can be a bridge to the past…if we can find it. 

Unfortunately we do not know a whole lot about what was eaten in Mesoamerica before the arrival of the Spanish. This is due in part to the great devastation brought by war, genocide, and disease during the Spanish Conquest, and approximately 90% of the population died by 1530. So much cultural knowledge and insight was lost. Another factor is that much of what the Spanish brought with them to the New World became common and integral to contemporary Mexican cuisine: Lime, honey, meat, and cheese. 

We do have a few Spanish sources that wrote about what the Mexica ate before the Conquest. Hernán Cortés wrote in letters that Emperor Moctezuma’s feasts could be all day affairs, and Bernal Díaz del Castillo wrote in his book, The Conquest of New Spain, the following: “Every day they cooked fowls, turkeys, local partridges, quail, tame and wild duck, venison, boar, marsh birds, pigeons, hares and rabbits, also many other kinds of birds and beasts native to their country, so numerous that I cannot quickly name them all.” But this is of course describing how the most powerful man in the Triple Alliance ate on special occasions. The Great Speaker was hardly the common man. While Moctezuma may have eaten well, people had to do their best catching wild game like duck or raising the only two domesticated animals, turkeys and chihuahuas (which were considered food). How did the common people get enough protein to survive? 

On a recent trip to Oaxaca, I was shocked by how common it was to eat grasshoppers (in Mexican Spanish chapulin, which comes from the Nahua word chapollin). They would sell them in large quantities on the street, or you could order them in dishes like quesadillas and omelets. From the U.S. perspective, eating insects seems strange, but is common in many parts of the world. They are quite common in a warm place like Oaxaca and not hard to find. People enjoy the crunch they provide, like one would from a potato chip. In Mexico City, you can order guacamole with chapulines. Many Mexicans are proud of the cultural heritage this food provides, and there is a sense it connects them to their culture and history and land. It may seem like a bizarre food to a foreigner, but it has some merits. 

While eating grasshoppers in Mexico is both a thing of the past and the present, it may well be a thing of the future. Insects are a bountiful natural resource of animal protein in the world today, in part because there are a lot more insects than people. They do not have the carbon footprint of cows, chickens, and pigs, and do not require the time, space, or resources  those animals require. In his collection of short stories Brief Encounters with Che Guevara, Ben Fountain writes the story of a PHD student that came to the jungles of Colombia to study a rare colony of parrots only to be kidnapped by a Marxist rebel force clearly based on FARC. At one point, the graduate student, John Blair, makes the case to his captors that eating insects is the future, because they are affordable and sustainable. The heavily armed rebels laugh in his sunburnt face. “We are not fighting for the revolution to eat bugs, cabrón,” they say dismissively. 

And yet, here in Mexico, the future may already be here. 

[tastesoftamriel]

Greetings from Finland! (Or I suppose it could be considered Eastern Skyrim) What are some of the spices or ingredients that could be used in food making from each race? I plan to make up a recipe of my own. And how about most famous meats for every race? (And possibly their real life counterparts for some of the meats?) Best wishes, thank you!

Hello! You can find a list of commonly used Tamrielic spices here. With regards to meats, there are a range of different meats preferred by the races based on geographic regions and subsequent availability.

Altmer

Summerset favours fish over most other meats, but the High Elves also farm a range of more common mainland Tamrielic livestock such as cows, chickens, sheep, and deer. However, indrik heart is the most prized of all meats, and is highly sought after due to the illegality and difficulty of killing these magnificent beasts. The preparation and consumption of indrik heart is purportedly painstaking, and is a closely guarded secret of Altmeri gourmets. It is my goal to one day try this coveted dish!

Argonians

Guar, bantam guar, and chickens are the main meats favoured by Black Marsh Argonians, primarily due to their ability to cope with swampy conditions. Grilling, baking, and frying are the most common ways of preparing these meats, whether they're served on their own, with noodles or saltrice, or salads.

Bosmer

If it's meat, the Bosmer will eat it. Whether it's wild boar, deer, timber mammoth, or even monkey, all game is fair game in Valenwood! Timber mammoth steak with blue timber mammoth cheese sauce is one of my favourite foods in Tamriel.

Bretons

If there's one race who's mad about mutton, it's the Bretons. While High Rock is also known for its pork dishes, today I'm focusing on all things mutton. Mutton stew, mutton chops, mutton casserole, and even Orcish-inspired mutton curry are favourites both at home and in taverns. One of the more popular ways of consuming the meat is a mutton and rosemary sausage, that is served fried with eggs, goat cheese, and roasted artichoke hearts.

Dunmer

Aside from guar, the Dark Elves love nix-hound and nix-ox in equal amounts, with the former being more akin to crocodile or turkey in texture, while nix-ox is named such due to its uncanny similarity to beef in flavour (though not in texture). As they are bugs, however, you're not going to get thick steaks or drumsticks as you would from other animals. Instead, nix-ox and -hound are best served minced or stewed. A staple dish in Dunmeri households is nix-hound casserole, made with finely minced and baked nix-hound with saltrice, hackle-lo or ash yams, and scuttle.

Imperials

Imperials love beef the same way that Bretons love mutton. However, the most unique and exciting beef you can find in Tamriel is Cyrodiilic wagyu, a special kind of fatty, marbled beef that is exquisite as it simply melts in the mouth with a rich, meaty flavour. Whether it's served as tender filet mignon or thinly sliced as carpaccio, Cyrodiilic wagyu beef is an expensive but absolutely divine treat.

Khajiit

There are many exotic meats that are native to Elsweyr, and jerboa is probably the most popular. These small (and unfortunately very cute) rodents are delicious when deep fried or roasted in moon sugar sauce, though their small size means you'll have to eat a few to fill up. If you don't mind picking bones from your teeth, jerboa is a must-try for adventurous foodies.

Nords

Beef, chicken, elk, goat, horker, rabbit...in Skyrim, if it moves, we're probably eating it. However, the consumption of specific types of meat, and whether it's processed or fresh, really depends on where you are in the Province. Major towns and cities are more likely to eat fresh farmed meats like poultry, mutton, and beef, while rural areas rely more on wild game. Whether it's Markarth barbequed goat skewers or Dawnstar horker casserole, there's a whole new world of regional dishes out there for meat lovers visiting Skyrim.

Orcs

Echatere, chub loon, horker, and mammoth are the cornerstones of Orcish cuisine, and they're enjoyed in abundance. Wrothgarian Orcs in particular love their echatere, which are lovingly hand-reared or hunted in the wild. Either way, it's delicious, albeit with a rather acquired taste and gamey aroma. Echatere meatballs topped with crispy chub loon bits and an echatere cheese and frost mirriam gravy are a timeless classic hailing from the region.

Redguards

If goats were ever to become an endangered species, the last place they would disappear would be Hammerfell. Anyone who's visited the Alik'r will know that despite the sandy, Oblivion-hot depths of the desert, these hardy creatures will survive just about anything. As a result, goat meat plays a central part in Redguard cooking. Goat koftas, kebabs, shawarma, curries...no matter what form it's in, you're bound to have a tasty, meaty meal no matter where you are in Hammerfell.

[thegrapeandthefig]

Hera in Samos

Why Samos? Samos is an island located on the coasts of Asia Minor (off the coast of Turkey) which became, over time, one of the most important location of Hera cult. Her sanctuary gained in importance most likely thanks to trade. Despite this, the sanctuary has always been a local one and never became pan-hellenic, like Delphi or Olympia.

However, the cult of Hera on the island seems ot have been introduced by settlers from mainland Greece at the end of Bronze age (probably somewhere around the 10th century BC). The local tradition thus claimed that Hera was born on this island under the lygos (chaste tree, which is sacred to her) and on the bank of the river Imbrasos. An alternative foundation myth says that a wooden sculpture of her was brought there by the Argonauts from Argos. In either case, the early worship of Hera in Samos revolved around this sacred tree. 

The yearly festival in her honour included a ritual binding of her statue with a branch that was cut from the tree. The statue was then carried in a procession to the sea, and would then be washed and clothed with new garnments and jewellery before being brought back to the sanctuary. 

The Heraion Ancient literature on the Heraion is sparce, as sources are lacking and/or contradict eachother, with the exception of Herodotus. However, excavations have given us valuable information. We know that it evolved from an early 9th century BC stone altar that was extended multiple times before becoming a huge temple by the 6th century.

This new/reconstructed temple provided shelter and sleeping space for pilgrims (and possibly supplicants?). Initially, the main sacred way to the temple was through the shoreline, but by the end of the 7th century, a new Sacred Way is built, linking the sanctuary to the city by an overland route (this wasn't possible before because of the river and marshes surrounding the temple). As the popularity of the temple grew, the need for more buildings grew as well and the Heraion became a temple complex rather than an isolated sanctuary.

Impressive dedications One of the reasons why extension became necessary was to store the offerings and votice made by the pilgrims, some of which could be costly and luxurious. The amount of loom weights found in one of the building also indicates that there was a building reserved to the making of the garments of Hera. By the 6th century, luxurious donations and offerings start being made to the temple.

For example, a man called Cheramyes dedicated in 560BC three marbles figures of women and a kouros (statue of a young man) to Hera. Not too long after, a sculptor dedicated a marble group of 6 figures representing a family portrait of a father, mother and four children (3 daughters and a son). They were placed on the side of the Sacred Way with inscriptions to give their names. Dedications fo statues continued during the 5th century with a group of three bronzes depicting Zeus, Herakles and Athena made by the sculptor Myron. However, political uncertainty made those types of dedications less popular than they once were.

Lastly, one of the most extra offerings was a whole boat, which was set up as a votive next to the altar. I will be coming back on the importance of boats in her cult some time this month.

Diverse offerings The diversity of the offerings found during the excavations is a witness to the fact that many travellers stopped by Samos, probably for trade but also for pilgrimage. Amongst the most surprising offerings that have been found were a fragmented crocodile skull and an antilope skull. Both animals couldn't have survived in Samos, even captive, so it is most likely someone brought those heads back from Egypt and dedicated them.

Many terracotta pomegranates and terracotta or ivory poppy pods have been found in the Heraion, as well as a terracotta pinecone. This pattern is of importance on a symbolic level, as all of those share the common trait of bearing seeds. This is a good indicator of Hera's concern with fertility. Further excavations (and a lot of luck!) have confirmed that there was indeed plant remains of pomegranate and poppy seeds and pinecones on the site, which indicates that those were also offered alongside replicas. It seems that none of those were growing naturally on this spot, confirming that they were brought to the sanctuary as votives.

Humbler votives include statuettes of limestone, wood or terracotta as well as wooden bowls, plates (they perhaps held fruits or other perishable items). Were also found uncommon items such as pieces of corals, a piece of stalactite or chucks of rock crystals. _________

Further reading:  Marinatos N., Hagg R., Greek Sanctuaries, new approaches, 1993 Pedley J., Sanctuaries and the Sacred in the Ancient Greek World, 2005 de La Genière J., Héra. Images, espaces, cultes, 1993 (republished 2019)

[anonsally]

exciting new birds!

(well, new to me)

I’ve been birdwatching 3 times this week. Here are some highlights:

On Thursday in my neighborhood, I saw a female Nuttall’s woodpecker at a feeder (I’m sure I saw more of them last year than I’ve seen this year), an unexpected pair of mallards flying past (in an area without a body of water), some cedar waxwings (the best look I’ve had at those this year), and a large flock of house finches.

On Saturday in my neighborhood, I heard what Merlin’s sound ID app swore up and down was a red-shouldered hawk. It was vocalising for ages, but though I searched for quite a while and looked at the tree I thought it was in from many angles, I couldn’t find it. I also heard what Merlin claimed was a downy woodpecker; I only had a very brief glimpse but what I saw did plausibly match that identification. There had been a lot of vocalising and I wondered if it was having a territory dispute with some oak titmice. 

Today, a friend and I went to a small estuary across the freeway from the Bay. Our original intention had been to go to a marsh at 8am, but... neither of us wanted to get up that early, so we instead went to a park at 11am. In a little over an hour and a half, we ambled 2.22 miles and saw at least 24 kinds of birds, though only 20 that we could identify positively: 

a turkey vulture being mobbed by crows (usually I see crows attacking hawks, so this was surprising)

10 Canada goslings (cute! shame they will grow up to be assholes) with their parents, plus a few other adult Canada geese

a bunch of adult Mallards, including some with white bibs that I reported as “Mallard (domestic type)”

2 female buffleheads

6 very elegant black-necked stilts

2 American avocets in breeding plumage, one of which appeared to be sitting on a nest

a killdeer

a flock of unidentified peeps

a flock of short-billed dowitchers (pretty sure I’d never seen/identified those before) (hilariously, the Merlin app describes this species as a “plump, medium-sized shorebird with very long bill” ... but in defence of the people who named it, the bill, though long, is not as long as that of the long-billed dowitcher.)

a pelagic cormorant (possibly my first ever)

2 double-crested cormorants

some other cormorants we didn’t identify more specifically than that

3 snowy egrets

a great blue heron (so dinosaur-y)

a black-crowned night-heron

a green heron (!!!!!! definitely my first ever, and a fairly spectacular bird--when I spotted it I exclaimed “what is that?!”)

...and various unidentified gulls and other birds I often see in my own neighborhood.

The thing about going birdwatching in a wetlands/aquatic environment is that you see so many birds. If they’re on the water, you can spot them--unlike the birds in the trees, who are much harder to find amongst the leaves and branches. I don’t go to wetlands or aquatic environments very often, so almost every time I do go, I see at least one species I’ve never seen before. This time I added four to my eBird life list, but I know I had seen the killdeer before.

[kafka-ish]

the act of being a boy-friend | r.t.

y/n’s plan to make her crush, or ex crush, jealous backfires when she realizes she’s been the jealous one all along.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/included: fluff, losers aren’t friends anymore, fem!reader

a/n: i just rlly love writing love triangles hgeoigso also fake dating tropes ftw🥳

-

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” Bill sat next to y/n on his worn sofa. The two were watching a movie but he couldn’t put a pin on what was wrong until he noticed y/n wasn’t making her usual commentary. y/n always talked whenever they got together to watch a movie—either letting her petty remarks be known to the rest of the viewers or judging the style choice. And if she wasn’t talking, her face was stuffed full of popcorn or sour candy.

But y/n wasn’t doing either of those things.

She sat in a ball—her bare feet on his couch and her kneecaps digging into her stomach. Her eyes were wide and focused on the screen ahead of them that blared ET. Her nails that were in tip-top condition when she first showed up to Bill’s house, neatly trimmed and polished with a layer of topcoat were now bitten to the bed, ragged and raw.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n said, surprised that she was able to even squeak out the words after zoning out for so long. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like y/n would tell him. This is what she wanted, right? Just the two of them—Bill’s arm wrapped around her while she pressed into his side while the only light in the room came from his television set.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Richie and y/n had dated two months prior. Well… ‘dated’. The relationship wasn’t real, but the butterflies whenever Richie called her a dumb pet name or kissed her on the cheek (because kissing on the lips was too far) certainly felt real. And the heartbreak that came from him talking about other girls felt more real than the time y/n got stood up at the eighth-grade dance.

“I don’t wanna be your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Richie protested. His mouth was full of the turkey club sandwich he snagged from a detention buddy and his perfectly straight nose was now scrunched in disgust at the absurd idea his friend had to offer.

“I don’t get why you’re being so pissy about this.” y/n took the sandwich from him, taking a bite of her own and cringing at the taste of mustard that was hidden under the lettuce.

“Grow up.” Richie laughed at y/n who was using a napkin to wipe the tangy aftertaste off her tongue. “You know.” He took another bite. “This sorta shit never ends well.”

“What shit?” y/n prodded. She was still hooked on the idea of getting Richie to play house with her.

“The game where you and I pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually one of us falls for each other.” Richie was taking an oddly rational approach to y/n’s suggestion. But Richie was logical in a sense where he just knew.

“Who says I’d fall for you?” y/n poked at his shoulder. One of her eyebrows raised because in what world would she let herself catch feelings for Richie Tozier?

In this world. In this lifetime, y/n would let herself fall for one of her best friends, only to be dating her longtime crush.

“How could you not?” Richie smirked but y/n could tell he was just joking. “I’m irresistible, love.” His stupid British-man Voice made yet another appearance and y/n had to refrain from hitting him.

“What about me?” y/n didn’t care whether or not Richie found her attractive, but to say his response never left her mind after that day would be an understatement.

“Well, just look at you.” Richie put the sandwich down. “If it’s anyone, I’ll be having a harder time.”

“So does that mean you’ll go through with it?” A new light hit y/n’s eyes; the sparkle almost blinding Richie who was shaking his head.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this.” He sighed. y/n could tell he was getting annoyed, but y/n was also persistent. If she wanted something, she’d get it; careless about the lengths she’d have to go through for her fantasies to become a truth. Her truth.

“I’m just saying there are benefits for both of us.” y/n’s head tilted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse at Richie now gnawing at his lunch like an animal.

“Benefits?” Richie asked mid-bite.

“Yeah. I can make Bill Denbrough jealous and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Same for you and your ex.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He was fifty-percent sure he was already over her, but the other fifty percent of him still stole glances in her direction and kept a copy of her school picture in his wallet. But Bill Denbrough? y/n had a crush on the Bill Denbrough? Richie had to take a moment for his ears to adjust to this staggering news.

Bill Denbrough was a baseball player and Richie’s old childhood friend. Him, Bill, Stan Uris (who was coincidentally also on Derry’s baseball team), Mike Hanlon (who didn’t play baseball but football), Ben Hanscom (he was on the track team), Eddie Kaspbrak, and Beverly Marsh were all a group back in middle school. And Bill and Richie went way back—back to elementary school. It was until the end of freshman year when Stan tried out for baseball (Bill tagged along but made the team anyway) and Mike brought up how he wanted to go out for football next year.

Everyone’s interests started to diverge. Everyone started to diverge. They still went to Mike’s games at the beginning of their sophomore year, but their lunches together only seemed to happen on Wednesday and their afternoon hangouts at the quarry turned into just Richie smoking puffs on the edge; the only company being his portable radio.

Richie befriended y/n sophomore year, around the same time he and his friends fizzed out in January’s crisp air. He met her in his new art class when Derry High released students’ new schedules for the second semester. They’d stayed friends ever since; sharing their lunches and staying after school to finish up on a Social Studies project that wasn’t worth the grade they received. y/n was the one to comfort Richie after his breakup with Vanessa Jennings, but this was the first Richie had ever heard of y/n’s crush on Bill. He didn’t even know she knew Bill.

“You like Bill Denbrough?”

y/n nodded. “So, what do you say? Partner…”

Richie gave in. Although it wasn’t in his interest to get back with Vanessa, he’d still go along with y/n’s scheme.

He’d pick her up at her house before school at seven o’clock sharp—whether it was in his dad’s old Chevy or by foot in his red Converse.

y/n rushed to her front door as soon as she heard a ring. Her hair was half done, and she hadn’t had enough time to do her makeup yet. Luckily, she was already dressed in her school clothes—the denim of her jeans scuffing together when she walked, and her red blouse having to be pulled down every time she rose her arms.

“Morning, sugar.” Richie’s lazy grin and tired eyes never failed to bring a smile on her face even before they started ‘dating’. His hair wasn’t brushed at all, making y/n feel better about her appearance. His body leaned slanted against the doorframe while he waited for her and the white tip of his Converse made its attempt to dig into the porch.

“Sugar?” y/n asked, bemused. She grabbed her keys from the table next to the door, using them to lock the door behind her.

“You look different today.” y/n’s head raised from its once concentrated position from the lock on her door.

“Different how?” She inquired, mostly wondering if this difference was a good or bad thing.

“You look good.” y/n’s cheeks couldn’t help but heat at the compliment. Richie was always calling her cutesy names or saying shit like actually, now that my glasses are on, your ass does look good in those jeans. This should be no different, right?

It only felt different because they were… an item is what y/n convinced herself somewhere along the drive to school. Richie opened the door for her when she got in (and out), but in return, she’d have to let him play his favorite station.

��it’s only courtesy, babe.” Richie shrugged but his eyes kept on the road. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

But two weeks in, y/n found out she liked what this rock ‘n roll guy had to offer. She liked the loud beat of the drum and how the guitar sang in her ears. She liked Richie’s voice that overpowered Elvis’s when he sang along to the lyrics, knowing every word by heart.

“I don’t get why you’re taking me anywhere,” y/n said. She sat in the passenger’s seat of his car like she usually did. “We don’t have to pretend unless we’re, like, in public.” Her voice became small, almost regretting the words that came out of her mouth. Secretly, she hoped Richie wouldn’t turn the 1965 Chevrolet Camaro around.

“It’s not like we aren’t friends.” Richie’s thumb made a tap, tap, tapping sound against the steering wheel. “Friends hang out, right?”

y/n smiled but didn’t answer. It never occurred to her that they weren’t dating. After a while, it just seemed so natural; the hand holding under lunch tables; the way he held her binder for her.

“Is that heavy, sweetheart?” Richie stood next to y/n, intently watching as she struggled with her books in one arm: her other hand turning the combination lock. His gaze never left her figure. He was thoughtful, caring…

“Kind of, but you don’t need to—”

Ignoring y/n, Richie took the books from her hold. He already had books of his own to carry, but he couldn’t let his girlfriend struggle with hers.

“Yeah… friends.” y/n couldn’t seem to face him while uttering the words. Friends. The declaration felt so distant. After all, they had been more than friends—or pretending to be more than friends. But at the end of the day, y/n didn’t know if she wanted to be just friends with Richie Tozier. That was new considering, she never saw Richie as something else. Something that greeted her with flowers before school and held open the door for her. Not until now, no. Richie was always… Richie.

Richie Tozier who was always caught doing his homework last minute in art—because that’s the easiest class, babe. Richie Tozier who liked detention because he could catch up on a few extra minutes of lost beauty sleep. Richie Tozier who stopped bringing his lunch to school because you’re the only sugar I need.

y/n rolled the window down, letting a breeze sweep through her hair and tickle her skin. She needed a distraction because the recent epiphany of the boy next to her being the reason for her heart palpitations was something to need a distraction from.

The sky bled orange and purple—the colors perfectly melted into one another—and y/n wondered if this wasn’t their world after all. Maybe they were being controlled and the puppeteer behind her was playing some sick joke by making her catch feelings for Richie Tozier. y/n didn’t even notice they came to a stop until the click of Richie’s seatbelt grabbed her ears from their trance.

“You comin’?” Richie asked from outside of her side of the car. He was hunched down, his forearm resting on the door to help prop him up.

“Yeah.” y/n swallowed but it hurt. It felt like acid ripped through her esophagus but the only thing she had to drink that day was water. She reached for the door handle, but Richie was faster, already opening the door himself. “Such a gentleman,” y/n snickered.

“Of course.” Richie stayed behind to lock the doors.

“So, you drove me, just a friend, all the way out to the best milkshakes in town?” y/n asked, eyeing the neon-lit sign that read

 Hwy 90

The highway to your stomach.

They served other things, but they specialized in milkshakes—something neither Richie nor y/n would care to pass up. But nothing y/n would drive thirty minutes for just for some glorified ice cream in a glass.

“It’s the least I could do.” Richie opened the door for y/n once again. The entrance door to the diner made a jingling sound as the top corner hit the bells which hung from the ceiling.

“The least you could do?” y/n wondered aloud, but Richie wasn’t given the chance to answer her question when a waitress scurried up to them, a stack of menus in one arm and a bundle of silverware in the other. She was taller than y/n but shorter than Richie and she wore black and white bowling shoes to match the wide-legged jeans and polo underneath her apron. “Is it just you two?” She asked sweetly, hiking the pile of menus up higher on her arm.

“Yeah,” Richie said. He stuffed his hands in his back pocket, not knowing where to put them.

The waitress showed them to a small booth that sat in the corner of the brightly lit restaurant. It was too bright for y/n’s eyes under the red, blue, and pink hues that reflected across the shiny white tile, But the corner table the girl had brought them to would do. There was a certain coziness to it, or maybe it was the thought of sitting so close to Richie in a public setting that settled y/n’s eyes.

“I’m Annie. I’ll be your server today,” the girl said as soon as Richie and y/n slid into their respective sides of the red pleather seats. She was fast-talking and all shades of nervousness as her left hand went to grab the number two pencil that fastened the blonde curls that were pinned in a knot on top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”

“A menu would be nice,” y/n said. In front of them sat a table, salt and pepper shakers, and a half-empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Annie had forgotten to give the two a menu.

“My apologies!” She exclaimed, bashful. She handed them each a menu to sift through.

“Don’t sweat it.” Richie winked in her direction and y/n felt herself grow… what was that? Anger? Annie’s pale skin blushed a bright red and y/n could tell it wasn’t the apron making her feel hot.

It took Richie a full-fledged thirty seconds and two skims through the laminated paper for him to decide what he wanted, and it took y/n at least two minutes. “I’ll have a Cookies n Cream. Extra sweet.” Just like you.

y/n was biting her thumb and still reading over the same three flavors that caught her eye while Annie stood patiently waiting for her response. Richie was messing with the saltshaker. His leg found hers under the table and gave it a quick kick.

“Ouch.” She looked up from the menu, averting her attention to the boy in front of her with a fix glare. “Can I have Vanilla? With a cherry on top?”

Annie scribbled down both of their orders in messy writing before making her way across the floor and to the kitchen.

“Vanilla?” Richie laughed and y/n didn’t know what was so funny. “’Cause you’re vanilla?” He covered his mouth with his hand before another fit of laughter would consume the table.

“Shut up.” Swiftly, y/n’s leg propelled into his which caused Richie’s laughs to die down, replaced by a single yelp.

“So…” Richie’s eyebrows wiggled. His nails, which were painted a shade of deep blue by y/n and already chipped, thumped against the surface of the table. y/n could tell whatever he was beginning to suggest wouldn’t be something she liked just from the tone of his voice.

“So?”

“Why Bill?” Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

“Why do you like ole Big Bill?” The nickname had slipped out unconsciously. The nickname Richie hadn’t heard in years. The nickname Richie hadn’t said in years. It felt exotic on his lips, but comforting, like a hug from his mom.

Why did she like Bill? y/n asked herself silently. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek when the question popped up again and the sound of Bill’s voice startled her.

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” What was wrong? Seemingly, everything was perfect. The boy y/n had been crushing on for years was finally in her reach—her grasp, even. Bill’s head turned to face y/n, but his arm stayed tightly coiled around her side. It wasn’t the same as Richie’s possessive hold from two months ago. His hand that played with the fabric of her shirt felt cold. Bill felt cold.

It couldn’t be that she missed Richie, no. Richie was busy—probably swapping spit with one Vanessa Jennings. Vanessa with the light brown hair and curls that framed her not-too-big head ever so perfectly. Vanessa who never needed a tan. Vanessa with the long legs that were probably wrapped—

But it didn’t matter. y/n was busy, too. The Bill Denbrough was at her side and she couldn’t have asked for anything else. She didn’t need anything else. Not when his red flannel hugged her torso because are you could? My parents won’t let me turn up the heat, but I can offer you this. Like a gentleman, he proceeded to strip the flannel from his bodice, leaving him in a white baseball tee.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n looked at Bill then looked down to see the nails she had just painted were now ruined. She looked up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured, not all convincingly.

“You just… yo-you ha-haven’t-t s-s-said anything since you cuh-cuh-walked in.”

“I haven’t?” y/n asked, now picking at the tip of her thumb, hoping what had taken two weeks to grow out would magically regrow in seconds. Saving his voice, Bill only shook his head.

“You nuh-know you can tuh-tell me. Ruh-right?” y/n nodded but what could she tell him?

Sorry I’ve been holding a massive crush on you for years like one holds a cleaver over their head but all of a sudden I’m into this guy I met in my art class who never brushes his hair and writes ‘smoking and smoking hot’ on his college resume.

“I think I’m just tired,” she lied while also feigning a yawn. She covered her mouth when it opened, pretending to be sleepy.

“Do-do you want me to tuh-take you home?” Bill asked. He was just as thoughtful as Richie. He was just as handsome as Richie, maybe even more. So why couldn’t y/n bring herself to like him as much as Richie? His arm left from her side and he used it to pick up the remote, turning the tv off. The worst part was, that when Bill’s hand stopped playing with the fabric of the flannel she wore and his arm left her frame, she didn’t feel a coldness that would usually wash over her when Richie’s arm left her. She felt free.

“I don’t want our afternoon to be spoiled,” y/n said. Her eyebrows furrowed and even though she knew she was lying through her teeth, she wanted to make this work. After all these years of pining for her study partner and favorite Derry High baseball player, she needed for this to work. To see the vision she’d created in her head, just a mere two years ago, collapse in front of her very eyes broke her. But at the same time, she was indifferent. Why should she care about the boy in front of her when the boy she actually wanted was a neighborhood away?

“Tr-trust me. It-it’s not.” Bill shrugged. He stood up and offered y/n his hand which she didn’t take. Instead, she sat there, planted in her same seat, waiting for him to continue. “I can tuh-take you home. And wuh-we can hang out to-tomorrow. You nuh-know when you’re well rested.” All of the sudden, this felt very real. Hanging out with Bill felt real. Being at his house felt real. And though his efforts were valiant, y/n couldn’t accept the offer.

A smile graced her lips and Bill mirrored that. “Yeah, okay. Uh, take me home—please.”

y/n stood up and Bill guided her to the door and to Zach Denbrough’s car as if she hadn’t had the place memorized from when she first came over for a History project they’d been assigned to do.

What did she ever see in him?

“I don’t know.” y/n’s shoulders bopped up and down and even though her figure was hunched, Richie still thought she looked graceful.

“Are you just sayin’ that or did you end up falling in love with little ole me and you can’t think of anything?” Just then, their milkshakes arrived. Both in frosted glass and both with a cherry on top. A feeling of relief swallowed the lump in her throat, or maybe that was the taste of vanilla ice cream now that she was given some time, and a reason, to stall. y/n hated how on-the-nose Richie could be. But she also loved that about him. He could be so, so unexpectedly smart about some things. Things that were right in front of her that she’d never even notice until Richie pointed it out. “Oh, come on.” Richie’s words would’ve sliced through the silence in the air if it weren’t for the chatter of other people and jukebox playing in the background. “Seriously, y/n/n, there’s gotta be something that drew you to him.”

“Well… he’s nice.”

“Okay cut the crap.”

“What?” y/n asked, finding herself annoyed that she not only had to reveal her feelings to a boy she may or may not like but also because he’s nice apparently wasn’t a sufficient enough answer.

“I need an actual answer. Not some bullshit response like he’s nice or he’s funny. Anyone can be nice or funny, y/n.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, Bill is nice. He’s genuine, and cares about the people around him… Selfless.”

Richie was upset at her response. Not because y/n countered his argument in a way he was left speechless but because she was right. Bill was the nice guy and Richie… wasn’t. Bill was the one who looked out for others, making sure they were okay. He was the one who made sure no one got left behind. He was the one everyone looked up to—not Richie, Bill. It was always Bill. Whereas Richie’s just the guy who stands in the background making funny noises only to be told to shut up.

“Yeah… Bill is nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re my competition, Tozier.” y/n laughed at the oddity of fighting with Richie for the chance to be with Bill.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his hair flying in any direction possible. “You’re lucky I’m not, though. You wouldn’t have the chance, babe.”

y/n wanted to eat her heart out at the usage of babe in such an informal setting where they didn’t have to pretend, but the maraschino cherry resting on top of the pile of whipped cream would suffice. “Do you still like Vanessa?” The words tumbled from y/n’s mouth like they were nothing. But embarrassment replaced the blood flowing through her veins once she was aware of what she just said.

“It’s… complicated,” Richie said honestly, not caring that y/n might’ve crossed boundaries just then.

“What’s complicated?” y/n cocked her head like a puppy questioning why its master was making weird hand motions.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, kid.” Richie didn’t mean to come off as condescending, but he did.

“I’m the same age as you.” y/n crossed her arms after pushing away the half-empty, frosted glass in front of her.

Ignoring the red straw in his drink, Richie brought the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowed the thick shake. “Here’s the thing. Vanessa and I go way back.”

“How far is way back if you only dated her for four months?” y/n regretted even bringing her up. Maybe it was different back then, back when the two were actually dating. But now, y/n couldn’t remember a time when someone said the name ‘Richie Tozier’ and her heart didn’t feel like it would explode into a collision of fireworks.

“Four and a half,” Richie corrected with a grin breaking out on his lips. “But I dunno. She’s just special.”

“Special as in…?” y/n probed, and she hated herself for her big mouth that wouldn’t stop applying lemon juice to an obviously open wound.

“I love her.” Richie took another drink of Cookies n Cream, which was more cream than cookies, and y/n sat there in shock. She would be silly to think that after all these weeks, Richie would feel the same way about her. After all, he had a life outside of the fake one they’d construed. Or maybe Richie was just less emotionally confined to these sorts of things. He knew better than to get caught up in a fake relationship. Of course he would.

But knowing Richie still loved his ex, struck something in y/n’s core. And the fact that he was able to say it in such a nonchalant manner—such casualty—only dug deeper at the pit in her stomach.

“You love her?” y/n asked, her mouth still full of the sweet treat he’d pay for later in the evening.

“Love. Loved.” Richie shrugged like this was nothing—well, maybe this was nothing. Maybe y/n was the speck of dust on his shirt and him shrugging was the last of her existence from his being leaving. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference.” y/n wanted to scream. Luckily, she had enough self-perseverance to keep her composure. She swallowed. “One is past tense, and one is present tense.”

“How ‘bout I put it this way.” Richie set aside his drink so now nothing was blocking his view of y/n. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t like…” He paused. Revealing that he had no intention in getting back with his once first love would possibly wreck this whole thing. “If Vanessa asked, I’d probably get back with her,” Richie finally said, thinking that must’ve been a suitable way to word the jumble of letters floating around in his head like alphabet soup.

“You would?” y/n asked, feeling like a little kid all over again.

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Do you and her still…”

“Still what?”

“Talk, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” y/n messed with her fingers, pulling at a hangnail she’d know she’d regret doing when it got to later in the night.

“Nah. But don’t worry about it, sweets.” Richie took out his wallet only to be met with a picture of the dreaded girl they’d just been talking about. He gulped. His spit tasted like Oreos and he knew he’d have a stomachache later. Richie thumbed out a ten-dollar bill and five ones to keep Alexander Hamilton company. “Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

It was what she was wondering.

But she’d never let Richie know that. y/n crossed her arms tighter around her torso because right now it felt like Richie could see right through her.

Richie drove her home in the same way Bill would a month from that night. But Richie had a better taste in music and y/n was actually sad to part from him when he left her at her doorstep.

“I’m really sorry I had to cut our time short,” y/n said. She was sorry.

“It’s ff-fine. I al-already sai—”

“Yeah, but I feel awful, Bill.” y/n finally mucked up the courage to look him in the eye. Those blue eyes that’d been searching for hers all afternoon. “This was probably like… the worst first date in the history of first dates.”

“Ih-it’s not so bad. But that duh-depends on how muh-many first dates you’ve been on.” Bill laughed and y/n was trying to figure out what was funny about what he said.

“You’ve been on worse ones?” y/n asked anxiously.

“Luh-let’s just say th-they duh-didn’t get a second date.”

y/n nodded while her hands started to search for the keys in her purse.

“I’ll ss-see you tuh-tomorrow?”

“Or at my funeral. Whichever comes first.” For a moment, the bad thoughts cleared from the surface of y/n’s head. Laughter was the only thing she was aware of for a moment.

“Bye, y/n/n.”

“Bye, Richie,” y/n said bashfully. Her hands were strewn behind her back because she didn’t know what they would do if they weren’t. He was about to walk off—off into the moonlight. And y/n would have to wait until Monday to see him again. It was one day too long because she knew even though the two of them had nothing better to do tomorrow, he’d see it as just friends whereas y/n would see it… differently. “Richie, wait!”

“What?” Richie turned around. His hands sat inside of his front pockets and his posture was slumped, as always.

“Thanks… for tonight.” Richie nodded, and validation from him served as a sick kind of ego booster that egged y/n to keep going. “They really are the best milkshakes in town.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s scratchy voice soothed y/n under the frosty air that came from winters in Maine. y/n stepped closer, her hands still behind her back.

“Did you have a good time?”

“You know I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Richie nudged y/n’s elbow with his but was taken aback by her hands that now gripped his shoulders and how suddenly close she was against him.

y/n kissed him on the cheek, not daring to go for his lips because who’s ever heard of a kiss goodbye on the cheek? Is probably what Stacy Howards would retort back to her after she’d spill the happenings of Saturday night to Derry High’s favorite cheerleader in study hall.

His cheek tasted like salt and Irish Spring—that is, if she knew what Irish Spring tasted like. Which she definitely didn’t.

She didn’t linger long. Richie wished she stayed longer. The kiss was short and sweet and the taste of vanilla on her lips replaced a fraction of his cheek that tasted like body wash and sodium chloride.

“Goodnight,” y/n said, now finally coming to her senses.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie blinked, an alternative to pinching himself in front of the girl he’d been pretending to date. “Night.” But after pretending for so long, Richie couldn’t help but notice the less it felt like pretending.

y/n closed the door behind her with a slam, making sure to lock it in case intruders were in the neighborhood. Now that Bill was gone, her first instinct was to call up Richie—tell him that the date went well, and how he was such a great friend, and thanks for the help. But there were only so many times she could lie to a boy she felt feelings so deeply for. The first, coincidentally, was when Richie had asked how things were going with Bill.

“Make any progress so far?” Richie asked with a face full of ham. They were eating lunch together, per usual. But this time, unlike the many times before, the hand that wasn’t holding his sandwich was rubbing circles on y/n’s small hand that Richie’s swallowed.

“Comme ci comme ça.” y/n smiled to herself at her basic understanding any French One student would master. “It’s going alright…” y/n had never been a natural liar. Whenever she told her parents she had cleaned her room when she, in fact, didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her forearm broke out in an itch she could never quite scratch. But her internal biological workings had given her a break today. There was no itch and her hairs stayed in place from when she styled her hair that morning.

“What’s alright?” Richie questioned, though it sounded more like an interrogation.

“He started talking to me more.”

“He didn’t already talk to you?” Richie’s eyebrow rose because how were you supposed to fall for a guy you barely talked to?

“Well, yeah, he talks to me.” The pad of Richie’s thumb that was drawing slow circles onto y/n’s knuckles turned into lines. Back and forth. Back and forth. “But he used to talk to me about classwork and… you know, like, school.” Richie smiled when she talked. He was happy for his friend. He truly was. But he couldn’t stand the fact that the guy she was talking about wasn’t him—let alone, his former best friend. “And in APUSH, instead of asking about my grade or whatever, he… asked about me.”

“What’d Mister Charming have to say?”

Mister Charming sat two seats away from y/n. But that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Every now and then, Bill would steal glances at the girl from his peripheral vision. Sometimes, if he were feeling bold, he’d turn to face her—but that action only occurred when she was speaking. Today, however, was different. Today he’d talk to her.

Lucky for Bill, the pencil sharpener sat in the back of class—close to where y/n’s seat was.

“Hey.”

y/n looked up from her textbook. She didn’t want to assume the hushed voice was for her—but she had to figure the tap on her shoulder was.

“Hi.” She set her pencil down and folded her arms flat on the desk. “What’s up?” y/n swore she sounded insane. Who says what’s up—

“Th-the sky.” Bill’s smile made cloudy days seem cloudless. “I was wuh-wondering ih—” He swallowed the trail of saliva that gathered in the back of his throat. “If… are yo-you and Ruh-Richie like…”

“No!” y/n said quickly and a little too loudly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Muh-maybe we cuh-could hang out… This Saturday work?” A stroke of nervousness flitted across his features for a second even though Bill didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The rest of y/n’s words got caught in her throat and she instinctively found herself writing down her number on the scratch piece of paper Mr. Ferguson passed out for notetaking.

“Call me.”

Bill did call. Which was precisely how y/n was stuck frozen in time; her back slanted against the door and her thoughts racing against one another.

She had two options at hand. Call Richie. Find Richie. Or wait it out for tomorrow when Bill’s same car would be in her driveway, waiting for her.

But a third option was already at y/n’s doorstep, contemplating ringing the doorbell.

Richie Tozier stood outside of y/n’s front door, palms sweaty and unusually anxious for confrontation. His pale fingers knotted together. It was their way of stalling from interacting with y/n for as long as possible—or as long as curfew would allow him to.

“Hey.” His stalling attempt was left unsuccessful when y/n opened the door. Ironically, he was just the person she had hoped to run into. “What are… what are you doing?”

“Me?” Richie’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pointed to himself with his index finger.

“You’re the only one here,” y/n deadpanned.

“I was just in the neighborhood, y’know. Doin’ neighborly things.”

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.” Richie feigned laughter but this time y/n didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously, Rich, why are you here? You knew I had my date with Bill and—”

“And what?” His tone grew firm, like it had grabbed her by the hand and urged whatever was eating at her insides out of her.

“And I don’t think you should be here, after I just got done with my date with somebody else!” y/n said with a shaky breath. She could feel her heartbeat almost burning through her chest that rose and fell harshly.

“How was it? Your date?” Richie had calmed down, but y/n didn’t.

“It went bad. Is that what you wanted to hear?” y/n muttered, but it could’ve been mistaken for a yell.

“No, why would you think—hold on. What’s up with you?” Richie’s hands stuffed themselves in his front pocket. His posture was hunched over, and his face now screwed together, trying to understand the girl standing before him.

“I don’t know.” The flame that had once ignited y/n’s lively spirits had died down. “I just. It didn’t go well, that’s all,” y/n said, unable to coax the words she actually wanted to say out of her lips.

“He wasn’t an asshole, was he?” Richie’s tone was protective—nothing y/n would expect from him two months ago when she’d gotten themselves into this mess.

“No! No.” y/n was complicated. First, she’d spew off about how her date was bad and now she was defending said date?

“God, y/n/n, can you just make up your mind?”

She could do that.

“You were right,” y/n declared.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Richie could still make out what she was saying.

“Well, I’m always right, toots. I just need context—”

“About the fake dating thing. How eventually one person’s bound to fall for the other…” Her toes curled from under the white Converse she hadn’t had time to slip off. They were worn and the bottoms were yellowing from the number of times she’d matched them to an outfit. “And you don’t look like you’re on your knees, so.”

“So, what?” y/n didn’t notice the smirk edging on the corners of Richie’s lips.

“Tozier, don’t make me say it.”

“You have to, or God knows how long we’ll be standing on this fuckin’ porch,” Richie said patiently. Patient. Richie was never patient—always the one to urge his friends to hurry the fuck up, always the one to ask are we there yet? But this time he was. His figure stood still and ominous, like Santa on Christmas Eve. His breathing held steady in his lungs that had seen more smoke than his mother’s kitchen and his feet stood planted on the concrete stoop of y/n’s house and they’d stay there until she told him the very damned thing she didn’t want to.

“I like you, okay?” y/n knew if she blinked, the dam of tears in her eyes would finally burst and the last thing she wanted was having Richie Tozier see her cry. Well, second to last thing. The first thing on that list had already happened. “Look, I know you’re still in love with Van-Vanessa.” It hurt to say the girl’s name because she wasn’t just a girl, she was Richie’s ex. “But you asked me to say it and I did. So there.”

y/n was about to turn back. Back into her house and back out of this friendship. It was only because Richie laughed that y/n stopped. His chuckle was like music, not the kind that Richie blasted in his car with the windows down, but like a symphony. And if y/n were any less mortified right now, maybe she’d stop to admire it—him—for one second more.

She was about to ask why. Why are you mocking me when I’m so clearly in a vulnerable state right now? Why are you mocking me after I’d just shared something so deep and personal with the likes of you? About the likes of you? But y/n didn’t get the chance when Richie surged forward and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel her heart pick up even more at the taste of him: spearmint and tobacco. She thought it’d stabilize itself once his lips left hers, but it didn’t. His taste lingered and at the time it felt permanent, like a red stain on white furniture.

“Like I said. Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you.” His breath hit her face, warm and intoxicating, and y/n could only think that kissing Richie on the lips was way better than kissing him on the cheek.

[pureamericanism]

In Praise of Johnny Appleseed

by Vachel Lindsay

In the days of President Washington, The glory of the nations, Dust and ashes, Snow and sleet, And hay and oats and wheat, Blew west, Crossed the Appalachians, Found the glades of rotting leaves, the soft deer-pastures, In the forest. Colts jumped the fence, Snorting, ramping, snapping, sniffing, With gastronomic calculations, Crossed the Appalachians, The east walls of our citadel, And turned to gold-horned unicorns, Feasting in the dim, volunteer farms of the forest. Stripedest, kickingest kittens escaped, Caterwauling “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” Renounced their poor relations, Crossed the Appalachians, And turned to tiny tigers In the humorous forest. Chickens escaped From farmyard congregations, Crossed the Appalachians, And turned to amber trumpets On the ramparts of our Hoosiers’ nest and citadel, Millennial heralds Of the foggy mazy forest. Pigs broke loose, scrambled west, Scorned their loathsome stations, Crossed the Appalachians, Turned to roaming, foaming wild boars Of the forest. The smallest, blindest puppies toddled west While their eyes were coming open, And, with misty observations, Crossed the Appalachians, Barked, barked, barked At the glow-worms and the marsh lights and the lightning-bugs, And turned to ravening wolves Of the forest. Crazy parrots and canaries flew west, Drunk on May-time revelations, Crossed the Appalachians, And turned to delirious, flower-dressed fairies Of the lazy forest. Haughtiest swans and peacocks swept west, And, despite soft derivations, Crossed the Appalachians, And turned to blazing warrior souls Of the forest, Singing the ways Of the Ancient of Days.

And the “Old Continentals In their ragged regimentals,” With bard’s imaginations, Crossed the Appalachians. And A boy Blew west, And with prayers and incantations, And with “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” Crossed the Appalachians, And was “young John Chapman,” Then “Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Appleseed,” Chief of the fastnesses, dappled and vast, In a pack on his back, In a deer-hide sack, The beautiful orchards of the past, The ghosts of all the forests and the groves– In that pack on his back, In that talisman sack, To-morrow’s peaches, pears and cherries, To-morrow’s grapes and red raspberries, Seeds and tree-souls, precious things, Feathered with microscopic wings, All the outdoors the child heart knows, And the apple, green, red, and white, Sun of his day and his night– The apple allied to the thorn, Child of the rose. Porches untrod of forest houses All before him, all day long, “Yankee Doodle” his marching song; And the evening breeze Joined his psalms of praise As he sang the ways Of the Ancient of Days.

Leaving behind august Virginia, Proud Massachusetts, and proud Maine, Planting the trees that would march and train On, in his name to the great Pacific, Like Birnam wood to Dunsinane, Johnny Appleseed swept on, Every shackle gone, Loving every sloshy brake, Loving every skunk and snake, Loving every leathery weed, Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Appleseed, Master and ruler of the unicorn-ramping forest, The tiger-mewing forest, The rooster-trumpeting, boar-foaming, wolf-ravening forest, The spirit-haunted, fairy-enchanted forest, Stupendous and endless, Searching its perilous ways In the name of the Ancient of Days.

Hear him asking his friends the eagles To guard each planted seed and seedling. While the late snow blew from bleak Lake Erie, Scourging rock and river and reed, For Jonathan Chapman, Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Appleseed, As though his heart were a wind-blown wheat-sheaf, As though his heart were a new-built nest, As though their heaven house were his breast, In swept the snow-birds singing glory. And I hear his bird heart beat its story, Hear yet how the ghost of the forest shivers, Hear yet the cry of the gray, old orchards, Dim and decaying by the rivers, And the timid wings of the bird-ghosts beating. By the hour of dawn he was proud and stark, Went forth to live on roots and bark, Sleep in the trees, while the years howled by– Calling the catamounts by name, And buffalo bulls no hand could tame, Slaying never a living creature, Joining the birds in every game, With the gorgeous turkey gobblers mocking, With the lean-necked eagles boxing and shouting; Sticking their feathers in his hair,– Turkey feathers, Eagle feathers,– Trading hearts with all beasts and weathers He swept on, winged and wonder-crested, Bare-armed, barefooted, and bare-breasted.

The maples, shedding their spinning seeds, Called to his appleseeds in the ground, Vast chestnut-trees, with their butterfly nations, Called to his seeds without a sound. And the chipmunk turned a “summer-set,” And the foxes danced the Virginia reel; Hawthorne and crab-thorn bent, rain-wet, And dropped their flowers in his night-black hair; And the soft fawns stopped for his perorations; And his black eyes shone through the forest-gleam, And he plunged young hands into new-turned earth, And prayed dear orchard boughs into birth; And he ran with the rabbit and slept with the stream, And he ran with the rabbit and slept with the stream, And he ran with the rabbit and slept with the stream. In the days of President Washington.

(Hear the hoof-beats of deer in the snow. And see, by their track, bleeding footprints we know. See conventions of deer go by; The bucks toss their horns, the fuzzy fawns fly. Faint hoof-beats of fawns long gone From respectable pasture, and park and lawn, And heartbeats of fawns That are coming again When the forest, once more, Is the master of men.)

Long, long after, When settlers put up beam and rafter, They asked of the birds: “Who gave this fruit? Who watched this fence till the seeds took root? Who gave these boughs?” They asked the sky, And there was no reply. But the robin might have said, “To the farthest West he has followed the sun, His life and his empire just begun.” Self-scourged, like a monk, with a throne for wages, Stripped like the iron-souled Hindu sages, Draped like a statue, in strings like a scarecrow, His helmet-hat an old tin pan, But worn in the love of the heart of man, More sane than the helm of Tamerlane, Hairy Ainu, wild man of Borneo, Robinson Crusoe–Johnny Appleseed; And the robin might have said, “Sowing, he goes to the far, new West, With the apple, the sun of his burning breast– The apple allied to the thorn, Child of the rose.”

Washington buried in Virginia, Jackson buried in Tennessee, Young Lincoln, brooding in Illinois, And Johnny Appleseed, priestly and free, Knotted and gnarled, past seventy years, Still planted on in the woods alone. Ohio and young Indiana– These were his wide altar-stone, Where still he burnt out flesh and bone. At last his own trees overtook him, at last his own trees hurried past him. Many cats were tame again, Many ponies tame again, Many pigs were tame again, Many canaries tame again; And the real frontier was his sun-burnt breast. From the fiery core of that apple, the earth, Sprang apple-amaranths divine. Love’s orchards climbed to the heavens of the West, And snowed the earthly sod with flowers. Farm hands from the terraces of the blest Danced on the mists with their ladies fine; And Johnny Appleseed laughed with his dreams, And swam once more the ice-cold streams. And the doves of the spirit swept through the hours, With doom-calls, love-calls, death-calls, dream-calls; And so once more his youth began, Johnny Appleseed.

Then The sun was his turned-up broken barrel, Out of which his juicy apples rolled, Thumping across the gold, An angel in each apple that touched the forest mold, Each red, rich, round, and bouncing moon That touched the forest mold. He saw the fruits unfold, And all our expectations in one wild-flower-written dream, Confusion and death sweetness, and a thicket of crab-thorns, Heart of a hundred midnights, heart of the merciful morns. Heaven’s boughs bent down with their alchemy, Perfumed airs, and thoughts of wonder. And the dew on the grass and his own cold tears Were one in brooding mystery, Though death’s loud thunder came upon him, Though death’s loud thunder struck him down– The boughs and the proud thoughts swept through the thunder, The vista of ten thousand years, flower-lighted and complete. Hear the lazy weeds murmuring, bays and rivers whispering, Listen to the eagles, screaming, calling, “Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Appleseed,” There by the doors of old Fort Wayne.

In the four-poster bed Johnny Appleseed built, Autumn rains were the curtains, autumn leaves were the quilt. He laid him down sweetly, and slept through the night, There by the doors of old Fort Wayne.

[inkstaineddove]

First Blossom

Ships: AusHun; past PruHun if you’re so inclinced, but not necessarily

Characters: Hungary, Austria, Turkey and Bavaria very briefly; mentioned Prussia

Summary: At long last, Hungary's penultimate battle against the Ottomans comes. But with it brings forth the new challenge of dealing with a new overlord, Austria, who whispers sweet promises on how this time things will be different. Does Erzsébet listen to the voices of her people, who bid her to fight against all tyrants, or does she allow her heart allow her to trust this pleasant stranger?

Nagyharsány, 1687.

 In any other time, it would’ve felt glorious to be back on the battlefield. In any other battle, Hungary would’ve allowed herself a moment to feel the comfort of armor digging into her shoulders, of the scent of metallic filling her nose and the rhythm of her horse’s determined gallop. But this was not just any regular battle. This was one she had been preparing years for, one she had been fighting for in the swampy marshlands with her people once her sovereignty had been cruelly revoked by fish much larger than she. There could be no reveling until the last drop of blood was spilt and freedom was hers.

 She unsheathed her sword and spurred her horse, commanding the beast to hurry faster. There was an opening for her, a break in the Ottoman formation and she would seize it. Her heart longed to be in the very thick of things. She glanced backwards, noting some of the German states mounted in the distance with distaste. Apparently, they had fought a major war not too long ago, one that cost them their lives and their land, hence their reticence to personally shed more blood.

 ‘Fine,’ Erzsébet thought with a sniff. ‘But don’t expect me to be on the frontlines for your battles.’

She dismounted, hopping down with a gracefulness that displayed centuries of experience. War was a familiar dance and she was its master. She slashed and swung and blocked with ease. If she thought about it, she was disappointed about how stale the Ottoman forces had become, how complacent they were in their superiority. There was no mystique in how they fought. Everything was the same as it was when Suleiman whirled into her life in 1521 and stole everything. For a moment, Erzsébet pitied Sadiq for this oversight. But then she remembered the towering palaces, the glimmering riches, and the finest fabrics she’d ever seen and discarded her pity. It would be wasted on the man who believed he had everything.

 As the Ottoman troops thinned out, Germans filled in. Over the clanging of metal, she could hear their shouting in their native tongue. The half of her mind unoccupied with the fight knocked the rust off her German, whirling quickly to translate their cries and commands. She smiled, memories of her childhood rushing to the fore. There was her impish Teuton, threatening a crusade upon all of Eastern Europe and proving useful if paid enough. She remembered him teaching her the throaty sounds of his own language and that of those he’d conquered. There was a new name he went by; he had told her that recently. Prussia, like that of the people he threatened with conversion or death. Distasteful, but she supposed it fit. Erzsébet wondered if he was there among the fray, fighting for her behalf among the rest of his people. A small, foolish part of her hoped he was. She buried it.

 A magnetic force compelled Hungary to look up and her gaze settled on him. There, atop the most gorgeous stallion, was Sadiq. She bristled, gripping her sword tighter in her right hand, and charged. This was the moment, the moment she had long been waiting for. Revenge would be hers, goddammit, brought forth from her will alone.

 “Sadiq!” She yelled his name like a battle cry, commanding his full attention. Underneath his heavy Janissary hat, she saw his face darken with recognition. “Get down and fight like a man, you coward!” For good measure, she swiped at his legs.

 He complied, landing with a thud. Sadiq unsheathed his scimitar, a smirk all the while on his face. “You call me the coward? But you’re the one who’s been fighting us from the bushes all these years.” He lazily beckoned her forward. “I should be the one throwing such accusations around at you.”

 With a grunt, she charged, their swords clanging. She had no words, no taunts, she wished to hurl at him. Hungary only focused on her motions, on countering each of his blows and returning with her own forceful ones. A self-satisfied smirk always emerged when she successfully landed a blow against him. Which, thankfully, was often. This was the best she’d done against him yet. There would be well-earned pride in this victory.

 Too soon, someone stepped in between them. Her irritation prickled the hairs up on the back of her neck. “What are you doing?” She hissed. She would not have what was hers stolen by a usurper.

 A man turned around to face her. He had beautiful violet eyes, glistening like jewels. He was too pretty to be in armor, standing about in such a filthy place as a battlefield. Erzsébet wanted to march him home, back into the palaces he belonged in so the fighting could continue among the rest of the lowly creatures. He smiled at her, polite and apologetic. “Filling in for you. I presume you are Erzsébet?” At her little nod, his smile widened. “Wonderful, we’ve been looking for you. Bayern! Bring her back to camp! I’ll settle this matter.”

 Erzsébet moved to protest, but the mysterious man had already begun sparring with Sadiq. There went her years of hard work, the glory given to another. She scowled, skulking besides whoever this Bayern guy was back to the German camp. He paid her no mind, a fact she was appreciative of. She was too aggrieved to speak and would have been able to only offer him cutting remarks.

 Minutes at the camp seemed to drag on for hours. The medics fussed around her, quickly moving to wrap her cuts and see what could be done about her bruising. Multiple times she had told them it was pointless, that they were wasting crucial supplies better served on another, but they ignored her. All they saw was a woman with mild injuries that needed to be protected from the world, never mind how many Ottomans she cut down on her own.

 Whenever she tried to speak to one of the generals or those that looked like states, she would be brushed aside. All she wanted to know was if they’d won and what this meant for her people. Those, apparently, were answers she wouldn’t be privy to. Hungary bristled at this treatment, especially at how her title was disregarded by them all with such cool indifference. She suspected there was a reason for it, but without knowing why she was lost.

 At long last, the mysterious man reappeared. He materialized before her, as if by thin air. It was startling, but rather flattering that someone, at long last, deemed her important enough to be informed.

 He gave a slight bow, all awkward in his armor that prevented such gentlemanly motions. “I apologize for my earlier rudeness. So lost was I in the thick of things that I forgot to properly introduce myself.” His eyes met hers, held them for a long while. Electricity crackled through her veins and, embarrassed, her cheeks flushed. “I’m Roderich von Edelstein, better known to all the world as Austria. You’ve been quite the woman to find, Hungary. My men have been tearing up the countryside to find you, but your people refused to point them in the proper direction.” His tone was light, gently chiding her as if all this had been a joke both parties were in on.

 Hungary remembered it, all of it. She had heard of her receiving a new king, one elected on the throne, but one that was as foreign as the one from the East. Habsburg, that’s what they called themselves. She’d heard grumblings from her people of tyrannical Catholicism and a willingness to make deals with the devil so long as they gained and the people suffered. She had refused to meet with them until she and her people were liberated. That’s why she stayed, fighting in the marshes until the bitter end, reaching out only to those most devoted nobles.

 Erzsébet tried to piece the reality of what she knew – the horrible realities her people faced, the cruel punishments they endured and fled from – with the man before her now. If all this were true, and it was, then wouldn’t that make him the embodiment of her people’s suffering? That this was another man, another state, for them to fight against now? But this man, Roderich, didn’t he seem too beautiful to be the tyrant responsible? His face seemed so patient, so kind and open. His eyes were shining splendidly in the light, she wanted to dive in and get lost in them.

 “Erzsébet? How are you faring? You’re staring at me with this vacant, dumbstruck expression. It’s rather disconcerting.” Concern furrowed Roderich’s brows, bunched them up tight together.

 “I’m fine! Perfectly fine, I don’t mean to worry you.” Her cheeks burned hot. She averted her eyes to the floor. “There’s a lot to take in, I’m sure you understand.” Composed, she dared to meet his gaze once more. “Please understand that I wasn’t trying to make anyone’s life difficult. I just…had to handle things in such a manner. As for my people, well, you know how they are. They can be a bit protective and always too eager to spurn the authorities on one’s behalf. Isn’t it endearing?”

 “Mm, quite.” There was a dark glimmer of something in his eyes that was gone before she could categorize it. His easy smile returned with her reassurances. “Well, no matter. What counts now is that we’ve found you at last and you’re finally where you belong. Though, that does raise a slew of other issues that certainly require a resolution sooner rather than later. Are you well? I would prefer to handle them before nightfall in the privacy of my tent. Negotiating terms in public lends to all sorts of meddling busybodies and I don’t think we need anyone needling their way into our affairs.”

 Erzsébet nodded, rising. Whatever trifles were in her mind cleared out at the idea of work. These were matters too important for her judgement to be clouded by petty things. “Lead the way.”

 She was impressed with the way the men scattered out of Roderich’s way as they moved. It was different than how her men behaved around her. Where she walked, they congregated to trade stories and jokes with her, seeking approval. It was an after-battle ritual she enjoyed, one where the glory of the living could be praised and the courage of the fallen commemorated. She initially suspected it was a German thing but remembered the Teuton’s behavior with his own men and assumed instead it was a quirk of Roderich’s persona. She understood it. The man seemed too high above it all in a way mortals must find intimidating.

 That Bayern guy appeared again, swooping down to whisper something into Roderich’s ear while casting a glance back at Erzsébet. Whatever it was, it earned him a jabbing elbow to the side as he roared with laughter. Roderich gave him a sharp look of disapproval. “Don’t defile me with such talk. I don’t have to take that from you!” Bayern scampered along, not out of fear from his threats, but from a desire to seek mischief elsewhere. She supposed they were related or, at least, familiar with each other in a way akin to family.

 Inside the tent was majestic. Brilliant silks and fabrics were everywhere. She was stunned by the magnificence and felt shame for her own sparse living arrangements all these years. As Roderich circled around, taking his seat at the desk in the middle of the room, she assessed him. Here was a man who clearly had everything, who spoke and made the world listen. It should’ve been obvious to her before, what, with his strength to take on a foe she had failed multiple times against with her limited resources.

 And, yet. Here he was. Staring at her with a friendly, inviting expression. The man who had everything wanted her – or, really, her cooperation. But it was still a want that she could satiate.

 Apparently, she had not been the only one doing research. “Ah, you’re the observant type? My, I wonder what all it is you’ve seen, what you’ve noticed. Just a glimpse behind your eyes would be satisfying enough, though it could never paint the full truth of your reality.” Gingerly, he rested his chin upon his fist. “My apologies if I’m getting carried overboard. Certainly, you don’t wish for me to ramble about such things. I’ve heard you have questions and I sincerely apologize for the inability to provide you with answers for so long. You understand, we didn’t wish to speak so soon and risk having Fate revoke that which she so freely gave.”

 Erzsébet cursed how he flirted so casually, to the point where she questioned whether he was even aware of the effect of his words. He had to be, she assured herself, he was too intelligent not to be aware of the purpose behind everything he did. Desperate not to be thrown completely off her guard, she latched onto the prospect of discussing business desperately. “Yes! Yes, I had quite a few, actually. I understand not wishing to jinx yourself, but some communication would have been appreciated! I assure you, I’m nothing short of reasonable.” Hungary calmed herself. Airing her grievances to him hardly felt therapeutic. She smiled and exhaled, relieving herself of her tensions. “A simple question first: how did we fare? Are my people free?”

 Austria sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If this is the simple question, I fear what else the lady has in store.” He shook his head slightly, collecting his thoughts. He moved cautiously now, as if he were dealing with a cornered animal. “While this victory has not chased the Ottomans from your lands, it will make expelling them out much easier. I am most confident that it will only take a few more months to have them out completely. Rest assured, while this is not the end, it is the beginning of the end.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, considering his next words. “I’m assuming, despite your absences in areas my men searched, you were never out of the loop, so to speak?”

 “Your assumption is correct.” She turned the full intensity of her eyes upon him. She knew what words would be coming next and how she would have to battle against them now, but she wanted to make saying them before her difficult. It was devoid of malice but derived from a stubbornly defiant nature.

 “Then you’re aware that these lands are, technically speaking, mine?” She nodded her head, slowly. Austria sighed again, this time much more frustrated. “That should answer your question on freedom, though I can only speculate as to how unsatisfying that must be to here. I feel it’s best if I assure you that we only stepped in when chaos began breaking out after the old dynasty disintegrated. And, being so close to our borders, it was unwise to not step forth and make our claim.”

 Hungary nodded her head again. “There’s no need to rehash history to me, Austria. I was witness to it too.” All the warmth had left her words and expression. She crossed her arms over her chest.

 This required a new tactic. Roderich silently went through his options. Settling on the best one, his smile returned, as easy and light as it had previously been. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation, especially after all you had been fighting for, but I promise that this will work better for you.” He leaned forward, trying to convey his earnestness. “The immediate aftermath will be difficult and grueling, as it always is after these sorts of monumental changes. You and your people will need someone there for you to help take the worst of these burdens off your shoulders.” He slowly took her hand in his. He paused and, only when she didn’t offer any opposition, continued speaking. “Erzsébet, allow me to be that person for you. I have resources that will make this transition easier on you and all involved, but I can only do that if you permit me to. I don’t wish to act over you or seem as if I’m denying your autonomy.”  

 Erzsébet stared at his hand in hers. The dual nature of her being argued within her. The voices of her people demanded she yank free from his grasp, to fight, to curse at what little his words meant to their realities. But she was also a woman with her own desires and wishes. Her heart was pounding in her chest, ricocheting against her ribs. Her desires bid her to listen to her foolish heart, trust this man whose gentle demeanor promised no harm would ever come by his hand. He promised friendship and, in her greed, she wanted more.

 Licking her lips, she at last met his eyes and commanded herself to hide the war raging within. Pragmatic. She had to be pragmatic, lest she become a fool. “I’ve heard tales from my people about forced conversions and heavy-handed tactics against those unwilling. I’m not accusing you of personal guilt,” she silently chided herself for mincing her words, so unlike her it was, “but I can only accept your offer if it means that any such improprieties will cease immediately.” She was proud of herself for taking a stand, as weak as it was, and not giving in as freely as she would have.

 That dark glimmer returned in Austria’s eyes, once again gone before she could define it. Contempt? Disgust? Fury? Try as she might, she couldn’t place it. “All of that is part of the bargain. Those orders come from the highest ranks and, naturally, I have the access to prompt a lessening of them.” He opened his mouth before closing it quickly. She wondered what he had meant to say. “Though, I must warn you that nothing is overnight. Unlike the saints, I don’t provide miracles. Trust, specifically your trust in me, will be paramount.”

 Hungary closed her eyes. She supposed this was as good an answer as she could expect. What of it, her trust in him? It shouldn’t exist, she didn’t know what sort of character this Roderich really had. All she had were the instincts of her gut and her heart and what could they really be worth? They had led her to ridiculous things before, brought her worthless pain and agony. Nor was this a matter that purely affected her, it would have ramifications felt far and wide.

 Erzsébet opened her eyes. “My trust is in your hands. But I’m warning you, once lost it can never be rebuilt.”

 Roderich grinned, wide and toothy. The action didn’t seem natural to him. He released her hand with a gentle squeeze. “Fantastic! I can’t emphasize enough how thrilled I am!” He seemed more relaxed now, at ease with all in the world. “With that matter out of the way, is there anything else troubling you?”

 She remembered her earlier curiosity, that which she felt on the battlefield. “Did you bring the support of all the Germans?” Embarrassment filled her immediately. It was a ridiculous question, one she shouldn’t even care about. If Prussia was here, he would’ve found her. He always managed to, regardless of whether she wanted it.

  “All of them? You give half of them too much credit. Most couldn’t be bothered to fight a war within their own borders, much less one this far away.” Austria huffed, momentarily filled with the grievances of centuries past and present. Realizing she cared little for these, Roderich dropped it and picked up a teasing tone instead. “Why the inquiry? Is there a specific Hans, Wilhelm, or Friedrich you’re looking for?”

 “There is someone I’m asking for, but he doesn’t go by any of those names.” Her courage had momentarily returned. Then she met Roderich’s gaze, how warm it was, and all thoughts of the Teuton slipped away. For reasons she didn’t understand, she refused to bring him up in Roderich’s presence for fear of cheapening his attention. “Forget it. I’m sorry, it was a foolish thought. One of those childhood friends best forgotten.”

 Perplexed, Roderich tilted his head to the side. The action seemed so innocent and innocuous. “Are you sure? It’s no hassle, I assure you. And, if he’s not here, all their whereabouts are known to me. Tracking him down would hardly prove difficult.” She resolutely shook her head to which he shrugged, unbothered. “No matter. Some of them are hardly worth remembering. I know I try my hardest to forget a few. Seeing as that’s everything, I can have someone lead you to your chambers for the night. You’ll be attended there in full, no luxury within our humble means denied to you.”

 Relieved, Erzsébet smiled, rising from her seat at the table. “Thank you, I would appreciate that. You tease me with the idea of luxuries! After living how I have, a nice bed safe from danger is the most valuable of them all.”

 While he made the arrangements, she stood back and watched. The swiftness of how everyone jumped at his command had yet to cease amazing her. She considered teaching that in her own troops. But then the easy camaraderie that she treasured too much would be gone. Let them openly question her and view her as a peer, it made their loyalty that much more valuable.

 At last, everything appeared in place. Roderich stood before her and, taking her hand in his, brought it to his lips. “Thank you for being so open to me. I’m sorry to belabor this so much, but I need you to understand that your trust is not misplaced. Rest well. I anxiously await till our next meeting in the morning.”

 Erzsébet’s cheeks burned hot and an easy laugh escaped her. How charming was this little prince! “Know that I’m holding you to your word.” Despite the gravity of her promise, her tone was of airy chiding, flirty in nature. “Till morning, Roderich.” With that, she let herself be led away with eager thoughts about the future playing in her head.

[animalids]

Do you have a favorite animal? Or a few absolute favorites?

Oh boy, get ready, this is gonna be long! Thanks for giving me a reason to just list my favorites! Also, just assume any domestic breed/species is on the list, I love them all, I’ve just highlighted a few that I love a bit more than the rest

Arthropods:

Solifuges - I love all solifuges, but if I had to pick a favorite species it would probably be Metasolpuga picta. They’re big and colorful and day-active. Also really fond of Rhagodidae because they’re just so distinctive!

Tarantulas - Same deal, I love them all (though Poecilotheria scares me a little ;n;). Some of my favorites are Hapalopus and Ceratogyrus, both of which I personally own right now.

Huntsman spiders - My dream pet is Heteropoda lunula and it will probably be the death of me haha

Ticks - If I see people hating an entire species for just living, I immediately fall in love with that species and will defend it till I die. Hate the tick’s bite, don’t hate the tick itself - it’s just an animal surviving the only way it knows how to.

Mosquitoes - Same deal. They’re also exceptionally beautiful.

Serolid isopods - Just... just look them up. Trust me, they won’t disappoint.

Tachinid flies - Especially the spiky ‘hedgehog’ flies and especially Tachina grossa whose Danish name is ‘Harald the Giant Fly’ after zoologist Harald Thamdrup whose student was studying them.

Mammals:

Horses - I’ve never seen a horse I didn’t love. Some of my favorite breeds are Welsh Mountain Ponies, Jutland Horses, Frederiksborgers, Kladrubers,  

Painted wolf - They’re just so photogenic and charismatic

Cats - Have you ever seen a cat? They’re so full of love

Bactrian camels - All camels are great but domestic Bactrians are just so cute and fluffy. They’re honestly my dream pet, and I’m already reading up on their husbandry all the time.

Bovines - All of them. Bison, cattle, gaur, buffalo, yak... Also non-bovines that look like bovines, such as muskoxen and wildebeest.

Moose - They’re so beautiful and look like something straight out of the ice age.

Pigs - They’re so beautiful! Domestic pigs and wild pigs alike. Especially babirusas.

Honestly just artiodactyls in general - Off the top of my pinterest head, these are some of my faves: Takin, serows, tahr, bharal, domestic goats and sheep, okapis, saolas, reindeer, roe deer, marsh deer, Père David’s deer, saiga, lechwe, nilgai, eland, oryx

Baboons - They scare me but I also think they’re beautiful. I can see why early travellers described them as a mix of monkey and dog.

Cuscus - yeah, they look like that

Tree shrew - Grandpa

Birds:

Pheasants - Especially ring-necks. They were everywhere around my childhood home and just make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Turkeys - They’re just beautiful

Peacocks - Chaos incarnate

Chickens - They’re so diverse and good pets! Can you tell by now I love galliform birds?

Pigeons - All of them, but especially feral pigeons and collared doves.

Reptiles:

Slow worms - I have very fond memories of catching these deceptively fast lizards as a kid :’)

Corn snakes - Yet another one of my dream pets. Those morphs!! And they have such a sweet temperament

Phrynocephalus mystaceus - It’s just a really cool agama

Xenodermus javanicus - It’s just a really cool snake

Dwarf caimans - they are baby

Amphibians:

Caecilians - I’m honestly not that interested in amphibians, but caecilians are the exception. They’re so weird, their taxonomy is messy, they look like earthworms but have a skeleton, and their life cycle is a mystery!

Fish:

Sunfish - I don’t like the post that was going around a year or two back about how sunfish have survived by being useless - they’re amazing animals and surprisingly intelligent

Koi fish - Pretty, intelligent, lots of colors, domestic. What’s not to love?

Danish golden trout (guldørred) - A cross between two trout subspecies that was first developed in Denmark. Obligated to mention it because it’s the only fish breed my country has created :’)

Eels - All of them. I’ve never seen an eel I didn’t like.

Non-arthropod invertebrates:

Worms - Annelids are so fascinating! Earthworms, marine worms, parasites, free-living species... they’re so diverse! I have no idea how worm scientists tell species apart. Nematodes (which are actually ecdysozoans, not annelids) are especially mysterious to me. Scale worms are really cool.

Snails and slugs - They’re so cute with their little eye stalks and cute defenseless bodies. I want to protect them all. I have a bunch of Achatina fulica and I love them.

Clams - The most overlooked molluscs and least respected animals we use.

Tardigrades - They look like the love child of a bear and a velvet worm, with a vacuum cleaner for a face.

[eekispyykes]

Mr Sparklepuff Feline Obituary 5.1.2020/Abridged

Mr Puffs 4-2002-  5-1-2020

by Michael Bench

Mr Puffs was an excellent friend and adventurous hiker. He loved to be outdoors. A ferocious mouser ; he did an arc'ing jump on mice and chipmunks from 2 clumps of brush away. The porch frankly stank from all his gifts. An amazing climber and very fast sprinter crossing a square acre in about 3.5sec. Some would ask why he was named as such and close friends know the whole story. A primary point was so people had a good vibe about him and would let him be. In the past two years  he had cancer of the face that spread. He had been treated with surgery to remove the tumor. At a shade over 18yo, he set to rest as every night he was shivvering in normal home temp and couldn't keep weight on; refusing to leave the couch; hating being put in pet clothes/infant flannel.

2017-2020 were tough years for him adjusting to a new stray friend we “adopted” from the wild. They were startingn to get along. It played into the stress.I feel bad about this. it split us up somewhat.  My younger cat was more forceful about claiming me. It weighs on me; Frankly it seemed like a few rape attempts also that difficulted the social cue of ‘normal cat spooning”.. Mr Puffs was able to get out on a van ride of Fogelsville,PA about three months ago. He also gave some love to his plush hedgehog toy. He gave it a consensual drilling every once a while or daily.

What you should know about Mr Puffs:

:My grilling deputy  and trout inspector

:Loved to play the mysterious thing under blanket or newspaper game

:Love to play the mysterious tapping fingers under the many basement stairs game

:Fine taste in music and loved being my karaoke fan. Love you buddy. Not very keen on Tv after Keenan Michael Keys left Animal  Planet's morning show.

:Enjoyed less usual faire like potatoes and adored bbq chicken pizza; he could handle medium wings. He WAS WARNED each time and kept him away from it till it was obvious he wanted it. Honey ham, turkey, .. and salami**. Mind you, he has never been overweight and was complimented by his first vet for muscle tone. It's his compliment to own.

:Enjoyed jumping apartment building gaps while in town: we had to rough it for a month in a storage facility after an unexpected eviction.. which we then would go for walks 1a-3a to get his exercise and water the landscape mulch at 11th street Fred Meyers. There's a little marsh back behind the store that became our little daytime haven.

:His Hiking career started in Eugene, OR. We would go night walking ,w/o a leash and whenever someone was coming he would detour off the sidewalk and into the nearest house’s bushes.. This was optimal because he would get back on the lit sidewalk and learn to keep course. This advanced to 5-7 mile hikes from U Oregon campus to Hendrix park and back. One trip such trip he was panting so he didn’t really want to run away anywhere or into traffic fortunately.. The sun had come out of the cloud cover and heated things up above the usual. We stopped at an icecream place on the way back on the edge of campus: Agate and 19th. Even though he was tired, he was a smart and collected guy. so he slinked to the back of the shop till I came back out..It was like escorting the supermodel of manly cats.  It was at this time I knew leashes or more distant locations were necessary.  

:While we were driving back to Pennsylvania, he decided to have a playfrenzy on the dashboard while I was in heavy traffic nearabouts of Nebraska/Rushmore on the interstate.

:Short story : Since he now had room in the yard to runaround Puffs tested his speed and momentum to get up tree trunks. Our front yard had a medium sized maple oak something. Mr Puffs ran up the tree and alarmed a family of nesting doves. The doves and Mr Puffs seemed to flee the tree foilage each in horizontal directions at about 8ft off the ground.  

:Other than a shoulder injury from a fight of somesort, he was very durable. His parent's owners had coined him 'Jaco” after the famous bass player.. A green -eyed Russian Blue tuxedo, angular white paws.  with little white hairs across his coat. At times I also referred to him as “Cactus Jack”. Massive front incisors like a miniature sabertooth. I pitied the rabbits who he caught which were still squealing.

:Another Short Story. I coaxed my mom to live a little and put that front addition on the house she always wanted. She got an enclosed porch. Theres an open porch on the back of the house also. When the framing was done.. I went out to the backyard to enjoy the night sky, I heard nothing. When I turned around I had two bright eyes scaring me  to the ground. From 9ft, the top of the roof porch he looked at me Apparently Puffs had climbed the 8ft of framing from the work table, crossed the rafters, crossed the whole house roof and decided to voyeur me on the other side of the house. I was very glad he didn't tempt the electric lines whose pole he had tried to climb other days.Stressing moments on me as well.

:Puffs became a pro at taking baths since 2017, and getting nails trimmed at the same time. The trim helped him jump (getting pad purchase)  and helped the furniture too.

:Another quick story. Cats can swim. I took him to go swimming in the creek and that went pretty good the first time. (Must always be on leash. And probably use partially inflated swimmy muscle). He was really comfortable in the water if it was shallow(2.5ft). The problem with the creek is its near a road so don't be near roads even with the leash on.  He was swimming a good crawl in about 4ft.  A fish mustve brushed his foot because he panicked and started jumping out of the water like a bass on a hook. I literally had to swing him in the air (with leash) and onto the shore into some leaves and grass. There's some fault in not being close enough to him to pick him up out of the water directly. He swam pretty good and at range.  To ease that trauma.. (nearly heart attack probably; that went sour) , I let him calm down. At a much shallower area no taller than his knees(5-6”) I set him into the stream without much resentment and just petted him to get him calm.  (He wasn't a lap cat before that either.) At that point the swimming  got shuttered for downhill walks and other casual stuff.

: On similar climbing points.. even till about 2015, he liked to jump the gap from the upright piano top (4ft) to the top of the entertainment center (7.5 ft) plus the hallway gap of  3.5 ft and he was really solid at it. Would stay up there for a while and then jump down onto the sofa table (3 ft tall).. He was always calculating a new feat. When that one item stopped being in his wheelhouse it was clear he was getting bothered/ annoyed and the stress of a cat territory issue wore him down.

If you were to be near him, you'd end up watching him. This statue of a male cat with really long tail. Not lemur-long but really long.. a gray panther. And, maybe you'd try to pet him since he looked inviting. Yet, you wouldn't get much petting done. He'd probably tolerate two brushes and then give your hand a carving with his claws, hiss at you and find a new place to observe the room,  That said, he would cruise the neighborhood looking which apartment I might've visited, slink in and check out how other people decorated. A very dignified personality, sometimes to the point of indignant.  He was  a cat you'd want to clone over and over because he was just that cool on himself. Cloning him was on the slate too until those type of businesses were closed with political force.. He actually inspired a jazz song  (currently in midi form) that I’ve yet to record. I was tore up about his first cancer surgery so I started writing. Hope that will be out soon enuff. I hope this can help you appreciate Mr Puffs. He was buried at a spot he chose. It was nearby a set of brush he would choose to hide in hours near the middle of  hikes.

.. he loved to hide.  Back in Oregon I'd take him  in the van with my mentally handicapped clients. He'd be set loose to get his relaxation in. By the time it was time to leave. he wanted to stay. He hid in bushes and culverts. I learned very quickly that such outings had to be local or I'd be driving back hours to go get him at night or worse. Once I knew that, we'd take rides on the bus to the edges of the bus line and just chill on hills overlooking boating lakes. Fern Ridge Reservoir had a nice pine overlook off Territorial hwy.  He really enjoyed outings and variety. Maybe thats what kept him interested as a matter of longevity. I want to end on that.  He showed me lessons in best intentions and good in the bad.. and murdering all my Egyptian spiny mice within hours of acquiring them and their replacements. Its not like I wouldn't have gotten him a feeder mouse but there were plenty stinking up the walkway as it was. I'm blessed to have spent that month sheltered in a renta-shed with him. It seems the alternative .. without having enough for a pet deposit elsewhere (that moment) was to lower my standards for the landlords daughter and by whatever 'influence' she had. 'evicted us for periodic renovations”. So, eventually we chose instead to leave and he got a brims of fieldmice, chipmunks and forest romping. I hope that was an appreciated choice. He liked city life too. Should you choose to tribute to Mr Puffs, I welcome it. He’d be the type of cat Dos Equis beer would be looking for if he actually drank it.

Hope you’re feeling better, Puffs; BFF