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sabraeal · 5 years

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Desert & Reward: Chapter 7

Obiyuki AU Bingo Regency AU

Obi had been barely more than a boy when he’d put his back to Wistal, the only home he’d ever known halfway worth the name, and followed the ache in his chest north. North, to snows and stone, to warm furs and cold nights, to the girl who shone as clear as the stars above Lyrias, and was just as far out of his reach.

He’d missed it then; those months at the palace were an endless summer, a respite in a life that could only be describe in the kindest terms as a tumult. He’d missed warm breeze and sweet wine, the long rambling strolls Miss had dragged him on, the sweat on his skin after another spar with Kiki and Sir.

He doesn’t remember when it stopped. One day he’d longed for Wistal, and the next day -- the next day Lyrias was home.

Obi’s been back in the palace for two days, and already he’s got a short list of reasons why he can’t wait to put his back to it again. Number one would be this buzzing behind his brow; a tension that won’t break no matter how much he ignores it.

Number two would be these buckskins, which still cling to him like they’re painted on and threaten to tear with ever step. Heaven forfend he drops something on the floor; no matter how much of a master this maestro is, there’s no way the seams would do anything but give up the ghost the second he more to any attitude that wasn’t upright. That he made it through lunch was a miracle.

Number three would be everything else involved with this whole con, starting and ending with Izana Wisteria and his plans.

Yori leaps to his feet when Obi flings open the door to his chambers, dark eyes darting nervously over his shoulder, out into the hall, as if at any point he’s expecting Obi to produce yet another royal sibling from thin air as his dearest companion.

Obi can’t blame him; with the number of royal family members and retinue that’s paraded around him the last few days, he can only imagine the boy’s letters back home have seemed more fiction than fact. Oh, wouldn’t Morel love to hear how the prince stood up for his lord at his wedding. He’d break out the good brandy for news like that.

He huffs out a laugh. At least someone will be happy with the arrangement.

“M-my lord!” Yori yelped. “May I --?”

“What do you wear to a marriage meeting?”

That stops his valet in his tracks, blinking at him like he’s just walked from a dark room into the sun. “Sir?”

Ah, right, this isn’t -- it’s not a marriage meeting. That would be Master’s garden stroll with Miss Kiki, or even the leisurely tour of Pavilion Street he had taken with Knight-dono’s too-accommodating sister. This wasn’t about compatibility, about liking each other --

Oh no, they were far beyond things like that. This was about contracts, about trickery with words.

“I mean, a...a contract meeting, for marriage,” he clarifies, which only stymies Yori further. “You know, legal stuff.”

“But, sir,” Yori presses, brow furrowed with far more thought than the situation warrants. “Shouldn’t you have handled that at your engagement?”

The words, “My what?” burst from him before he can think better of it.

“Your engagement,” Yori says, as if he is being obtuse. “To the Mistress.”

Good thing His Majesty wants him as a lord, he’s clearly losing his edge as a spy. “The Mistress? You mean my mistress?”

“Isn’t that who you are marrying?” His valet stares him down in consternation. “How don’t you --? Oh!” He raised a hand to his mouth, face flushing a painful red. “I’m sorry, my lord, I forgot --”

That I am your boss? Obi just manages to keep down.

“--That you weren’t, well, you know...” Yori lowers his voice to a whisper. “A lord then.”

“Oh.” Obi blinks. That is...a fortuitous twist to this. “Yes. That’s...true. I would not have been. When I...”

When he proposed to Miss, before he left to collect his esteemed reward. Which he hadn’t, because she had been with Master. Which none of his staff knew because -- because --

He’s been so obvious. His chest feels three sizes too tight just thinking about it. If they had seen it, then what had His Majesty --?

“You might have told Mrs Carre what you were about,” Yori informs him primly, hands setting on his hips. “She had been hoping for a wedding at Cacciatore.”

“Had she?” he muttered, wishing there was some convenient furniture to lean on. Of course, he’d told them -- and they had all called her -- and Mrs Carre had asked were Miss would sleep --

“And don’t you leave me to tell her, my lord,” his valet warned. “She’ll take a strip out of me for letting it happen! And --”

“The question, Yori --” Obi sweeps a hand to the wardrobe -- “is what do I wear?”

“Oh!” His man considers him for a long moment. “Something comfortable.” He hurries over to the wardrobe with a grimace. “It’s my understanding these take...time.”

Obi let out a sigh. “I’m sure that will be an understatement.”

Shidnote is waiting for him when he swings open the door, luxuriating in the jamb with a casual lean. He lifts those angled eyebrows of his, and Obi can feel his blood pressure spike.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asks --

And Obi slams the door shut again.

“I do know where His Majesty’s study is,” Obi grouses as they take yet another turn through the halls. “I don’t need a guide.”

Shidnote’s mouth take a bend that Obi can only qualify as annoying, and he says, “Funny, seems Izana thinks that if he left you to your own devices, you’d throw yourself out the nearest window.”

Obi hunches, glowering at him with an intensity that had caused more than a few men of his -- albeit, brief -- acquaintance to suddenly find other countries to be in.

Shidnote just laughs.

Fine. His Majesty and Shidnote and the rest of their set can believe what they like -- the scrawny boy prickling with knives that volunteered himself into Master’s service would have done just that, would have thrown himself off the nearest balcony any made for any port leading away from Clarines -- but Obi...

He hasn’t been hovering around Makiri’s inner circle to learn nothing. He certainly has more of a working notion about arranged marriages involve, and Miss --

Well, he might make his escape, but he knows right where Miss would end up too.

“Don’t look so sour.” Shidnote grins in his infuriatingly rakish way. “I’m not here to bring you.” He jerks his head down the hall. “She is.”

They turn the last corner, and Her Majesty awaits, a slim hand pressed to her round belly, radiant.

“I’m afraid, Sir Obi,” she murmured softly, a smile softly curling her lips. “You’ll have to suffer being waylaid one last time.”

“Well.” His mouth is so dry he doesn’t know how he manages to speak. “This seems like it will be more pleasant than any of the others.”

Shidnote let out bark of a laugh. “Well, that just shows how little you know her.”

To her credit, Her Majesty does not bully him into some side room or direct him toward some cleverly laid detour, timed perfectly to allow her to discuss what she wishes. Instead, she wraps one delicate hand around his elbow, and guides him into a walk slow enough for snails to pass.

Shidnote falls in behind them, taking great care to pretend they’re going at a normal pace. Obi takes his cue that he should do the same, putting on the expression of a man quite enjoying a leisurely stroll, and not a knight vaguely concerned that his queen will trip if he walks faster than a crawl.

“I take it that you’ve never done this before,” Her Majesty asks, somehow making even a question sound like a matter of fact. He wonders whether this was a skill she had in Lyrias as well, honed to a point, or if this is part of His Majesty’s influence. Maybe both; an inclination only bearing fruit now that it’s been suitably encouraged.

Obi grimaces. This is treading dangerously close to speculating about their bedroom, and any dog knows better than to chase rabbits into their warrens.

“Been married?” It’s a better answer than, walked to His Majesty’s study? Rumor has it that Her Majesty has a sense of humor, but Obi isn’t about to bet his head on hearsay.

“I would never presume to know that much of you,” Her Majesty demures.

Ah, so she is funny. He would have never thought His Majesty the type.

“I meant a contract,” Her Majesty clarifies. “Certainly whatever your...marital status before, you hadn’t needed a clerical representative involved.”

He blinks. “Well, I signed one when I started working for Master.”

“Oh?” Her delicate brows lift.

Shidnote grunts in surprised, “Did you read it?”

Obi grimaces. Therein lies the rub, as these noble types say. “Ah...mostly.”

He’d at least read the part about being paid and having food and accommodations provided. Those had been the important bits, after all. And even though he may not have known Master, not really, he’d seemed trustworthy enough. More than any of his previous employers, at least.

“Mostly?” Shidnote shrills; an overreaction when everything turned out just fine. “You didn’t even--?”

Her Majesty holds up a hand, drawing the knight’s words up short. “There is not enough time to discuss Marquis Conti’s questionable business practices.”

It takes him what feels like a whole minute to realize she’s talking about him. “Hey, that’s not --”

“What is more pressing now is that you do not cede ground once we are in negotiations,” she tells him, firm. “No matter how tempted you may be.”

“Cede ground?” he echoes as Shidnote steps ahead, reaching for the handles to His Majesty’s study. “Negotiations? We?”

Her Majesty smiles gently, patting his arm. “Just leave everything to me, Sir Obi.”

The thing about informal negotiations when they involved royals was: they always formal. Obi might be able to dress down, just wearing his usual shirt and trousers, so long as they didn’t have holes -- that Yori could find, at least -- but they still have to wait for an official announcement to be made, and for His Majesty to graciously accept them into his presence.

“You’d think being his wife would get you past all this red tape,” Obi mutters, before he can think better of it. “Do you have to do this for bed, too?”

It takes him only a moment to realize what he said -- what he was asking -- and in a fit of blind panic, he hopes she hasn’t heard.

“My husband and I usually enter his bedchamber together,” she tells him conversationally, as if he had only asked her about the weather, or the menu for luncheon. She catches his gaze from the corner of her eyes, and her mouth tips in a sly cant. “The thing about rules, Sir Obi, is that there is usually a way to confound them. If you are creative enough.”

“He says you can come in,” Shidnote tells them, leaning out the doors. “Guess the royal couch isn’t too comfortable.”

Obi stares, but Her Majesty only smiles. “My husband is far too wise to ever find out.”

Shidnote lets out a bark of a laugh and throws open the doors. Obi takes a breath as he steps inside, and --

Oh, he is -- he’s not ready for this.

Yori might have dressed him for comfort, but Miss -- Miss looks stunning, her hair pulled back into a tail and laid carefully over a shoulder, her gown cut just as Her Majesty’s, only somehow, when she wears it, it seems --

“Sir Obi,” Her Majesty murmurs, tapping her fingers lightly on his forearm. “Please remember, we are not to cede ground.”

He swallows. Right, of course. He leads the queen over to her seat, sitting beside her, and dares another look at his miss.

Their eyes meet.

His heart sinks to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Cede ground? Her Majesty doesn’t need to worry about details like that.

Not when he’s going to serve his heart up on a platter.

A clerk sits at His Majesty’s desk, sandy-haired and squirrelly, a single long finger tap-tap-tapping as Their Majesties speak. Without the king behind it, the room seems -- tilted, wrong, as if Obi’s walked straight through a looking glass to the other side. Without His Majesty’s presence, the man is just a body in the chair, a puppet slouched and awaiting a hand to move it.

Obi jolts upright. Thinking like that...makes it sound as if he likes the king.

Now there’s a sobering thought. Hopefully, he’ll never have cause to have it again.

The clerk shifts in the chair, switching his finger for his pen as he waits for Their Majesties to get on with the negotiation. Obi agrees; if he has to hear another dissertation on the precise nature of is, he’ll negotiate himself right out the window. Miss too, for good measure. They could both skip the country; sail straight across the sea to Viande, or maybe even paddle out to Ivora.

Anything but this.

He sneaks a glance at Miss, watching the way her eyes glass over, staring sightlessly out the great windows before them, and he thinks she might go for it, might gleefully take his hand and leap --

If we leave you alone, Kiki’s voice wryly reminds him, Shirayuki will find some way to get you to elope.

Her jerks his gaze away, dragging it back to -- to somewhere safer. Somewhere he’s not tempted to think about that.

The clerk seems safe enough. Obi squints. “Have we met?”

The man nearly drops his pen. “Excuse me?”

He takes in the artful swept hair, the lazily aristocratic face. “You look familiar.”

“Obi.” Her Majesty lays a quelling hand on his arm, voice hardly louder than a murmur. “It’s bad manners to harass the help.”

“The duration of the marriage before legal rights.” His Majesty’s voice is too loud, now that Obi’s thoughts aren’t drowning it out. His legs cross languidly at the knees, giving the air of a careless lounge, as if he were entirely bored of this conversation he’s been dragging out for what seems like hours.

Obi glances at the clock. A half hour. He has died, and this is purgatory.

“Can we agree upon that?” His Majesty’s eyebrows lift in question, although his smile says that he already knows the answer. “Five years minimum.”

“Five years?” Obi yelps, darting a helpless look at Miss. She won’t meet his eyes, her body twisted away, face flushed and chin tucked down as if the giant globe between them is the most riveting part of the room.

“I believe,” Her Majesty drawls, shooting him a warning glance, “that Conti finds the duration too long.”

Forever would be less than enough, but Miss --

Miss’s heart doesn’t leap when he enters the room, doesn’t wonder how close she can come without him pulling away. She doesn’t compose words in advance so she won’t show more of her feelings than is welcome. She doesn’t love him.

Obi can’t stop this marriage, but he can make sure she’s not in it for any longer than she needs to be.

“One year,” he creaks out. “One year and she can go.”

Her Majesty turns to him, soft. “Obi,” she sighs, resting her hand on his. His fingers flex, only just managing to keep flat against his thigh. He’s not use to it, to gentleness. “You cannot pick so short a time. You may be a man in love, but you are a marquis, and she is no-one.”

“She’s everything,” he snaps, and oh, the way Miss is looking at him, so lost --

“If I were in love, I mean.” Every word is like a kick to the ribs. “I’d think she was everything.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Her Majesty meets his eyes; he’s grateful, it’s a safer place to keep his gaze than Miss. “But Tanbarun will have suspicions.”

Obi couldn’t care less what Tanbarun thinks, what anyone thinks, but --

But he has to. The king has to believe that Miss is well and truly married, or else all of this is for nothing.

“Two years,” Her Majesty proposes. “And entitled to half his properties and income, should the marriage fail after that time.”

Miss surges forward in her chair. “I don’t want any of that. Please.”

His Majesty shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with two fingers. “Lady Shirayuki, I understand the sentiment, but do you think Shenezard will believe that your feelings have eclipsed your pragmatism?”

Miss sat back, eyeing the king warily. “I suppose...no.”

“Quite.” He fixes her with a look laden with meaning, and Obi wonders if they had exchange words before his arrival, too. “And even if you were too overcome, your bridegroom would doubtlessly wish for you to be seen to, even if a parting was...inamicable.”

She shrunk back, cheeks flush. “Oh.”

“Three,” His Majesty offers, louder, a counter-proposal. “Enough to seem incautious, but not so much to be foolish. A man blinded by love, confident in the match.”

Three years. Shorter than they were even in Lyrias. But it’s also forever, if his miss is unhappy.

He looks to her now, mouth too dry to manage more than, “Miss...?”

“I...” She glances at him from the corner of her yes, cheeks painfully red. “That would be agreeable. For Entaepode.”

“For you,” His Majesty corrects, so gently. “Two months ago, you would have had no inkling of your new position. It should be a surprise, even now.”

“Oh,” she breathes, small beside him. “Right.”

“Three years and half his titles and properties,” the clerk repeats, his fastidious voice a bucket of water upon the proceedings. “Should I add a proviso about lessening the amount, if she comes into her own fortune?”

“No.” His Majesty shakes his head. “They would not have any idea of Lady Shirayuki’s...sudden windfall.”

“They do know that Shirayuki’s father had been disinherited,” Her Majesty mentions, as if it were merely a curiosity, and not the basis of yet another debate. Her pale eyes spark as they meet her husband’s and Obi settles in for the long haul. “So it would not be out of the realm of possibility that Sir Obi might have considered his wife’s potential status, if he was a pragmatic man. Or perhaps...optimistic.”

Or ambitious is what she doesn’t say, but Obi can hear it loud and clear in the silence.

His Majesty straightens in his seat, mouth curling at a corner in pleasant anticipation. “We have already stated that the man in question is in love to the point of incaution. To leave the door open for shrewdness might lead to speculation.”

“However he is in the employ of the royal family of Clarines,” she counters, leaning ever so slightly closer. “Or, more accurately, he was before his elevation. And it has never been said that the king of Clarines hires fools.”

“An excellent point,” His Majesty allows, “though it will take more than flattery to cause one to forget that even a clever man may have too much pride in his intuition.”

“You make my point for me, husband,” Her Majesty nearly purrs. “For could not a man be blinded to his love’s ambition but not his own?”

The room is getting entirely too warm. “Wife --”

“Ah, I recognize you now,” Obi interrupts, his gaze fixed on the clerk. The clerk who now looks quite worried indeed. Good. “Yuuha.”

Miss’s head jerks up at the name, cheeks flushed.

“My goodness me.” Obi’s lips peel back in a grin that shows all his teeth. “It’s been a long while. What, four years? five?”

Yuuha’s mouth pulls into a thin line -- but sweat beads across his brow too. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Is that so?”

The clerk lifts up his nose, attempting to look down it. “I don’t associate with those beneath my station.”

“And yet look who’s sitting in front of the desk,” Obi remarks, airy, hooking his hands behind his head. Yuuha goes as red as a cherry, the crowning glory of a just desert. “Looks like you picked a winning personal policy there.”

“If you are quite done harassing the clerk,” His Majesty sighs, “I think we have more pressing details to discuss. Lady Shirayuki, did you have --?”

“Children,” Miss blurts out, face as flushed as her hair. “I mean -- heirs. There should -- should be one for Tanbarun.”

Obi stares.

“That’s -- that’s what marriage agreements look like, don’t they?” She turns to the king, eyes wide, voice wavering in desperation. “Obi asks for an heir for Conti, and I ask for an heir for Entaepode.”

“Yes,” His Majesty allows, looking far too amused. “A good consideration. Save that two months ago, you had no property to require an heir for. Unless,” he adds, eyebrows raised, “there is something about the positions in the pharmacy of which I am not aware.”

Her skin turns painfully red. “Ah. Oh. Right. I didn’t...this is all very confusing.”

“Of course it is,” His Majesty soothes, completely insincere. “However, it is a good proviso to discuss now.” He fixes his gaze to Obi with a smile that gives him chills. “After all, Tanbarun will certainly request it, when they hear of your marriage.”

Obi grits his teeth. “We can worry about that bridge when it’s burning.”

“Ah,” Her Majesty sighs, eyeing him with amusement. “Just the sort of sentiment I would have expected from a marquis.”

“At least this one,” her husband agrees.

Obi’s mouth pulls thin. “We should be more concerned with what Tanbarun will expect to see now, not -- not later.”

“Of course, of course.” His Majesty smiles. “One step at a time. Please take note,” he tells the clerk, not once taking his eyes off Obi, “that Marquis Conti would like to discuss heirs at a later date.”

Obi doesn’t bother to hide his glare. That was not what he’d meant.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Yuuha replies blandly. “Should I ask for it to be scheduled?”

His Majesty’s smile glints like a knife just before the stab. “If you would.”

The man nods. “We’ll be in touch, my lord.”

“Great,” he seethes. The clerk chances a glance at him before his gaze flutters away, trying to hide his fear in the business of paperwork. It’s at least a small balm to his pride.

“No rush,” the king tells him, far too pleased. “Just please be sure not to precipitate negotiations with any...material considerations.”

Miss blinks, confused. “What do you --oh.” She coughs, cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

Obi takes a deep breath, reminding himself that regicide is a capital crime, no matter how much a man may deserve it. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I’ve found, my dear marquis, that it is best to be prepared for any eventuality,” His Majesty drawls, “no matter how probable one finds it.”

His tone, coupled with the pleased curve of his smile, implies he finds it very probable indeed.

Obi’s fingers dig into the wooden arms of his chair. “I--”

A hand comes down hard on his thigh, and Her Majesty’s smile is thin as she says, “I think we have spent enough time on hypotheticals, have we not? Let us get back to the matter at hand.”

His Majesty grins. “I must yield to the superior wisdom of my wife. Mister Yuuha, if you would read back the terms?”

It’s as the clerk begins his bored drone that Her Majesty loosens her grip on him, leaning in to murmur, “Do not start fights you cannot win, sir.”

A laugh burst from him, soft and bitter. “Why start now?”

#obiyukibingo2019 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #desert and reward #my fic #ans #OKAY LISTEN #i know this isn't REALLY a regency AU #but listen #we all know deep down at its heart it is okay #obi's wearing buckskins #we're two steps away from discussing entails #it fits

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ezatluba · 5 years

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Wellness has come for your pets

The $636 million pet supplement industry is fueled by the greatest suckers of all: millennial dog owners, like me.

Gray Chapman

Aug 12, 2019

They’re frustratingly unaware of it, but my two dogs, Jerry and Juno, enjoy nice things. I don’t lavish them in bespoke raw pet food or designer dog clothes, but Juno, a deranged hell-goblin who just turned one year old, often gets a stick of dried Himalayan yak cheese (usually $8 a pop) to keep her occupied inside her crate. And Jerry, a beatific senior lab mix, takes a glucosamine tablet ($9.99 per bottle) with each morning meal. I’m not sure how much it actually helps him, beyond the fleeting happiness he possibly derives from believing he’s getting a Special Breakfast Treat.

I do these things because I love my dogs deeply and care about their health, obviously, but I suspect it’s also for more selfish reasons: I simply need them to live forever.

Unsurprisingly, I’m a sucker for my animals, largely because confronting their mortality is worse than thinking about my own. A lot of other dog owners my age feel similarly, as it turns out — millennial dog people are pumping hundreds of millions of dollars into the pet supplement industry, which in 2018 had an estimated value of around $636 million, according to an April 2019 report from market research publisher Packaged Facts. That’s a mind-boggling figure that, by all measures, appears to be growing. (For context, that sum is roughly equivalent to the value of another millennial-baiting cash cow: the pumpkin spice industrial complex.)

DOG OWNERS AGE 25-34 SKEW PARTICULARLY HIGH FOR BUYING SUPPLEMENTS FOR THEIR ANIMALS.

The American pet product industry, which is reportedly worth $75 billion, has become such a gold rush that there’s even a summit for venture capitalists and corporate buyers to connect with pet product startups pitching “smart” litterboxes that measure how frequently your cat pees, “Blue Apron for dogs,” and depression-soothing television programming for pets (the event is called, aptly, the Pets and Money Summit). Pet food is one of the food sector’s fastest growing segments, according to an annual report from Global Industry Analysts, Inc., and is projected to reach nearly $35 billion by 2024. And the category of pet supplements — from fish oil to probiotics to Jerry’s special breakfast treat — has grown year over year for the past five years, according to Packaged Facts. Their nearly 200-page analysis was compiled from surveying pet owners of all ages, but according to the data, dog owners age 25-34 skew particularly high for buying supplements for their animals. Overall, dog people spend four times as much on their good boys and girls as cat people do, and last year, accounted for an estimated 78% of all pet supplement sales. Talk about rolling over! (I’m very sorry.)

The factors that contributed to such massive growth in pet wellness read like a rousing game of Millennial Mad Libs. There’s the rise of slick, direct-to-consumer ecommerce brands — Packaged Facts’ 2019 surveys show that 43% of dog owners who purchase supplements do so online, compared to a measly 27% just two years ago. There’s the seismic surge of interest in CBD, and the “halo effect” its popularity has had in the pet supplement category. There’s the explosion of (human) wellness and self-care culture over the last few years, and its ensuing trickle-down effect on our pets: according to the report, “pet supplement purchasers are more likely to be supplement takers themselves.” And then, of course, there are the millennial customers themselves: a generation for whom pets often function like kids. (Industry experts call this phenomenon “humanization.”)

Steve King, president of the American Pet Products Association and 30-year veteran of the industry, tells me that millennials, who recently surpassed boomers as the biggest buyers of pet products, have brought along some fairly major attitudinal shifts in what, and how, we buy for our pets. “Products that were considered perhaps luxuries by earlier generations are now considered essentials by millennial pet owners,” says King. “And that definitely feeds into the area of supplements.”

Take Jerry’s daily glucosamine regimen. Glucosamine started out as a human dietary supplement for joint health decades ago, and trickled over into canine health over the last decade, but only attained mainstream popularity among dog owners in recent years. “Ten years ago, consumers may have heard of it, but they weren’t really sure what it does,” says King. “And now, it’s just part of the life stages of their pet. They know that that’s something that will be good for them and help them with joint health throughout their lives.” Sure enough, a Google Trends search for “glucosamine for dogs” shows a steady uptick in queries over the last fifteen years, as glucosamine joined the ranks of leashes, beds, and bones as a totally normal thing to buy for your dog. I get mine at Trader Joe’s.

The CBD chews purported to soothe a dog’s anxiety, the gut health products you can order custom-tailored to your border collie’s microbiome, the personalized pet medsdelivered to your door — these things have crept from niche corners toward the mainstream; from products you’d seek out at vet clinics or specialty stores to products you might consider subscribing to after seeing it on Instagram.

One of those Instagram ads I spotted recently was from a company called Goodboy, which is kind of like a Ritual or Care/Of for dogs. The visuals on Goodboy’s website tick all the millennial boxes: emojis, the word “doggo,” that trendy ‘70s font atop hues of millennial pink and hunter green. Users fill out a quiz about their dog, selecting from various canine concerns such as bone health, mobility, immunity support, and stress/anxiety, and are subsequently served recommendations for one or more of Goodboy’s four formulas.

Cofounders Stefan Lewinger, 31, and Kari Sapp, 30, launched the Atlanta-based brand in July after working together on Lewinger’s last startup, a specialty sock subscriptionservice. (Both are also dog owners: Lewinger has a German short-haired pointer, and Sapp has two labs.) “We just wanted to demystify the supplement industry,” says Sapp. “Now, people are looking for alternative ways to take care of their pets.”

The co-founders told me on the phone that, along the lines of direct-to-consumer vitamin startups like Ritual, they hope to reach millennials who are perhaps wellness-curious but not necessarily interested in embarking on a biochemical research project or sifting through PubMed. A quiz is much easier. “I think the success of [brands like] Ritual and some of these other direct to consumer brands is that it is simple, it’s familiar, but exciting,” says Lewinger. “It can get boring to do your own research. So, we try to do it through a more fun and playful lens.”

In the development phase, the cofounders talked with fellow dog owners in their age group. “Everybody had one or two different concerns that they wanted to address with their dogs, but they didn’t really know where to start,” says Lewinger. “Maybe it wasn’t something that was worth a vet visit, or maybe it was something that, if you poke around the supplement aisle in PetSmart, there’s a million different labels and bottles.”

WHEN DOG OWNERS ARE FACED WITH FIVE-FIGURE MEDICAL BILLS $30 A MONTH FOR SOME VITAMINS MIGHT NOT SEEM SO TERRIBLY INDULGENT.

On the spectrum of pet healthcare, there’s a pretty wide gap between “not great but probably fine” and “needs to go to the vet right now.” Supplements and other products of not-quite-mainstream “wellness,” both canine and human, attempt to fill this gap; to circumvent the barriers and costs of mainstream healthcare while still proactively protecting your pet’s health. When dog owners are faced with the specter of five-figure medical bills, or even bankruptcy, to save their dog’s life, $30 a month for some vitamins might not seem quite so terribly indulgent.

Pet supplements share another attribute with the wellness bubble, and that’s a lack of regulation. Just as Hairfinity, Hum, or Ritual aren’t forced to conduct clinical trials to prove whether their vitamins really do give you thicker hair or glowier skin, it’s largely up to pet supplement brands to ensure their own products are safe and their marketing claims are honest.

Fortunately, there are some non-government watchdogs (you get it) keeping an eye on pet supplement manufacturers. Bartges points to the National Animal Supplement Council (NASC), a voluntary organization to which companies can submit information about the quality of their product. “If it meets requirements established by NASC, then it receives a seal of approval,” says Bartges, though he notes that not all companies apply for the seal. Failing that, he adds, pet owners should always read the labels. “If the company cannot provide what is exactly in the product — not only the ingredients but [also] the amounts — then I would choose another product and company,” he says. “You should know exactly what is being provided to a pet.”

I try to give my dogs nice things, but I could always be doing more. Does Juno, who consistently eats the mulch in my backyard and promptly regurgitates it indoors, need probiotics for her microbiome? Does Jerry’s bladder deserve a blend of cranberry powder, marshmallow root powder, and various other powders distilled into one healthy, all-natural chew? Do my dogs, as Goodboy suggests, “deserve” this?

I asked Dr. Bartges whether I’m a bad dog mother for not giving each of my dog-children their own tailored vitamin blends. He mostly absolved me of my guilt. “If a pet has a specific problem, then supplements may help,“ says Bartges. “But in general, most healthy pets do not need supplements if they are eating a good quality diet. If you feel the need to supplement a diet, then consider changing their diets.” Maybe I should look into Blue Apron for dogs after all.

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sailorcrafty · 7 years

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The dawn before The Dawn: A FFXV Fanfic

I thought this up while I was mowing my own back lawn for the first time. It’s incredibly zen actually, like vacuuming. Anyway…hope you enjoy. Safe for work, a headcanon on the camaraderie of the Chocobros before they head out to defeat Ardyn and end the long night. This takes place before the final battle so if you haven’t played the game yet probably don’t read it. ::SPOILER ALERT::

It was morning, though it looked like the darkest night they had ever seen. The four brothers in arms had had their last meal around the campfire together the night before and Noctis had revealed his true feelings to the group at long last. It was cathartic and words spilled forth that all needed to hear. Gladio, Prompto and Ignis were preparing breakfast and packing up, leaving Noctis to his last sleep-in. It was the least they could do…all of them felt the weight of the coming hours, moving stiffly in the darkness to conceal their inner turmoil.

At last, they heard a stirring from within the tent. All took a collective breath to try and cheer up and put on a brave face for their King. He emerged, trying to smooth down the last wisps of errant bedhead hair. Everyone glanced nervously up from their preparations to gauge his mood in order to respond accordingly. He looked rather serious…and hesitant. Oh boy, here comes…something, they thought.

“By royal decree…I need to see each of you individually in the tent before we head out. Well, who wants to go first?” King Noctis spoke, his matter-of-fact voice concealing the nature of the mandatory meetings.

Terrified, Gladio, Prompto and Ignis froze, unsure of what they were in for. When no one volunteered, Noctis gestured to Gladio, who swallowed hard, glanced at the other two, and went in.

Noctis was in the back of the tent, reaching into a small silk bag. He pulled out an exquisitely crafted badge in the shape of a shield, with filigree and enamel details. It looked very expensive. He brought it over to Gladio and had him kneel. Carefully affixing it to Gladio’s Kingsglaive coat, His Majesty finally spoke.

“Gladiolus Amicitia. You have brought me, my family, and your family great honor in your service to the crown. The Kingdom of Lucis and all mankind owe you their gratitude. Thank you for everything you have done, and for all I know you will do in the future. Please rise.”

Gladio rose to his full height, sniffing a little. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It has been my great honor to stand by your side.” He managed to get out, though his voice was tight.

Noctis looked more regal than he ever had in his life. But also, more weary. The Ring of the Lucii had already begun to take its toll. Suddenly, he smiled, the warmth he felt for his friend shining through the formality of the occasion.

“Gladio, I…”

“Why, Noct? Why does it have to be this way…” Gladio blurted out, his voice finally breaking. “It hurts…so damn much. I can’t lose you, you dumbass…” he said, covering his face.

Placing his hands on Gladio’s shoulders, Noctis’ voice was gentle and even fatherly. “No one expects you to bear this on your own. You and the other guys need to take care of each other. You need to laugh and poke jokes at me just as before. You know I’ll be laughing too. When you see a fish, when you go for a run…smile, feel the warmth of the sun on that broad back of yours,” he said, giving it a firm pat, “and keep going. Others will need you as much as I have. You will find solace in providing strength for them.

“Gladio, you are my brother. I love you, ok? Now go fry up some bacon.” They exchanged manly backslaps, holding each other’s shoulders in brotherly acknowledgement. Gladio felt renewed strength welling up inside him. He could do this. Somehow, he had to.

The two emerged from the tent, Gladio still working the pain back down from his face. “Ignis, let Gladio man the bacon. Come on in,” said Noctis.

Ignis, in a break from his usual dignified state, had a look of panic cross his face. Taking a deep breath, he headed in.

The light of the lamp in the tent glinted off a stunning silver badge that looked like a fancy map compass. Once again, King Noctis had his comrade kneel so he could place the badge and address his faithful guide in the voice of a monarch.

“Ignis Scientia. You have been my loyal guide and confidante, leading me to safety, advising me when I have strayed, and nourishing our band with wisdom for our minds and food for our bodies. Without you our journey may have ended prematurely. The Kingdom of Lucis and all mankind owe you a great debt. May you always be a guiding light. Please rise.”

“It has been my great privilege to serve you, Your Highness,” Ignis said with pride and a touch of sadness.

Once again, Noctis broke royal form and smiled widely at his friend. “I hope your future wife is ready for the amazing dishes you’re going to make her. You should really be made head chef at the best restaurant in Crown City. You don’t even have to cook. Just teach your staff everything you know. You’ll be filthy rich. Just imagine it…” he said warmly, his hands on Ignis’ shoulder. “You’re going to be the most fine out of the three of you. I need you to continue helping these guys find their way. They rely on your carefulness.”

Ignis was silent for a moment, pushing up his glasses. He took a few deep breaths, like a beached fish gasping to breathe. Finally, he nodded and looked towards his friend the King, his pale eye glassier than normal. A faint smile, the smile of someone hiding great sorrow, creased across his face. He left the tent, choking out: “Prompto.”

Prompto flinched. He had dreaded this for years. He knew the day would come. The day he would say goodbye to the endless night. But saying goodbye to the other Night…to Noctis? He couldn’t possibly bear it.

He burst into the tent, yelling incoherently about everything he had been thinking all morning. Noctis made out only a few words. “…it isn’t fair…another way…who’s going to be king?!…what are we going to do??!!”

Noctis calmly regarded his dearest friend, letting him rant and rave. Prompto needed this catharsis. He was the type who bottled things up and it just tortured him.

And then the King of Lucis just held Prompto Argentum as he sobbed openly.

It was the outpouring of a soul. The grief that had been held in for a decade could finally escape into the night air. Those outside the tent could not escape the tormented voice, unhindered by any self consciousness. They cringed under its unrelenting emotional force.

It went on for some time. Slowly but surely, it died down, periods of silence punctuated by a renewed barrage of sobs. Finally, it fell quiet.

Prompto held Noctis back. Noctis hadn’t escaped from releasing some of the grief himself and fresh tears ran down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry Prompto…I don’t want to leave you like this. You must know that. You are my best friend, and you are so precious to me.”

His emotional energy spent, Prompto released his hold on the King and backed away a step, looking drained. “I’m sorry too Noct…sorry we couldn’t save you somehow….” He sniffed, re-squaring his shoulders. “You’re my best friend too. As a kid I could never have imagined the amazing life I’ve been able to have, cruising the countryside with the Prince and the most amazing men in the kingdom. I’m so grateful…and scared for it to end…”

Noctis nodded, acknowledging the weight on Prompto’s shoulders. “We’re all scared, Prompto. No mortal gets to escape their fate. But guess what? I’ve seen proof that I’ll see you again. And that’s the one thing that makes it all worth it.”

Noctis brought out the final badge, a gorgeously crafted piece that looked somewhat like a yinyang, where the two halves were dogs that looked very much like Umbra and Pryna. The dogs’ jeweled eyes flashed in the lamplight.

Prompto’s eyes filled with wonder. He adored it. He clasped it in both hands, holding it to his heart, studying it closely. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Noctis attached it to Prompto’s jacket, speaking the words he had prepared for the occasion.

“Prompto Argentum, you have been a loyal and faithful companion to your King. Never wavering in your devotion, you set an incredible example for everyone in the kingdom, showing us that nobility is more about your actions than your birthplace. The kingdom will revere you always as a hero and friend.”

Prompto stood up straight with great pride, giving a slight bow. He grinned.

“Wait ‘til Cindy sees it! Do you think she’ll go out with me?”

Noctis slapped his friend on the arm, grinning back. “She’d be foolish not to.”

Prompto exited the tent, followed by Noctis. “The heart of the team, everybody,” he said, pointing to the blonde freckled man who had once been a carefree teen.

Prompto quipped, “does that make Ignis the eyes?”

Everyone froze, not sure that would be taken well by the man in question. Ignis just shrugged and said “no, the brain, naturally.” A collective sigh of relief, and a few chuckles.

Noctis called out to Gladio who was packing up equipment, “you can be the backbone!”

Prompto tilted his head, “the bicep?”

Ignis stroked his chin. “he’s the whole musculatory system, really.”

Gladio laughed. “I’ll take it.”

Prompto thoughtfully mused. “That would make Noctis…”

“The hair, obviously,” said the King, stroking his luxurious locks.

Everyone laughed. Even now, he had the same goofy sense of humor he did as a young Prince.

“–The Soul.” Prompto said, seriously this time. “think about it. Without him, we are all just parts. He brought us together. He is the life of the team.”

They all went silent, stunned by the truth of this statement.

Finally Noctis said, “well…can’t argue with that…dude, you are so deep…for once.”

Prompto shot back with a familiar line. “What do you mean, for once?”

The banter continued into the morning as they set out. It felt good to have things back to normal…one last time.

They all set out together, four brothers, the Heart, the Mind, the Body and the Soul – out to bring back the Dawn.

FIN

(constructive criticism is completely welcome, especially if I got lore wrong on any point! I have mom brain and can’t always remember finer story details ^_^;;)

#final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #ffxv #chocobros #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #ignis stupeo scientia #gladiolus amicitia #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanon

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