#when my mother couldn't afford food all the time so we'd go there for their free weekly meal

[just-somedude]

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[rosaspicypaper]

I wasn't even ten when my mother taught me to shave. It was exciting. I felt grown up. She explained to me, gently, that I would have a lot to get rid of for the rest of my life. We just had a lot of body hair, more than average. So, there I remember being a little girl, taking a blade to my skin every time I had to shower. A family hardly able to afford food for the week, but we still prioritized a razor for a child in the fifth grade. It grew everywhere, even thick and dark on my thighs. I took it all away, sometimes spending 15 minutes double checking myself to make sure I got every last one. And then, if I found I didn't once had I dried off, I'd get back in and finish the job, or do it dry to ensure I got it all, razor burn preferable to hair. It didn't stop there. I wasn't stupid. I knew the legs weren't the only place you didn't want to have body hair. Once I felt I had the hang of it, I started to shave my armpits. My belly. My chest. My pubic area. My arms. And, as a courtesy of the bones in my wrist, I eventually took out a chunk of flesh so deep and wide you can still see the scar over a decade later. My mom understood. She bandaged me up, and I maintained my routine. Middle school was harder. I kept it up, but kids saw through it. They called me a dog. I had to get rid of even more, I determined. Shaving my chest and my belly turned into waxing. I became self conscious of the dark hair on my cheeks and my jaw, my upper lip and what lay outside of an ideal brow shape. I ripped it all away, checking twice daily for hair I missed, and if I found any I had a pair of tweezers to help finish the job. I was, of course, introduced to the idea floating around online that women didn't have to remove their body hair. I agreed, I thought, that women could do whatever they wanted with their body hair! And if that was the case, I'd choose to keep getting rid of mine. We've all heard the same excuse parrotted around: "I just like the way it feels." And I did. Of course I did. I was used to the smooth skin and that baby soft feel, the validation and admiration that came with having a perfect, hairless...everything. I was okay with other women making the choice to have it because their choice wasn't going to make me feel otherly. I never genuinely understood how miserable it was to maintain the routine until my sophomore year of high school. It had become as second nature to me as brushing my teeth or washing my hair. But, I chose to stop shaving. Over the years, I would cave to the misery and get rid of it all over again, but eventually I'd let it grow out, and it was uncomfortable. It was scary. The prickling hair drove me crazy, the sandy feel of my legs making me squirm once it had grown out. I loathed putting lotion on. It felt like I had to use half the bottle just to get to my legs. Jeans in the summer until I couldn't stand it anymore, friends that flushed with embarrassment when we'd go to the pool. A mother pleading me to do it again, "for me". Struggling to find products that would work for me because women's hygiene isn't formulated with women's natural selves in mind... by now, I don't think I've shaved in over 4 years, and I certainly don't feel so otherly anymore. Was it the easy choice? Was it the comfortable one? Not at all, but I feel as though it was the necessary one.

[fox-bright]

A dream.

I dreamed I was an orphan child, dressed mostly in rags, following a caravan. Horses, carts, wheelbarrows, maybe mostly a merchant caravan? There were guards, and they kept me from getting too close to beg for food.

An old man all in black and dark blue started sharing his food with me in the evenings, and his fire. It was a several-month journey, and I was sticking as near the caravan as I could creep, so that I'd be safer from bandits that preyed on travelers in the desert. I never saw the old man sleep, but once in a while he said he'd keep watch while I did so, and I grew fond of him pretty quickly.

Mostly what I remember of him from the dream was that he told stories. Not the kind I was used to, not the funny stories about who tricked whom or who got kicked by a horse when they tried to sneak into a woman's blankets, they were stories about palace intrigues and the movements of armies, complicated things that always seemed ultimately to have a moral--avoid cruelty, avoid greed, consider the effects of your actions on the people around you. I asked "Are you a monk?" and he tilted his head and smiled, and said nothing.

Bit by bit, my being seen with him brought me closer to the caravan. Eventually I was allowed to sleep within the glow of its firelight. A little while later, one of the kinder guards would slip me bits of dried meat when he thought no one else was looking, and once or twice even tangy dried fruit. Someone, or someone's mother, gave me a pair of shoes that a child had outgrown on the trip. I don't think I'd had shoes before, only sometimes wrapped rags around my feet if the air was cold. It seemed that everyone knew the man--and lots of him did, in fact, call him That Monk--and knew him to be a good judge of character. It seemed that the old man was known for good deeds, for the quiet word that interrupted an argument, for tireless effort to help in times of trouble (mending a cart wheel, caring for a sick horse or injured herd dog), for feeding hungry children like me.

With acceptance came other conversations, sidelong at first and then openly, about the weather and where we'd all come from, about where we were going and what we hoped to be when we got there. I didn't have any particular reason to think that the new city I was headed to would be kinder to me than the last, but home hadn't been safe for me anymore, and if I was very lucky I could find some sort of apprenticeship. One of the merchants hoped to become rich, another had already traveled this route a dozen times in his life, and scoffed at the idea. A grandmother was going to be with her son and his family, now that her husband was in the ground--she couldn't wait to see the sea again, after her entire adult lifetime spent so far from where she'd been born.

That Monk didn't have any goal, he said. The older merchant murmured that he'd encountered him more than once on this road, over the years, and that he'd already been known here when the merchant was young. "He doesn't settle." he said. "Maybe his sort can't."

All the same, I tried to convince him. "If I get an apprenticeship I could afford us a room. It's going to be autumn when we make it to the city, you should at least stay through the winter." I hadn't had any dreams about family in a long time, and he'd become precious to me. I harassed him for two weeks, until finally he sat me down alone after the rest of the caravan was asleep and said he was going to tell me something he hadn't told anyone else in a long, long time.

And he told me another story:

"Long ago, when I was young and fierce, I was also very wealthy, and thought that gave me virtue. I was the brightest son of a family of strong warriors, raised to know that everything I looked upon belonged to me, and I could do as I would. And oh, I did. I wreaked war on my neighbors on all sides, and added their wealth to my own. My father eventually joined our grandfathers in the afterlife, and I became the ruler. To do honor to my forebears, I conquered without mercy. I burned villages if they would not submit to my rule, I sacked cities, I ordered the deaths of as many people as there are fish in the Yangtze. And my empire flourished and shone, and I was glad.

As I grew older, of course there were rebellions. And I and my captains put them down. Once, there was an attempt at a coup within my own palace. I had the ringleaders tortured to death publicly over the course of a week, and held a feast while their families were driven into the desert. The face of the world was changed by my hand, and I reckoned it only appropriate, because after all I was strong. And bit by bit, violence by violence, I grew old.

When the fever came, I knew that I would not survive it. I had already assigned duties to my heirs, as I would not see my great empire destroyed by bickering after I was gone, and I settled riches on my wives, and I knew the rattling in my chest was an announcement of my fate.

I grew very weak. I thought about what was to happen to me next, about what gleaming company I would enter as I died, about my grandfathers and the stories we would tell about our triumphs. Half-dreaming, sick and delirious, I saw them arrayed about me in their armor and their finery, and I waited to see them smile and welcome me. But their faces were hard with grief. And I knew all at once that I had no time left, and that I was about to be consigned to one of the bitterest hells. I had committed so many acts of war, to no purpose but to add to my majesty. I had caused so many to die, and killed so many with my own hands, that the weight of their suffering would drive me down for the rest of time. I was filled with despair and self-loathing.

I had known some power beyond that of the spear, and I had read many books, and with my last breath I made a bargain. I said, let me not yet enter hell. Let me instead try to rebalance my karma, let me do good where for so long I have done violence. And my grandfathers said, You have no time. And I begged them, I do not ask to live. I only ask to find some way to atone.

And I opened my eyes for the last time, and I was alone in the room. And I closed my eyes."

I looked at him in disbelief, where he leaned back against against a bag beside the dimming fire, all his darkness limned in gold. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and I did not think he watched me. I took a long breath. "It is a story." I said. "It is." he said. "Go to sleep."

I slept.

When I woke into a bright morning, I did not ask him again to stay with me. I did not ask him for anything at all. The mother who had given me her boy's shoes watched me with concern, and rested her palm on my forehead for a minute. After some quiet discussion with her group, she said that today, I could ride on her cart and rest.

But I was a child, and children smooth things over. And after all I had been alone for so long, without an adult to trust, why would I throw this one away? Life went back to normal.

We were very near the city now. Near enough that the guards began to be on edge, because with proximity came greater danger. We hadn't seen any bandits on the road, had once seen a cloud of dust on the horizon that came from the hooves of many horses but had never been close enough to hear their riders. But there is no point to raiding a merchant caravan unless you can sell what you take from it, and cities have many people who would buy from anyone. So it was perhaps inevitable that the last night we would be camping outside, we were attacked.

I snapped awake to the sounds of screaming horses, and screaming people. My fire had died down, but I could see the rest of the caravan's fires being stoked bright, I could see women thrusting their children behind them. I heard laughter from the shadows behind me, and when I turned there were bandits, their faces very cheerful and upsetting. They were between me and the safety of the caravan, so I ran into the dark.

I was small, and not very strong. I didn't get far. There were half a dozen of them here, and they grabbed at me, and all I was was screaming and kicking and biting. One of them caught my heel, and my shoe peeled off as I hauled my leg back to kick again. And then there was all at once a sort of silence, a stillness that came over us like a blanket, like sleep. In my lungs the air felt freezing cold, the stars above were clear and untwinkling. And behind us all, That Monk cleared his throat.

"If you don't put the child down, turn and leave this camp, I will kill the lot of you." he said. His voice wasn't loud. There was no anger in it, though there was a sort of sleepy anticipation, and an absolute confidence. All the hairs on my arms went up, and I was shouting again, but this time at him, begging him not to do it. He'd been working a thousand years to balance his karma, if he killed these men--if he killed these men!

They dropped me roughly on my tailbone, drawing weapons, diving for That Monk. And for a moment I had double vision, there was his wrinkled, smiling self, all his dark rough clothing, and there was a man in his thirties, dark hair falling to his knees in a high tail, shining lacquered armor catching the light from the caravan fires. Drawn sword catching the light more sharply, blood red. He moved through the bandits like a flicker, or a swallow, some darting thing, like a child's kongzhu toy jumping from string to string. But everywhere he landed, a blade darted out, and someone fell.

It was over in moments. I'd barely had time to bring back the breath that had been knocked out of me when I was dropped. My heart was in my throat, and my eyes welled up, looking at the old-young king-monk who had saved me. "Stupid! What were you thinking! You were almost free!" I shouted at him, finding my feet and running to pummel him on the chest with useless fists. "My life is worthless! You should have let me die!"

He laughed under his breath, and fixed the tie in my loosened hair. "If I had done that, if I had let you die out of fear of soiling my karma, what would have happened to me then?" he asked me. "What weight would have been added to me, what shame? Killing them was a more moral choice than cowardice." I blinked and rubbed my eyes with dusty fingers. Behind him I saw men in armor, men with cheekbones like his, men with jewels at their throats and quiet approval on their rough or elegant faces. And behind them, someone else, someones, all bright, hair and eyes burning white as the Moon--

And then I woke up.

[erudianokabe]

— "I remember what you said. You promised we'd pay for what we did, and you promised pain. So are you here to make me pay?"

— "Yeah. I did say that, didn't I?"

— "Huh?"

— "Let's forget about that. At first, I considered every person on this side of the sea an enemy. But later, I crossed the sea and slept under my enemies' roof…ate the food they offered me… Reiner, I'm the same as you. Some of these people are awful, but some are good. Same where I'm from. Inside the walls, we're all just people. But you were taught that the people in the walls weren't like you. That we were demons. You were just kids who got brainwashed. Hatred was part of your training. As young as you were, how could you have fought that? You couldn't have and will it. It looks like you've already paid."

— "No. You're wrong, Eren! That day... when the titan got Marcel, Annie and Bertolt wanted to end the mission right then, and they would have. But I convinced them to keep going, not just to save my own skin but… because I wanted to become a hero! I wanted to be respected! It's my fault! The truth is your mother was eaten by a titan because of me!

For me, personally, this bit of conversation here was such a turning point— or rather, it was a very good culmination of Eren and Reiner's character.

The way that Eren can outright say the things that's probably been living inside Reiner's head all this time. A major source of his emotional struggles. I’m pretty sure that the knowledge of everyone being just the same as they were began to sink in inside his head at such an early stage. It’s probably even before they joined the cadets. The anime showed Reiner and Bertolt’s reaction after they made that hole in the wall.

Among the crowd you can see the surprise— the horror on their faces. Murder is murder no matter how you slice it, and the same can be said for being a child. No matter how determined or dedicated Reiner was to this grand cause of saving the world, no matter how prepared he felt to kill these devils… words and actions tend to weigh differently once you're on the part where you need to do it. Granted he performed his task of breaching the outer wall, I don’t think anything could have prepared him from the sight of these devils scrambling like humans once death and chaos were added into the equation. As a kid, Reiner’s tremendously honest and kind. He’s not the type that could pull of an act of feigning empathy or sympathy for the enemy. The shock on their faces here? Damn genuine, if you ask me. Although, at this point in time, I don’t think he’d doubt the teachings of Marley about the people from Paradis. However, I do think he'd begin to ask questions, if only for him to make something out of it. Coz I feel like Reiner has a certain defense mechanism to shock… wherein he tries his best to reason and make sense of things, coming to an acceptable and realistic conclusion that he can fathom and work with. In this situation, I feel like he’d be asking, “They’re devils, aren’t they? So… why are they so scared?”

Of course, he can’t keep dwelling on that. Not when they have a mission to do, not when they had goals that needs to be accomplished. Out of all of them, Reiner knows he’s the one who can’t afford to be affected or lose heart because he was the one who forced Annie and Bertolt to continue the mission. He assumed the responsibility of being in charge in place of Marcel. So, he of all people can’t be dissuaded, can’t be half-assed about it, shouldn’t have a change of heart regarding the filth within those walls.

However, as time progresses, as the years come and go, Reiner observes, he learns. He has to, in order to infiltrate and do his mission properly. He has to act in a way that’ll get THEIR enemies’ sympathy so that moving inside the walls become easier. Living out their lives as people from Paradis, sticking to someone else’s borrowed truth (the story the old man told them before he hung himself) as Bertolt narrated in the earliest part of the series… in order to cement their own identities, so no one would become suspicious. Still, I guess nothing could have prepared Reiner for the bonds that he’d eventually forge with the cadets from the 104th battalion either. This was most probably the time wherein him, Annie, and Bertolt actually got the most interaction. Living with them day to day. Doing the same things, eating the same food… and this time, sharing a similar goal— to save humanity, to save the world. In the earlier stages of being a cadet, I’m sure he still has his mind on the warrior’s mission. But I’m also of the opinion that his “fraternizing with the enemy” wasn’t just for its sake anymore. He may say that it’s to get on their good side, but this was probably also the time where he’s actually treated like an actual human being by his fellow peers. Not as a warrior, not as a soldier… but just as a person who gets his fair share of acknowledgment. That some part of him was actually good enough. To think that his so-called devils, the people he’d held in contempt for so long, the evils of this world, would be the people who saw him as well… a person. Shit, he even became someone’s hero.

When Eren asked him how to be like Mikasa and him? I’m sure we all know that Reiner saw himself for a moment in this strong-willed but desperate boy who just wanted to make a change before he ended up dying…because that’s how he felt when he was in Marley. When he was the weakest of them all. When he was desperately running after a dream— only to be denied, so he had to go after the next. “Just do what you have to. Keep moving forward. That’s all we can do.” While these were real words of advice that he had for Eren, I firmly believe that this is a reminder for himself too. That he has to keep moving forward. A creed he has lived by since day one, because for someone like him who knew what it was like to be the worst at everything, doing what you can and moving forward was the only real way to get results. That’s what he’s done, and that’s what he’ll do… regardless of whatever it was that he believes to be right… which of course, blurs somewhere along the way. Something further reinforced by Marco’s death— at the hands of Reiner’s own decision making. One which we also know that his guilt and conscience couldn’t handle. SO. If the line was already blurring somewhere along the way, Marco’s death, for me, was the trigger of him solidly compartmentalizing who he is as a warrior and who he is as a soldier. At this particular junction, this was the only way for him to function properly. Where he loses himself in one persona, and then switches when either the need arises or when he is reminded that he’s actually a warrior.

Coz like, at some point, I really believe that Reiner would have wanted to just be a soldier. To be with these people who gave him the validation and respect that he never really got back in Marley, but also to protect the friends that he’s made along the way. I think this want had been strong enough at one point. Specifically, when he saved Connie. Him remembering Marcel’s deeds; him having incorporated who Marcel was in his soldier persona makes it even stronger. Because at the end of the day, Reiner just wants to save his comrades, his friends. I don’t think this has ever changed. From the time he apologized to Annie and Bertolt… promising that he’d be the warrior he was meant to be, up to this point in time. He’s got their backs. Which is why I think that in Reiner’s character development, the conversation between Connie and Bertolt about Reiner being so self-sacrificing is important. Because this was the point where Bertolt was reminding Reiner of who he really is only for Reiner to shut it out completely, his head not even beginning to register what the hell a warrior was or what it even meant.

But again, the reality of the situation rears its ugly head. The trigger of which, again for me, are two things. One, was Eren mentioning that Bert and Reiner were driven far away from their hometown. If you go to episode six of Season 2, you’ll notice how his reaction drastically changes. Because before Eren mentions it, Reiner was in the moment of being a soldier. Where all that registers to him was the near-death experiences he had with titans. Again, it’s not as if he was lying. These were the truths of his experiences regardless of what the reason behind his actions were. At this time, he doesn't remember telling Annie Eren’s location, most likely doesn’t even register Annie as the female titan. He’s not trying to deceive anyone; he was just reliving the trauma of having almost died. So much that he even wanted Armin to validate the prior situation. The second one was when Bertolt reacted to what Eren said after seeing Reiner’s expression. Like, bam. Bertolt sees the opportunity to once again pull Reiner out from the deep end by reminding him of home. Which works. However, not in the way that he himself expected.

I don’t have enough Bertolt in me to interpret his words of “Truer words were never spoken. Home! Let’s go! We’ve been here long enough. Compared to everything else we’ve had to go through; the rest is easy.” But I’m sure as hell Bertolt didn’t mean for Reiner to just so casually reveal the truth to Eren like that. Maybe it was more a nod to ‘Let’s escape while we have the chance. Let’s go back with what we know. We've done enough. If we get punished, I'm sure we can take it.’ But not Reiner’s “I’m the Armored Titan. He’s the Colossal.” spiel.

After all that’s happened, what they’ve been through. Reiner knew that Bertolt was right. Everything moving forward would be easier. So, for a while, Reiner just gave in. He wants to go home, just like anyone else. Wants the mission he forced on his fellow Warriors to finally come to an end. Everyone’s tired of all the fighting. All the death. Reiner now has a better understanding of the people of Paradis whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He can bargain. In a way, he sees a kindred spirit in Eren. So, he took the chance of telling him the truth. See, knowing what he knows now, I am a firm believer that a chunk of who he is as a person just wants to avoid killing anyone else. Because he knows that there were no devils behind these walls, only people. Like him. Like Bertolt, like Annie. Like those they’ve left behind and were waiting for them in Marley. He just wants to avoid a fight at all costs, even if it meant spilling the beans. Eren, in part, wants the same thing. To prevent any more people from dying, to save as many as he possibly can. So, to Reiner, he thought that maybe Eren would understand if he explained the situation. That him going with them was the optimal way to avoid a major crisis. The best solution anyone could ever ask for. Which… of course, didn’t go exactly as planned. Because as Eren mentioned, “What’d you expect me to do? Say yes, let myself be kidnapped just coz you asked politely?” things don't always go well when you ask politely.

AND YOU REALLY SEE the look on Reiner’s face here. For me, this is when he snaps back to reality, and not just any reality. He snaps back to the entirety of the situation, of how everything that they’ve known wasn’t all that it was cut out to be. The realization that they weren’t fighting devils, but they were fighting people just like them. That he can no longer really consider himself a hero, because heroes dont murder innocent people. How he no longer knows what’s right from wrong, but despite knowing all that, he has to go back to his roots, to his duty as a warrior. So, you know… for the first time in a long while, we get to see Reiner for who he actually is. Not Reiner as a Soldier, not Reiner as Warrior… but the Reiner who always has to make a choice and choose the path that he needs to stick by due to the realizations he brings himself to accept, by force or otherwise. And man, when he says that he’s choosing the road that leads to the bitter end. It’s not even about coming back as a hero anymore, he really just wants it to be over. Because that's the only way for it to be over, he’ll accept what he’s done; take responsibility, pay for it. Because again, that’s all he can really do— accept the outcome no matter how painful it is and move forward.

And then the switch from warrior to soldier happens again without warning when they were taking a rest after capturing Eren and Ymir. God. The way that they showed his internal struggle here, from having been reminded that he’s not a soldier to being reminded of Marco’s death, to Ymir and Eren just rubbing salt to the wound of his sins. Out of all of them, he gets it. It’s not as if he wants to be a victim or chooses to be one, it’s just that… he actually is a victim whether he wanted to be or not— but at the same time, it’s not as if he’s trying to run away from the murder, from the death, from the sins. He’s trying his best to resolve it within himself. But it just isn’t easy. Because he’s never lied about how he felt. Because somewhere along the way, he understood what Paradis really was. What those devils really were. So, when Eren just kept throwing his rage at him, he loses it. Telling him outright that he’s aware that they were, at this point, murderers. And that he didn’t need to be constantly reminded of it. Reiner understands that no amount of apology can fix the damage that they— that he had caused the day they breached Wall Maria. I think what hurts Reiner the most in this entire exchange was Eren saying that they were not human, not one of them, never been. Again, if there’s someone here who doesn’t need this constant reminder, it’s Reiner. Only this time, he’s faced with someone who was just like him once. Three years ago, Reiner would have shared the same sentiment, without a doubt. But now? He knows the truth, that they were, indeed the same. Only this time, there was no way to prove it because to the rest of Paradis, they were the monsters, the bad guys, the devils.

The irony is though, when Reiner asked, “want us to feel bad, want us to take the blame”, four years after, he does just this: Feel bad while taking the blame for everything that has happened back on the island. One helluva foreshadowing for our broken man.

When Eren mentions that Reiner already paid the price, Eren now understands where the former was coming from. Based on how he appeared, how he carried himself, pretty sure Eren more than anyone, understands what Reiner had and was still going through. Why Eren himself can just drop the whole revenge agenda. But Reiner can’t. Deep down, somewhere, he’s always wanted this. Always waited for this chance. Wanting for his wrongs to be brought up, for him to get the punishment that he deserved because his guilt couldn’t take it. Which is why he was doing everything, groveling even, to plead his case… his sins to Eren. Reiner doesn't want to be forgiven, understands that he can’t be, doesn’t even expect anyone to do that for him. Which is why it came as a shock when Eren just dropped it. Among everyone, Reiner expected Eren to be the one to deliver that justice, the pain the execution he deserved. But that never came, and it never will. I do think that in Eren's point of view, seeing Reiner like this, he's convinced that Reiner was suffering enough, pained enough. And for someone who had no choice in the matter at the time, didn't know any better, what he was going through now was already comparable to death; maybe even worse.

I think it’s pretty brilliant how Eren literally just reiterates what Reiner airs out four years ago, of them being the same. Of how Reiner and the others were just kids, and how they didn’t know a damn thing. Knew that hatred was part of the training, that children so young couldn’t have known better, couldn’t have willed it. And Reiner despite knowing the truth denies those very words in order to validate his crimes and his self-loathing. Of how he doesn’t want to accept that a murderer like him can just be let off the hook that easy. Even trying to appeal that it was because of him that Carla got eaten in order to make Eren change his mind. But he won’t. Not when Eren understands the truth that he didn’t four years ago. Not when Eren understands what he has to do in order to achieve his own goal. Not when Eren's future actions would be far worse than what Reiner had done all those years ago.

In a way they were just two kids trying to save the world. One simply grew up fighting a war he never should have fought and trying his best to push forward despite being someone who was unable to let go of the past— despite of the mistakes that have been made along the way. While the other never really changed, simply accepting the truth, unable to let go of the future that'd eventually bring about the freedom that everybody sought after.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

All three Bengal kittens have been rescued

So I made a post yesterday about how I had to catch all the stray Bengal kittens I'd be made aware of and said that I'd hopefully post the full story when I had them all. Well, it's storytime!

So some backstory here: When I was 8-12 years old my parents and I breed and raised Bengals cats. Some of you are going to get the wrong idea from that sentence so let me assure you that we were VERY responsible breeders and also a very small operation. We only ever breed three Bengals (our "queens") and we did not keep any adult male cats at the same time to breed them with. Instead, we took them all the way down to West Virginia to the lady we'd gotten our first one from and she bred them for us. During those four years we were a business, Shanti had three litters, Rosie had two, and Diamond had one. They were not over-bred and the kittens were well cared for. In fact we even fostered a mother cat who we did not own, who had EIGHT kittens which we then hand fed and raised because the mom couldn't take care of them.

That was Crystal's litter, if you happen to have been here a couple months ago and seen my post about her when she died. Crystal was 17 when she died. Shanti was 18. Rosie was 14 and I believe Diamond was 12. Diamond and Rosie only died "early" because they had health complications that we could not fix despite all our efforts and it was kinder to let them go then let them suffer.

So. We love Bengal cats. LOVE them. However, we also know just how much it costs to get one and we knew we'd never be able to afford another.

Enter a longtime family friend who works in a nearby town and has known us since our Bengal cat raising days.

Three weeks ago she sent my mom a text with a picture of a BEAUTIFUL snow Bengal who she said was living on the streets. Nobody wanted her, this beautiful little cat. So, a few days later, I ventured out to investigate and see if this cat could be caught because I am the crazy cat girl and always have been (the friend who told us about the cat even said I'd "always had a way with animals").

I get there and find out two things very quickly upon meeting this cat. One, it is a BABY. Like, not a tiny baby, but 5-6 months old. And two, it is starving. Like, it's not just hungry, I can see and feel its ribs and backbone VIVIDLY. I am immediately in love and committed to saving this precious baby.

I try and fail to capture the kitten two days in a row (and like, when I say fail, I mean that I managed to pick it up and one day get it in a crate, I just couldn't zip the crate shut fast enough before it wiggled out). On the third day I meet a woman who works where I've been trying to catch the cat and she tells me it belongs to someone. I am skeptical, but I listen because I don't want to steal someone's cat, obviously. She tells me what house she thinks the cat is from and encourages me to find out if the lady who owns it will give/sell me the cat. In light of this I put the cat crate I'd been bringing away, but stay to feed the cat. And then I find out something else that's incredibly important.

There's another Bengal kitten.

As I'm feeding the little snow a beautiful little black spotted kitten appears and demands food as well. My brain says "Bengal" but I'd never had one like this so I take pictures to show my parents and check out later. My mom recognizes it as a charcoal Bengal and is immediately in love with it.

But, we were told the snow belongs to someone, so a couple days later on my mom's half work day we head over (in the rain) to ask the people in the house if it's their cat or not. We meet a nice lady with a little girl who tells us that she has no idea who's cat it is and it isn't theirs. She tells us she'd be happy if we took it, especially if it's starving!

So the next day I return with the intent to capture the charcoal and the snow. I find a little charcoal in the parking lot I've been working out of and put some canned cat food in a crate to try and lure it. It walks right into the crate. I lock it in. One kitten down. I don't catch the snow, but hey, I got one, right? I take the kitten to the local APL to make sure it isn't microchipped and it's not! So, with the blessing of the APL I take it home.

This little dude is the friendliest, chillest Bengal I've ever met. He was SILENT when I was driving him home. I have NEVER had a Bengal be silent in a crate. He is the loviest little guy you'll ever meet, so happy to be rescued.

For the next couple days I go back and continue to befriend the little snow, making up for what we lost when I tried to catch it the first two days and it got wary of me. Then, yesterday, I'm feeding the little snow, trying to catch her, when, out of nowhere-

ANOTHER charcoal appears. I am shook. I HAD thought that the charcoal boy looked different from the one I took pictures of, but... I figured it was the lighting/environment or something! I NEVER expected there to ACTUALLY be three babies!

And then charcoal 2 walks straight into the crate just like her brother did. I have no choice but to take her home and come back for snow another day, I cannot leave this other baby here.

So I bring baby number 2 home to my equally shocked parents. She is the feistiest little cat, the exact opposite of her brother's purrsonality. She is the embodiment of chaos- but she does love hugs and cuddles.

And then today, after praying, begging, PLEADING with God to let me rescue the cat I ACTUALLY WENT TO SAVE-

I caught the little snow. She has been so excited to see me the past two days! Running right up to me chattering away for food. She's such a precious baby. She wouldn't walk into the crate, but I felt like God was telling me it was time, so as I was petting her, I scruffed her (a harmless action, especially to a kitten) put her in the crate (a non zipper one this time) and slammed the door shut. Put her in my car and drove her home, promising her the life of a princess she's always deserved.

So now, two months after our last Bengal died, God gave us three Bengal kittens. Three beautiful, STUNNING, Bengal kittens who somehow, despite having been in the streets, love hugs and cuddles and pets.

There are two girls and one boy. The girls' names are Maraly (the spirited, fiesty charcoal) and Leeli (the precious little snow with a musical voice). We haven't settled on a name for the boy yet, we're debating between Kalmar and T'challa because both are kingly and both suit him. (I suggested Kalmar obviously xD) They're all safely contained in individual crates (not cat crates, we have old dog crates/pens and a big soft-sided cat pen that they're in) on our screened in front porch, so they're very safe. They can see each other, but they've been understandably distressed so for safety they're separated unless we're out there with them.

Like, I cannot stress how funny this is. God sent me after a little snow Bengal, then made the situation drag out until I'd caught the two charcoal babies. Then easy as could be I caught the snow, the one I was ORIGINALLY THERE FOR. And all this two months after we realized we'd never have Bengals again. God truly has a sense of humor.

[undeadorion-archive]

2017 for sure.

That was the year that started with the friend I'd been living with kicking me out. He's the one who was weirdly transphobic and kept telling me directly and unprompted that as a gay man he'd never date a trans man. He didn't tell me, but I found out he was having some barely legal twink with a vomit kink move up from California and he wanted to give the room I was staying in to that guy.

I was going to school at the time and couldn't afford my own place so I was forced to move in with my mom who was moving back to the area from Texas. Despite her having a car and me taking public transportation, she insisted on living super close to her preferred area, which meant I had to catch the train every day in the part of town with some of the highest crime rates while she drove safely to work.

She was a grossly emotionally manipulative and abusive person. Stuff like I told her to keep a door closed so my cat wouldn't ruin the inflatable mattress my visiting friends were using. But she neglected the part where that meant making sure the cat was outside the room. She locked the cat in the bedroom for over 8 hours, and my cat used my friend's suitcase as a litterbox. My mom then screamed at me in front of my friends that it was my fault (the friends then said it was my fault, too). Her friend was visit once and went on a homophobic rant at the dinner table. I tried to change the subject, but eventually just left the table without saying why. My mom then insisted I hurt her friend's feelings and that I needed to go apologize to her friend. I refused.

She was a horrible drunk and spent all her free time at local dive bar. She would get so drunk she could barely stand, then drive home. I kept expecting the cops to drive up to tell me she'd killed herself by crashing her car. On the fourth of july, she wanted to go to the bar instead of spending time at home. So I told her I was worried about her drinking so much. She ended up yelling at me, and throwing a huge fit and accusing me of ruining the holiday. We'd had nothing planned to ruin.

Come Thanksgiving, things were getting really bad. She was running out of money despite having a job, in theory. Mind you, I never actually saw proof of her having this job other than her being gone most of the day. But I was trying to hold things together so I could continue with my degree as I was really enjoying studying architecture. So I offered to do all of Thanksgiving myself so she could just have a day off. Instead of staying home, she chose to go to the bar. I told her dinner would be done around 6. I spent all day cooking to the point that I felt physically ill. But it would all be worth it if it made her holiday better. She didn't get home until around 7. She put her purse down in the middle of all the food I'd set out on the table and just said "ooh, yum." She then informed me she'd invited someone over. A man I'd never met before. She didn't tell him I'd made dinner, and he'd already eaten. She changed into a silk robe and cuddled with him on the couch and demanded I serve them both pumpkin pie. Multiple times. I just made myself a plate of food and went to my room. I started planning how to get out of there.

She lied to me about her reasons for coming back to the area. She made some pretty intense claims about her husband (not my father) being abusive and threatening her with a gun. I wanted to believe her. I tried to do all I could to help her. But it all turned out to be a manipulation tactic to get her husband's rich mother (Texas oil money rich) to give her money. Eventually, the woman offered to pay for my mom to come back.

More and more she'd been having issues with me being trans. She blamed every strong emotion I showed on T, saying I was "angry" when I as more emotionally stable than I'd ever been. But the Monday after thanksgiving my name change was made official by my documents being sent by the court. And she got so much worse after that, saying she was mourning the loss of her "baby". Mind you, I was in my mid-thirties.

Even more importantly, because I had her support I'd planned to have the 2 big surgeries. The first on December 18th and another the following summer. She needed to drive me to and from and help me out the week following because I was supposed to have zero stress so I could heal from organ removal.

Well, sometime around there, I overheard her on the phone. She was making plans with her husband, who she still hadn't divorced despite saying she was going to. I heard her clear as day. He'd be there on December 17th. She even said she loved him. The last time he'd seen me, I'd been a woman. She refused to tell him about my transition because he "wouldn't understand." If he was the horrifying Texan bigot with a gun that she claimed him to be, we needed to work this out. But she said I'd misunderstood who she was talking to. And it was a friend of hers going to visit family on that day, and she always told her friends she loved them (no she didn't).

Since she wouldn't tell me the truth about her plans, I tried to get her to admit she wouldn't help me with the surgery transportation and recovery. She refused to say either way, yet insisting I could still go through with it. So the week before, I had to call them to cancel it. She insisted that was my choice, and she wasn't forcing me to do it.

Knowing for absolutely certain that she was lying, I made plans. The night before the 17th, I packed a bag and found a motel I could afford that accepted pets because I wasn't leaving my cat behind.

Lo and behind, she tells me that he's coming from a "surprise visit" but it was okay, they'd go stay at a hotel. But they MIGHT come back to the apartment. She gave me only a few hours warning, saying they were on their way. So I had to grab what I could and bail. The problem was, I'd recently changed my name on my ID so I only had temporary paper one and the real one would be there any day. Thankfully the hotel I found took it.

The hotel was disgusting. There was a blood stain on the ceiling. Thankfully, a local friend saw my plight and offered me their spare bedroom until I figured things out, so I only stayed in that awful place for one night.

Shortly after, I got a text from my mom saying my ID had arrived. I got a friend to go with me, because I didn't want to go alone. This was around December 20th, now.

When I walked in to get my mail and a few other things the apartment was completely packed up. She was standing right outside the apartment when I got there. She watched me walk in. She never said a word about it. I was so stunned, the only thing that really properly registered was the relief that my room was untouched. So I gathered up what needed protecting the most and went back to the friends I was staying with.

About a day after, I got a text just saying that HE was gone. Not that they were both gone, just that he was. When I finally returned home, the apartment was completely empty except for my bedroom. Even my stuff from the kitchen was gone, including an apron I'd sewn for myself. Thankfully, some of my kitcheware was put in storage that my mom had forgotten about. But I had to replace so much.

All that my mom had left me was a note saying "this was the only way" to solve the money issues. Mind you, she left me no money at all. Thankfully, a former work friend had connections that got me more than enough money to cover moving expenses and then some.

My friends offered for me to stay with them for cheap while I figured things out. But they didn't have a lot of space, so I had to rent a storage unit. I didn't have a car, but it was close. So I carted a lot of it by hand. My dad helped me with the big stuff on moving day. Which wasn't until January.

Through all of this, I worked with the apartment managers. My mom hadn't paid December rent and was ignoring their calls. She hadn't even removed herself from the lease. Because I'd been working with them, and because of my mom's behavior, and because they saw her drive off in a moving truck, they were willing to remove me from the lease without penalty. And since my mom didn't leave a forwarding address I got the full security deposit, too.

I got to spend the holidays that year packing and cleaning all by myself. Facing the fact that I had to drop out of school and find a full time job.

That following February I moved into a tiny apartment, but it was all my own. I hated my job but I didn't have to deal with roommates. But things in the area were getting bad and I desperately wanted to go back to school. So I eventually moved in with my dad like I should have done in the first place but I was too prideful. That's where I've been for just about 5 years, now, slowly recovering. I now have a degree in web development, and a solid (if part time) job.

sorry to make you acknowledge that 2013 was 11 years ago

[fluffer5]

Humans and childrearing

My 3rd entry to humans are space orcs and dang am I seeing our species as the odd one out with all our quirks.

Again, my basis for this would be the movies and stories I've watched or read. So, most information I've got on alien child rearing center on quirks that can be considered as the constant for their entire specie. Like, a new behavior exhibited by the parent towards their young that doesn't conform to the norm is absolutely rare to the point that other parents or those who are old enough to care for a child would immediately go to rescue the youngling who seems to be in danger or in pain. Some who couldn't afford to keep the child would at least have this decency to put the child in foster care where someone could raise and shelter them till they're strong enough to leave or go on an adventure on their own.

Humans though? We're absurdly complex creatures with a malfunctioning sense of familial love on our youngs. We love them one moment, and hate them next. We'd be filled with adoration for this new life in our arms, then feel disgusted and annoyed at them for making too much noise, taking up too much time, taking up so, so much of us until this supposed guardian spirals down into the neglectful, angry person some kids know.

Of course, not everyone reacts that way. But it happens often enough that we have medical interventions, guidelines, and even agencies or social groups that deals with that particular problem.

There are parents or guardians who would hate this unknowing baby for killing their wife, sister, daughter, or mother in the process of their birth. There are mothers who would neglect and feel resentful of the precious bundle they gave birth to for taking up the attention of HER husband, HER family, even though she knows that it's wrong to feel that way with her baby. There are siblings who feel the ugly crawl of jealousy up their stomach, heart, and lungs to the point that they work towards sabotaging the growth and milestones of this new child they see as competition. Heck! There are parents who would continue to give birth even though they KNOW that they're not financially secure and their children might suffer from starvation or a sickness that they can't afford to pay off medicine.

The children? We grow up carrying the scars of survival. Be it visible or not, we have it.

Hearing this information upon opening the topic on how each race care for their young (each one giving the usual rearing they have in a clan and how they always pull out younglings who are more sickly and fragile to be given thorough love and care but never one that is nagging or suffocating because instincts and talent needs to be given time to develop), the Unified Intergalactic Council, one made up of elders, warriors, healers, historians, builders, star-readers, and other reknowned professions would stare baffled at the human representative with horror and worry.

"You say that your kind treasures your young but punishes you for the smallest mistake?" a healer asked looking confused and displaying anger through the minute movement of his brightly colored frills. "Punishment for not finishing food when the hatchling has declared that they are full?! And they had the gall to be offended for this young one for wasting precious resources?!"

"I was too young to question it," the human representative, Kara, relayed the information, not seeing the practice as… punishment, but more of an experience that most kids her age shared. "When I got old enough… Well, I never thought to revisit the wrongness of such practice again since I moved out of our house."

"Well, I, for one, am far concerned when you said some of your wars were fought by children? Did your leaders lose a part of their heads to think that children could fight for their battles? And you said some of those children were trained with the bares of skill and would learn most of it on actual live-combat?!" a veteran General was left in confusing garble and grumbles that is most probably a jumble of curses and profanities if she reads right into the indignant face of said General's wife, a War Strategist.

"I'm concerned for you, child," an old star-reader (their version of a prophet) gently laid their hand on her arm, eyes swirling with the birth of new stars and the death of others, their voice fluctuating from masculine to feminine, pitch becoming a scramble of highs and lows. "You have told us of the joys in your planet. How happy it is to be a Terran. How you love this deathworld even with its harsh seasons and mighty predators and lurking sickness. Yet now that we are speaking of caring for your young, you've been growing more upset, distant."

"Children are considered as gifts to all species," Kara would bitterly remark to them star-reader. "That's what you told me… That's what I've been told by the adult Terrans."

"What do you think then, child?" the star-reader asked even though they already know the sad truth of this youngling's life. And she is a youngling. Kara is 20 cycles old. Still so young since Terrans do not stop their brain development between their 30th or 40th life cycle. They shouldn't have pushed their children to this. Terran young should've been learning new skills and not rushing at that age… and yet….

"I think��� I'm tired of working so hard for others and not living for myself. I'm tired of being not enough. I'm tired of having to give a piece of myself to everyone who needed me. I'm tired of being the eldest sibling, Myrtzhg. I'm tired of giving up a lot of opportunities I want because my mother, my bearer, would tell me to give these opportunities to my younger siblings! It's never me, Myrtzhg! And I'm so tired of thinking it never will!"

That was the exact same day the UIC panicked, trying to sooth the Terran youngling from their pent up emotions. Even the strictest of the council members had a mild panic attack when Kara full out wailed and didn't seem to be consoled by their usual Terran sweets and treats. They later learned that Kara got a message from her own bearer to hurry up and give them money because Kara's siblings need it for a celebration, even reprimanding Kara how should stop being such a greedy, ungrateful child.

Earth was but one intergalactic missile away from destruction if not for the swift swat to the head by a fuming Matron saying they should kidnap all the children and good parents first before blowing up the planet… Kara, of course the sweetheart that she is, disagreed to the plan.

[mostly-mundane-atla]

More writing for you guys! This time rather than an in-universe novel, it's an in-universe nonfiction! Well, a gossipy sensationalist tell-all about the rise and fall of a famous band, in any case. Just the intro for now and I'm not sure when I'll add more because I'm still figuring out the members of the band. Anyway, hope you like it!

~~~~~

Yoshiwara's Children needs no introduction. The group, though now permanently disbanded, is legendary and every member has earned their praises, be it for genuine skill or outlandish behavior onstage and off of it. And yet theirs is a story so rarely delved into. Ask yourself, what have you heard that wasn't whispered from groupie to giggling groupie and then scrawled in the first tabloid rag that offered her money for it? You may know their birthdays and hometowns and personal good luck charms, but how much do you truly know about the people who made up Yoshiwara's Children?

In my quest to learn more I searched far and wide for the friends and loved ones, the colleagues and contemporaries, anyone who could prove to be an authentic source. An unexpected gem among them ended up than being none other than their old road manager, Yingtao Keng. A grizzled man with an eyepatch now (he prefered to keep the reason for it private) he sits, hunched over and scratching his beard. As I begin the interview, he asks if he can smoke. I nod, holding out a match, but he waves it away.

"Watch this," he says with a twinkle in his one eye.

With his hand on the table he snaps and a whispy tower of flame no taller than his forearm is long swirls out of his fingertips to light his cigarette. It dissipates almost as quickly as it appeared. I can only watch, struck dumb by the sight and my own awe.

"Neat little trick, huh?" he asks, satisfied with the show he's given. "Couldn't get away with that back in the day. The kids I grew up with didn't take kindly to firebenders, and I don't blame them. I didn't particularly like them myself."

Confused, I asked him to explain.

"Well, when you're a poor kid in the colonies, you notice things. The rich guys with the fancy clothes and the big houses look a certain way and the people like you look different, you know, ethnic-wise. My mother has the greenest eyes and skin like an earthenware pot, but my father was distinctly Fire Nation. He told her a dirty riddle and she fell for him hard but he left before I was born. She told me about the festivals we would celebrate before, the songs we would sing and the stories we'd tell, and that the rich guys didn't like them. They tried to ban them, just made them quieter. There were foods we used to eat that we couldn't afford anymore since they showed up and changed things." He pauses to take a drag off his cigarette here, and almost seems to get lost in his thoughts before speaking up again. "I don't look much like my mom, you see. I got that Fire Nation blood written all over my face. And to a lot of the other boys dressed in rags and not always eating good, that meant I looked like one of the rich guys. Firebending is out of the question. I don't need to give them any other reasons to beat me up.

"So anyway, I helped my mother where I could growing up. Eventually she fell ill and I had to work for a lot more than I'm used to. I go into labor jobs and, I'm not proud of this, but my face was the right shape, my eyes were the right color, the boss always thought I was some respectable man's kid. Always thought I was trying to make it without dad's money and just needed some help back on my feet. I got easier jobs at better pay than the other guys. It eventually got me working with the band, but more on that later.

"They -- I say this without any exaggeration, mind -- they absolutely hated me, and for good reason. I was using something I was born with, something they never had and would never get, to push myself farther ahead than they could ever dream. I had my reasons, but I wasn't the only one caring for a sick mother, by the sun's right hand, some of them were trying to feed their kids and lived even worse than we did. When I had the means, I saw to it that there was a fund started for them, but that wasn't for years and years. I don't know how much good it did to the men working years before me and long after I left, but I have to tell myself it did some good or what was the point?"

There's a solemness on his handsome, craggy face. His cigarette continues to burn but he won't put it to his lips. He looks out the window, as if my garden can grant him forgiveness. I even wish it could. Eventually he takes another drag and continues to speak.

"I bring this up because you'll find it's a running theme when it comes to the band. They all came from different backgrounds and it definitely had an effect on how they were treated by fans and how they treated each other. Might have even been what tore them apart in the end."

It was an excellent point he made. We so often forget that post-war rarely means post-resentment or post-subjugation. Friendship between individuals, no matter how great, cannot erase the wrongs of generations past. Even those who create such original and inspiring music together as a unit can crumble from these pressures.

But what was it like before this crumbling?

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #10 (part one)

Yuri

Hello, everyone. Yuri here.

The past few days haven’t been the easiest, and I'm not feeling all that well, but Victor's home with me now, and that makes everything more bearable. I'm exhausted, but I'm happy because I’m no longer on my own. It’s amazing what a difference it makes when you know you’re not alone.

A lot has happened since the last time I added anything to our journal. I suppose the most logical place to start this tale is with what happened before Victor got home. For that, I actually need to go back and explain to you about yesterday and the day before. That’s where this awful story really begins. It does have a happier ending than beginning, at least, but I'll get to that.

You remember I told you that Victor’s mom is coming here, right? Well, Dr. Nelson telling me that she's planning to pay us an extended visit wasn't the only unexpected announcement I received in the last few days, and if I thought the idea of Victor's mother imminently landing on our doorstep was the most stressful thing I'd have to face this week, I would've been wrong. The events of yesterday and the day before topped that a hundredfold.

The day before yesterday, in the evening, I'd just been going about my business, putting in a load of laundry and mentally weighing my options for dinner, when our landlady, Mrs. Ito, showed up. She’s not the type to make random social calls, so I had no idea why she'd come over. Nothing was past due. I'd paid this month's rent only a few days ago.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective, It didn't take her long to come to the point. In an utterly matter of fact tone, she informed me that she's planning to sell the house. She wants to start renovating it as soon as possible, and so Victor and I have to move out by the beginning of next month.

Needless to tell you, I was shocked. Mrs. Ito must've seen it on my face. As for her, she didn't look the least bit apologetic, even though she said she was sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

To say I was concerned about this sudden development would be an understatement. I quite honestly panicked. I didn’t know how we'd manage a move on such short notice, and how we'd find somewhere else to live that we could afford. Mt. Komorebi isn’t the most budget-friendly town in our country when it comes to housing, and we’re currently a one-income household. Victor doesn't have a job at the moment, although he's going to look for one now that he's back, but that doesn't help us at all in the short term.

Why couldn't Mrs. Ito have put this off for one more day? I wondered. If she would've told us about this last night instead of Thursday night, Victor would've been here. To be fair, he'd probably have been panicking way more than I was, but at least we'd have heard about it together and we could've leaned on each other for support in the first moments after finding out.

I debated whether or not I should tell Victor about our now-precarious housing arrangements during our nightly call. He'd be bursting to share everything about his last full day on Sulani, and excited about the flight back, and I didn't want to kill his enthusiasm by dropping something like this on him. Besides, there'd be nothing he could do to help me with the situation between then and when he got home, in any case. I concluded it'd be best to wait.

After Mrs. Ito left, I sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at my untouched food. I hadn't been hungry to begin with, and only had the goal of consuming a meal because I knew I was supposed to, but now there was no way I could make myself eat. It was too much of an effort; one I had neither the energy nor the motivation for. I covered the bowl of rice and vegetables, and put it into the fridge. Then, I made myself a mug of peppermint tea and curled up with it on the sofa, hoping that the hot liquid would help settle my rebellious, painful stomach, even if it didn't soothe my mind.

Please don't let this be the start of a serious flare-up. Now would be the absolute worst time for me to be ill. I don't need any extra trouble.

The tea did not help. I couldn’t even finish it. I held the mug in my hands until it grew cold, wishing it had been a magical solution to everything that was bad about this day.

My mind raced with every possible worst-case scenario. I pictured us couch surfing at Taka's or Seiji's respective flats, or possibly sleeping at the youth hostel for an uncomfortably long period of time. None of those were pleasant to contemplate.

The possibility that really frightened me, however, was that Victor and I might be separated. I recoiled at the thought that he might have to go back to his country of origin. If our housing situation was unstable for too long, it might have an effect on his immigration process, which was almost completed. We were so close to the point where he'd have permanent residence here, and I was already legitimately terrified that something would go wrong with it. I was certain I couldn't bear it if he had to leave me, and the worst part was, it'd all be totally beyond our control.

Huddled on the sofa, miserable and scared, I felt completely lost and alone.

I don't know what I was thinking, but I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to dial a number from memory. Even though my family lives here in town, I don't call home very much any more, but something compelled me to do it then. I guess we all feel the pull of family in difficult times, even if our families aren't the best source of support. Families are supposed to love us, and I suppose we all live in hope, even just a little.

As it rang, I was wishing for my mother to answer. Unfortunately, I didn't get my wish, and I regretted my choice to phone home instantly, the moment I heard my father's voice.

"Kenji Okamoto here." His tone was abrupt, irritated.

I fought the urge to hang up immediately, and took a steadying breath. "Papa, it's Yuri."

There was no greeting, no asking me how I was doing. It was just, "I'm busy, Yuri. What do you need?"

"I... don't know," I said, because all of a sudden, I really didn't. I might've been lonely and worried, but I would much rather have suffered in solitude than to deal with my father just then. If it’d been Mama who’d answered, I might’ve been able to tell her how I was feeling and I might've gotten some empathy from her, but I wasn't labouring under any false belief that my father would demonstrate either empathy or understanding. I opted to be direct. "Victor and I have to move out of our house."

"Why?" my father asked.

"The landlady is selling it."

"Well," he said. "Interesting. That might be a blessing in disguise.”

“What?” I said, caught off-guard by his reaction. He sounded... almost pleased about it?

“If you have to move out, then that man you're living with can go back to whichever country he came from, and you can come home so your mother can look after you properly."

"That man I'm living with is my soulmate," I said. "His name is Victor, and he looks after me."

"I know his name. Does he have a job yet?"

"No, but—"

"Then, he's not looking after you, is he?"

"Everything in life isn't about money, you know," I said. "Caring for someone isn't all about what kind of financial contribution they make."

My father made a derisive sound. "He's not appropriate for you," he said. "There are plenty of acceptable people from here that you could be with. You didn’t need to take up with a foreigner, just to prove a point. And if it's not about money, why are you calling? If that man wasted less time on the mountain and spent more time doing something to help provide for you, I doubt you'd even be speaking to me right now."

“I'm not asking you for money. And you don't get to decide whether Victor is appropriate for me or not."

"If you aren't asking for money, then let me get back to my original question. What do you need?"

I could feel my composure slipping, and I was absolutely desperate not to cry. I would never let my father hear or see me cry.

I curled my free hand into a fist, digging the tips of my nails into the flesh of my palm, clenching my fingers so hard that they cramped. The pain helped me focus on something other than the huge knot in my stomach and the stinging of unshed tears behind my eyes.

"I just needed to know that my family cares about me." My voice sounded weak, even to myself. “I wanted to know that there’s someone I can rely on when I need help.”

"I care about you," he said. He sounded offended. "I said you can come home, didn't I?"

"Yes, but—“

"You're more than welcome to come home and live with us, but you're not to bring that foreigner into our house."

That was the point at which I could no longer hold onto my self-control. "Stop referring to him like that! He has a name!"

"Fine," said my father. "You may stay here without Victor. And I'll thank you not to use that disrespectful tone with me in future, Yuri. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I said. "Now, I hope you understand what I'm about to say to you. I called you because I thought, for once, you'd offer to do something to make life easier for me, not more difficult. But, I guess that was a mistake on my part, wasn't it?"

"Your life wouldn't be so difficult if you'd go about it more sensibly."

"If I'd do everything you want me to, you mean," I said.

"It's easier to swim with the current than against it."

"Well, maybe I don't like the direction this particular river is flowing," I said. "Thank you for the offer to let me come home, but I don't want to live with you. I'm not living anywhere that Victor isn't welcome, and I'm not accepting help that has conditions attached to it. I'm your son. This isn't how it's supposed to be."

"Yes, you are my son, and I'm willing to fully support you, which is my duty as your parent. I have no duty and no intention to support your... What did you call him? Your soulmate? Ridiculous nonsense.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about my relationship with Victor. It’s a real relationship, and we belong together, whether you approve or not.”

“I don’t approve,” my father stated. “And I'm sorry if you feel that my refusal to provide for someone who should be providing for himself is a condition, but I see no sense in throwing my money at a lazy, freeloading foreigner. He's already taken advantage of you. He will not be doing that to me and your mother."

"Okay," I said, my voice shaking with the effort to sound calm. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. I guess this means we're done."

“If you refuse to see reason, I suppose it does, but you’re free to call me again if you change your mind.”

There were a million furious, hateful things I could’ve said in reply. I wanted to yell at him, to kick something, to act out every bit of anger and resentment and frustration he’d ever caused me to feel. But, of course I didn’t do it. There wouldn’t have been any point. It wouldn’t have made one bit of difference, and he would’ve said I was behaving like a spoiled child.

My father, Kenji Okamoto, isn't the most easygoing person at the best of times. He's an exacting man who demands nothing less than his vision of perfection from those around him. Being unable to meet his expectations is not a position anyone wants to find themselves in. Trust me. I've been living in that shadow for the past twenty-four years.

Of all the people in my father's life, I think I disappoint him the most. What he wanted was a strong, capable and outgoing son who would marry a socially acceptable woman, give him grandchildren, and some day take over his very successful business. What he got was me, a frail, shy boy who'd rather spend time with his violin and his books than with most people, and who has no interest whatsoever in managing a company that sells overpriced electronics to customers in other countries. He thinks that my job is pointless, that my friends are irresponsible and shiftless, and that my hobbies are a waste of time. Worst of all, he despises my sweet, beautiful Victor.

Of everything my father has ever said or done to hurt me, the fact that he dislikes and disapproves of Victor hurts me most of all.

Victor makes me happy. He completes me, protects me, and treats me like I’m the most precious treasure in the world. He doesn’t see a timid, ill boy who needs constant care and supervision, like my family seems to see when they look at me. They think I’m weak and that I can’t manage my own personal affairs. Victor says I’m delicate, but not to demean me in the way my father would if he said it. To Victor, delicacy isn’t the opposite of strength. He says I remind him of the willow saplings along the canal in his hometown; they might be slender, and they might bend and appear to weep, but they rarely break even in the worst storms.

I was wretchedly unhappy before Victor came into my life. Although I had friends and a job and things I liked to do for fun, I still felt unwanted and unfulfilled. I needed the close human connection that I should’ve had with my family, and I needed to feel like I was important to somebody. My desperate wish was for someone — anyone — to look at me and tell me that I mattered. And then, there was Victor, a complete stranger on the internet, who saw me and found something in me that no one else ever had before.

Victor and I met four and a half years ago, online in a group for snowboarding enthusiasts, Little did I suspect that a random comment on a photo would permanently alter the trajectory of my life.

I’d posted a picture of myself on the mountain that my friend Taka had taken, and Victor replied to it with a purple heart emoji and “You’re cute.” As you might imagine, that wasn’t the sort of response I’d expected, especially not for a weird photo of me jokingly clutching my snowboard against me like a lover, my hair sticking up crazily and my face pink from the cold. I’ll admit, I was put off by the forwardness of it at first, but the next day, when I discovered a private message with a lengthy introduction from him, I couldn’t help being intrigued.

We chatted every day after that, only through private messages on the website at first, but we quickly progressed to texts, phone calls and video chats. Then, eighteen months ago, he moved here. It was only supposed to have been for a month-long visit, but as Victor likes to say, he forgot to leave. Honestly, I couldn’t possibly have been happier when I realized he was going to stay with me. A month would’ve been too short. Forever isn’t long enough.

I wish my family, particularly my father, would try to understand how Victor and I care for each other, and how much our relationship means to both of us. I love Victor more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and he’s helped open up my world in ways I could never have imagined. I want my family to get to know the person I know, the energetic, impulsive, adventurous, affectionate, and compassionate man who loves me unconditionally.

Victor has never done anything to disrespect my father or anyone in my family. He's tried his best to be courteous and kind, but it doesn't seem to matter. My father can’t see past Victor’s differences from us, nor does he seem willing to overcome his own prejudices. To him, Victor will always be an outsider, never belonging, a foreigner who should go back to where he came from.

I didn’t say goodbye to my father when our conversation was over. I quietly pressed the ‘end call’ button.

On the verge of tears, the only other person I could think to call was Dr. Nelson, thousands of kilometers away. I didn't know what she'd be doing or whether it'd be okay to interrupt her, but the last time we talked, she'd said I could call her if I needed anything. She may not have anticipated that I'd take her up on it so soon, but I really didn't know who else I could turn to.

When she answered, she sounded as bright as always. "Grace Nelson speaking."

"Dr. Nelson? It's Yuri."

"Hi, sweetie," she said. "Imagine my surprise, getting two calls from you within a week! Everything all right?"

"No. I... I need..." But, for a minute, I couldn't make it any further than that. The genuine concern and love in her voice when she asked if everything was okay was so vastly different from what I'd just experienced with my father, the emotional impact on me was too much for me to be able to keep myself together. Without really meaning to, I was crying, stumbling over my words in my haste to get the whole story out, doing my best to explain what happened between ragged breaths.

"Yuri!" Dr. Nelson's tone was firm, but kind. "I can't understand you, sweetie. You need to slow down.”

I struggled to even out my breathing. No easy feat, considering how I was feeling, but I was eventually able to reach a point where I could talk coherently again. I said, “Sorry.”

“Are you okay? And Victor?”

“Y-yes. Victor’s fine. He’s coming home tomorrow,” I said. “It’s something else. I think we need help, and my father was being completely unreasonable, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me,” Dr. Nelson said gently. "Take your time."

I told her the whole thing, about Mrs. Ito's visit and about my conversation with my father, and my fears about what would happen to Victor and me. I felt awful about it, but I finished with, “With everything that's happening, I don’t think you’ll be able to come visit us now. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “Of course I'm still coming. By the sound of things, the two of you are definitely going to need some help."

"But, I don’t even know where Victor and I are going to stay after this, and I don't want to trouble you.”

"Sweetie, don't even think of worrying about that. Taking care of you and Victor isn't any trouble to me. And I was planning to come anyway, wasn't I? I’ll stay with you where you are right now, as long as we can, and then we’ll all stay together in your new home. Our visit might look a bit different than we'd planned, but that's okay."

"Thank you," I said. "I don't know what to say."

"You've already said thank you. That's enough. I'll help you pack and arrange everything, and if you need a little extra money, I don’t mind helping you with that.”

Strangely, the idea of accepting money from Victor’s mother didn’t make me feel the same way my father’s offer of support had. Gratefully, I said, “I appreciate your help, and I’m sure Victor will, too.”

“I’m the mom,” she said. “Helping my boys when they need me is what I do. It’s the only proper thing.”

My boys. I hadn’t missed the way Grace Nelson had included me, as if I were equal to Victor as her son. I wondered how it was possible that a woman from another country, who I’d never met face-to-face, could love me and care about me more than my own family did.

“Thank you so much,” I said, because I could think of nothing more adequate.

“When Victor gets home, give him a cuddle from me, and tell him I’ll see him soon,” she said. “And try not to upset yourself too much over this, Yuri. Do you understand? This next little while, you’ll need your strength.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can," she said. "Everything'll be all right. I promise."

[rye-views]

A Promised Land by Barack Obama. 8/10

I would recommend this book to my friends. I would reread this book.

There are certain things that Barack articulates that I’m thankful for. His over-optimism and feelings of eccentricity. I completely related to its isolating feelings even though it wasn’t the same situation and experience as mine. It’s nice to see something similar from someone different. I also liked his description of feeling everything in its entirety and how it was like a movie splice. I have felt this many times and it’s a beautiful way to describe it. I like how so much of what Barack says, thinks, and feels are so genuine and relatable. It's nice to see someone articulate and empathize this well, esp. from a man and a man in power.

I love learning that Michelle was disappointed by the situation caused by his choices at times. Other things were more important at the time and nice to see it be relevant.

It’s interesting to see the difference between this book and “Becoming.” They have different aims, but it still shows me a difference between a man and woman. I also notice that when men are described, it’s always physical. When it’s women, it’s more character and personality.

Crazy how intelligent and emotionally aware Barack is. When he stated how he couldn't just pick and choose the good things of Reverend Wright's church, I was like true and wow.

The things that Toot taught Barack is what someone should've taught me as I grew up.

Barack comparing the rides to Noah's Ark is amusing.

When he mentions translations of what the Big 4 are saying, I think about how we can't be straightforward in politics. Why not?

It took me forever to read this because I really wanted to absorb the knowledge. There's a lot of events that are covered and things I had no idea about. I love how this catalogues so much of history that were relevant to my lifetime.

Memorable Quotes: “gives even my roughest drafts too smooth a gloss and lends half-baked thoughts the mask of tidiness” “I needed to focus on only those things to come.” “Much of what I read I only dimly understood” “a bond between those who had once seemed far apart.” “Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t ready.” “An America that could explain me.” “I suffered rejections and insults often enough to stop fearing them.” “Enthusiasm makes up for a host of deficiencies.” “Failure and want were all around you.” “It should have been enough.” “but my mother was never one to see hard work as anything but good.” “On top of my sorrow, I felt a great shame.” “There’s a physical feeling, a current of emotion that passes back and forth between you and the crowd, as if your lives and theirs are suddenly spliced together, like a movie reel, projecting backward and forward in time, and your voice creeps right up to the edge of cracking, because for an instant, you feel them deeply; you can see them whole. You’ve tapped into some collective spirit, a thing we all know and wish for – a sense of connection that overrides our differences and replaces them with a giant swell of possibility – and like all things that matter most, you know the moment is fleeting and that soon the spell will be broken.” “To be a workhorse not a show horse – that was my goal.” “I had become a mere conduit through which people might recognize the value of their own stories, their own worth, and share them with one another.” "Yes we can." “the personal really was political” “I had to listen to, and not just theorize about, what mattered to people.” “it wasn’t so much what he did as how he made you feel. Like anything was possible. Like the world was yours to remake.” “It’s hard, in retrospect, to understand why you did something stupid.” “In fact, you shouldn’t even count on my vote.” “What do you consider your place in history?” “I could take a punch. And I didn’t give up.” “I knew I could afford to be patient.” “but the only way for Daddy to disguise himself is if he has an operation to pin back his ears.” “Forgotten people and forgotten voices remained everywhere.” “the more troops would become targets of an enemy they often could not see and did not understand.” “The power to inspire is rare. Moments like this are rare. You think you may not be ready, that you’ll do it at more convenient time. But you don’t choose the time. The time chooses you.” “people were moved by emotion, not facts.” “Beneath the low-key person and deep convictions, he just plain liked the combat.” "defined not by what they are but what they can never be." "To the relief of his keepers, the bear became accustomed to captivity." "he understood better than most the complications of race, religion, and family, and how good and bad, love and hate, might be hopelessly tangled in the same heart" "She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America." "But I worry that my memories of that night, like so much else that's happened these past twelve years, are shaded by the images that I've seen, the footage of our family walking across the stage, the photographs of the crowds and lights and magnificent backdrops." "a keeper of values we'd once thought ordinary but had learned were more rare than we had ever imagined." ""It's going to be hard to get the public excited about food stamps and repaving roads," Axe said. "Not real sexy."" "This time I said nothing, admiring his occasional, almost endearing ability to state the obvious." "You must be under the mistaken impression that I care." "all of them unified only in their common desire to be somewhere else." "ready to die for eternal joy--or maybe just a taste of something better." "But make no mistake, it was weird." "the unspoken regrets." "my supporters lacked all conviction, while my opponents were full of passionate intensity." "Michelle was someone who started from the heart and not the head, from experience rather than abstractions." "I wanted to believe that the ability to connect was still there. My wife wasn't so sure." “The

audacity of hope.” "Sometimes your most important work involved the stuff nobody noticed." "forgotten under the accumulation of the new joys and paints that make up a life." "you learn to improvise to meet your objectives--or at least to cut your losses." "They would take for granted that their aunt was on the U.S. Supreme Court, shaping the life of a nation--as would kids across the country. Which was fine. That's what progress was like." "Did they miss the rhythms of ordinary life? Were they lonely? Did they sometimes feel a jolt in their heart and wonder how it was that they had ended up where they were?" "I reminded myself that every president felt saddled with the previous administration's choices and mistakes, that 90 percent of the job was navigating inherited problems and unanticipated crises. Only if you did that well enough, with discipline and purpose, did you get a real shot at shaping the future." "Was it possible that abstract principles and high-minded ideals were and always would be nothing more than a pretense, a palliative, a way to beat back despair, but no match for the more primal urges that really moved us, so that no matter what we said or did, history was sure to run along its predetermined course, an endless cycle of fear, hunger and conflict, dominance and weakness?" "meant to be a reminder--in a place premised on hate and intolerance--of the common humanity we share." "A man making up for things." "For war was contradiction, as was the history of America." "To be known. To be heard. To have one's unique identity recognized and seen as worthy. It was a universal human desire" "pleasures that cost nothing, belonged to no one, and were accessible to all." "I suppose, when the world slows down, your strivings get pushed to the back of your mind." "whether in my seeming calm as crises piled up, my insistence that everything would work out in the end, I was really just protecting my self--and contributing to her loneliness." "It was a lonely thought at a lonely time." "You never looked as smart as the ex-president did on the sidelines." "Get exposed to other people's truths, I thought, and attitudes change." "It wasn't often, I thought, that a true act of conscience is recognized that way." "their struggles and resentments troubling but remote." "are mere conduits for the deep, relentless currents of the times or whether we're at least partly the authors of what's to come." "contemplating the knife's edge between perceived success and potential catastrophe" "daily, unheralded acts of people who weren't seeking attention but simply knew what they were doing and did it with pride." "She makes me better as a person and better on the page."

[thejoshuaglenn-blog]

You're a Good Boy, Charlie Brown

The key purpose of a Tumblr blog here is really a brain dump: logging thoughts, feelings, narrative and such is easier in long form than via a brief Facebook post that generates half a dozen "oh no, what happened" comments. As I'm writing this, most of it seems like bullet points and organized timelines. If you're looking for a TL;DR or current state of thoughts, it's the last section titled The Day After, and the Day After That.

A few days ago, Niko and I said goodbye to our first dog, Charlie Brown.

I'm not keen to chat about it a lot. There's more to process than I have time to type; most of it centers around being fair to myself and to Niko, taking the time to appreciate his life without beating ourselves up, and avoiding the overwhelming mire that grief can become.

Joining the Family

CB was a rescue, a hapless victim of the 2016 Louisiana floods and a happy-go-lucky participant in a "dog for a day" event hosted by a local shelter. I fully expected to rent him out for a day, give him a few great experiences, and return him. For myriad reasons, we never did bring him back to Pet Rescue by Judy, and he's been with us ever since.

At adoption, he was estimated to be around 4-8 years old. With a kicked-in shoulder that offset his collarbone and ribcage, some assorted dental issues, and other little signs of damage (cigarette burns, what the heck is wrong with people), it was tough to really gauge his age. That means he left this world at the ripe old age of something like 9-13, which isn't terrible considering all he'd been through.

Charlie Brown was the iconic good boy. He seldom barked, he never licked or jumped, and just wanted to be in the same room as his favorite people. He had a few toys that he cherished, never ripping them up, just carrying them with him from room to room and whining a bit, unsure of where he could store them for safekeeping. Apart from some separation anxiety issues and an occasional urge to bolt out the door and book it as far as he could, CB was by all accounts an easy first dog: more like a low-effort cat than anything else.

Slowly Falling Apart

Over time, the health issues increased. Intermittent but predictably regular upset tummy. Bad gums, bad teeth. Random gooey skin lesion. Eye ulcers. Since October, we've been averaging 2-3 unplanned vet visits a month — many incurring some hefty bills. We'd take out another credit card, find another financing plan, but it adds up. So does the emotional toil on the family; so does the anxiety toll on the dog.

You start to think about quality of life for the dog, you know? He'd had a few teeth removed to sew up his gums after they kinda detached and fell apart from his jawbone — so he couldn't chew anything hard. Couldn't even chew a tennis ball, which was the only toy he took interest in anymore. Couldn't have any fun treats like peanut butter or other soft chews, as his tummy would have bad flare-ups that usually ended up with him attached to an IV bag. After finally settling in and learning to play well with Atlas, Charlie Brown started to get pretty irritable whenever Atlas got frisky.

He still loved running around outdoors, and was in otherwise great health.

I can't tell you how guilty that makes me feel, even now.

Moving to Waltham

Before we left Orlando, there were so many crisis moments in emergency vet offices where Niko and I talked about how long he could ride this roller coaster. CB obviously was not a fan of vet visits: loved the staff, but was notably anxious and panicky when separated from us, and he had grown very loathe to the process of poking, prodding, and whatnot.

Shortly after moving to Waltham (he was a champ in the U-Haul), Charlie Brown had a severe colitis flare-up. He was losing so much fluid and was growing very lethargic over the day. Vets are hard to get into these days: with the sweep of "pandemic puppy" adoptions, the vet industry as a whole is saturated with demand, and practices are responding as best they can. There were just no emergency clinics available to us within 20 miles, except one that noted "we have no availability, but you can come and wait, and we might be able to see you in 4 or 5 hours." So we did.

It was a very late night. Charlie Brown came home with us with another round of the same antibiotics he'd been taking almost regularly since December for his assorted ailments, and some probiotics. The next day, CB seemed a bit better and brighter, and Niko and I went into the city for part of the day. We came home to find he'd had an accident, but it was just... blood. So so much. And he looked so in pain, so ashamed, so guilty, so anxious.

So we went back to the vet ER. It was another very late night. I didn't know how many of these late nights we could afford; neither of us knew how many of these late nights it was fair to expect Charlie Brown to endure.

Do you plan on letting a pet go after an extended crisis visit? Do you plan on letting a pet go in a time of relative peace?

Camping Analogy, and a Best Last Day

When you're off on a long hike, and you see daylight start to fade as the sun begins to set, you begin to think about finding a good place to set up camp for the night. It's abysmal to do this after the sun has already gone down: where you could have had preparation and structure, you have chaos by flashlight.

A dog's life is in your hands. You're his whole world: all food, adventure, pampering, challenge, treatment, and care come from you. More than anything, we wanted Charlie Brown to have a peaceful, restful life. Now that we started thinking about it, we wanted to be able to give him a peaceful, restful passing as well: not as the climax of another overnight crisis with injections and yelps and beeps and cowering and anxiety and fear, but in the still quiet of familiar sounds and smells.

His very last day was a great one. Fresh Pond in Cambridge: a massive stroll around a colossal lake with an absurd bounty of new smells, kind people, happy dogs, and a brisk New England breeze. He got to swim in a little side pond — that boy lived for jumping into random lakes. He ran around the broad field that is Kingsley Bowl, chasing a thrown ball the very very farthest his sad pop could throw it — and he brought it back. We bought him a steak. We told him how much he brought to our lives.

And then we waited.

Lap of Love is a sort of home delivery service of dignified passing for pets. There's more to say on that hour than I care to pen, but throughout the procedure, we never left him. Charlie Brown passed enveloped in our arms and laps and sobs and hugs.

The Day After, and the Day After That

The rest is just thoughts. Your head starts to feel like a coffee shop where your grief comes in, sits at a table with you, and unloads. You nod, listen, and wish them well. I hope I can keep processing this way — I find it helpful, and less overwhelming.

I wish he had been able to play with his tennis ball more. Since his jaw surgery — even out on Kingsley Bowl, nearly a month and a half after he should have been fully healed — any kind of chewing would cause renewed bleeding and pain.

I wish we had hugged him more. But truth be told, he didn't like hugs. They made him uncomfortable. So we gave him a hand to lay his head on, or a knee for him to pop his head upon, as often as he liked.

There were so many times I felt inconvenienced by owning a dog at all. They weren't the majority, but... now each remembered time feels like a splinter of selfishness.

I miss how familiar the back of his neck felt under my hand, just behind the ears, where the waves of fur meet and crash and make a long cowlick of foof and fluff.

His happy smile and his stressed smile were very similar, but you could still tell which was which.

I loved being there for him in thunderstorms.

When you think about it, we sort of were hospice care for him. We weren't his original owners; we just wanted the rest of his life to be painless and fulfilling. He had so many trust issues when he first came to us. And in the end, he loved anyone he met.

I miss feeling around with my feet to make sure I don't step on him on my way to bed. I miss setting my feet on the floor as I wake, stooping down, and giving his head a good squishy rub.

He never did get to see Boston snow. I mean... thousands of dogs never get to see snow. But I was really looking forward to sharing that experience with him.

I wanted so badly to bring him to a point of health, and then say goodbye when he was feeling well. Seeing him have his Best Last Day, part of me whispered "murderer" with cold accuracy, and I have a hard time shaking it. He was so happy — but between jaw bleeding after playing with a tennis ball, seeing him scratch his eyes that were starting to ache with ulcers again... I know the unbridled happiness came with the reality of his declining health.

Atlas was the best thing that ever happened to that boy. I know Charlie Brown was at least a little disgruntled that his easy-going day-to-day had been interrupted by a chompy puppy, but Atlas brought out the young pup in CB: ripping palm fronds to shreds, playing tug, playing tag, meeting new dogs with confidence and assurance.

I used to get so mad at my mother-in-law for feeding Charlie Brown cinnamon donuts. I wish I'd given him more. Heck, I wish I'd given him more peanut butter. I'm frankly surprised he hadn't died of peanut butter overdose years ago.

Where Charlie's health had limits, we kept going with Atlas. That might mean taking Atlas out to play with a ball or a tug toy, because CB couldn't. It breaks my heart now to think of Charlie at the glass door just watching it happen, all because he physically couldn't play the same. I know he didn't understand that.

We took him out to Park Ave maybe once or twice. I wish it had been more. Truth be told, it was the same as the dog park, though: he was kind of a loner. Loads of people or dogs made him anxious. So while I might idealize the past and wish he had sat at our legs for lunch after lunch at an outdoor thoroughfare, ... I think he would have been miserable. I think he would have rather just curled up at the base of the couch and dozed while we watched a show.

He was so trusting. I could just drag him onto his back and onto my lap for cuddles and a good tummy rub. No complaints.

He looked so gaunt these past few months. I keep looking at earlier photos, and I really didn't realize just how grizzly and drawn he had become lately.

I miss seeing him randomly waiting for me outside the bathroom door — or curled up on the bath mat while I was in the shower, having sneakily nosed the door open and wanting my company while I was rinsing.

For his first few years with us, he was incredibly playful. I've been going through old videos — it's like going outside just blew his mind, and toys were either for cherishing daintily, or thrashing about and throwing to oneself and gnawing. He lost that after a time. He regained it a bit when Atlas joined the party. But it still faded. I'm sure that's inevitable, but it makes me sad to see the early vibrant puppy in those old recordings, and how different he had been in recent months.

[join-the-joywrite]

Women in War -- 2

All Maggie Maravillla ever wanted was to help people. She never imagined losing damn near everything when winning a war.

WiW masterpost

Chapter 2

1935

"I would've enlisted today if the war had gone on now, Buck, no hesitation. "

Maggie's laugh was long and had Steve not known how she meant her different laughs, it would have been mighty insulting.

Bucky grinned. "You wouldn't have lasted two days in training, pal."

Steve rolled his eyes, which caused him to wince as his headache protested. He pressed the ice pack against his forehead even harder. "Always a bully somewhere," he grumbled, "first Hodge, now these jerks."

"You just need to learn to pick your battles," Maggie said, smiling. "Or you could, you know, enjoy your birthday like a normal person."

"Not an option," Steve said, grinning at Maggie, "and aren't you supposed to be preparing for college? With Becky? In Cambridge?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't miss little Steve's birthday. Besides, you should cagar on Bucky. He brought me out to Brooklyn to see you. Becky has a couple of bonus quizzes tomorrow for the really -- desalado? -- the eager ones, and she really wants to excell. She's been talking about moving to London permanently. Apparently, the boys there are cute."

"How would she even know?" Steve asked. "She spends all day in your dorm studying."

"True," Maggie said, shrugging.

"All she knows is that American boys aren't," Bucky said.

"Ow," Steve said flatly, staring at Bucky.

"I actually had an orientation session this week," Maggie said, staring off to the side, "but it doesn't matter. As long as I keep my grades above average, I get to keep my scholarship. I didn't even expect to get in, let alone earn a scholarship."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mags," Bucky said, leaning back in his chair, "you're brilliant. We're proud of you for even going to college."

"It's hard sometimes. I know I've been here my whole life, but I grew up learning from Papá. Do you know how smart I am in Spanish?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah, we know."

"I actually have a hard time keeping up with you when you're mad, and I've been studying Spanish for like, six years. Tio Hugo is a miracle teacher, I'll give him that."

"You're just dumb," Steve said, rolling his eyes again.

"You'll make a fine doctor," Bucky told Maggie, ignoring Steve, "just set your sights on becoming the great Doctor Maravilla and never look back."

Maggie smiled. "Doctor Maravilla," she repeated, "sí, that's gonna be me."

The table was silent for a while. In the background, Evie could be heard chatting away from some friend of hers. The Barnes household was never truly silent. It was something Maggie always loved about Bucky's home -- her home, as Winnifred always made her feel. Maggie hated silence. Silence filled her own house on the days where her father went to work and she was left alone with her mother. Silence was what happened when the teachers caught her and Becky fighting with Hodge or any of his cronies. Silence was what happened when Angel had friends over. Everytime Maggie was subject to silence, it was around someone she didn't quite like.

Maggie hated silence more than she hated bullies. Maggie learnt English curses just to swear biligually whenever she was told to be silent.

So Maggie loved the Barnes household, where someone or the other would always be doing something. Sometimes it would be Allie and Steve arguing about who had the homework answers right. Sometimes it would be Evie loudly chatting on the telephone. Often, she could hear Winnifred and Becky bustling about in the kitchen, trying out new recipes and experimenting with bizarre flavours. Every odd weekend, George Barnes would make a loud noise in the garage, fiddling with some old piece of tech. Becky would join him too.

And very rarely, Maggie would hear Bucky humming to himself as he went about doing whatever he did.

"I ought to get going," Maggie said, wishing with all her heart that she could just stay in her home.

"Chin up, Mags," Steve said, "give it time, you'll be one of America's most sought-after doctors sooner or later."

Steve had no idea how right he was.

1939

Four years later, they found themselves in well into the midst of a world war.

Mi dulce Magpie,

I'm going to bind Steve to the leg of my dining room table and lock the table in someone's safe. He's heard about the war, you know. Do you remember when we had just graduated? You came from Cambridge for Steve's birthday. The little pedazo de mierda got it in his head then already about signing up for war. Now he tells me it's fate. Won't you write him a scathing letter, doll? Maybe he'll listen to you. I'd love to sit and write more, but Evie says she just saw Steve get dragged into an alley. Do remind my scatterbrained sister to read my letters. You're still coming home for Christmas, right? Allie misses your dumb face, doll. I hope to see you here at least a week in advance.

With love,

The better Barnes twin.

P.S. I'll only stop calling you Magpie if you stop calling me Buckwheat.

Maggie smiled as she folded up the letter again. She slipped it into her purse as she walked along the hallway.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"No, thank you, I'm just here to visit someone."

The young woman raised her eyebrows at Maggie. "Ma'am. . . I don't--"

"I've been here before, angel, I know my way around the office. Mr Edwards' is straight down, right?"

"Er, yes. Uhm, good luck, ma'am."

Maggie never used the endearment 'angel' to mean anything other than 'estúpida mierda'. Making sure the letter she'd read thrice now was still tucked into her little bag, Maggie walked along until she came up on the open office out side Mr Edwards'.

"Rebecca Latimer Barnes, we'll be back after New Year's. We're not going off to war!"

The group of young women dispersed, allowing Maggie a glimpse of the woman that had previously been in the centre of the laughs and smiles. "Felicidades por el engagement, Peggy. Beck, we're gonna miss the plane."

Peggy Carter smiled. "Gracias, Maggie. Do say hello to everyone at home from me."

"You should send a photo, Pegs," Becky said, leaning on Peggy's desk, "although it's a pity Fred proposed. I was sure Buck would've liked to take you out."

Maggie laughed, despite being upset that Becky still hadn't left the office. "If that were true, we'd be offering Peggy condolences. Vamanos, Beck, your bag's already in the car."

Becky sighed dramatically. "I'll see you in the new year, ladies. Let's go, Dr Maravilla."

"Almost a doctor," Maggie said as she waved goodbye to the Bletchley Park women and left, Becky trailing behind.

"Back to work, ladies," Mr Edwards said as he opened his office door. "Miss Carter, a word?"

"Of course, Mr Edwards."

"Has Miss Barnes left already?"

"Just missed her, sir."

"Pity. Remind me to speak to her when she returns in the new year."

///////////////

Becky pulled her suitcase along behind her. "How'd you even meet the guy? And what are you doing for him that he's paying for both your education and our visits home?"

Maggie frowned as she thought back. "I was waiting tables in our eleventh year, you remember? He stopped by and I waited on him. He was a mess -- he still is -- and his food and drink fell everywhere. Last time I cursed like that was when that perra Lucy Kinney stole my shift at the hospital and I had to work the graveyard shift."

"You know, given that you work part-time in a hospital, I really wouldn't suggest calling it the graveyard shift."

Maggie smiled. "Very funny, Becks. Anyway, so he's surprisingly super apologetic about it. Turns out he was stressed over some college exams or something and long story short, we got to talking about college and he felt really bad about ruining my shift at the diner that he offered to pay for my college tuition -- provided I didn't slack off or things like that."

Becky shook her head. "I don't get it. Why? Why would someone just randomly decide to pay for someone else's tuition?"

"Well, he comes from a rich family."

"That makes it all the more unlikely that he'd be so generous."

"Look, Becks, I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. If the man sees potential in me and is willing to pay for college, I'm grabbing it with both hands and hanging on until I graduate. You and me both know my father could never afford getting me into medicine."

"Your mom could."

"Yeah, but who needs her help? I'm actually going to see her before I come by your place."

"I thought you were meeting your darling benefactor?"

"I am. I'm seeing them both today and then I'll come home. Do me a favour and fetch my father?"

"Sure, no problem. Did your darling benefactor call you a cab?"

"I called you a cab." Both women stopped walking at the new voice. "And we all know I'm not Maggie's darling benefactor."

"Howard," Maggie greeted, "good to see you."

Howard dipped his head slightly. "Mags. Mr Jarvis will take your bags to Ms Barnes' taxi, if you'd like?"

Maggie smiled at the young man following Howard. "Hola, Eddie, como estas?"

Jarvis smiled back. "Bien, gracias, Mags. ¿Y usted mismo?"

"Always a pleasure, Eddie. Thank you so much."

Jarvis nodded as he took hold of Maggie's suitcase and gestured for Becky to walk with him.

"So, darling benefactor?"

"She's insane. Leave it to the great Becky Barnes to see through the rosiest of rose-lenses."

"Isn't she a really good codebreaker?"

"Surprisingly, yes. She's actually one of two top codebreakers at Bletchley Park. Our friend Peggy is the other."

"Peggy . . . that wouldn't be Margaret Carter, would it?"

"It would. What a small world, Mr Stark."

"Indeed, Dr Maravilla, it's a very small world. Come on, we have business to discuss."

"Business?" Maggie echoed with a frown as she placed her hands around the arm Howard offered her.

"Business," Howard repeated with a nod, pulling Maggie through the busy airport.

///////////////

"Hypothetically? No. I went to Cambridge to study and become a doctor. I wouldn't want any part in your whimsical ideas, Howard."

"What if the situation weren't hypothetical?"

Maggie sipped her tea slowly. "No. Besides, you can't make superheroes. ¡Eso es ridículo! Maybe when you've got proof this . . . super soldier thing . . . will work, I will consider helping you out."

"Maggie, hear me out, you're England's finest and you're not even qualified yet. How they hate to say your name, because you're better than them all. I could really use your help on this."

"This was never hypothetical to begin with, was it?"

Meekly, Howard shook his head. "No. Look, there's this German doctor who's developing a formula. If I can just persuade some people upstairs to go after the doctor, we could have that formula. We could win the war before it's fully begun."

"I'm sorry, Howard. I truly appreciate all you've done for me, but this isn't the way to repay you. I can't understake . . . missions . . . without any solid proof that I'm doing something right. I'm really sorry, Howard, truly."

Howard nodded as Maggie gathered her things and stood up.

"What about a nurse?"

Howard's voice stopped Maggie. She stood behind his chair, staring at the door. Howard stared at her vacant seat.

"I wanted to be a doctor, Howard."

"You'll have to climb that ladder, Maggie, and you can either work as a nurse in that shitty hospital and sit through years and years of college until they finally think a young Hispanic woman is capable of being a fully-fledged doctor, or you can start as a base camp nurse and actually put your skills to use as you climb the ranks. Your skill is beyond the average nurse, Mags, and you'll get everyone to call you a doctor within months at best."

Maggie squinted at the door.

"Think about it," Howard said, stirring his cup. "I expect an answer by New Year's. Enjoy the Christmas week, Miss Maravilla."

"Likewise, Mr Stark," Maggie said as she left, realising just how much she loved being called Dr Maravilla.

///////////////

Bucky was waiting on the front steps when Maggie got out of the cab. She stood behind the front gate and smiled. "How long have you been sitting there, Buckwheat?"

"Not long, Magpie. How was your meeting with your mother?"

Maggie's expression twisted as she pushed open the gate and walked up to the steps. "I didn't go see her. I was with Howard all this time. He offered me a job."

"That's brilliant, Mags!"

"Sí, but not the job I want. Bucky, I want to be a doctor. Howard wants to make me an army nurse."

Bucky turned his head to look at the woman sitting beside him. "Why do you want to be a doctor, Maggie?"

"I want to help people, I want to fix them, I want to make them better."

"Well, doll, then maybe being an army nurse is more suited to you than studying forever at a college that doesn't really want it's girls to go out there."

"I don't know, Buck. I think I can be one of the lucky ones. I . . . just don't know."

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