#and cat people act the same about dogs as they do about Lewis - personally he’s just a lot 😂

[super-max-verstappen]

Lewis Hamilton is for people who like dogs

Max Verstappen is for people who like cats

No I will not elaborate

[docholligay]

Chinese Food in The American West

One of the things I frequently come across as a student of the American West* is that people get most of their information from movies and TV and then act like they know things. Wyatt Earp was not a Lawful Good champion who always did his level best even when it was hard to know. (You want Seth Bullock or Bass Reeves). Racism was far more complicated than white vs not white (I’ve talked about this EXTENSIVELY in Strange Empire, so I’m not going to bore you here**). 

And they didn’t just eat steak. In fact, they rarely ate steak. 

Steak as cowboy food isn’t INACCURATE, but it is MODERN. From about the early 1900s on, you had less and less drives and more and more ranchers who were staying put, with less and less hands needed, and so food was grabbed less “on the go.” Cows could be slaughtered and used to feed the family, allowing for more opportunities for things like steak, yes, but also things like chili, a play on sauerbraten, southern-style biscuits. The cattle drives were a real blend of culture and race, and a lot of what we have left as “Western food” owes a great deal to that. 

And if we leave the cattle drives and head into the towns of the American West, as we will today, we find things like oysters, pies, and various things like that. Far more well-heeled than the general expectation. 

I mean, here’s the menu from the Occidental Saloon circa the late 1880s:

Soups

Chicken Giblet and Consumme, with Egg

Fish

Columbia River Salmon, au Beurre Noir

Relieves

Filet a Boeuf, a la Financier

Leg of Lamb, Sauce, Oysters

Cold Meats

Loin of Beef, Loin of Ham, Loin of Pork, Westphalia Ham, Corned Beef, Imported Lunches

Boiled Meats

Leg of Mutton, Ribs of Beef, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Russian River Bacon

Entrees

Pinons a Poulett, aux Champignons

Cream Fricasse of Chicken, Asparagus Points

Lapine Domestique, a la Matire d'Hote

Casserole d'Ritz aux Oeufs, a la Chinoise

Ducks of Mutton, Braze, with Chipoluta Ragout

California Fresh Peach, a la Conde

Roasts

Loin of Beef, Loin of Mutton, Leg of Pork

Apple Sauce, Suckling Pig, with Jelly, Chicken Stuffed Veal

Pastry

Peach, Apple, Plum, and Custard Pies

English Plum Pudding, Hard Sauce, Lemon Flavor

This dinner will be served for 50 cents.

-I got this from the book “Saloons of the Old West” by Erdoes

But none of that is precisely why I’m here, I just can’t stop myself from talking about this, why I’m here is that one of the things I say that often surprises people, is that Chinese food was incredibly common for the, well, common man to eat. There’s very much a conception that we as a non-Chinese American  people did not start eating Chinese food until the 40s and 50s, and its truer that it took longer to catch on in the American East than the West simply as a matter of proximity and choice. 

Not MORE choice but LESS. Part of what made the West so unique, historically, is that the lack of choice and the basic scarcity caused people to work with and patronize people that their general prejudices would have kept them from using back east, because they had CHOICES. But out in the west, less so. There were few choices for a quick, cheap meal on the go. That dinner I just posted above is a lavish affair, and a great deal at approximately $20.00 in today’s money. (Which does not allow for the fact that cost of supplies has gone up and this dinner would most likely be offered for no less than 70 or so today.) 

People desperately wanted something that was cheap and quick, and the other options in the American West were few, far between, and not intensely pleasing. No one had really come up with the sandwich shop as of yet, and in any case, fresh meats and cheeses would have been too difficult for the low-cost supplier. 

ENTER THE CHINESE POPULATION.

If you have read my Strange Empire blogs, I hope you know that Chinese people were a huge presence in the American West, mostly working for the railroad and various mines, but also doing things like laundry, work that was extremely hard but took little in the way of English speaking. They existed in Chinatowns, for a combination of cultural and legal factors, but it’s a misconception that non-Chinese*** people never went to Chinatown. 

People are not new, and it was not unusual for non-Chinese people to use the laundries, tailoring, and other services of Chinatowns while suppressing the rights of Chinese people int he same breath. There were always individual Chinese people any given non-Chinese person liked and did business with. 

In time, they discovered the inherent wisdom of the noodle bowl. 

I don’t mean to suggest that all these early restaurants served was noodle bowls, but that was where it all started. Remember, Italian food had little prominence in America at the this time, as Italian immigration didn’t really get into full swing until the 1870s in America. While there are noodle traditions half of everywhere, and there is nothing new under the sun, what we today would consider a stir-fry bowl was wildly new to most of the non-Chinese folks in the West. That it could be offered up so cheaply, was so filling, and so delicious (more on this later) was a wild revelation. Everyone from simple cowboys (which, fun fact! Was a slur back then!) to mayors were swinging by Chinatowns to try the dishes. 

By the 1920s, chop suey, a fully Chinese American invention derived from the words for “various leftovers” was a hugely popular American food among all sorts. 

Doc, you may ask, was it just that these folks coming through to get medicines or laundry were SO adventurous? Not at all! Chinese restaurants back then actually, in a very short amount of time, realized that their non-Chinese townsfolk were an excellent way to make money as well, and began to adapt and change dishes to better fit the Western palate, leading what we call American Chinese Food today, which is a legitimate foodway I will defend to my death. Unfortunately, none of these menus survive today--the only ones we have are from places in San Francisco, places that were much more posh, and not the subject of this essay. 

There is a scene in Tombstone where Wyatt and his brothers are eating Chinese food, and it’s one of the things people often ask me about, assuming it’s anachronistic. Actually, it isn’t at all--the anachronism is that there’s broccoli in those noodle bowls, which had not yet hit our shores by the time of the OK Corral. Chinese food was a huge hit, Chinese restaurants were doing extremely well, and some Chinese restaurants were even beginning to attempt to print menus in English, with sit down areas, instead of serving simple fare from food carts. 

As the food from these “chow chow houses” grew in popularity, as we can infer from the advertisements of their competitors promising free potatoes with every meal, and other such niceties to entice, there was, as ever there must be, blowback. Anti-Chinese sentiment grew to a fever pitch, and with this came overt pressure for ‘Good Americans” to patronize ‘American restaurants’. The social pressure is actually where we get some of that old racist jargon about Chinese people serving dogs and cats, which people often think was spread by competitors to degrade the Chinese restaurants, which isn’t UNTRUE, but was just as often said sheepishly by someone who couldn’t stop themselves from going and grabbing a noodle bowl or even the American dishes they offered, such as roast chicken or pork chop sandwiches. 

(I won’t comment with anything but an eyeroll on the bullshit of people saying they’re ~allergic to MSG~ okay I’ll believe you when you stop eating processed food, meat, aged cheese) 

It actually kept this type of reputation as being slightly scandalous well into the early 1900s, as being something you ate after the bar, something to be had in the shadows, but it was all for naught, because Chinese food became an important part of American identity. But for all that, no one ever pictures the Lone Ranger chowing down (the American phrase ‘chow’ for food actually comes from these ‘chow chow houses’) on some chop suey, but there’s every reason to believe he would have. American Chinese food is just as American as the Germanically-influenced hamburger. 

(There’s a whole subtopic to go down about Jewish and Chinese communities and Kosher Chinese Food, two marginalized and othered communities coming together, but that’s a WHOLE other topic) 

(Also someone please buy me Chinese food. This shit always makes me so hungry.) 

*The American West is a specific time period, as far as the study of history goes. It covers the period between the end of the Civil War and the New Century, generally, and is, obviously, concerned with the western half of the country. It doesn’t cover stuff like Lewis and Clark (that’s Expansion) or even the Civil War itself, though you cannot possibly hope to study the American West in any level of seriousness without understanding the Civil War. Anyway! I know a lot about America between 1865 and 1900, and am just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous on everything else. Most History nerds are highly specified like this. We’re not as much help to your trivia team as you think.****

**I actually have had little chance to talk about ~European-style xenophobia~ as it played out in the west, because Strange Empire takes a more modern pass at it. But there was a hierarchy of “whiteness” as well, as still largely exists in Europe, land of intentionally clean ethnostates. 

***I use the term “non-Chinese” instead of white because believe it or not, non-white people were not magically free of racism against Chinese people. It was horrific and BASICALLY every non-Chinese person was guilty of it to some level, a wild-ass level of hatred that led to Chinese folks not being able to PURCHASE PROPERTY BY LAW in ENTIRE STATES. Being Chinese or Native in this place and time was your Worst Bet. 

****I actually was on a competitive trivia team, you DO want me.

[lewis-winters]

Hi! i really enjoy your daemon au and i-ve gone and watched the new his dark materials series because of it. i love your take on daemons and was wondering if you have nymore headcanons for the other boys? what's luz's daemon? liptons? how do you pick their names? are there any daemons who Re the same sex as their humans? you dont have to rwply if you dont want to i just wanted to tell you i enjoy your world very much!!

Oh, hi! I’m glad you’re watching the new His Dark Materials adaptation! It’s pretty good, huh?

I do have headcanons for not just most of the boys but for the world itself. Though I also call it His Dark Materials!AU alongside daemon!AU it’s actually more the latter than the former. The only things I carried over into this AU from the original world of His Dark Materials are the existence of daemons, the fact that daemons are made of Dust particles, and the existence of witches. The magisterium or any kind of theocracy doesn’t exist. The authority and the angels also do not carry over. Instead, our own religions exist, but there’s just as much emphasis on spiritualism and mysticism as there is on moralism, which I believe would be the natural development of religion in this world where your soul/daemon, the spiritual aspect of you, is literally there for everybody else to see.

All of the boys have small or medium sized daemons, the biggest probably belonging to that of Ron and Tab, who have an Ocelot daemon and a sheepdog daemon respectively. The reason for this being that small or medium sized daemons are easily carried and they, alongside bird or other kinds of flying daemons, are preferred by the airborne. You still gotta jump out of a perfectly good airplane largely undetected. Can’t do that with an elephant daemon. 

Ok. This got real long so I’m putting the rest under the cut. tw: mentions of death, trauma, and mutilation.

Some of the younger boys’ daemons haven’t settled. Miller, Hashey, Garcia, and Jackson. Hashey and Garcia’s settle in Hageneu. Miller and Jackson never get the chance.

Shifty’s daemon, Myrtle, is a Capybara. But he doesn’t know that. Every time somebody asked him what his daemon was, he’d shrug, say ‘Don’t rightly know,’ then leave it at that. What can he do? Capybara’s aren’t native to Virginia and he’s never been out of Virginia. Webster was the one to tell him that Myrtle was a Capybara because he’d read about them in a book somewhere that one time. Myrtle was startled by this and said; “I thought I was some kind of dog!” that was one of the few times she ever spoke out-loud during the whole war.

As I’ve said before in this post, Lew’s daemon is a chameleon named Amalthea. For all of the events of episode 9, Lew kept her in his pocket and that scared almost everybody shitless, because it made it seem like he was walking around without a daemon. The replacements assigned to them around that time, like O’Keefe, thought he didn’t have a soul. He never bothered to correct them because that meant letting Amalthea out, and the idea of her being in the open and vulnerable made him especially ill. He’d rather people thought he was soulless than allow himself and Amalthea to get hurt again. Which is so Lewis.

Skip has a hummingbird daemon named Ilaria, which is a name that means happiness and joy. This daemon-human duo wasn’t hard for me to figure out. It just fits.

Malarkey’s daemon is an artic hare with a summer coat named Felis. She’s settled, but after Foy and after losing Skip and Alex and Buck, she changes again. Subtlely, of course, and not wholely. She stays an artic hare, but instead of a summer coat, she permanently has a winter coat.

It’s not uncommon in this world for your daemon to change after severe trauma. I bet as the field of psychology expands, so does the understanding of trauma’s effects on the soul expand. There’s many studies on the changing of once settled daemons in relation to soldiers’ PTSD.

Buck’s daemon, a male bald eagle named Romulus, changes entirely. Still a bird, but instead of an eagle, he turns into a snowy owl. Before the war, he was a chatty daemon. After, he barely speaks and only does so to Buck and, very rarely, to those close to them.

Eugene Sledge’s male daemon, Daecon goes from a blood hound and gets turned into a Luzon bleeding heart-- which, I know is on the nose but it’s just. It’s such a cool bird, ya’ll. I’ve seen one up-close and ever since that day, I have not known any peace. The shift would be painful and would happen very slowly. It was actually horrific and was a trauma in and of itself. That was the last time they ever changed, though.

I also headcanon that the longer you’ve been settled, the harder and more painful the shift.

Merriell Shelton’s daemon settles in Gloucester. Into what, I’m not sure yet, but a part of me thinks she’s settled into some kind of big cat from the rain forests. Either a cloud leopard or a jaguar. Her name’s Charlotte but he calls her Lottie. Don’t ask me why. It just fits.

That being said, I have some Thoughts about people with big cat daemons. They’re usually aloof. Like, they make a very impactful first impression but they’re mostly solitary individuals who are weird af and difficult to get to know. It takes a really special person to tame a human with a big cat daemon. Once you earn their trust, that’s for life. They’re also really self-assured and are very secure in their sense of self. There is almost little to no tension between big cat daemons and their humans, and if there is, it gets explosive.

Ron Speirs has a big cat daemon, a female Ocelot named Aurele. She never talks, not even to Ron. They have this silent gaze/telepathy going on. Ron also takes on a couple of animalistic traits because of it. They could also... stretch their bond really far? Which is scary as fuck. People think he’s the son of a witch who, in her desperation to make him immortal, made him go through the ritual that allows a witch and her daemon to part for long periods of time and great distances. This is not true. Ron and Aurele just have really high pain tolerance.

Eugene Roe, on the other hand, is the son of a witch. His maman, however, did not make him go through the ritual because he’s not her first son. She knows the pain of outliving her sons well. She loves him all the same but understands that he will die well before her. Eugene’s daemon is a male kinkajou named Louis. Which is both a surprise and also not. For much of the war there’s a lot of tension there. Louis craves connection with others, Roe needs isolation to keep their sanity. It kind of turns into this thing where, if you wanted to comfort Roe or be close to him, you’d have to go through his daemon instead.

Babe’s daemon is a squirrel. A very chatty female russian squirrel named Abigail. They talk to each other a lot, and Abby talks to other people a lot too. Sometimes, she even answers in lieu of Babe. They’re both very blunt and very out there, no hiding with Babe and Abby. It used to get them into a lot of trouble with the nuns at school, who believed that daemons are only meant to be seen and not heard. A+ Catholic repression.

George’s daemon was a little tricky to me. I know his daemon is female and that her name is Thalia. I also know that she can fly. My first thought was: Parrot, either a hyacinth macaw or a white cockatoo. But, I also really like the idea of George having a Butterfly daemon. Particularly one that looks like a leaf when her wings are folded up but is brilliantly jewel toned when she opens them. In the end, I opted for George entering the army, having not settled just yet, and he and Thalia are this kind of double-act, where she shifts into whatever form is necessary for the punchline of the joke. She only settles into a parrot (idk still what kind) after their first jump and all the excitement in Carentan. A gradual thing. They don’t even notice until just before the jump in Holland. When they miss someone, Thalia will mimic that person’s voice. First, it was George’s mama and the voice of her daemon, both speaking in rapid fire portugese. Later on, in Austria, Thalia starts imitating all the friends they’ve lost. Sometimes she’ll sound like Skip. Other times, she’ll sound like Bill. It takes a very long time for her to break this habit. To the point wherein she and George don’t even remember what her real voice sounds like.

Lip’s daemon settled really early and is a female Bonobo named Jane. Has been since he was ten and made man of the house. This, like Skip and Ilaria, was very easy for me to figure out.

Dick’s daemon is a Caracara raptor bird. I’m still figuring out the specifics so she doesn’t have a name yet. Sorry.

As mentioned, Tab has a sheepdog daemon named Marisa who enjoys keeping him and everybody else in check. Have you met a sheepdog? They will literally herd you. It doesn’t matter if you are not a lamb or a sheep. They will nip at your heels until you go where they want to go. That’s Marisa. She’ll nip at Tab’s heels, she’ll nip at everybody else’s heels. If you are going somewhere she does not want you to go she will make sure you know her displeasure. 

It is also super funny when she looks Tab in the eye and goes “Down, boy.” It never fails to make Tab go red and make everybody else laugh. 

Harry’s daemon-- and don’t get mad at me-- but Harry’s daemon is a Scottish Terrier named Saoirse. He carries her around strapped to his chest during jumps. It’s fucking cute. Don’t say that to their faces though because they will lose all respect for you. It’s a daemon suited more to a teacher than it is to a soldier, that’s for sure.

Bill’s daemon is a pit-bull named Darla. Scary looking one, too, with a very bawdy sense of humor. She will growl at you and pretend to bite and you will be very scared but she only does it as a joke. She’s honestly really cool. When Bill and Babe are walking around together, Abby likes to perch on top of Darla’s head. It’s adorable. Sometimes, when Abby gets too much, Darla carries her around in her mouth. It’s still cute. But only to them, everybody else finds it vaguely horrifying.

I know there’s this taboo of humans not touching other humans’ daemons but it’s kinda difficult in such close-quarters like theirs. It is also heavily implied in the original text of Philip Pullman, that the no-touching thing is a cultural thing. Like, I think in religions that deal a lot in repression like Catholicism or Protestantism, the touching of another’s daemon is a no-no and is only reserved for the most intimate of relations (i.e. marriage). But I feel like religions such as Judaism, Wiccan, Paganism, or even some branches of Folk-Catholicism encourage touch/celebrate that connection between two humans. Neither of these two beliefs are wrong, of course. It’s just a cultural thing and they carry with them both pros and cons.

I bet Lieb grew up very used to his daemon being touched by his mother and father or older siblings. It’s not taboo to him, though he recognizes that it’s taboo to others. He doesn’t get it though, and is constantly rolling his eyes every time somebody gasps when they accidentally touch someone’s daemon.

A lot of the boys just kinda ignore the touching daemons thing until they get used to it.

I’m not sure what Lieb’s daemon is or what her name is, too. I know she’s a social kind of daemon-- not solitary like a big cat or a reptile (like snakes). I thought maybe a wolf, but a wolf daemon is too... large and there are a lot of connotations attached to it. I think Lieb’s daemon is something medium-sized and unassuming. Not a dog. Not a domestic cat either. A part of me thinks flightless bird, but no. Not that either. Give me time. I’ll figure her out. As of now, I’m thinking either a marsupial or a canidae/fox but not quite. She’s a mammal, that much I know. Just don’t know what kind.

Grant’s daemon is a male domestic cat named Saladin. He’s either an Abyssinian or a Bengal. Either way, he’s really cool. Like super cool. They’re both super duper cool.

And... that’s kinda it. That’s all I have for now. I’m really sorry it got so long, anon. I get really excited when talking about daemons. It’s character study but with animals! Thank you for giving me this opportunity to ramble. This is where I leave you.

[ccsthemovie2]

Character-Clow Reed

(avril lavingne voice) WHYD YOU HAVE TO GO AND MAKE THINGS SO CLOWMPLICATEEEED I SEE THE WAY YOURE ACTING LIKE YOURE SOMEBODY ELSE GETS ME FRUSTRATED- ok jokes aside LETS GOOOOO 

Why I like them:

for all my angry yelling and kicking and complaining you may be surprised to learn that clow(riol) is one of my favorite parts of ccs! 

i think that having the Mystery and Legend of a long-dead wizard that hangs over sakura’s head at the start get light shed on it more and more so that we can see he’s just a person makes the world of ccs feel small and personal. it really stabilizes the heart of the series, what i love most about ccs- that it’s a story about individuals and the choices they make. the magic itself all traces back to one man and the way he felt it was right to act and to treat other people. i think he’s a fascinating character and a very very good choice of central figure.

Why I don’t:

THAT SAID, AAAAAGHHHHH HE IS HORRIBLE HE IS JUST A TERRIBLE LITTLE MAN I HATE HIM I HATE HIM SOOOO MUCH. even putting aside everything he* pulls as eriol, just the things he does as clow reed make me SO upset....LYING ABOUT HIS DEATH??? ELABORATE SETUP TO PRETEND KERO AND YUE HAVE A CHOICE IN THE MATTER OF CHOOSING THE NEW CARD MASTER BUT ACTUALLY KNOWING ALL ALONG AND HAVING A SPECIAL MAGIC ITEM MADE TO SEE THAT IT GETS DONE??? BREEZING INTO A TOWN TO STEAL A FORTUNE TELLER’S BUSINESS, GETTING HER NICE AND KATE BEATON NEMESIS.PNG’D, AND THEN IGNORING HER FOREVER??? it’s bad!! *(it’s complicated,) ive said this jokingly before but i think he just doesnt even think about other people having agency, that he’s not trampling but Guiding and Helping. i think part of his controlfreakiness is also a deep fear that he’s not enough, that he can’t keep a friend on his own merits so he’s gotta get his claws sunk in as much as possible, whether by emotionally living rent free in people’s heads or magical dependance. and that’s not a uniquely horrible belief, yknow, i think it’s very human and normal, but the problem is no one can criticize him. not with the amount of control he has over the people he surrounds himself with, the fact that he can physically shut down kero and yue any time he likes, etc. it’s not that power inherently Makes You Evil, it’s that power made it harder for people to say “hey stop that”, and if no ones telling him to stop then he must be doing fine!

Favorite episode (scene if movie):

GENUINE TIE BETWEEN THE BACK TO THE PAST EP OF THE ANIME AND THE SAKURA SEES THE TRUTH SCENE IN MANGA. i think both of them are great- the tightly controlled dreamy guided tour where she sees just what he wants her to see, AND sakura outpowering him and seeing the reality of his lies. in the manga when sakura sees him gives gentle headkisses to kero and yue before putting them to bed and eriol+fujitaka-ing i go AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ....... THEY LOVE SOMEONE WHO IS TERRIBLE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUU MY HEART. i headcanon that’s when he mind-messed with them, too, i think he had to touch them to do it and that was how.

Favorite season/movie:

bold answer but im going to say the implications left behind in the clow card arc of Why Do Cards Act Like That/Have Those Specialties. what about clow made him want to make a voice-stealing card, a small-object-moving-card, a body-swap card, etc? it’s good questions.

Favorite line:

in the mokona book when they say he said dogs dont have owners they have housemates, bc that explains SOOOOO much abt him and how he treated kero and yue lololol. if you think being a pet owner and a roomate are the same you’re gonna treat your roomates, uhhhm, bad.

also if eriol counts its him in the wonderland ep like YOU DONT KNOW IF IM NOT THE KINDA PERSON TO PRETEND TO BE A CAT and I THINK YOU AND LI ARE SO DUMB I HAVE TO BITE MY TONGUE CONSTANTLY TO NOT INSULT YOU and BUT I CANT ACT LIKE THIS OR KERO AND YUE WILL KNOW IM CLOW. so like. was clow just like that then.

Favorite outfit:

uh his regular clothes are cool. theres an illustration on him in this cool coat with like a sun pin on it too. whenever i draw him in something frilly i have a huge brain. cant deny the guy has style and aesthetics. sakura’s first staff, look at it!! the style it has!!! 

OTP: 

im neutral-positive on clowyuuko cuz i havent holic’d since high school. you can refer to the answer i gave abt yue for clowyue thoughts (tl;dr: [touches ground] “something terrible happened here” ). madoushi is just kate beaton nemesis comic. 

i think it would be funny if albus dumbledore was his ex.

Brotp 

yuuko again i guess? and him and all his creations. headcanon territory even though that’s actually the next question but you asked for my thoughts so here they are: i think of him as trying to be a sort of fun camp counselor or teacher type for kero+yue and the cards- specifically a role with an authority behind it, but without the same sort of responsibility that a parent would have. or, i guess, lacking an unconditional love, always an undertone of you having to prove yourself. someone who you go to to learn from, but if he likes can also go “no no im just like you, now let’s have fun!”. it’s hard to explain, but there’s a difference. 

what i’m trying to get at here is i think it’s significant that the only creations he has that we see him truly ‘raise’, (going by the info+lack of it we have, anyway, i fill in the blank for myself that kero and yue and the cards all showed up full of knowledge, fully formed, CLAMP DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!), were the mokonas, with yuuko. it was another person’s influence that brought a parental attitude in, it’s not something he ever wanted to be. there’s also a healthy dose of “yue textually had a crush on clow and i will not, no way, let you make that any more unfortunate than that already is”, i’ll admit, but i think that’s just a puzzle piece of the whole theory here. i think it would also be funny if he knew people like tolkein (eriol’s a tolkeinverse name if i remember correctly) and c.s. lewis (side note, i find the fact that clow is an actively practicing christian really funny), but i dont want to think too deeply about that sort of realworld mix, yknow.

Head Canon: 

i think pranks were highly encouraged in his house and none of the clow cards are being intentionally destructive, just acting in ways that were totally normal at home, and are genuinely shocked to learn that people will get seriously injured without clow there to cushion their damage.

Unpopular opinion: 

evil

A wish: 

i wanna know what his pre-story days were like, his life with the cards, his life BEFORE the cards,

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: 

^ same the above but i find it out from clamp

5 words to best describe them:

did you know? clow sucks

My nickname for them: 

clown, :kingboo: (discord emoji of him with a 🚫 over it), “the bastard jester himself” (which is, or at least was, in comedian-podcaster stephen buckleys twitter bio and i think it abt clow frequently, sorry stephen buckley), king of living rent free in people’s heads

[ginnyzero]

Writing Breathable Moments; What/Why

I’ve mentioned “breathable/ma/quiet” moments in the past and how the Dawn Warrior has very little of them and the Lone Prospect is chock full of them. But I don’t believe I’ve ever explained what that means.

So, what are “breathable/ma/quiet” moments? Is it anything like breathable cotton?

No. Not really.

Breathable moments in your manuscript are moments of rest for the reader. In the Japanese, this is called “ma.” Miyazaki explains these moments as being extra. They are the rests between action. It’s the backgrounds, the sighs, the little moments in time between beats in the story that convey time, space and who the character is.

Not everyone is a fan of these types of moments. They feel that the ‘breathing’ room in the story slows it down and delays the action. That these scenes have no purpose and need to be cut out entirely. This is a very Western and very modern contemporary type of thinking where everything is about speed and the bottom line and cutting things “to the bone.”

Books of all types have been reduced to pulp fiction penny dreadfuls rather than Dumas or Dickens who were paid by the word and so they really bloated their works to get more money. Then there is the High Fantasy Tolkien approach where the breathable space in the story is Tolkien either giving backstory like in the Ents or describing massive amounts of scenery. Or, there is the Brian Jacques approach where breathable moments are describing epic feasts and putting in funny songs.

Whether or not you find these moments of rest important really depends on your style of writing. How much do you care about character and relationship development? How much do you care about relaying the background and history of your world? How important is describing the setting of your story? Is there something going on in the culture of your people that’s important enough to show it rather than to summarize it?

Because breathable moments, the quiet moments are about showing the intimate details of your characters, your setting, and your world building. Depending on what your goal is for your story is going to necessitate whether or not you have these breathable moments in your work.

Tolkien was trying to write a history. He wasn’t telling an adventure tale. He was relaying/translating a historical document. It was important to him to tell the history of the world, of the Ents, and to expound upon the landscapes. Whereas, his contemporary, Lewis was writing an allegory for children about the Christian life. To him, the story was more important than the details and history of the world. So much so, that he only included tiny bits of history that were important in the Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was only later in other books that we found out more about, say Jadis, and where she came from.

Are you a Tolkien or are you a Lewis?

Both types of storytelling are valid! It’s up to you as an author to decide how fast you want the action beats to proceed. Your story can be tight and fast and like an action movie in words. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Or your story can still be tight but punctuated with moments for viewers to relax. This could be more drama or art house or well, Spirited Away. Bang. Pause. Bang. Long Breathe. Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang. Bang. End. Or, the plot of your story can be conveyed with mostly breathable moments leading up to the final action. This is more maybe an adventure story or a thriller story type of set up. Maybe even horror.

Let me use different Urban Fantasy writers as examples. Kim Harrison and Patty Briggs have very little breathing room in their books. Patty Briggs writes books at about 110K words and Kim Harrison’s Hollow Series clocked in between 150K and 165K words. Kim Harrison usually put her biggest breathing moments at end of the book. Patty has a bad habit of even turning dates into major action sequences and cuts off any breathing before it really begins. Breathing room is more like a punch line. Most urban fantasy writers including Seanan Maguire, Faith Hunter, Jennifer Estep and Cassie Alexander all fall into the category (plus a few others I’ve read.) We are told these characters have friends and hobbies and lives outside of their job, but we’re never really given a chance to see them do more than ‘finger their shell collection.’ (I think that’s a Cat Adams example.) We “know” the characters, but at the same time, we don’t because we’re never given that breathing space where they aren’t about to be pushed off the edge of a volcano all the time. It’s all quips and punches but no long walks on the beach and banter with their friends.

Jim Butcher puts a moderate amount of breathing room in his books. Whether or not this is a good thing is debatable. Harry Dresden’s investigations don’t always involve a lot of explosions right off the bat. He is a private eye and this does involve some tedious things like “talking to people.” Harry isn’t completely without friends. He just tends to avoid them for months at a time until he’s got three days to save the world and then suddenly he needs them again. But at least we know that Harry walks his dog and spends time playing DnD with the Werewolves. Because we see it. Laurell K. Hamilton also has a moderate amount of breathing room in her books. Most of it is taken up with sex! Rachel Caine is also a good example. Occasionally, she drives her car real fast, manages to get a tan, and goes shopping.

The urban fantasy/dark fantasy writer with the most breathing room that I’ve read is Anne Bishop. Anne Bishop makes the characters and their relationships the heart of her story and the plot is moved forward more by what the characters do rather than outside forces acting whether the characters like it or not. For instance, in the Others series, the main character runs away and the villains are trying to reclaim her. She is learning how to live life as a normal person and hold down a job interacting with species that are in no way human. And these non-human creatures (who can look human) do everything they can to protect her and that is the story. So, there are long stretches of the book that is her learning her limits and how to do things like drive a golf cart. The characters and the culture is what makes the story enthralling. (And, yeah, you don’t want her to go back to the villains either. You’re rooting for her to remain free.)

You as a reader or writer have to decide what category you fit into. I’m more of a Jim Butcher/Anne Bishop preference type of reader/writer. I liked Kim Harrison well enough because there was enough words put into the book that I could sink my teeth into the world even if there wasn’t a lot of quiet moments. It was the fact the character never seemed to learn anything and became super special important that put me off The Hollows Series.

Now, back to my own books. In the Dawn Series, there isn’t a lot of breathable moments. I have Roxana and Marcellus go on a date. There is some teasing all around and at the end I have a wedding because there has to be a wedding. (Is it Roxana and Marcellus? I’m not telling you!) But honestly, the book goes from one action beat to the next with very little pause. It’s not a history. It’s an adventure story about a Princess trying to evade her curse. It doesn’t need a lot of history or explaining or paragraphs of ogling the scenery. None of that is important.

On the other hand, Tales of the Heaven’s Heathens MC, while not a history, I’m trying to write about a culture. It’s a mix of biker culture and in this case werewolf culture. I created a werewolf society that lives within the veil hiding from the greater human society. They don’t necessarily think like humans or act like humans completely. I want to show this instead of telling it. The characters also take jobs, security jobs, and they can either step aside and let things happen or they can take action doing something about it. The books are very character driven in this aspect.

For instance, in the upcoming book, I have a chapter or so where Savannah takes Gideon shopping. Now, I could just say that Gideon hates clothes shopping and be done with it. But Jasper is “special” and they don’t have department stores, so Savannah is being nice and taking him to where he needs to go to buy clothes. But that’s still not the point of the scene, the point of the scene is to compare and contrast Savannah and Gideon and their werewolf states of mind. I want to show the difference in how they’re handling being attracted to each other and resisting it. It’s part of the romance aspect of the book.

But for many people, many writers that type of scene would be redundant and be edited out because it has nothing to do with the main story of smugglers invading the Heathen’s territory. I agree. It doesn’t have much to do with that at all, except getting Gideon to look like a villain in leather pants.

Sometimes a girl just needs a boy to be in leather pants.

To me, the meat of the story in Heathen’s isn’t the explosions. It’s not the gun fights or car chases. It’s the people. It’s the families. It’s showing the relationships and how they work together for the good of the pack while still managing to have disagreements. (And it’s not as easy to write as you’d think because I’m going against years of ingrained prejudices about emotional labor. And I’m not a werewolf, I’m a human. I have to reorient my thoughts.)

It's also set in a future where the world has been reshaped by a war. The town they live in was built after the war to very specific codes. Eventually, we'll go to a huge city and I'll describe that too. That's breathable moments.

There are lots of readers (and publishers and agents) that really love books that are 100% action all of the time. They want books that are plot driven where the character is an afterthought rather than the instigator of the action. Which is fine. I get it. At the same time, there are those readers who like authors like Butcher and Bishop who put more ‘breathing’ space into their works. I think there is plenty of room for both.

[enkelimagnus]

One For Each Night

Gen, Family, 1145 words

The family meets up at a coffee shop to discuss something very important: Madzie's First Hanukkah with the Lightwood-Loss-Lewis tribe.

Read on AO3

The coffee shop the family frequents often is fuller than usual as they take their orders and get ready for their little gathering. It makes sense. Christmas time is around the corner. The neighborhood is not very Christmas-y, with quite few decorations and none of the constant carolling. There are several giant menorot in front of different synagogues and shuls though.

Clary is glad that this area allows a certain relief from the intensity of Christian hegemony in December.

“Have you guys started planning for gifts yet?” Clary asks as she sits down at her favorite chair in the entire coffee shop. It is leathery and a bit broken in, sitting around a bigger round coffee table.

“I know Clary and I are getting the Fairchild family menorah from Luke and mom,” Izzy points out. “Since we recently got married, and just started a home together.” She leans back against the chair. Clary watches her, with the burgundy tichel. It’s Friday, tonight’s Shabbat, and Clary and Izzy have decided they were covering their hair on Fridays, Shabbat and holidays. Clary’s own tichel is the same orange at her hair today.

“I doubt they’ll give it to you after candle-lighting time.”

Alec hums, grabbing chairs for him and Magnus at the table. “We don’t do gifts in December holidays, we’re Jews,” he points out. “We think about our oppression, light candles and eat our weight in oily food.” He sits down as well and Magnus places his coffee cup in front of him.

Catarina sighs as she sits down as well. “Madzie. She wants gifts and she’s too young to understand. Besides, we adopted her from gentiles.”

“So it’s Hanukkah gifts from everyone,” Dot adds. “We texted all of you that right at the end of Sukkot.”

Alec apologizes quietly, and stirs his sugar and milk-less coffee.

Lydia hums. “Too bad. I was looking forward to my first Christmas season without the crazy rush for gifts,” she chuckles. Jace reaches over and takes her hand. He does that every time that she talks about converting in one way or another. The love that radiates from him when he looks at her is something that Clary hadn’t seen on him before he met Lydia.

“So what kind of gifts are we getting?” Maia asks. “Small, big, practical, decorative…”

“Well, traditionally, it’s supposed to be small and simple,” Magnus points out. “Since it’s only for the children, and is supposed to be about family and tradition and being fiercely and deeply Jewish.”

Izzy chuckles. “We get it, you’re a Rabbi now,” she teases, and Magnus smiles. He has been a rabbi for a few months now, being awarded semikhah at the end of the last year, around August.

“We’re still doing the family help day at the soup kitchen on the 26th,” Alec reminds. “And then there’s the usual dreidel and gelt. Maybe we could get Madzie a new dreidel? Her own?”

Maia hums. “Does she have Shmelf the Hanukkah Elf yet?” She asks Catarina and Dot. “I’ve heard that it was good for gentile children who need to understand Hanukkah, I think it could be fun for her to have it.”

Catarina shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t have it, and I think it’s a great idea.”

“We’ll get everyone Hanukkah pjs,” Lydia declares. “Fun, blue, and really comfy, so we can wear them and spend some good time. So that makes three gifts for Madzie. How many are we doing?”

“Eight, obviously,” Simon chuckles. “Eight nights, eight gifts, that’s how it usually works for the kids.”

“I had only one, when I was growing up,” Maia retorts. “First night of Hanukkah, every year. My gentile friends were jealous because I would get my ‘Christmas presents’ before them.”

The group chuckles. Izzy, ever studious, grabs her phone and starts typing the list. Clary sips at her coffee. A couple of tourists stare at the bunch of them, sitting around the table, Simon, Jace, Alec and Magnus wearing kippot, Clary and Izzy with their tichels and Catarina with her head wrap.

Clary rolls her eyes. This is a Jewish neighborhood. And they aren’t dressed like the more orthodox can be. Clary and her mom used to rent an apartment in a Hasidic-majority neighborhood, where a kippah or a tichel were the minimum requirement.

But gentiles will always be surprised at the existence of Jewish people, she finds. Izzy and her have gotten comments already, for their marriage or their appearance, comments about the fact they ‘didn’t look’ or ‘act’ like Jews.

“Since we’re doing the soup kitchen, I think we should not have any gift on that night,” Dot points out, her thumb caressing her wife’s hand on the table. “We’ll explain to her what helping means, and tzedakah.”

Magnus nods. “That’s good, Dot. It’s healthy to teach her that even in our times of holiday and cheer, we must think about the less fortunate than us.”

“I saw one of those Mensch on a Bensch plushies the other day,” Clary mentions. “It was a puppy with dreidel-shaped spots. That works, right?”

Cat smiles. “She loves dogs. Almost as much as she loves dolphins.”

“Could we get her some aquarium tickets, for her and the two of you?” Alec asks. “Or we can tell Mom and Luke to take care of that?”

“I think she would love it,” Cat and Dot agree. “I think we’ll get her a fancy scarf. She loves those.”

Lydia hums. She seems lost in thought and Clary raises an eyebrow. She used to have a little bit of trouble with Lydia, but she cannot think of someone better for Jace anymore. She’s grown as a person, and she makes Jace incredibly happy. That’s all Clary can ask for.

“I think…” Lydia starts, then pauses. “For the last gift…” She seems to hesitate a little. “Madzie was adopted recently… And in a way, so was I.” They all chuckle at the comparison. “I was incredibly thankful for the family I found, and I’m sure that she feels the same way. Maybe we could get her a family album photo? One of those fuzzy ones, made for kids. With scratches and cute colors.”

They fall silent a little. The idea is adorable. Even if Madzie is very young and doesn’t really realize it, she has a big family that loves her and is never going to let her go now. Cat and Dot were lucky to find and love such an adorable little girl, and everyone around the table is happy for the family that was created less than a year ago, when they adopted her.

“That would be… a wonderful idea,” Catarina admits. They don’t say anything, but they see the tears in Cat’s and Dot’s eyes as they switch away from the conversation and towards who is hosting next week’s Shabbat, during Hanukkah.

[colascriptura]

A Christmas Sermon For Pagans (C.S. Lewis)

Somewhere in the mid- to late-1940s, C.S. Lewis wrote "A Christmas Sermon For Pagans", which was rediscovered in 2017. The number of copies on the internet is currently zero, as far as I can tell. However, by extremely guerilla means, I have obtained the following copy (though I don't know if it's complete) which I now present to you for your edification and enlightenment...

A Christmas Sermon For Pagans

When I was asked to write a Christmas sermon for pagans, I accepted the job light-heartedly enough, but now that I sit down to tackle it, I discover a difficulty: are there any pagans in England for me to write to? I know that people keep on telling us that this country is relapsing into paganism; but they only mean that it is ceasing to be Christian, and is that at all the same thing?

Let us remember what a pagan or heathen (I use the words interchangably) really was. A heathen was a man who lived out on the heath, out in the wilds. A pagan was a man who lived in a "pagus" or small village. Both words in fact meant a rustic or yokel. They date from the time when the larger towns of the Roman Empire were already Christianised, but the old nature religions still lingered in the country. Pagans or heathens were the backward people in the remote districts who had not yet been converted, who were still pre-Christians. To say that modern people who have drifted away from Christianity are pagans is to suggest that a post-Christian man is the same as a pre-Christian man. But that is like thinking that a woman who has lost her husband is the same sort of person as an unmarried girl. Or that a street where the houses have been knocked down is the same as a field where no house has yet been built.

The ruined street and the unbuilt field are alike in one respect, namely that neither will keep you dry if it rains, but they are different in every other respect: rubble, dust, broken bottles, old bedsteads, and stray cats are very different from grass, thyme, clover, buttercups, and the lark singing overhead.

The real pagan differed from the post-Christian in the following ways. Firstly, he was religious. From the Christian point of view, he was indeed too religious by half. He was full of reverence. For him the earth was holy, the woods and waters were alive. His agriculture was a ritual as well as a technique. And secondly, he believed in what we now call "an objective right and wrong". That is, he thought the distinction between pious and impious acts was something that existed independently of human opinions: something like the multiplication table, which man had not invented, but had found to be true, and which he had better take notice of. The gods would punish him if he did not.

To be sure, by Christian standards his list of right and wrong acts was rather a muddled one. He thought (and the Christians agreed) that the gods would punish him for setting the dogs on a beggar who came to his door, or for striking his father. But he also thought they would punish him for turning his face to the wrong point of the compass when he began ploughing. Though his code included some fantastic sins and duties, it got in most of the real ones.

This leads us to the third great difference between a pagan and a post-Christian man. Believing in a real right and wrong means finding out that you are not very good. The pagan code may have been on some points a low one, but it was too high for the pagan to live up to. Hence a pagan, though in many ways merrier than a modern, had a deep sadness. When he asked himself what was wrong with the world, he did not immediately reply "the social system" or "our allies" or "education". It occurred to him that he -- himself -- might be one of the things that was wrong with the world. He knew he had sinned. And the terrible thing was he thought the gods made no difference between voluntary and involuntary sins. You might get into their bad books by mere accident. And once in, it was very hard to get out of them. The pagan dealt with this situation in a rather silly way. His religion was a mass of ceremonies, sacrifices, purifications, et cetera, which were supposed to take away guilt, but they never quite succeeded. His conscience was not at ease.

Now, the post-Christian view which is gradually coming into existence (it is complete already in some people, and still incomplete in others) is quite different. According to it, nature is not a living thing to be reverenced. It is a kind of machine for us to exploit. There is no objective right or wrong. Each race or class can invent its own code or ideology just as it pleases. And whatever may be amiss with the world, it is certainly not we the ordinary people. It is up to God, if after all he should happen to exist, or to government, or to education, to give us what we want. They are the shop, we are the customer, and the customer is always right.

Now if the post-Christian view is the correct one then we have indeed woken from a nightmare. The old fear, the old reverence, the old restraints... how delightful to have woken up into freedom, to be responsible to no one, to be utterly and absolutely our own masters! We have, of course, lost some fun. A universe of colourless electrons (which is presently going to run down and annihilate all organic life everywhere and forever) is, perhaps, a little dreary compared with the earth-mother and the sky-father, the wood nymphs and the water nymphs, chaste Diana riding the night sky and homely Vesta flickering on the hearth. But one can't have everything, and there are always the flicks and the radio: if the new view is correct, it has very solid advantages.

But is it? And if so, why are things not going better? What do you make of the present threat of world famine? We know now it is not entirely due to the war. From country after country comes the same story of failing harvests. Even the whales have less oil. Can it be that nature, or something behind nature, is not simply a machine that we can do what we like with? That she is hitting back? Waive the point. Suppose she is only a machine, and that we are free to master her at our pleasure. Have you not begun to see that man's conquest of nature is really man's conquest of man? That every power wrested from nature is used by some men over other men? Men are the victims, not the conquerors in this struggle. Each new victory over nature yields new means of propaganda to enslave them, new weapons to kill them, new power for the state, and new weakness for the citizen. New contraceptives to keep man from being born at all.

As for ideologies, does no one see the catch? If there is no real wrong and right -- nothing good or bad in itself -- none of these ideologies can be better or worse than another. For a better moral code can only mean one which comes nearer to some real or absolute code. One map of New York can be better than another only if there is a real New York for it to be truer to. If there is no objective standard then our choice between one ideology and another becomes a matter of arbitrary taste. Our battle for democratic ideals against Nazi ideals has been a waste of time, because the one is no better than the other. Nor can there ever be any real improvement or deterioration. If there is no real goal, we can't get any nearer to it, or farther from it. In fact there is no real reason for doing anything at all.

It looks to me, neighbours, as though we shall have to set about becoming true pagans, if only as a preliminary to becoming Christians. I don't mean that we should begin leaving little bits of bread under the tree at the end of the garden as an offering to the dryad. I don't mean that we should dance to Dionysus across Hampstead Heath, though perhaps a little more solemn or ecstatic gaity and a little less commercialised amusement might make our holidays better than they now are. I don't even mean (though I do very much wish) that we should recover that sympathy with nature, that religious attitude to the family, and that appetite for beauty which the better pagans had. Perhaps what I do mean is best put like this: if the modern post-Christian view is wrong (and every day I find it harder to think it right) then there are three kinds of people in the world. 1) Those who are sick and don't know it: the post-Christians. 2) Those who are sick and know it: the pagans. 3) Those who have found the cure.

And if you start in the first class, you must go through the second to reach the third. For (in a sense) all that Christianity adds to paganism is the cure. It confirms the old belief that in this universe we are up against Living Power: that there is a real Right and that we have failed to obey it: that existence is beautiful and terrifying. It adds a wonder of which paganism had not distinctly heard: that the Mighty One has come down to help us, to remove our guilt, to reconcile us. All over the world, even in Japan, even in Russia, men and women will meet on December the 25th to do a very old-fashioned and very pagan thing: to sing and feast because God has been born.

You are uncertain whether it is more than a myth. Well, if it is only a myth then our last hope is gone. But is the opposite explanation not worth trying? Who knows but that here -- and here alone -- lies your way back? Not only to heaven, but to earth too, and to the great human family whose oldest hopes are confirmed by this story that does not die.

[distractedhistotech]

Before MSA + 1: Hamster

Arthur had been eating his breakfast when Uncle Lance looked over his newspaper at Arthur and said, “I think it’s time for you to get a pet.”

Arthur stopped eating and blinked at Lance in surprise.  “What?”  He’d never asked for a pet.  Arthur didn’t even think he’d expressed any interest in a pet.  Did he even give off the impression of that he’d be able to take care of a pet?  “Why?”

“You like your friend’s dog,” answered Uncle Lance.  “And having a pet will help you become more responsible.”

Personally, Arthur thought he was already more responsible than normal for his age.  He wasn’t sure how he compared to an adult. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a dog.”

“Yeah, not a good idea,” agreed Lance.

Arthur blinked. “So…”  If Uncle Lance agreed Arthur wasn’t ready for a dog, then he probably wouldn’t consider a cat either.  “So what then?”

“Maybe a bird or a hamster.”

Arthur blinked. “I don’t really get why people keep rodents as pets.  Chickens are pretty useful, but I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about.”

Oh, did Uncle Lance’s face just twitched?  It was hard to tell because of all the hair, but it sure looked like Arthur had said something that affected Lance.  “We’re going to the animal shelter after school.”

Arthur felt weirdly conflicted.

 “And then he said we’d be going to the animal shelter after school,” finished Arthur. “I’m…kind of confused.  I kind of thought pets were something kids ask for, but Uncle Lance is kind of forcing this on me.”

“Why wouldn’t you want a cute, fluffy pet?” asked Sydney.  “I ask Mom and Dad for a pet every year, but they always say that they don’t want to destroy the house.”  She paused.  “I don’t think it would be that bad…”

“I’d kind of like a pet too,” agreed Lewis.  “But, well, it sounds like most animals would be pretty stressed out by living in a haunted house, and I don’t want to do that to ‘em.”

“Plus you don’t have enough room for an alpaca,” added Sydney.

Arthur blinked. “A what?”

Lewis perked up. “Oh, do you know what a llama is?” Arthur nodded.  “An alpaca is a friendly, fluffier llama.  My parents took Sydney and me to a farm when we were little kids, and it was so much fun!”

Sydney snickered. “We had to drag him away.  He wanted to stay with the alpacas.”

“Well, I doubt Uncle Lance will be getting me an alpaca,” said Arthur.

Lewis nodded. “Yeah, you have to get them in pairs because they can die from loneliness.”

…Arthur made a note to ask if that was something that he would need to worry about with whatever he ended up with.

“So can we come with you and look at the puppies?” asked Sydney.

Arthur thought for a minute.  “Maybe. You’d have to ask your parents and Uncle Lance.”

Several hours later:

“I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t as long as Mr. Kingsmen says it’s all right,” said Frigg.

Sydney Sr. nodded. “Ditto.”

Arthur stared. “Why are you wearing a skirt?” asked Arthur.

“Hey, if girls can wear pants whenever they want, then I can wear a dress whenever I want,” answered Sydney Sr.

Arthur didn’t know how to reply to that so he just accepted the sympathetic shoulder pats from Lewis and Sydney Jr.

Sydney Sr’s choice in clothing got a surprised double take from Uncle Lance but no comments. He turned to Arthur.  “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, could Lewis and Sydney come with us?”

Lance raised an eyebrow but shrugged.  “I guess. Not much is gonna be going on though.”

“That’s okay,” said Lewis.

“I wanna see the kitties!” added Sydney.

“Not cats this time,” said Lance.  “The biggest thing he’s getting is a guinea pig.”

“…Those are cute too,” Sydney decided.

And they all piled into Lance’s truck and started off.  It was a bit of a tight fit, but the kids (and Lance but no one was going to say that out loud) were small enough to make that work.

They did not end up at a pet store.  This was simply because Lance didn’t want any of the larger animals deciding they wanted to go home with Arthur…or Arthur deciding he wanted a larger animal.  The latter didn’t seem likely, but Lance didn’t think he’d be able to say no.

Instead, they wound up at a normal looking house.  The kids were visibly confused.  “It’s a private rescue,” explained Lance.  One that specialized in rodents in particular.  If Arthur didn’t see anything he liked, Lance had the address of a bird rescue to try next.

“Do we just go in?” asked Sydney.

“They’re expecting us, but knock first.”

Perhaps not surprisingly, Sydney was the one who ran up to the door and knocked at it.  It was opened by a plump, late-middle aged woman. “Yes?”

“Hi!  I’m Sydney!  My friend Arthur’s here to get a new fluffy friend!”

By that time the guys had caught up to her.  The woman smiled.  “Oh, then you must be Mr. Kingsman.”

Lance nodded. “Yup.  This is Arthur.”  Arthur waved. “And his other friend, Lewis.”

Lewis smiled.  “Hello, Miss.”

She smiled back. “Hello to you too.”  She moved aside so they could enter the house.

The first thing they noticed was a pen full of sawdust and guinea pigs.  There were also tubes for hamsters to run through.  Sydney let out a squeal and ran over to the guinea pigs, startling a few of them.  “Piggies!” Lewis and Arthur followed more calmly.

“They are adorable,” agreed the woman.  “But they’re extremely social so you’d have to adopt at least two.”

Lewis grinned. “Like alpacas.”

“Right.”

“I probably should start with only one pet,” commented Arthur.  So no guinea pigs then.  “So, I guess we look around a bit…”

There were some rabbits, some gerbils, a couple of chinchillas, several hamsters, a squirrel, and a sugar glider.

“Where’d the squirrel came from?” asked Sydney.

“Oh, an older man rescued her as a baby and raised her.  He died not too long ago, and she doesn’t know how to take care of herself in the wild,” she explained.

“…Can I feed her acorns?”

“She prefers pinecones.”

Arthur just stared at all the animals that had were in enclosures or wandering around.  So…how was he supposed to do this?  Did he just choose one?  He experimentally poked a gerbil that was chewing on a pellet.

The gerbil didn’t react.  Arthur had to admit it was kind of boring.  He should probably stick to a pet that he had some interest in.

…Arthur had no idea how to do this.  He thought about the interactions between Vivi and Ben.  He should look for something like that?  But these were hamsters.  Could they even form the same type of bond with a human as a dog?

Arthur felt something hit his foot.  He looked down and saw a hamster ball containing a tiny hamster.  He picked up the ball.  “Is this a baby?”

She shook her head. “It’s a dwarf hamster.  They’re smaller than the other breeds.”

Lewis snickered and playfully elbowed Sydney.  “That sounds familiar.”  Sydney’s response was to jump on him.  The woman ignored the rough housing in favor of showing Arthur how to open the hamster ball.

Arthur studied the hamster as it scurried around his cupped hands.  He quickly put it on the table, where it scurried about.  When he put his hand on the table, the little hamster started scurrying back and forth over it.

“Aw…she likes you,” said the woman.

Arthur blinked. “Really?”  He pet the top of the hamster’s head.  She nuzzled into his hand.  “I think…you’re right.”

And that was how Arthur found himself with a hamster in a cage with several pet supplies.

“Cute…” cooed Lewis.

“What ‘cha gonna call her?” asked Sydney.

“Um…”  Arthur watched the tiny hamster running on her wheel. It was a pretty small cage.  He should use his saved up allowance to get her a hamster ball and some tubing.  “My family seems to have a habit of using Arthurian names…”  He wasn’t sure he wanted to name his pet after one of the people he’d left behind.  “I’m not sure I want to use that sort of name.”

“What about Shakespeare?” asked Sydney.

“I don’t know any girl names from that except for Juliet,” said Arthur.  Not the best option.

“What about Puck?” suggested Lewis.

“What does hockey have to do with it?” asked Arthur.

“No, it’s a character from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’,” explained Lewis.

“But she’s the size of a hockey puck,” added Sydney.  “So she is sort of like one.”

“Definitely shouldn’t try using her like one though,” said Lewis.

Sydney winced. “Yeah, that would be awful.”

Arthur shuddered at the mental image.  “No, no, no pucks.”

“Maybe Cadence?” suggested Sydney.  “I have no idea if that’s Camelot or Shakespeare or what, but it sounds fancy.”

“Fancy counts I guess,” said Arthur.  “Sure, let’s go with that.”  He stuck a few fingers into the cage.  “What do you think?”  Cadence the hamster sniffed at his fingers for a moment before going back to running on her wheel.  “Cadence it is.”

They watched Cadence for a few more moments.

“So, how are we going to introduce Cadence to Vivi and Ben?” asked Sydney.

“…Do dogs eat rodents or is that just cats?” asked Arthur.

“They have sharp teeth,” admitted Lewis.  “So I guess they might.”

“Ben’s pretty tame though,” said Sydney.  “Have you ever seen him act threatening at all?  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him bare his teeth or growl.”

Ben was pretty well behaved.  Maybe it would be okay to introduce him and Vivi to a small dwarf hamster.

 Vivi and Ben stared at the small hamster currently running around the dojo in a hamster ball. “She’s adorable,” said Vivi.

“Yeah, it kind of makes me want one,” agreed Lewis.  “I think my parents would want to wait until Belle’s a bit older though.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be responsible enough to take care of another living being,” said Sydney.

“Does that include children?” asked Arthur.

Sydney paused. “That is a good question.”  Her eyes averted, and she giggled.  “Heh, Ben.”

Ben was batting at Cadence’s hamster ball.  “Is that okay?” asked Arthur.

“Um…probably. Ben sometimes chases squirrels, but this doesn’t look like that,” said Vivi.  Ben decided to lay down with the ball and Cadence between his front paws. “See?  He’s making himself smaller so he looks less intimidating to Cadence.”

“Does Ben have any animal friends?” asked Lewis.

Vivi frowned. “Actually, for some reason he seems to scare most other dogs.  No idea why.”

Ben winced because he knew why other dogs didn’t like him.  Along with most animals.  Including Cadence, who seemed rather nervous about her current position.  He wasn’t exactly sure how to calm her down though. Hamsters were…simple.

“I think he’s scaring her,” said Arthur.  He immediately walked over, picked up the ball, and took a few steps away from Ben. “Hold on a sec.”  He opened the ball and let Cadence tumble into his jacket pocket.  She poked her head and front paws out.

“That’s so cute!” gushed Vivi even as she moved to comfort Ben.  “How’d you teach her to do that?”

“I felt kind of guilty I couldn’t spend as much time with her, and I thought if holding her was good enough…” Arthur trailed off.  “I’m not sure how to keep her from making a mess.”

“Hamster diapers!” proclaimed Sydney.

“I’m not sure that’s a thing,” said Lewis.

Arthur’s head was bowed in thought.  “But maybe I could make something like that…”

“How would that work?” asked Lewis.

“Well, it would need an impermeable outer layer and some sort of absorbent layer.  But Cadence wouldn’t wear it unless it was comfortable so it would need some cloth.  Or maybe I could make it like a pocket liner…” muttered Arthur.

“Wow, you’re serious about that,” said Vivi.

Arthur blinked. “Er…Should I not be?”

“I like the idea,” said Lewis.  “You can bring your cute pets with you everywhere without getting your shirts dirty.”

Sydney nodded. “There’s diapers for birds!” Everyone gave her an odd look. “What?  I saw it on TV once.”

“Sydney…”

“It wasn’t a cartoon.”

“Ah.  Nevermind then.”

Arthur, Vivi, and Mystery felt like they were missing something.

[bodega-daydream]

November 22, 2019

It started out as kind of a nice dream. I was in a class and in the class there was an assignment to bake the best pie, and the old man teacher would rate them. I had a pie but for some reason didnt think its was worth having him rate it even though it looked pretty good. Finally at the end I was made the snap decision to have him rate my pie, but I had apparently blended it up into this really sugary red slushy drink. He tasted it anyway but couldnt really rate it because he couldnt see the crust. fine, whatever. I was then talking to people from school when Josh from BP came up and said that he, Tony, and two other BP workers were going to be on 8 out of 10 Cats and I was sooo excited to know someone who would be on the show for me to watch. Cut to later- I'm at the lake down the street from my house. I was looking through videos on my laptop and was showing Michael to see if he remembered them. Undetermined, but they involved me with shorter hair and a GIANT frog. I think this was based off my frog stuffed animal, but it was real in this video and I had taken him to the lake for a swim. I had had him for years and wondered how long he'd last and then the frog was like I haven't laid my egg yet so pretty much he couldnt die until he laid his one giant egg? whatever. Then I was cold and on the sand and I think we were heading back up to my house. It was dusk. We heard a scream from the neighboring property. There were already a few people over there that seemed to be looking for the source. It sounded like a little girl. I shouted to ask if anyone needed help. But they couldn't find anything. Toward to the top of the beach now, and at night, we saw a bunch of children in this fenced in area. IRL This woman is a swim coach, so it wouldn't be insane for her to have kids at her house, so in the dream, I didn't think anything of this. Yet. The longer you observed the kids, they were kind of running wild in this fenced in area. Then I noticed that one of the kids has smashed his head on a rock and his head was covered in blood. But I think it was suspicious circumstances because the cop lights were flashing in the background through the trees. Though no medical help was there yet. Starting that moment, I had been hanging out with Lewis who showed his EMT badge while walking over. I saw through all of the mess him trying to help out a different kid (for some reason no the kid with the giant hole in his head from the rock lol) but he didn't have any of his supplies with him (because we was just hangin out). At this, I ran over because I had a bunch of stuff that could help. Apparently I just keep a very make shift first aid kit on my person. Though when I got over there, this one kid we were helping looked absolutely fine but apparently had these invisible type of burning sensation on his cheeks. I looked into my bag but it was like kind of useless lol had a small bottle of tea tree oil and some other random stuff. I knew what kind of pain the kid was dealing with though. Lewis gave him something and I told him that I understood and that the best thing to do was to just take a cold hand (bc mine are always cold) and just hold it against it and feel the pain until it stops hurting, because it won't last that long. We then walked away and went back to the police station where I was apparently a detective there. This station was also the house across the street from the lake. Daytime now. One of my detective colleagues was this man who looked like John Krasinski meaning it actually was him, but not him. There were some kids outside (outside was now a city street) being lined up as witnesses or something. The other detective there, a woman, was taking statements from the kids. But then I overheard her make this plot to frame my John Krasinski coworker. I tried to warn him without giving away who was trying to frame him and he help trying to insist on telling his partner, this woman. I was like dude. no. and he wouldn't listen. The kids started walking through and that kid I had helped passed by and gave me this look. Then someone else came in and sort of yelled at me for encouraging his growing sexual love for buses lmao said I was too accepting and that I should have discouraged it from the beginning. My argument was so what, he loves to love buses. Anyway, I was trying to tell John Krasinski about the plot and then I was walking away and he grabbed my wrist. But then the other woman came over instead of letting go, we hid the fact that he was holding my wrist behind my back which also looked suspicious. Then there was another line up of kids outside. They had turned around and this one kid was looking up at us and was like I want to talk to her. I assumed he was pointing to the woman he had spoken to before, which was the 3rd detective. But when he came inside, he wanted to talk to me. I was surprised, but then it was the kid that kind of confessed to lying to the other cop about how the evidence she gave him (to frame John Krasinski) was a lie. But dude, the truth was like 20x worse. Instead of some tiny piece of metal sticking him from inside some box, he admitted that it was actually just part of this bracelet he was wearing. I asked to see the bracelet but it had no metal sticking out of it. Then he was like no, it's part of me. and then this series of spikes that had been implanted in his wrist stuck out through his skin like barbed wire. At this I was like nope! and took a step back. His father came rushing in but he had the same thing going on in his wrist. They could control when the spikes would come out. We learned that they were both extremely violent. The dad was bad, but the kid looked like he would be much worse because he was learning it all from his dad. I didn't want to be near this kid anymore because he seemed to fixate on my fear, as if he would come and find me one day to hurt me. I wouldn't look at him. The wife showed up and she was drunk because she was usually being abused by her husband. I think we let them all go because we couldn't do anything about the situation because she wouldn't accuse her husband of anything. Cut to me going to the live taping of 8 out of 10 cats starring my BP coworkers. Instead of sitting in the studio, there was a ton of outside seating that faced the studio that had large screens on it that was displaying what was being filmed. It opened with Kate McKinnan so this was apparently SNL instead lol but whatever. I was sitting out there in what seemed like stadium pews. The place was decorated in vines and leaves, kind of medieval. A lot of people were moving around the pews, but I had a large space open next to me. The drunk mom came and sat next to me. It made me so nervous because I didn't want to deal with an intoxicated person, but also her husband must be around. The show goes on and she gets up and walks to the doorway to enter the stadium. I somehow acquire this little girl that's sitting on my lap, maybe 7 years old. Turns out this is the daughter of the drunk woman. I'm very protective of this child for some reason. The mom and the husband are doing this weird princess knight act idk, I just know it's happening but I'm more focused on the crowd. Some tiny elderly people come and sit next to me and are asking about this girl (rightfully assume she's not mine bc this girl is blonde). Cut of after this performance, and I'm with/kind of am this woman. I'm on a bus and I'm heading to this beach area. I'm trying to get away from this crazy husband of mine. There was some floaties put out in the water and it was like yes, she's finally getting away. But then I'm like...no this is too easy, and I dive down underwater and I see this man with all of his evil friends waiting there to grab her. She manages to swim away. She's running and running trying to get away. They had this evil dog that was kind of also the husband and kept barking and biting her trying to alert him to where she was. Somehow we got the dog off and jumped onto one of those mini school buses (I'm with her now). There's only one seat and she takes it with her daughter on her lap and we tell the bus driver to gtfo of here. He knows the situation, and drives off. I'm sitting on the floor and looking out the window. Both me and her are in white spa robes, not significant, just random. There's this sense of relief as we're driving off. The dog had kind of handed me this piece of metal and I gave it to her. This apparently meant something as she looked at me and she was like "he really did love me." as in he let her go despite not being able to control his violent nature (even tho it was way worse than that). The mini bus pulls up to the back parking lots of the woodbury commons. We think we're safe until I see this man running a hot dog stand taking pictures of the bus we're in. The bus driver had pulled over and got out of the bus but then I yelled wait, we're not safe here and then her husband pops out from behind something and starts coming for us. The bus is moving and I think this dude some how offs the driver. The woman gets up and goes to the door of this still moving bus and shoots her husband in the head. I'm am #shook. I did not know she was going to do that with such ease or that she even had a gun. I took control of the bus because there was chaos now because she just shot someone and cars were appearing out of nowhere. I was like, flooring it and I was like OKAY I'm taking us straight to the police station. I was way more affected than this lady. Realizing now this was not a great decision and that we should have stayed put, we got pulled over at her parents house. We couldn't exit the bus without being processed by a cop (I was a normal person now, not a detective). I was instructed to head straight to the Montgomery police station to pay a $250 bail (I know, doesnt make sense) but I was compliant. I had to get there. I thought about calling Lewis to help me with the bail because I knew he would, but then realized I had that cash on my person and that I could just go over there and pay it myself. As I was walking toward the kitchen to get my stuff, I realized that I shouldn't be driving because I just went thru a trauma that hadn't hit me yet. I decided it was best to call Lewis after all and have him pick me up so I could freak out in the car and not be driving. But as I was going through my phone to find his contact, I noticed this woman's 3 sisters trying to slyly take pictures of me, just like the hot dog man and I started freaking out. And then my phone was going crazy, receiving every photo they took of me instantly. They didn't know what was happening and I was checking their phones and someone had set that to default and my phone was going crazy. I couldn't get to the call screen. I knew someone had bugged these phones so they could locate me or get my info. I decided to use someone elses phone to call Lewis. The mom was looking through the phonebook for his number when I was like Lewis can I just borrow your phone, you already have the number in it (only realized this flaw when I woke up lol) but I made the call and he answered. He had just said, "Hello?" when I heard the husbands voice in the background saying that he was a police officer to someone. And then I woke up, and I couldn't tell where I was for bit or if I was safe.

[belovedyuuri]

take my heart (I don't need it anyway) (ao3) 7.3k for @extranikiforov

Working in a pet store, Viktor expects many things: crazy dog owners, old cat ladies, escaping hamsters and parrots - everything. He doesn't, however, expect Yuuri Katsuki. (And neither does Yuuri Katsuki expect Viktor Nikiforov.)

20. ‘You can borrow mine.’ in the 100 ways to say ‘I love you’ series.

There are perks to owning a pet store. One, you are the first person in town to get your hands on a hot deal for your dog. Two, you get to make those hot deals happen if your dog and wallet are in need of them. Three, people bring their animals with them so you get to give free headrubs and sometimes receive a newfound affection in return.

There are also several disadvantages, though, the first being the urge to buy everything in the store for your own dog, the second having to remember to restock and actually doing it, and the third – being responsible enough to keep talking to the customers even when he walks by. He, being black hair and glasses and a passing glance at the photo of puppies on the store's window.

If you asked Viktor, he couldn't tell you when he started paying attention to that one man in particular. All he knows is one day the man stopped by the store to pet the dog Viktor’s customer left outside and didn't leave until the dog was taken away. From then on, Viktor has considered himself lucky if he caught a glance of the man.

Those have always been lovely days.

Those are rare occurrences, though. Mostly, the man runs by Viktor’s store, not even giving it a look.

One day, though… He probably won’t forget that day for the rest of his life. One day the man glances at the window display, then turns his head away—like he always does—and then stops and looks again, eyes wide and staring. It would make Viktor laugh if he weren’t on the other side of that window, falling victim to the thrill that the brown eyes awakened, as though they were staring at him and not at something else entirely.

The man jerks a bit, looks in the direction he was walking in, then back at the window.

“Come in,” Viktor utters under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”

In a blink of an eye, Viktor remembers why exactly he can’t go out to meet the young man – he has a rather excited Chihuahua, Pinky, waggling her tail on his counter as he blindly tries to put a collar over her head. He just smiles in apology at her owner, Mrs. Lewis, and secures Pinky’s new collar on the dog’s neck.

“Here,” he says and lifts the dog’s front paws so she stands on her hind ones. He chuckles and gives the paws a gentle swing, as to make her dance. “All pretty.”

Mrs. Lewis eyes the collar critically, humming and clearing her throat repeatedly in tune with the bells jingling in the store.

“I’m not sure…” she says. “Red isn’t her colour, don’t you think? Do you have any browns? Or golds?”

Viktor rubs Pinky’s head as he removes the collar and disappears in the backroom to fetch different colours. Mrs. Lewis is one of his best customers, after all; she pampers her doggo even more than Viktor does Makkachin, and that's saying something.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Lewis is gone and the shop is only filled with the screeching of many parrots that live in there.

“Yum time!” screeches Cecily, one of them.

Viktor looks at the wall clock. 2pm, right on the dot. He sighs, accompanied by other parrots echoing the first one. “Yes, yes, I remember.”

He didn't a moment ago, but Cecily doesn't have to know about that. He grabs a box of parrot treats from behind the counter, making a mental note to refill the container in the following days, and walks out to feed his charges. Cecily gives out a victorious screech and flies away from the little door in her cage. She knows better than to get out by now.

“You're a little menace, you know that?” he coos after he's poured a reasonable amount of feed into her bowl. He slides his hand into the cage and gently strokes Cecily’s head, smiling at the way she pinches his thumb in reply and flies to the bowl.

Viktor tsks at that, relocks the cage, and moves on to other parrots. He’s just rounding the corner of one of the shelves to reach Tu-Tu and Peek-a-Boo’s cage when somebody grows out of the ground right in front of him.

He acts on instinct - like any sane person would - and like any sane person, he yells and jerks his arms, completely forgetting the unlidded box in his hand.

The stranger yelps and jumps himself, probably more startled by Viktor’s reaction than his presence.

A mix of wheat and a variety of dried vegetable pieces rains on the man, landing on his coat, scarf, even getting stuck in his hair.

As if that weren't horrifying enough, the man looks up at him and Viktor realises with a sinking heart that - oh Mother Russia - that's him. It's the man Viktor has been looking forward to spotting out his window every day of the past weeks.

Black hair, brown eyes, glasses—blue glasses—and everything.

“...fuck,” croaks Cecily, very helpfully.

Viktor wants to tell her to shut her beak but he can't move, can't look away from the man.

He looks positively frozen now, a piece of red fabric he's clutching to lifted like a shield—and then—

“I'm sorry!”

He's… apologising?

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he pleads almost, eyes still wide and round, “I was just… looking at… things.” He looks down at the red fabric and hurriedly puts it away on the shelf full of similar designs.

Viktor just stares. The man whose entire life he's made up in his mind in his free time is standing right in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, wringing his fingers, avoiding his eyes.

He touched one of the dog kerchiefs in Viktor’s store. He won't sell that one to anybody, no matter the price.

“Yum time!” calls Tu-Tu and Peek-a-Boo parrots him. Soon enough all the other parrots are screeching again and Viktor realises in the back of his mind that for one moment there, the store was surrounded in perfect silence.

Blue Glasses jerks back to life. “I'll clean this up,” he says at the same time Viktor reaches out and picks a stray corn kernel out of his hair. He freezes, eyes widening even more.

“You don't have to help,” Viktor says, plucking three more kernels and brushing the grains off the man’s scarf and shoulders. “I'll sweep it all right up, don't you worry.”

‘You don't have to help’? Does he want to get to know the guy or not?

He doesn't need to help, though. It was Viktor’s clumsiness that caused the entire mess in the first place.

Once Viktor’s done with removing the feed from Blue Glasses’s shoulders, he crouches down and saves what he can into the feed box.

“I… I'll pay, then! For the—for what you—what I made you spill. I'm really sorry.”

Viktor looks up and gives him a smile. “That's truly unnecessary. I have more in the backroom.”

The next several seconds are heavy with silence and palpable discomfort easing off the man. He moves from one foot to the other, glances around the shop, fidgets with his hands.

This is his chance, Viktor thinks. Nothing could make this situation more uncomfortable. He can very well go for it.

He gets up to his feet. “I'm Viktor, by the way.”

“I'm sorry,” is what Blue Glasses says, nearly at the same time, and rushes out of the shop.

What just…?

...

Oh well. It… could have gone worse?

Was it something he said? Something he did? Maybe he should have—he doesn't know what. It was a very awkward moment for sure and he didn't even get to know Blue Glasses’s name.

For the next three days, whenever Viktor catches a glimpse of him passing the store, Blue Glasses’s always rushing and more often than not, he passes by with a hand shielding his eyes from the view, like he can't even stand looking anymore.

On the fourth day, he halts briefly, eyes fixed on the window display again, only to quickly resume his walk.

On the fifth, he's accompanied by another man clad in a maroon hoodie and a green hamster hat that Viktor envies even just for a second. The two stop at the store and from what Viktor can see over the grumpy Seung-gil Lee’s shoulder, the Hamster Hat is lively gesticulating, only to shake his head at whatever Blue Glasses says in return.

Viktor rings Seung-gil up, adds a packet of dental dog treats for the man’s sweetest, Meong-Meong, for free, and when he looks up, Blue Glasses and Hamster Hat are gone.

The weekend passes in a blur, quite literally - as always when Christophe drops by for a visit. Before Viktor even notices, he's selling the red kerchief from the window display and changes the entire decor for the upcoming winter. He's pretty proud of the way he arranged everything, it truly looks like Santa's Christmas factory with the elf dog costumes, cat collars with bells on them, and the red-and-green accessories for small rodents.

Maybe Blue Glasses will look at the display and be so amazed that he'll come in again?

He does come in the very same day. Just like the day he walked in for the first time, a passing glance turns into a wide-eyed double take and he stands there like that for the minute that it takes Viktor to show Yuuko’s triplets how to properly groom their new kitten.

Damn. The display must be better than Viktor thought if it enchanted Blue Glasses so much.

Yuuko buys the cat brush and her daughters cheer and try to make her buy the bell collar as well but she puts her foot down and they soon make their leave.

Just when Viktor gathers enough courage to goddamn move, he's right there, apologise!, the man jerks awake and rushes into the store.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh

“Where is it?” he asks the second the door opens. His eyes are frantic, running over the room like he's not exactly aware of Viktor standing right there.

Viktor blinks. “Where is... what—?”

“The red thing!”

Viktor glances to the side, then back at Blue Glasses and tilts his head in confusion.

“The dog scarf. That you tie around a dog's neck. The—the thing. The red one.” Blue Glasses points at the window display. “It was still right there yesterday. It was there.”

Viktor perks up. “You came by yesterday? We're closed on Sundays.”

“I know.”

Oh…

Ouch.

They stand in silence for a moment. The man’s cheeks are slightly redder than when he entered the store. (Not that Viktor has been looking.) He opens his mouth once or twice, like he wants to say something but decides against it.

That's okay, he doesn't need to say anything.

‘The red thing’.

...wait a minute.

“Do you mean the red kerchief that has been on display for the last two weeks?”

Blue Glasses nods, looking at him intently, so unlike the first time they talked.

“It sold out.”

“It—,” The man visibly deflates and looks away for the first time since he entered the store. “Oh.”

It's as though a heavy weight fell from Viktor’s shoulders along with that stare, leaving him empty. He wants the intensity of it back.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it's—” Blue Glasses frowns and glances up, his eyes softer now, pleading. “Will you—restock?”

He looks so hopeful. Viktor wants to give him the world.

It's unfair how beautiful he is.

“It was a seasonal offer,” Viktor says as softly as he can. “I bought the last units from the warehouse which is why I got them pretty cheap in the first place.”

If it's possible, the man looks even more resigned now. “Oh.”

Don't do it.

Viktor takes in a breath and clenches his fists as the man turns around.

It's impossible. Do. Not. Do. it.

The bells chime softly.

...do it.

“What's your name?”

The man turns his head, his hand still on the doorknob. He hesitates for a moment but eventually says, “Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats. He knows Blue Glasses’s name. “I'm—”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I remember.”

Viktor’s heart skips a beat.

Oh no.

“I'll see what I can do,” Viktor says, still in the same breath. “With the kerchief. For your dog.”

Yuuri flushes, his mouth opens again but he instantly shuts it close, nods, and walks out.

Yuuri.

The bells chime just when Viktor is picking up the loose change from the floor.

“I'll be with you in a sec!” he calls as he rushes to collect all coins.

“Um… Viktor?”

He promptly lets go of the coins.

“Yuuri!” he means to say but as he rushes to stand up, he bangs his head against the counter. What comes out instead is “Yuu—ow!”

“Are you okay?!”

Yuuri is leaning against the counter, trying to look over the edge when Viktor finally emerges, both his head and pride aching. He massages the first and quietens the second.

For a moment, he swears he can see Yuuri’s eyes in great detail but they soon move away.

He breathes again. “I'm alright.”

“I should really stop doing this,” Yuuri mumbles into his scarf as he worries his fingers over the counter. “Scaring you.”

Please, never stop.

“You don't scare me,” Viktor says. “You surprise me.”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is…” Viktor smiles. “I like surprises.”

‘I like surprises’?

I. like. surprises.

“O—oh,” Yuuri says, and then, “I see.”

Viktor doubts he does.

“How can I help you?” he asks when silence stretches over them again. Somehow, it always comes up during their brief meetings;  ironically, when Viktor has the most to say.

“Oh—right… It's—” Yuuri softly taps his fingers against the counter and laughs, a forced sound. “It's embarrassing, to be honest...”

Viktor leans against the counter, intrigued. “More embarrassing than spilling bird feed all over you and banging my head when you called me?” When Yuuri immediately stands straighter, he waves his hand. “Don't apologise. So?”

Yuuri sighs and drops his eyes back to the counter. “Actually, it is more embarrassing. See…” He takes a breath, glances up, and says, “I lied to you.”

When did he even have a chance to lie? He spoke so little both times.

“About… your name?”

“What?” Yuuri frowns and shakes his head. “No, I—I don't have a dog.”

“Oh…” Viktor’s heart sinks a little bit. “You poor thing! Did you want to get a pet? Sadly, I can only offer fish or birds or rodents but I can give you the address of the nearest animal shelter if you're interested in cats or dogs!” He doesn't give Yuuri a chance to react before he pulls out a flyer with all the information printed. “It's a very good shelter, good conditions, the animals are well taken care of. Trust me,” he adds with a wink, “I have an inside source. My cousin volunteers there.”

Yuuri gawks at the flyer, then back at Viktor, then at the flyer again.

“Unless,” Viktor says, lowering the flyer, “You want a brand new dog. A puppy? I know several breeders in this town. One of their dogs has just given birth to a litter of the cutest Cocker Spaniels you've ever seen! You'll have to wait to buy one but I can give you the owner's contact—”

“Viktor!”

His brain melts at the sound.

Yuuri has the worried frown on his face again. It's different from his confused frown; Viktor feels strangely accomplished that he can spot the difference.

“I can't have a dog,” Yuuri says. “My landlord doesn't allow pets.”

Viktor’s heart breaks in two in sympathy. He puts his hand over it and massages the ache away. “What a horrible human being,” he says.

Yuuri hides a smile in his scarf and mumbles, “And to think that we're living in the 21st century, right?”

Viktor laughs; the short sound startles him with how sudden and true it is.

Yuuri made a joke.

Don't people joke with those they feel comfortable around?

“Such a cruel fate,” Viktor agrees and positively grows when Yuuri buries his face even further in his scarf, his eyes crinkling a little.  “But if you don't have a dog, then why are you interested in the kerchief?”

Yuuri’s smile slowly ebbs away.

“Is it for somebody else? A gift, perhaps?” Viktor supplies immediately.

Yuuri stills for a second and nods, a minute gesture, but Viktor notices it straight away.

And then Viktor does that. Again. “I'll see what I can do,” he says. And he will, doesn't matter if he has to stalk those of his clients who bought one of the damned things to get it back. Or knit it himself. For some reason, just a flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes and the reddening of his cheeks is enough to convince him even further.

Yuuri’s ‘thank you’ is barely audible from beneath the heavy wool of his scarf and then he's on his way out before Viktor’s mind is able to process that their conversation is over.

“I'll see you soon!” Viktor calls after him. The door shuts close before he gets a reply. He sighs. “I guess…”

“...fuck,” croaks Cecily from the perch in her cage.

Viktor nods. “Tell me about it.” He sighs again and shakes his head, finally looking away from the door. He frowns at the parrot. “You, my dear, are not allowed to talk to Yuri ever again. He only teaches you obscenities.”

Cecily tilts her head. “...fuck?”

“My point exactly.”

“I lied to you again,” are the first words Yuuri utters Thursday morning when Viktor does his rounds around the store, feeding the animals and cleaning their cages. It's the earliest Viktor’s seen him yet.

It's no surprise that he ends up with hamster bedding all over the floor, startled, as always.

No, not startled. Surprised.

Yuuri’s there in two seconds. His face falls as he looks at all the mess. “I'm so sorry,” he mumbles, resigned, shoulders drooping. Before Viktor gets to take all the blame on himself, Yuuri unwraps his scarf and takes his coat off.

Mastered, effortless seduction. Oh, Mother Russia.

“What are you—”

“Let me help you this time?”

Standing there, with his coat hanging over one arm, clad in the softest-looking sweater Viktor’s ever seen, Yuuri is—he's simply—Viktor doesn't stand a chance.

He never really has.

He agrees, of course he does, and after he gets them both brooms, they get to work.

Yuuri is a quiet sweeper, unlike Viktor. Viktor likes to hum or sing and sometimes dance as he cleans - Yuuri approaches mess methodically, brows furrowed, almost as though he's planning his strategy for overcoming an enemy. Quiet and focused. Viktor lets him do that and doesn't disturb him.

Only when they're done, does Yuuri look up at him. The scarf is gone from around his neck so he can't hide anymore—he still tries before sighing and shaking his head.

“I don't want to get the kerchief for a friend's dog,” Yuuri says quietly, hands wrapped around the stick of the broom, joined together at the top of it. He's looking at his fingers rather than at Viktor. “Actually, none of my friends even have a dog. One of them has several hamsters but that's it.” He pauses. "I mean—my friend's boyfriend does have a dog but we're not that close and—" He sighs. "Never mind."

Viktor swipes hamster bedding onto the dustpan and looks up.

“Why lie about it, then?” he asks as he gets up. “Do you want to buy the kerchief?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answers at once, looking up at him—only to deflate when their eyes meet. “...No.” He groans and drops his head. “I don't know. It's weird. I'm so sorry. You—you're going through all that trouble and I'm—I'm just...”

Viktor tilts his head in confusion. He takes the broom out of Yuuri’s hands, nods at him to follow him, and goes back to the counter to throw the dirt away.

“Yuuri,” he says after all is done. He can continue taking care of the pets later. “What's the matter? Why do you want that kerchief? I've seen you looking at it for a long time. Why that one?”

Yuuri sighs and cradles his coat to his body, hands hidden under the fabric where it hangs over his arms. “It's because of my dog.”

Viktor frowns. “But you told me you didn't have a dog? Or was that a lie, too?”

“It wasn't.” Yuuri gives him a small, apologetic smile. “I don't have a dog now but I used to have one. He died several months ago.” He swallows down and lowers his eyes. “His name was Vicchan. He had the same red kerchief as the one on the window display. He loved it. I guess it just—reminded me of him.”

Oh.

Viktor’s heart aches at the story. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to lose Makkachin—and has to stop himself right away. She’s been there for him ever since his teenage years.

And Vicchan—it's only been months. Of course Yuuri is still affected.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, as gently as he can, and when Yuuri doesn't look up, he puts his hand over his shoulder. It's not a very comfortable position with the counter between them but it doesn't matter. “I understand. The wound is still fresh. It must all be very confusing.” He lets his breath out and shakes his head. “It mustn't have been easy to say goodbye.”

“I didn't get to do that.”

Viktor’s head jerks up, focused solely on Yuuri’s eyes now. Sad, sad eyes. “What?”

Yuuri bites his lip and glances up, then away. “I'm originally from Japan. I couldn't take Vicchan with me when I moved to the States, the travel would be too stressful for him and the landlord didn't allow pets. Besides, I came here to study. With all the classes and exams and everything, I wouldn't have been a very good caretaker. So I left him back there with my family, where he was fed and taken care of and got all the time and affection he deserved.

“When he died, I was in the middle of exam week, I couldn't fly back.” Yuuri tips his head even lower. “I haven't been home since then.”

Of course.

“It makes it feel like a bad dream,” Viktor guesses. “Like it didn't really happen.”

Yuuri nods slowly and breathes in wetly through his nose. He forces a small, short laugh at that, a human weakness, and pulls one of his hands from underneath his coat to dry his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

Viktor gives him a soft, pained smile. “It's alright. Would you like a tissue?”

Yuuri jerks his head in a no—but then closes his eyes, looks at Viktor, and nods. “Yes, please.”

Viktor immediately starts searching for a pack of tissues. He vaguely remembers it being on the counter but it's not there. He shuffles the few things that are on display, then quickly checks the floor. “I could have sworn they were there,” he mutters to no one in particular and gets on his crouches to look through the drawers. Nothing but dry pet treats in the first one.

“You don't have to,” Yuuri says, “I can just go home.”

Viktor shakes his head and opens another drawer which is full of receipts and store management notebooks. He closes it and pulls open the last drawer, one hardly ever used.

There's an open ten pack of tissues, alright. Viktor grins up at Yuuri, grabs the tissues and gets up.

“Here.” He gives Yuuri the tissues who pulls one out of the pack and gives the rest back, mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ before his face disappears behind a flutter of white.

“I'm really sorry,” Yuuri says after blowing his nose. His voice sounds a little clearer now.

“It's really okay.”

“I just miss Vicchan a lot.” He crumbles the used tissue in his hands. “I know it's silly since he's…”

“Yuuri.” Viktor shakes his head. “I have a dog myself, I can imagine.”

That gets Yuuri’s attention. He looks up, eyes a bit wider than before. “You do?”

“Makkachin,” Viktor says proudly. “She's a puppy, really. Always so excited and eager to play.”

Yuuri smiles and sniffles. “Does she do the thing when you're sad where she doesn't leave your side?”

Viktor laughs and nods. “All the time! But I don't mind at all, I love her very dearly.”

Yuuri slowly nods his head, his smile getting softer and smaller with every second until it only dances in the corners of his eyes. He sighs. “I miss having a dog.”

The words curl around Viktor’s tongue before he can even think about them.

“You can borrow mine.”

And they're out.

Yuuri’s eyes snap back up to his and he stares for what seems like minutes. “What… What did you say?”

Viktor’s face grows impossibly warm despite the cold of the morning. Did he just sell Makkachin?

No, he thinks, he's not selling her. He's helping a fellow dog lover. Makkachin will be happy to meet such a lovely person.

“I said,” Viktor drawls, “You can borrow Makkachin. Not literally but… You could join us for walks?” As he says that, his world seems to shift a little.

Oh dear lord. This is such a great idea.

“You could spend some time with her.” And with me. “She'd love you.” And I'd… And it would make me very happy, too.

Yuuri makes the move like he wants to hide in his scarf again, cheeks and nose pink, but, to Viktor’s delight, there is still no scarf around his neck to hide behind.

He gives Yuuri time to think it over. He grabs the tissues and drops them back into the drawer—but before he closes it, something else catches his attention.

There, pushed to the deepest corner of the drawer, a piece of red.

He touched one of the dog kerchiefs in Viktor’s store. He won't sell that one to anybody, no matter the price.

Viktor looks up at Yuuri, at his reddened eyes and nose and his glasses, brows furrowed as though it's not an offer of a walk he's mulling over but a matter of utter importance. Yuuri, who has recently lost a dog while being away from his mother country and hasn't really found his peace ever since.

Viktor made an uncertain promise to him four days ago and it looks like he can keep it after all.

He pulls the red kerchief and pushes the drawer shut.

“Yuuri.”

He was supposed to keep the thing for himself, he thinks as he cradles the kerchief to his heart, but when Yuuri looks up from the used tissue in his hand, Viktor knows exactly what to do.

He offers Yuuri the fabric. There's still a tag on it so he rips it away and throws it aside. “Here.”

Yuuri gawks at him, as still as a photograph. If Viktor didn't know any better, he would reach to him and poke a finger against his cheek to make sure he's still real. But he does know better. They cleaned the floor together before. Yuuri joked with him. Yuuri told him about his dog. Yuuri teared up and blew his nose.

He blew his nose in front of him. Such a human thing to do.

“But—this is—”

Viktor smiles and nudges the folded fabric against Yuuri’s hand. “For you. I know it's not the same, but… Whenever you miss Vicchan too much to bear, you can have it within your reach.” With his free hand, he unfolds Yuuri’s hand, removes the tissue and places the kerchief there instead. He curls their fingers around it. “It's alright to remember. It helps with grieving.”

Yuuri’s eyes are fixed on the fabric. He sniffles again, glances briefly into Viktor’s eyes and drops his look again. When he tightens their hands together, Viktor’s heart sings.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “How much—”

“It's free,” Viktor cuts in with a gentle smile. At Yuuri’s confused look, he gathers all of his courage and adds, “It's been yours since the moment you walked in that first time.”

Makkachin loves the park just around the corner. She always busies herself with sniffing all the new smells and tracking them to other dogs still roaming around the place. Viktor enjoys his time there as well. Even though he mostly works in solitude, only talking with customers—and lately, Yuuri—he enjoys sitting in silence among nature. Seeing Makkachin even more excited than usual fills him with joy, too. She's always made friends easily, unlike Vikor. It takes him time to establish new, meaningful relationships and it feels like a failure if somebody ever leaves dissatisfied.

Like a relationship between a shopkeeper and his clients; that is his life.

Makkachin barks cheerfully and rushes towards him - she bites on the loose leash he's holding in his hands and pulls.

Viktor chuckles and pulls the leash back. “No, Makka,” he says. “We're waiting for Yuuri. We're meeting him here, remember?”

She lets go of the leash and sits down patiently, tongue lolling out.

People stroll through the park, leaves crunching underneath their shoes. Viktor pays them no mind, just as they pay no attention to him.

“Good girl,” Viktor praises Makkachin and rubs her behind her ear. Her tail starts thumping against the coloured leaves blanketing the ground as she visibly perks up. “You need to be on your best behaviour, alright? I like him a lot. You'll like him, too, I'm sure. We need to make a very good impression.”

Makka barks and gets even more animated. Viktor boops her nose with a laugh.

“You already did, you know,” somebody says in a familiar voice, causing Viktor to drop the leash and twist around.

Yuuri stands there, hands pushed deep in his pockets, face half-hidden behind his scarf. Only the tops of his blushing cheeks are visible. His eyes are smiling.

Viktor jumps to his feet and breathes out in relief. He grins. “You came.”

Makkachin is already on Yuuri, though, so whatever he has to say in reply is lost in surprised yelps and slobbering, overexcited dog.

Seconds pass before Viktor manages to grab Makka’s collar and pull her away. Yuuri still ends up on the ground among a mix of yellow, orange, and red leaves.

“I'm sorry.” Viktor offers him a hand and helps him get up. “Normally she's a well-behaved dog but when it comes to meeting new people...”

“N-no, it's fine.”

Makkachin struggles a bit in Viktor’s hold and whines but eventually, she sits down again. She must have realised patience is the key in getting free again. Viktor nods at her and gives her a head rub.

“She's not a puppy,” Yuuri blurts out after a moment and promptly flails his arms. “I mean—!”

Viktor laughs. “Oh no, she is.” He leans a little closer. “Especially when you mention a B-A-L-L,” he spells out in a hushed tone. He lets go of Makka’s collar, fully prepared for her jerking away and jumping in front of him. He gives Yuuri an ‘I told you so’ look and reaches for the ball in his pocket.

Yuuri’s face is fully uncovered by the scarf and he doesn't seem to notice it at all. His lips are stretched in a gentle smile as he watches Makkachin, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled. It's such a conflicting look, it takes Viktor a moment to decipher the emotion behind it—but when he finally does, he feels like a fool. Yuuri has lost a dog, of course he's feeling bitter-sweetness right now.

“I miss having a dog.”

“Do you want to play with her?” Viktor asks and offers him the aged ball. There are marks of dog teeth on it but he made sure it's clean exactly for this purpose.

Yuuri twitches slightly, like he seems to do every time he’s lost in thought, and takes the ball without a word. He comes a little closer to the clearing, no benches separating them anymore. If not for the ball, Makka would be on him again and Viktor would have to help him up one more time.

Not that he'd complain about it.

As it is, Makkachin is already in front of Yuuri, her spine stretched down and tail flying right-left-right, panting with excitement, eyes fixed on the ball as it's held, then raised and—

She's off the second Yuuri throws the ball. Viktor isn’t even watching her take off but he can clearly pinpoint the moment in Yuuri’s face.

What a sight it is, his lips split in a wide grin, biggest he's seen yet, and chuckling with glee.

Maybe it's too personal. Maybe it's not his place, but Viktor still finds himself asking.

“How are you doing?”

Yuuri glances at him briefly then back at Makka and pushes his hands in his pockets.

“Strange,” he says. It sounds honest. “He was a poodle, too. Toy poodle, a little darker fur. But he had the same eyes.”

Viktor nods. “Is this too much?”

Makkachin chooses the moment to trot back. She drops the ball into Yuuri’s hand and accepts the awaiting head rubs.

“No.” Yuuri smiles up at Viktor and laughs when Makka gives him a doggy kiss on the cheek. “It's perfect.”

He throws the ball again. Makka’s off in an instant.

Viktor takes a seat on the bench. “You know,” he says, watching the dog this time, “She's not usually that affectionate with everybody.”

Yuuri chuckles and sits down, too. He reaches to his pocket and rummages in it for a second. He pulls out a tissue, then his phone (the tiny diode on it lights up every several seconds, Viktor notices; his fingers itch to open the message so it stops), and then a packet that looks suspiciously like…

Viktor laughs. “Dog treats?”

Yuuri smiles, guilty as charged. “I had to come prepared. What if she didn't like me?” He glances at the blinking diode on his phone but stuffs it in his pocket without checking the message.

Viktor’s impressed—and if possible, even more enamoured with him.

“Is that okay?”

“Hmm?”

Yuuri lifts the packet. “The dog treats. I can just hide them again.”

“Oh,” Viktor drawls and shakes his head. Makkachin has probably already smelled them on him. “She ate very well at home, you can treat her if you want.”

When Yuuri rips the pack open, Makkachin is on her way back to them. She freezes, her ears moving up a little, then drops the ball and rushes to their bench like her life depends on it.

“Makka,” Viktor scolds her—wants to scold her but she's already licking her treat from Yuuri’s fingers. “Where's the ball, Makka? Where's the ball?”

Yuuri laughs. “Where's the ball, girl?” He gives her another treat and rubs her behind the ear, like she did a good job.

Viktor can't help thinking that Yuuri wasn't truly the one who taught Vicchan how to behave at the Katsuki household if he spoils Makka like that. He shakes his head with a breathy laugh and gets up. Somebody has to get the ball, after all, and it sure isn't going to be Makkachin.

“Thank you for this,” Yuuri says as they stop at the exit of the park and Viktor attaches the leash to Makka’s collar. The bottom of Yuuri’s face is hidden behind his scarf again but his cheeks hold a healthy glow, unlike any other time Viktor has seen him. “It truly means a lot.”

Viktor smiles up at him. “No need to thank me.” He pats Makkachin’s back and gets up. “We've had a lot of fun.”

Yuuri nods. “Me, too.” He sighs and adds, much softer now, “Most fun I've had in a while.”

They stand there in silence for a moment. Makkachin sits down between them, looking up at them with her tongue out. She behaved in such a lovely way around Yuuri, running after the ball and bringing it back to him. Doesn't matter she was getting treats in return. She gave Yuuri her paw when he offered his hand and sat still when he shook it. And she licked at his nose one time, surprising him so much he fell backward and landed on the ground again.

(For that, Viktor gave her a treat himself.)

Damn it. He doesn't want their meeting to end. There must be something more to do.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” Viktor asks. Coffee is good. Coffee means conversation and good company and warm interior and no scarves to hide behind.

“I don't really drink coffee.”

“Oh.”

Was that a little too obvious?

“I mean.” Yuuri frowns. “Not this late in the day.”

Oh. That's not bad. Maybe…

Viktor plays with the leash, curling it around his fingers. “What about dinner? Would you like to—grab something to eat? With me?”

Makkachin whines.

“With us?” he corrects.

Yuuri glances over Viktor’s shoulder, a little to the side, and then back to Viktor. He's quiet for a moment before he seems to get to some conclusion and shakes his head.

“I'm sorry,” he says, “I have dinner with my roommate tonight. It's my turn to cook.”

There's a sound of a hand hitting skin somewhere behind Viktor but he doesn't pay it any attention - right now he's fully focused on the sting of rejection.

“I see,” he mutters. He looks at Makkachin, then back at Yuuri.

And then he smiles.

He’s had a lovely time regardless. Yuuri agreed to meet him and Makkachin and there were no expectations on him whatsoever. He doesn't owe him anything.

“Thank you for joining us today. We really enjoyed your company,” he says. He curls the leash around his wrist and nods at Makkachin. “We should go eat something, too. Although I doubt you'll eat a lot after all these treats, huh?”

Makka stands up as well and waggles her tail.

Viktor gives Yuuri a smile. “Have a good evening, Yuuri.”

Yuuri seems distracted for a moment but when Viktor only starts moving, his eyes jump back to him.

“Let's do this again!” he calls. As Viktor stops and looks at him, Yuuri blushes. “I mean—could we do this again? Could we…” He glances around at the park behind Viktor and then back at him. “Could we meet here again? With Makkachin?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you want to do that?”

Yuuri quickly nods. “Yes! I would! And…” he squints a little, just a little to the left of Viktor’s face.

He's been doing that quite a bit, Viktor realises with suspicion.

“A phone!” Yuuri adds, quite hysterically, startling Makkachin. Instinctively, Viktor pats his right pocket to make sure his mobile is still there. “Could I give you—no, I mean, get your number?”

Viktor frowns at Yuuri’s behaviour and turns his head to look behind his own back against his better judgment.

Seung-gil Lee is sitting at one of the benches in the park, his dog nestled on the ground next to it. He gives Viktor a stiff nod when their eyes meet. Right by his side is Hamster Hat, who...

Has his right hand by his ear. In a “call me” gesture.

As soon as he sees that Viktor is looking, his eyes grow wide and he drops his hand slightly—before giving him a wave.

Viktor blinks. “What's going on?” He turns to Yuuri, whose cheeks seem to not know whether they're blushing or growing pale.

“I don't—”

Something heavy and unpleasant drops in Viktor’s stomach.

“Is this a joke?” he asks, doing his best not to sound hurt.

What if it is? Everything he knows about Yuuri, lies?

“No! No no no, I promise it's not!”

Viktor frowns. “Then why…?”

Yuuri looks between Hamster Hat and Viktor, body tense before he visibly deflates. “I was—” he starts, looking at the ground, then shakes his head, steals a glance at Viktor’s face, and looks down again, brows furrowed. “I was nervous about meeting you—so Phichit offered to come with me. As emotional support.” He looks up, eyes wide with apology. “I don't usually go out with people I don't know—not if I can help it—but I really wanted to meet you. And Makkachin. And I'd really want to meet you again.” He bites his lip. “...without Phichit this time.”

This Viktor can understand when he thinks about it. They are strangers—or were until today. Yuuri had no way of knowing that Viktor was as harmless as Makkachin during her nap or that his intentions were pure (even though not entirely selfless).

He even started doubting Yuuri a moment ago. That's what strangers do.

But they don't have to stay strangers forever.

“I really had fun today,” Yuuri adds quietly after a moment.

Viktor smiles.

“Me, too.” He curls his fingers around Makka’a leash. “Could you give me your phone?” At Yuuri’s hesitant face, he smiles again and adds, “I'll just type in my number.”

“Oh!” Yuuri scrambles to pull out his phone and hands it to Viktor with only a glance at it.

The diode still blinks from time to time and when Viktor unlocks the phone, the first thing he sees are unread messages from Phichit.

Hamster Hat.

 >>Everything going ok? 18:28

>>*Viktor, apparently 17:46

>>Seung-gil approves of ur date, says Victor’s always sweet to Meong-Meong 17:45

>>If u want to go home just yell ‘marmalade’ & I got u boo 17:31

 He blushes when he catches himself reading the texts and swipes away—only to gasp at the background picture of a puppy lying on his back and offering its belly for all the rubs.

“Is that Vicchan?” he asks before he can stop himself but when Yuuri only nods with a small smile, he coos and strokes the middle of the screen. “So cute!” And because he can't help himself,  he crouches down and puts the phone right in front of Makka’s snout. “Look how cute!”

Yuuri lets out a startled laugh at that and then hides his giggle behind his scarf when Makka surges forward to lick at the screen.

Viktor immediately pulls the phone away. “No, Makka, no licking!” He gets up and finally opens a new contact, then types in his number and saves it under his name. Before he gives it back to Yuuri, he dials his number and cancels the call when his own phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Thank you,” mumbles Yuuri and looks at the contact with a smile before he pockets the phone away.

When they finally part ways, the skip in Viktor’s step is even more noticeable than before their meeting.

This evening, when Viktor’s relaxing on his couch with Makkachin as he’s waiting for dinner to finish cooking, he gets a message from Yuuri’s number.

 >>Could I borrow your dog more often?

 He smiles and immediately types back.

 <<Depends. Can I come, too?

>>Of course :D

 “Good girl,” Viktor coos at Makkachin and gently rubs the bridge of her snout.

 <<Well, then. You can borrow us anytime you want.

 Was it too bold?, he starts to worry after minutes of no reply.

But then—

 >>Saturday afternoon?

>>We could also eat lunch if you want…?

>>It’d be my treat. For the kerchief and everything.

 If it wasn’t for Makkachin lying on his knees, Viktor would have been kicking his legs.

 <<Saturday it is ♥

 He burns dinner that night, too busy hugging Makka and laughing his heart out.

He just can’t wait for Saturday.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Stuffies, fluffy pillows, kittens & puppies, mittens, bird song, gardens! (These questions are pretty cute)(just like you) ~S

(ur cuter)

🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend?

So @museofdemons (lol tell me if this is accurate to you) and I met in the 3rd grade. I had just entered what we call the GATE (Gifted And Talented Education) after two years of charter school and one year of public school before I passed the GATE test to prove I was smart enough lol.

I had like one friend in that class that I had latched onto. She was a super sweet girl and even though she was half-friends with some of the bullies, she made sure they never said mean things to me.

Then, one day, she was absent. I had no one to play with during recess after lunch. Then, I look over and see Rhi and another girl running around the field and playing and I was like “okay, I know they’re kinda weird too, so maybe they won’t judge me for being weird.”

I went up, vaguely terrified, and I was like “can I play with you guys?” And the other girl (who also became a super close friend) was like “um, well, we’re playing Club Penguin Secret Agents.” And I was like “I KNOW ABOUT THAT STUFF!!” And then they let me play with them and it was great, and we kept playing together. 

🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream?

Ummm sometimes I write my dreams in my phone notes so let’s see if I can find the most recent one I wrote down. Okay, I found one and I’m literally just gonna copy it word-for-word because it’s literally just stream of consciousness after I woke up. Apparently it was a nightmare lol (Also I’ll be substituting names and specific places)(also, according to the timestamp, this was Oct 23, 2017)(Actually, gonna put this under a read more now just in case, TW: death and gore whoops):

There was a massive sleeping bear at the entrance to a parking lot, I think we were on [the mountain]. [Younger brother] thought it was cool and harmless. It was either asleep or very distracted with something. For some reason, I decided to run/sneak past into the parking lot. I didn’t think I could get back out past the bear and I regretted my decision. Somehow, our van with all of us and the dogs in it ended up in the back of the parking lot and were debating trying to get out by driving past the bear. [Younger brother] thought it wouldn’t hurt us, but Mom and Dad were wary. They said bears eat people and [younger brother] said that bear was harmless. Mom suddenly told us to look over. There was a red sports car parked next to the bear at the front of the parking lot. The driver dude had his front driver’s side door open. At least two, maybe three dogs appeared to be in the car. I can’t recall if he was provoking the bear in some way, but the bear (it was either the size of a bus or a small house) put a hand on his chest and knocked him over. I looked away before it did anything more. It partially ate him and then dragged his body to the entrance/exit of the parking lot, setting it down in the middle of it and blocking out escape. The bear continued slowly into the parking lot and killed another person who was out of their car for some reason and dragged their body to the entrance of the parking lot and blocked it with the second body. This continued for a few times before someone said, “We need to get out of here.” But we couldn’t, and the bear was slowly making it’s way towards us to kill us and our dogs.

Then managed to force myself awake lol. Sorry, probably not as cheery as we all would’ve liked.

🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet?

Right now, I have three dogs! Duke, a German Shepard-Husky mix, Hawkeye, a Pitbull/Labrador-Dachshund mix, and Stella, a Boxer/Pitbull/etc mix. Duke and Hawkeye we got around the same time at the humane society (at least 5 years ago?) and Stella we got a couple years back because my younger sister found her on the road while my parents drove her to school No one claimed her even after a few weeks, so we kept her! (personally, I think she had been abused wherever she had been before because of some things she did but hey she’s good now)

In the future when I have my own place, I want a St. Bernard named Lewis and a Rottweiler named Daisy! I also want a Russian Blue cat, but I’ve not decided a name yet.

🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow?

I LOVE THE SNOW!!!!

It has snowed three times in my lifetime in my city, so every time it happens I get so happy because it’s so beautiful and magical! We try to go up to the mountain at least once a winter to actually play in real snow because it snows up there. It’s SO fun! I love building giant snowmen and riding sleds! And then we go to this place on the mountain that makes cookies BIGGER THAN MY HEAD!!!! It’s always a lot of fun

🌸Bird Songs: Name 5 things you love

Ummmm Buzzfeed Unsolved, Thomas and his friends, writing, reading, watching the shows I want (whether my parents agree or not)

🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received?

Ummm, I’m not sure? My friends are like the sweetest people. Like, Rhi has bought my ticket to comic con multiple years we’ve gone together because they’re amazing. One of my friends came to my family birthday dinner and it was way more fun with her there because my anxiety didn’t act up as much since my friends can calm it. My friends got me this really cute, really warm Star Trek sweater for my brithday. My parents got me an expensive camera as a birthday/Christmas present and I LOVE using it. Basically, people are too sweet and I love every gift I’ve ever been given.

[mourningsickness]

Hyde Park's Pet Cemetery

On a gloomy Saturday morning, I braved the spittle of rain and my mounting sleep debt to attend a tour of Hyde Park’s Pet Cemetery. I was late arriving, as usual, and had to run from the station to catch the group, which meets every few months outside the refreshment stand near to Speakers’ Corner. Closed to the public except on these occasions, the cemetery is located in the north-east corner of Hyde Park, backing onto the Bayswater Road. It is secreted behind liquorice-black railings, concealed from full-view of the traffic by the foliage that forms a mesh over its metal bars.

The cemetery itself was the result of a kind of accident. Its inaugural burial took place in 1881, at the request of Mr. and Mrs. J Lewis Barned, two frequent visitors to the park. The gatekeeper, Mr. Winbridge – whose cottage was then attached to the small patch of turf that now forms the burial ground – used to sell them lollypops and ginger beer (Soteriou, 2015). The first plot went to Cherry, their children’s Maltese terrier. The garden at Victoria Lodge was one of the dog’s favourite walking spots and, as a favour to his friends, Winbridge allowed for him to be buried inside. His moss-speckled tombstone, which stands there still, reads: ‘Poor Cherry. Died April 28. 1881’.

Rumour spread like brushfire. Winbridge’s second internment was the Duke of Cambridge’s beloved Yorkshire terrier ‘Prince’, who was (sadly) mangled under the wheels of a moving carriage. The cemetery is full of such tender inscriptions: “To our gentle lovely little Blenheim, Jane – she brought the sunshine into our lives, but she took it away with her”, “My Ba-ba – never forgotten, never replaced”. Winbridge himself was responsible for most of the burials, sewing the bodies of the animals (predominantly dogs, some cats) into calico bags before laying them to rest with his own hands (Soteriou, 2015). Few of the animals’ owners actually attended these internments, for fear of worsening their own distress. Indeed, the cemetery held particular sway with London’s wealthier classes; many of the animals buried there hailed from regal, or military stock. Though its gates closed officially in 1903, the last burial – which took place in 1967 – was that of an ex-regimental mascot.

The cemetery was, it is fair to say, in a state of some disrepair. The headstones were mossy with age, and many of them knocked together, like bad teeth. Some had sunk so far into the hard ground that they appeared almost to be growing from it, like stocky roots. This is, perhaps, to be expected. Given its removal from the public sphere, the need for maintenance is less pressing than in the case of other urban ‘heritage’ sites – such as London's ‘Magnificent Seven’, which counts Nunhead and Old Brompton cemeteries among its number. Though grimy, many of the headstones at Hyde Park were visibly marble, a subtle hint at the graveyard’s former glory. As our guide was quick to point out, this affective custom of the bourgeoisie concealed the more sinister scourge of poverty and destitution that characterised much of Victorian life in London. Opposite the park, in Bayswater, were slums – many of whose (human) inhabitants would have been buried without such niceties, in unmarked paupers’ graves. The cemetery speaks then not only to the weight of affective, and sentimental value invested in pets, but also to a time when pet-keeping was a signifier of intense privilege. For those outside the safe confines of the Victorian leisure classes, they would have been simply an unaffordable luxury.

In her book Precarious Life, Judith Butler offers us the concept of the obituary as the vehicle par excellence for public memorialisation, and the ‘legitimation’ of deaths (Butler, 2004). Paradoxically, she suggests, the obituary functions as a determinant in what kind of lives are valuable. Whether or not a life is grieveable also dictates whether or not it is valuable. Certain forms of life, it turns out, are more grieveable than others. Butler utilises the fraught example of the lives lost (and much “obituarised” on the front page of the New York Times) in 9/11, versus the anonymous, civilian casualties who lost their lives in the Iraq war. Though distant, the cemetery at Hyde Park also brought this notion to mind. What about these delicate companions made them more worthy of commemoration than the vast numbers of poor who lost their lives during that time? Why is it that a visit to a pet cemetery constitutes a ‘quaint’ outing, where a visit to an abattoir would not? Why does there exist no such visual catalogue for the thousands of less-readily individuated species that were lost during the long twentieth century?

The Times, that bastion of media centrism, recently began publishing pet obituaries, sometime in 2016, suggesting that contemporary media enacts a similar function now. Although the Victorian cemetery fell into disrepair through disuse, across the country there now exist dedicated Pet Funeral services, as well as successful working pet cemeteries (among these are facilities in Surrey and East Grinstead, Sussex). Indeed, a 2015 study found that a quarter of British pet owners had ‘either organised funerals for their animals, or would consider doing so’ (Schopen, 2015). Cremation and burial services are already offered by roughly 50 funeral parlours; in excess of 10,000 pet services are conducted each year, including cremations for goldfish, budgies, and mice. We might well ask whether such affairs could be classed as forms of ‘griefsploitation’ – a fresh market for the necro-industrial complex to mine. Though these ceremonies reify and celebrate our love for our pets, this renewed professionalisation also seems at odds with the privatisation of mourning that has taken place across the span of the last century. Recalling the rituals surrounding the death of the small animals of my childhood, I am drawn to stories of ashes scattered in plant-pots and ancient hamsters lovingly buried in shoeboxes in back-gardens, or (for those without the luxury of such spaces) surreptitious areas of public parks.

One aspect of the visit I found particularly bizarre was the discordance between the gesture of affection embodied in each tombstone, and the names of the pets themselves, many of which verged on aggressive, or derogatory to the modern viewer. There were inscriptions bearing terms of endearment – ‘patient and loving to the end’, ‘dearly loved and faithful friend’, ‘a most gentle, a most loving Persian cat’ – nested underneath jagged, monosyllabic names like ‘Scum’, or ‘Smut’. Such ‘punk’ naming felt out of kilter with the wider sentimentalism at work. I was particularly appalled that one gravestone – partially concealed by the scraggly branch of an overhanging tree – appeared to have the N-word etched into it, followed by the birth and death dates of the dog interred within the grave. The sight felt like a violent reminder of the sprawling, and ductile networks of oppression in which Victorian mourners would have been embedded.

Many of the tourists around me were taking photos on their devices, smiling and laughing at the headstones with a sense of childlike wonderment best-described as ‘cooing’. I, too, took photos on my iPhone. Images provide a useful visual jog to the memory; such tours are rare, and I likely won’t return again. As I did so however, I felt ill at ease. There was something vaguely unsettling about the collective glee the cemetery provoked. Its modern-day status as a ‘charming’ spectacle, worthy of capture, felt incompatible with the lived distress of people who buried their pets here, and were too distressed by their loss even to attend. The group (myself included) stood laughingly over the grave of Balu – a dog whose headstone informed us he had been spitefully poisoned ‘by a cruel Swiss’ in 1899. He was singled out by the guide as part of a lighthearted, ‘spot the murder victim’ game. Some tenderness seemed to have been lost in translation here. Was it historical distance that allowed this laughter to enter the frame? Or is there something inherently comical about the prospect of violence committed against the nonhuman by the human? Does a person’s lived experience of suffering expire, or collapse into the stuff of ridicule after a fixed point? If so, who gets to make these kinds of ethical calls? A group of tour-goers, on a bitter Saturday morning?

Increasingly, I felt reminded of the grotesque aspect of our modern relationship with our pets, who seem to be incrementally perceived as source-material for ‘viral’ internet content; whether the innocent videotapes of ‘Animals Do the Funniest Things’, Youtube videos, memes, or thirty-second looped Instagram clips. Despite our care – or perhaps as a facet of it? – we seem to trade in the ridicule of animals, like a gag-reel writ-large. Even in this space supposedly consecrated to their memory, animals retain some affiliation with this ridiculousness. Teasing can be an expression of love. But I wonder if teasing does convey affection in quite the same way, when its object does not have the faculty to tease back. I think of my cat, and his concrete, palpable sense of humiliation when he is laughed at.

Hyde Park’s Pet cemetery is a historically-specific cultural monument, a sign of its time as well as the Victorians’ putative sentimentality, and their pompous, performative affective customs. Showiness aside, it also speaks to a moment in which pets – and their deaths – first began to be taken seriously. The rise of domestic animals saw pets gain not only ‘pet’ names but, with them, a sense of individuality that made them worthy of such commemoration. Even if there remains something spectacular about this space, with its bourgeois intentions, it acts also as a permanent trace of remembrance, an expression of gratitude for the company of creatures whose memories have long-since expired.

Bibliography

Butler, Judith, Precarious Life (London: Verso, 2004).

Schopen, Fay, 'Lots of people are getting pet funerals. Don’t, it’s a rip-off', Guardian, 14 September 2015<https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/sep/14/pet-funerals-rip-off-money> [Accessed 14 February].

Soteriou, Helen, 'Inside Hyde Park's secret pet cemetery', Telegraph, 4 August 2015, <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/news/Inside-Hyde-Parks-secret-pet-cemetery/> [Accessed 22 February].

[atticusblog2016-blog]

New Post has been published on Atticusblog

New Post has been published on https://atticusblog.com/the-american-health-care-acts-prosperity-gospel/

The American Health Care Act's Prosperity Gospel

That interview turned into one of this stunner as it’s precisely what Republicans aren’t meant to mention about their fitness-care bill. Most Republicans paint their guide for the AHCA in phrases of the deficiencies of Obamacare, the problems low-income humans face obtaining low-cost fitness-care, or a perceived incapability of u . S . To pay for the extensive advantages of the program.

When pressed, notwithstanding the proof otherwise, birthday party leaders like Speaker Paul Ryan get away PowerPoint to argue that their plan will simply help low-income people and those with pre-existing situations. Even provisions which might be manifestly extra rooted in an ethical background, like help for paintings necessities in Medicaid, are painted as portions with a purpose to make the entire law better and gain the lives of everybody worried.

But at the same time as Brooks’s comments stray from Republican speaking factors, they will help provide an explanation for each the inner common sense of the American Health Care Act and one of the main elements to the political appeal of Trumpism.

The AHCA, even via conservative suppose-tank calculations, will go away many low-income and ill people without coverage they are able to have enough money and does so even because it makes health care work better for healthy people. Brooks’s explanation, and his near association of morality and fitness, with the concept that “correct lives” produce desirable health, is just a recasting of the prosperity gospel.

What’s a spiritual philosophy basically pioneered through rich televangelists and megachurches were given to do with pre-existing conditions and Medicaid reform? The beliefs of a few evangelicals connecting wealth to God’s choose have become intertwined with faith healing, and both rose to new heights in the television era at the backs of men like Oral Roberts. While it became a part of the cults of persona across the generation of Pat Robertsons and Peter Popoff’s that followed Roberts’s lead, faith recuperation was additionally undeniably a coverage declaration. It as a minimum partially rejected the position of science in public health and advocated a view that faith, distinctive feature, and good works will be enough to secure recuperation. And although the furthest extremes of the prosperity gospel often convey to mind church scandals, thousand-dollar fits, and parish helicopters, the simple idea that a healthful life turned into also a sign of favor healthy right in with the gospel’s protection of riches. Health is wealth.

The American Dream and Eugene O’Neill

The gift takes a look at tries to scrutinize Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh and Long Day’s Journey into Night. Here, the essential evaluate is based on “The American Dream” as a country wide fable; it’s miles the parable of success or a fulfilled life for all Americans. The theoretical framework is based totally on the thoughts of some critics inclusive of Lewis, Carpenter, and Pradhan on “The American Dream”.

This look at follows a historical angle and states that “The American Dream” has been with Americans from the beginning of the records of America. And later indicates that this precise dream has turned to be a myth for centuries.

For this research, first, a complete study is performed in the history of America as well as on the ideas such as “The American Dream” and “American fantasy”. Then, the factors of “The American Dream” are traced on The Iceman Cometh and Long Day’s Journey into Night. Next, those factors are considered as the inaccessible table. Totally, it’s far shown that how O’Neill depicts “The American Dream” in his performs.

When O’Neill started to write down performs, inside the American drama there was an unreasonable reputation of materialism and traditional values, and the presentation of lifestyles and person changed into hackneyed. O’Neill’s plays from the primary monitor better and truer expertise of man and his existence. Tilak Raghukul (1975) believes that:

From the beginning O’Neill saw lifestyles as something not to be smartly arranged in a have a look at, however as terrifying, marvelous and often quite horrible, a thing corresponding to the twister, an earthquake or a devastating heart (p.20).

O’Neill considers the mythical characters which have come to America and have been looking for their desires and a fulfilled lifestyles. He writes about forty plays that most of them are about an American family. O’Neill started and ended his dramatic career in realism. All his critical plays depict a sad imaginative and prescient of America. Some dozen violent deaths and over two dozen nonviolent deaths, as well as causes of insanity in his drama, are an indication of the consistency of his tragic vision. H. Clark Barrelt (1947) says:

When America changed into close to victory in World War II, O’Neill told his countrymen I’m occurring the principle that the USA, instead of being the most a hit country in the international, is the greatest failure (p.152).

The Meaning Of Quality In Health Care

The system of receiving health care services at the ideal time in the best manner and to get the first-rate possible final results is described as satisfactory health care.

Six attributes of fitness care high-quality

• Safety – Care must now not harm any affected person. • Patient-focused – Individual needs should be looked after whilst imparting care. • Timely – Care should be furnished exactly on time. • Effective – Care must be based totally on proof. • Efficient – Wastage of time ought to be decreased. • Equitable – Equal care must be furnished to each affected person.

What is high-quality health care?

The meaning of first-class fitness care isn’t always the same for anybody. According to a few sufferers, pleasant care is to consult a physician, to get proper remedy from the staffs of a clinic and to have a health practitioner who can spend much time with the patient. But all this stuff are secondary. Clinical first-rate of care is the maximum crucial factor because greater lives can be saved by imparting proof-based and excessive fine care.

Does high-quality equal protection?

Yes, fine equals protection. The exceptional of care is to be advanced with the aid of the health care providers because it is able to keep more lives of the patients.

How is fitness care quality measured?

Outcome indicators and system signs are the two ways of measuring satisfactory of care. Timelines and baseline practices are measured via manner indicators. Complication costs, mortality quotes and infection quotes are measured with the aid of outcome indicators.

These signs can be checked out by means of the consumer to evaluate the hospitals. National accreditations, recognitions, and country of the medical institution have to also be looked at via you to degree nice.

How to Take Care of Pets

  In contemporary busy and self-focused international, while nobody has any time for everybody else, pets in our homes make for the nice pals and partners we can ever hope to have! The joy and enthusiasm that my pet dog greets me with after I attain home at the ease of a long and hard workday at once lift my spirits and any tiredness I bring back with me vanishes into thin air. Pets are loyal, trustworthy, unconditional and spontaneous in their love and gain us in several ways.

In go back, it’s miles crucial for us to make sure we care for our pets too inside the pleasant way viable.

Here are some key approaches wherein you could make certain you are being a responsible puppy owner and carer!

Space: Pets need to have a place this is safe, dry, clean and relaxed. While considering on the selection of our pets ould carefully bear in mind space it’s going to require for the aquarium for our fish, corner for our cat or dog or cage for the lovebirds we so wish to have! If an entire room is an excessive amount of to consider, a clean and demarcated boundary can be created on your furry pal.

Diet: According to the puppy that you personal, you must try to make certain they’re fed a balanced and nutritious weight-reduction plan. Every species and breed, in turn, has ingredients which are permissible and people that may cause more harm than good. Make positive you take a look at with the vet and most effective feed your pet the right sort of meals and appropriate quantities. Just as meals desires to be cautiously monitored, so to you must make sure that your pet has adequate and clean consuming water available.

Exercise: All pets need their area so one can flex their muscle groups and spread their wings. Pets like puppies need to be taken for a scheduled stroll frequently. Pet birds ought to have sufficient room of their cages now not to experience cramped. And each day exercising routine will ensure your pets are wholesome and happy

Medical Attention: Regular checkups with the veterinarian will make certain that your puppy is hale and healthy and could assist to diagnose any illnesses well earlier. Vaccinations have to take delivery of in a well timed and disciplined manner.

Cleanliness: All pets have cleanliness and hygiene desires. Pets like puppies and cats should be bathed regularly and groomed to hold their fur, hair, nails and skin nicely cared for. The vicinity your pets are housed in must be wiped clean and washed each day to preserve the surroundings easy and pest unfastened. Make certain also to keep your pet free of parasites like fleas, ticks, and worms. Fish bowls or aquarium water desires to be modified appropriately in a timely style.