#who has been recently adopted by a very enthusiastic gardener

[clickerflight]

Clove: Ephraim and Hyrum

They're so CUTE! I drew this WITH MY OWN HANDS!!! AND I'M STILL LOSING MY MIND!!!

Ephraim and Hyrum are the cutest ever.

Masterlist

[writersrealmbts]

Clearwater Springs: Part 1

Description: ot7 x reader, reader’s choice, fairy/supernatural/soulmate au. The choices you make influence the story! In this world, war-torn and ragged, you’ve been offered a home and a job working as a librarian. Will you meet your soulmates? Will you ever find the shelves behind the piles of books? Who knows.

Warnings: None

Posted: 08/29/2020

Tags: ot7 x reader, supernatural bts, 

5,111 words

A/N: Once I was actually able to write, this came out really easily. I hope you guys enjoy it and don’t forget to do the pre-chapter 2 survey (link at the end of post)! 

You stared up at the house in a bit of a daze, still untethered. Still vulnerable.

“Isn’t it magnificent?! A real masterpiece, this house.”

You glanced at your over-enthusiastic caseworker, then looked back up at the grand Victorian house, wondering if the inside matched the outside, and why such a grand house was way out in the middle of nowhere. Why its owner would offer to take in strays, misfits, and others in need of a new home after the recent war when they were obviously still doing well despite the near economic collapse.

Your caseworker was practically bouncing up to the house, making you dizzy as he jostled the itty-bitty fountain you were temporarily tied to.

But you’d been dealing with that for a month, and you were getting pretty good at walking a straight line while the world appeared to spin around you.

“Now, if you and he agree at the end of the day, you’ll be tethered to a natural spring and the creek it runs into nearby, and you’ll stay in one of the spare rooms and you’ll help him organize and keep his library, which he runs as a traditional library—when organized—for some of the locals.”

You didn’t bother responding since he didn’t seem to be looking for a response, instead heavily trodding up to the front door as he rang the doorbell.

“Also, to simulate what life will be like, I’ll be leaving you for the day once I set your fountain down in a safe spot.”

“You said,” You murmured, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling yourself swaying from side to side. As a xana, you were originally tethered to a fountain many miles away, but as the war reached that town, your fountain had been damaged and your original workplace—a large library where you specialized in the children’s section, reading to them and singing your songs—utterly demolished. Because the fountain wasn’t completely destroyed, you survived. An experimental spell and three weeks later and there you were, standing on the steps of the home of a human where you would be exchanging work for a place to sleep and food to eat. You didn’t even need that much food, about a meal a day was enough for you when your tethered place was healthy and strong and not being jerked around like a dog was playing tug-of-war with it.

The front door opened, revealing a man with pink hair. “Hello, you must be Y/n. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Clearwater Springs.”

“We?” You asked, glancing at your worker.

The human did as well. “You told her about the house’s haltija, right?”

You relaxed. “Oh. Just a haltija?”

“Well, he’s also half-brownie, but thankfully that only manifests in the occasional clumsy or destructive moment. He’s quite friendly, though, and very fond of the forest,” The human spoke quickly, as though afraid you would pass negative judgement on the haltija—creatures who were known for guarding and protecting—for having brownie blood—admittedly, creatures who could become troublesome when disrespected, but otherwise also keepers of the home and chore-doers for the kind.

“I’m sure he’s very kind and gentle,” You replied.

“Right. And you’re a xana?”

You nodded.

“And...I’m sorry, I’m not sure what exactly that is, other than the fact that you’re generally tied to some form of pure water, like fountains, springs, rivers, waterfalls….”

You nodded. “I’m originally from a fountain. Um...I’m not sure how to explain what I am.”

Your caseworker took that hint. “Oh! Right, well, they seem to always know virtuous hearts through some test or other—though no one ever seems to be able to pin down the test—um, they have enchanted songs that bring feelings of peace and love to the pure and could almost kill those who are impure. Um, let’s see, she has combs made of moonbeams and sunlight, respectively. Can’t completely care for babies, but once they can feed themselves she’s fine.”

You frowned, fighting yourself not to glare at him. Your species couldn’t produce milk, so in the old days—before there was formula—it was a sort of changeling situation. A Xanino would replace a human child. Terrible, but true. Nowadays, most xaninos were adopted by naiads or other nature or house spirits—because now it was scandalous to try and raise your own child as a xana.

“Oh, she has treasure, but who knows where she keeps that—”

“It’s enchanted, you’re not supposed to know where I keep it,” You muttered, even though he wasn’t paying any attention to you.

“And she can give you a drink that we call ‘Love water’. Couldn’t tell you why, and I’ve never seen her hand it out. Think that’s it. Here’s her fountain, I’ll be back at sundown.”

The human almost dropped the fountain that was shoved into his hands, and if he wasn’t so surprised you thought he might have yelled at your caseworker.

But the car peeled down the driveway again, kicking up dirt.

You stared after him, a little disconcerted. “Mages.”

“Um, well, we’ve been preparing for your arrival. We’ve gotten the basement bathroom renovated so that you can shower or bathe in the waters of your spring when you need, and your bedroom is ready for you. We thought you’d prefer to decorate it with your things...but looking back now I probably should have known you wouldn’t have many things. It’s a hard time for everyone,” The human rambled, rubbing his neck. “Oh, I’m Seokjin, by the way.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose your name would be important. I’d hate to be rude and just refer to you as ‘The Human” when you’re my boss.”

Seokjin looked startled at the title. “I’d rather think of it as a partnership. I’ve been told I shouldn’t live alone, and you needed a new home. Also, my library is out of control and I have no idea where to start—I mean, other than the new library building that we just finished. Don’t worry, it’s very close to your water source as well, but your spring is still highly protected.”

You just nodded, wondering why he didn’t stare like most humans did. You were beautiful—that was one of the key points of defining a xana: being extraordinarily beautiful. Xana’s were considered more beautiful than any other species—and only a few other species even tried to contend with it since yours was more rare, and therefore more worth the attention.

“Um, let’s get inside so I can set this down. We’ll make sure Namjoon steers completely clear of it.” Seokjin stepped back and leaned his head in a gesture that suggested welcoming you inside and to follow him.

He led the way through the entry, and then to the living room through the arch immediately to the right. He took the fountain and placed it on a table that was against the wall—out of the way of general traffic. “There. Now, Namjoon should be around somewhere. Probably the garden, he likes it out there. But for now let me show you the house, including where you’ll be staying and then we’ll go and talk about the library. There’s a lot of work that I want to do, Namjoon is heavily involved in that too. He likes books, but between us...we don’t really have the skills to put what we want into action—which is why we’re really excited that you’re here.” He started the tour.

“I’ll do my best to h-hell, what is this hell?” You said, looking at the mess. It looked somewhat like a library, except you couldn’t even see the shelves. It was just piles upon piles of books, newspapers, journals, magazines, and comic books with a thin path between it all.

Seokjin winced. “It is...mildly organized. We’ve been receiving donations. Don’t worry, there will be a bigger place, we mostly just need to pack all of this up and move it to the new facility in an...organized fashion.”

You pointed at the mix of magazines and books. “This is organized.”

“I did say somewhat, didn’t I? We had a large influx of books very suddenly. Things got very messy in the chaos of it all. I think they were sending us books from destroyed libraries.” He shrugged a bit. “Don’t worry. We’ll be helping at every turn and I’m bringing in extra workers from town as needed.”

You supposed that was supposed to be comforting, but you were staring at a nightmare of a situation. One toppling tower, and there was no navigating through.

“Hyung? Is that you?” The pile asked.

Then it was all falling over and someone was diving out while Seokjin pulled you against the wall and out of the way.

Seokjin sighed. “Namjoon. Our guest is here.”

The man with blue hair looked up, then back at his legs (which were trapped under many books), then back at you. He stared at you with big eyes, looking a little flustered.

You took a deep breath. “Well, that is exactly what we didn’t want to happen.”

“Yeah. Namjoon, didn’t we talk about not going in there?” Seokjin bent down and grabbed Namjoon under the arms and pulled him out from the pile, helping him to his feet.

“I just wanted the next book in my series.” Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “I was doing okay until then.”

Seokjin shook his head a bit. “Namjoonie, this is y/n. She’s the one that’s going to stay with us and help with the library?”

Namjoon was definitely already staring at you, and he looked a little flustered and red. “Hi.”

“She’s a xana. Y/n, this is Namjoon, the haltija of the house.”

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Namjoon said hurriedly.

“Nice to meet you, too,” You replied, trying for a smile, but you were pretty sure you just gave him a woozy look.

“Maybe you should lie down before we continue the house tour? He was jostling your fountain around quite a bit.” Seokjin frowned toward the front door.

Namjoon nodded. “He’s right. You need rest. I can tell.”

You shrugged. “Nah, the world is supposed to be constantly spinning.”

“Should I carry her? Should I carry you?” Seokjin asked, sounding and looking a little panicked.

You shrugged. “I’m fine. This has been my life for the past three months.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened.

Seokjin looked like he was going to have a meltdown.

“Unless you’re going to have a panic attack, in which case you may carry me if it will help you,” You said quickly, concerned with how quickly he was freaking out.

Namjoon glanced at the human, then nodded. “I think that might be the only way to stall him out. He’s not wearing his glasses.”

You shrugged again, uncertain what not having glasses had to do with anything, and waited while Namjoon muttered something to Seokjin.

A couple moments later, Seokjin came over, muttering something about being sorry, then he carefully scooped you up. “Sorry, your dress is a little slippery. Silk?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My clothes just sort of...appear as I need them? Usually made of silk, but sometimes there’s a velvet cloak when it’s colder. Some linen when it’s warmer. Always dresses.”

“Cool,” Namjoon said, following the two of you up the stairs.

“I suppose so,” You replied, doing your best not to look at Seokjin. He was handsome for a human. And you’d never seen a non-fairy pull off pink hair before today. He had a sort of gentleness to his face, a softness that could easily become cold and judgemental. If that even made sense.

But honestly, there were very few things that made sense since the war had begun some ten years ago.

“Why is your hair blue?” You asked the haltija, looking over Seokjin’s shoulder as you realized you had been looking at him despite specifically thinking you shouldn’t and only noticing because his ears had started turning a violent shade of red.

“Oh...uh...we’re not really sure. It just sort of...changes now and then. A few days ago I woke up and it was this color. Before that it had been brown.”

“Did you two paint any part of the house?”

“Well, not in the same time frame as my hair color changing. And definitely not this color. Jin-hyung has this crazy theory that it’s connected to my soulmate or something.”

“You have a soulmate?” You asked, surprised.

He nodded, rubbing his left shoulder-pectoral area, which meant either his mark was located there or he had some muscle pain from his dive for freedom in the great August book-slide. “Yeah. Or...well, I have multiple sections in my mark...so, I guess I’m part of a soul-group. Probably a platonic one given my species.”

“You never know what’s waiting around the riverbend,” You replied, thinking back to Grandma Loire’s wise words when you had been fretting about the war. Granted, at that time, her words had been very wrong, but you wouldn’t begrudge the dead for their mistakes.

But also thinking about your own soulmark and the multiple parts in it. You were certain it was just a coincidence, but it was still an interesting fact that you filed away.

“You sound like a naiad,” Namjoon snorted.

“A naiad told me that. She was very wrong at the time. Told me not to worry about the battle in Manhattan.”

“Ooh,” He winced. “Very wrong.”

Seokjin held onto you a little tighter. “Where did you live before this?”

“Rocamadour. Our library was new when I started working there. Before there were a couple but they were in some towns over.”

“Where is that?” Namjoon asked.

“It’s in the Alps,” Seokjin answered, then paused at the top of the stairs. “Get the door?”

The door swung open before Seokjin had finished asking.

You craned your head to look at Namjoon, suddenly concerned with your privacy.

He held up his hands. “I can open doors and windows, I can’t see through walls. I can also hear things, if you want me to. If you want me to hear, just knock or tap your foot three times and I’ll listen.”

You nodded slightly and relaxed again.

Seokjin carried you into the room, which was painted such a calm color. The bed was a queen-size, and it was soft when he lay you in the middle of it. The top blanket was velvet-y and so, so soft.

Namjoon gave you a smile when you let out a sound of appreciation.

Seokjin smiled at you. “Well, I’m going to find out whether he’s coming back to check in on you tonight or not while you rest, then we’ll go over other things and go to the spring. Feel free to go anywhere in the house, as long as it isn’t one of our bedrooms. Mine is on the first floor, Namjoon’s is across the hall. Food in the kitchen is up for grabs unless it’s in the meal-plan that I have on the fridge. Oh, that door there leads to your bathroom, the one next to it leads to your closet, and this third door leads to your sitting room or office or whatever you want to use it for. We’ll let you nap now.”

Namjoon dipped his head as Seokjin pushed and pulled him out of your bedroom door.

You stared at the closed door for a moment, then lay back. You were still so accustomed to sleeping on your fountain or in your fountain that this felt weird. But it felt weird in a heavenly sort of way. You slid up and then managed to slide under the covers, a little excited about the silk sheets. It was so nice.

So heavenly that you woke up feeling so refreshed that it had to be illegal. Sure, you still felt a little off (because the fountain you were temporarily tethered too wasn’t the greatest), but you felt much better than before.

You slid out of the sheets, enjoying the feel of the hardwood on your feet as you cautiously checked out your bathroom, closet, and sitting room (which only had an armchair and a small sofa). Once you had tested the seats (because you had to know which would be your favorite, it was the armchair), you ventured out into the hallway.

Namjoon’s door was open, but you didn’t hear anything in there, so you decided not to bother him.

Instead, you headed back the way you had been carried, looking around for more detail.

The structure of the house, the woodwork, the moulding, the baseboards and the stairway all had a distinctly Victorian style, and all were likely original to the house. But the design was more subtle, softer, and more contemporary in the coloring and the furniture. It was a nice sort of mix that gave the house an air of elegance that was refreshing. You’d been in some victorian-style homes before and they had been so overwhelmingly Victorian that it was like you were trapped in England in that time period and about to choke on a piece of jellied eel.

You avoided the pile of books spilling out of the library (but did notice that they’d been somewhat cleaned up), and checked out the living room again with the ulterior motive of checking on your current fountain.

The style was even more contemporary there, yet still paid a nice homage to the house. A monochrome color scheme, with pops of color in some of the throw pillows and delicate accents in the artwork.

Your fountain looked cleaner than ever and had a healthy amount of water in it for once, which you honestly felt boded well for you. There even seemed to be a new coating of pebbles at the bottom of the small basin.

You flinched as a cat hopped up onto the table next to the fountain and took a drink from it. It was young, a long-haired calico, so soft and pretty looking.

You let it sniff your hand, humming softly before you carefully picked it up. You snuggled it, happy when it seemed to revel in your attention, even seeking it when you started looking over the books that were seperated from the library and on the shelf beside the fireplace. There weren’t many, but you recognized one or two of the titles, and the taste there seemed to vary widely. You figured they were probably books from both of the boys, and left them as they were to go try and find the kitchen for a glass of water.

The office was nearby, but didn’t look like it got used as an office very often, but definitely seemed to have a gaming station in one corner.

You found the billiard’s room next, noting that there was a ping-pong table folded up in a corner. It seemed pretty abandoned, clean, but not nearly as used.

Then a smell permeated the air, drawing you back toward soft noise and even softer humming, murmured conversation and the sizzling of something cooking.

You peeked into the large kitchen, smiling when you saw Namjoon reading in one corner, and Seokjin cooking at the stove. Namjoon seemed to be explaining the book to Seokjin, quietly passionate about it.

Seokjin was smiling and humming, possibly more focused on what he was cooking, but still seeming to hear what Namjoon was saying.

“Smells good,” You said quietly, slipping completely into the room. Trying not to disturb the aura.

Seokjin turned and grinned at you. “Hey! You look like you feel better.”

You nodded. “That bed is heavenly. And thank you for cleaning the fountain.”

He shrugged. “It looked like it had been neglected for a while. Namjoon found some pebbles for it as well because he read that once they’ve been exposed to the tether it can make a transition easier, theoretically.”

Namjoon looked embarrassed, rubbing his neck. “I figured it couldn’t hurt to try it out.”

“That was very thoughtful,” You told him, smiling at him as well.

He was bright red after that.

Seokjin chuckled. “I’ll have dinner ready soon. Then I thought we could head down to the new library building, and then maybe go into town. There isn’t much, but I do need to pick up some things.”

You took the seat that Namjoon offered. “That sounds like a plan. Who’s the kitty?”

“Oh, that’s Parsley. She followed us home one day and has been here ever since.” Namjoon pet the cat carefully. “She’s a good mouser, so we just sort of created a pact that as long as she keeps us pest free, we’ll keep her pest-free.”

“She’s a cutie,” You said, pressing your cheek against the soft fur and enjoying the soothing vibrations of her purr. It was just one of the many things that made you feel so comfortable here. That and both men seemed relatively impervious to your enchanting beauty, which was refreshing. It gave you hope that this would work out. That you wouldn’t always be free-floating.

“She is. Do you know anything about this bird that practically forced it’s way into our house?” Seokjin asked, pointing toward the ceiling.

You leaned to the left to look at the little black and white fluff-ball. “Was wondering when he would show up. He’s been following me for a while. Don’t know why, but he seems to have formed an attachment. Whether he feels like conversing is a completely different matter.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Not that he’ll tell me.”

Namjoon started laughing.

Seokjin gave you an exasperated look. “What do you call him?”

“Fluffball, marshmallow, cotton swab, cotton ball, cotton candy, fairy floss—he really doesn’t like that one—squishy, fluffy, Caspar, and Leo.” You shrugged. “Like I said, he won’t tell me his name. Just what his name isn’t.”

“So, none of those are his name?”

“Well, fairy floss isn’t. I’ve gotten to the point where I think he’s just waiting for someone else to settle on a name for him—preferably one he likes.”

“And until then, he’s just going to come and go as he pleases?”

You shrugged again, holding it for a while.

Namjoon was still laughing, his smile revealing some adorable dimples.

“So...is he a magical bird?”

You looked up at your feathered friend, and resisted the urge to shrug once more. “Maybe?”

Seokjin huffed. “What does he eat?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. He always leaves to eat. Sometimes I’d see him eating bird-seed, but mostly he just flies off and comes back well-fed. I think he eats insects.”

“Great. He can deal with the mosquitos.” Seokjin spared the bird a glance, then dished up the food. “The store might have some insects we can get for him, just in case. You never know. They always have weird things.”

“Really?” You looked forlornly after the kitty as it leaped off and disappeared through another doorway. “Is it a magic shop?”

“Well….”

“We told you that Jin-hyung is the only human in town, didn’t we?” Namjoon asked, eyes widened slightly. “Everyone who lives in the area is magical to some extent, except for hyung.”

You shook your head, a little stunned. “No. No you did not tell me that.”

But man was that an idea to wrap your head around.

Seokjin shrugged, having plated up the food. “This is a pretty popular place for refugees. Sort of remote and accepting of different species. A nice place to make a fresh start.”

“But...you’re the only human. Doesn’t that get...I don’t know...lonely?”

He blinked at you, then shook his head and shrugged. “No? I have Namjoonie, and now you’re here too. And yeah, I’m outnumbered, but they’ve never held my species against me. I mean, that’s probably because I did sort of pay for the whole town, which isn’t much. But more people come each day, and some people move on to other places once they’ve gotten back onto their feet. It’s like an adventure, meet some new characters, help them on their journey, then return home to sleep in a big, soft, bed with a full belly.”

And maybe the look of genuine happiness on his face was just a little too alluring.

Maybe you were just desperate to belong somewhere, because when he included you...it was like the world lit up.

And no, you were not tearing up.

His hand covered yours, warmth spreading from his touch to the mark that was hidden under the sleeve of your dress as he smiled warmly at you. “I really do hope that this place becomes your home. Everyone deserves to have a home.”

And then he was moving away, maybe not even aware that he was one of your soulmates since he was human.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Namjoon quickly complied with Seokjin’s words, but you were slower to follow, trying to figure out how all of this had come about.

“I heard that a new van full of people arrived yesterday, so I want to see if I can meet any of them. See if we still have enough housing for everyone. That might mean a couple people staying with us in the house if there isn’t enough housing. Is that okay?”

You nodded, just following their actions, but not taking as much food as they did. Mostly because you didn’t need much food to survive, but it smelled good. So good, and Seokjin did cook it himself.

“Alright, then it’s a plan. Eat, see the new library, go to the store, meet people, come home.” Seokjin nodded firmly at the end of the list, then seemed to remember something. “And talk to your mage-handler and see about tethering you to the spring. That’s probably more important. We can do the other things tomorrow if we have to, but the tethering should be done sooner rather than later. That is, if you want to be tethered to the spring. You wouldn’t necessarily have to live here your whole life, we could always get you your own home, it would just—”

“Living here is fine, and yes, I would like to be tethered to the spring,” You said quickly, noticing how his speech was deteriorating. “I just have one question.”

“Oh?” He looked so genuinely concerned, leaning forward in his seat.

“Namjoon said you wear glasses, so...have you actually seen me?”

Namjoon snickered.

Seokjin’s ears turned bright red. “Um. Yes. Yes I can see you. I have seen you. I’m seeing you. I, um, I put in my, um, contacts. I can see you quite clearly. Also, I could see you when I was closer. Just, not after a certain distance. And yes, we do plan on actively protecting you when we go out.”

You nodded. “Just curious.”

Namjoon paused after swallowing. “The mage is back.”

Seokjin sighed. “So, town tomorrow then. I’ll go let him in. I suppose this means I need to offer him dinner?”

“That would be the polite thing,” Namjoon said, gleefully.

Seokjin muttered as he left the room.

“He’s...unusual for a human,” You commented.

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah. He is. But he’s one of the best human’s I’ve ever met. We’re really glad you’re going to stay with us, Y/n. I hope you never regret your choice.”

“I hope so too.” But you didn’t think you would.

Namjoon turned toward the door, eyes narrowed slightly before rolling his eyes. “Can you help me cover the food? Apparently Mr. Mage is insisting on doing the tethering now if you agree to it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up to help him cover all three plates and the platters and bowls with tin foil to possibly retain some warmth. You highly doubted you’d be eating again that evening since tethering made you impossibly nauseous and sleepy. “I won’t be very coherent after the tethering.”

He nodded. “We’ll make sure you get back here and into bed safely, or into the tub downstairs.”

You nodded, then followed him out to where Seokjin was listening to your mage, looking strained.

“Ah, so, have you decided whether you wish to be tethered to the spring here or not?”

“I have decided to be tethered, yes.” Anything to not be in his careless hands anymore.

“Excellent! I’ll get the fountain!”

“How about I grab it, that way your hands are free to do the actual spell,” Jin quickly intervened. “Namjoon can lead the way back to the mouth of the spring.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as the mage agreed to it. At least Seokjin would be careful.

“Alright, then lets head to this spring! I’d love to be on the road before dark.”

Namjoon’s chin jutted out slightly.

Seokjin just gave a pained smile, nodding. “Yes. Driving after dark is a pain. Namjoon. Lead the way.”

And you weren’t about to tell on Namjoon when you saw one of the floorboards pop up to trip the mage, because you kind of felt somewhat vindicated.

The forest around the house was made up primarily of spruces, firs, pines, and hemlocks with birches, oaks, and red maples popping through here and there. The path that the four of you took (with a little fluffball following overhead and a calico furball following behind curiously) was discreet, yet also fairly well-worn. As though walked often, but also well-cared for.

It was quiet, with varying degrees of density—some areas providing a wide view of the rest of the forest, and other areas being so dense that you couldn’t see a foot past the nearest tree.

Namjoon followed the path for a while, then diverged into the forest down what appeared to be a game-trail, something not walked often.

Then you could sense the water. It’s purity, it’s cleanliness. Free and untethered.

The creek was beautiful, and all of you followed it to the head of the spring.

You grinned when you saw it, a thrill going through you. It was beautiful and so clean and lovely and it was going to be yours.

Seokjin set your fountain down so that the mage could prepare the spell, then came over to you. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked into his eyes, the eyes of one of your soulmates, and nodded. “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, a little more carefree now.

You hoped you’d have the courage to talk about soulmates with him someday, but today you were going to have your soul ripped from a tiny fountain and sewn back into a spring. You only had so much courage.

And then the mage started the spell.

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Survey Results used for this chapter: 

Namjoon-Blue (haltija), Seokjin-Pink (human), You-Cyan (xana) 

Silk, Book-Librarian, Creek-what your water source is attached to, House/Apartment/Mansion, Style-Victorian & Contemporary, view-boreal/boreal-mix forest, calico kitty, white bird with black wings, 

Whoops-meet Seokjin first, Oh No-meet Namjoon second, LaLaLa-C (some friends, some strangers), Loyalty-Soulmate au, Black-War tore through and you're all in relief housing situation.

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Pre-Chapter 2 Survey

Next.

Masterlist.  ot7 Masterpost.

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Taglist: @missmoxxiesworld​  @bryvada​  @i-dont-even-know-fck​ @knjhe​ @alex--awesome--22  @kerikaaria​ @killcomet​ @letsreadbts​ @taestannie​

[welllpthisishappening]

Setting Up the Go-Ahead

Emma knew he was standing there. 

Could feel the nerves coming off Henry as easily as they were her own. And she understood. She did. Getting everything you ever wanted had a tendency to be a little overwhelming, especially for a recently-turned thirteen-year-old who suddenly had parents and a whole hockey team read to claim familial rights. 

Or: Henry’s just been adopted and wants to get something for Robin and Regina. He’s got some help when it comes to picking out a gift.

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Word Count: 5.9K  Rating: A very low T AN: Listen, I’ve got no self-control when things are normal, so add in working from home, my very real concern about the immediate future of sports, and my tendency to write hockey fic when I am stressed and...here we are. With a new Blue Line one shot collection. Also @eleveneitherway​ has been sending me gorgeous manips all week and I couldn’t not write something. I couldn’t. Will I ever post the stuff I haven’t or just keep writing new stuff? Who can say. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || 

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He didn’t knock. 

He didn’t take another step. 

Emma wasn’t entirely sure Henry was breathing, really. 

He just stood there— frozen on the edge of Emma’s vision, while she did her best not to show her growing impatience and curiosity. But the numbers in front of her were also starting to blur, and she’d very quickly been running out of space on her office floor in the last few days and—

“Oh my God, Henry, what are you doing here?” Merida cried, stumbling back because there was a recently-turned thirteen-year-old standing in the open doorway to Emma’s office. Still just as silent as ever. 

“Boss, are you laughing at this?” Emma shrugged, finally pulling her eyes away from paperwork about signed merchandise and it was only a few weeks into the season, but they were already planning for a Garden of Dreams night and there was a game on Friday night and she really could not see much of her office carpet anymore. 

“Well, he was just lurking out there,” Emma said, fully expecting the dots of color that were already starting to linger on Henry’s cheeks. He ducked his head, suddenly very interested in his sneakers and she couldn’t imagine Regina was all that pleased with the length of his hair. 

As was her now official-mother right. 

Because Henry was now Henry Mills-Locksley with parents and a house downtown and more paperwork to prove it than Emma could have ever imagined, even when she’d let herself imagine something like that for herself. Mary Margaret had been helping Ariel and Aurora plan the inevitable party for the last two days. 

While Emma had been drowning in team-branded merchandise and how, exactly, to staff all the phones for Garden of Dreams night. 

“That is true,” Merida agreed. “He was kind of lurking out here.”

She slung her arm around Henry’s slumped shoulders, pulling him against her side with a soft huff because a recently-turned thirteen-year-old, it seemed, was prone to uncontrollable limbs and, if Emma was right, pre-party nerves. 

“I wasn’t trying to lurk,” Henry mumbled. “Just—you know, I didn’t want to interrupt.” Emma’s lips twitched. “So you figured you’d just give Merida a heart attack?” “Aw, c’mon. She’s fine.” “Stout-hearted Merida.” “That makes it sound like I’m getting ready to go into battle,” Merida grumbled. “Or fight a bear or something.” “Is stout-hearted not a compliment?” Emma asked, leaning against the side of her desk and the few inches of open space. She crooked a finger towards Henry, lifting her eyebrows when he didn’t move immediately, but then he was flopping next to her and she kind of regretted the whole thing. 

If only because his elbows appeared to be made of lead. 

“No,” Merida answered, “It’s—” “—A little epic,” Henry said. “Right? Like, I’d feel good if someone stout-hearted was going to defend me from—” “—That bear?” Emma suggested. Henry’s head dropped again, in almost perfect time with his shoulders, but it was definitely because of the laugh he was trying to hide and Merida didn’t look all that impressed. 

She moved the stack of papers in her hand. To her hip. Emma assumed that made it easier to glare at the pair of them. 

“We figure out who’s going to answer the phones yet on Friday?” Emma asked. 

Merida sighed, an entire head roll coming with it. “It’s a definite work in progress. Mostly because Aurora’s been so busy with—” She cut herself off when Henry tensed, shoulders going impossibly straight for a kid who’d been smiling an almost record amount since he’d gotten back from Family Court. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. 

Merida was going to drop the stack of papers if she kept moving them at their current rate. 

“Why were you here, Henry?” Emma asked, nudging him with her elbow. But it wasn’t made of lead, and thirteen-year-olds were notoriously stubborn and she was fairly positive Mary Margaret was going to buy out a balloon wholesaler before this whole thing was finished. 

Nothing. 

More silence. More ridiculous shoulder movement. 

“I’ll get Ariel up here, she’ll make you do some ridiculous routine so you don’t overwork the muscles up there” Emma threatened, but the words lost something when Merida snickered. “You’re not really helping.” Merida hummed. “That’s because I’m getting ready to tame some bears or whatever stout-hearted people do and—” She took a step, tip-toeing around piles of jerseys and boxes of pucks, nearly toppling a small mountain of hockey sticks. “I would bet everyone in this entire franchise several million dollars, that our dear teenager—” “—Aw, that’s really not funny,” Henry mumbled. 

Merida ignored him, taping two fingers on the side of his still-red cheeks. “Is a little nervous about being the guest of honor at Friday’s post-game thing. And does not want to...what should we call it? Jinx it? There’s paperwork, Henry. Nothing’s going to happen. Robin and Regina wouldn’t let anything happen.” “I know,” Henry said, barely above a whisper and something in the back of Emma’s brain startled at that. 

She glanced at Merida. Who was not very good at shrugging covertly. “Saw that,” Henry muttered. “And—it’s not really that. Like, at all. I...I know Robin and Regina aren’t going to back out and obviously I’m stupid happy about that. I mean, I’ve got a house and a room to myself and they’re already talking about a vacation? An actual vacation, maybe something during the All-Star break, which is just...nuts.”

“Did you just say stupid happy?” Merida laughed. “And nuts? Is that how the teens are speaking these days?”

Henry made a face. “I think that means you’re not hip, Mer,” Emma laughed. 

“Is not hip the right terminology here?” Merida asked.  “No,” Henry answered. “And neither one of you are very good at this. Listen, I’m not worried about the party or, like, I don’t know the rest of my life or whatever. But…” “But,” Emma echoed. 

She waited for the answer, or the rest of the sentence, curiosity growing even more than her impatience, because Emma suddenly had a very good guess as to what was going to come next. Only there were footsteps approaching her somehow still-open door. “Seriously, why don’t we ever close that thing?” she asked Merida, getting another less-than-enthusiastic shrug. 

Henry chuckled. 

“You’re not good at secrets either,” Emma chided, as Phillip leaned around the door frame, his own hair a disheveled mess. He was wearing socks with his sandals. 

“Hey,” he said, sounding more than a little out of breath. “Henry, I thought we were going to meet downstairs.” Emma’s narrow eyes widened quickly enough that they nearly started to water, not sure where she wanted to look or who she was going to glare at intimidatingly. Phillip grinned. “Oh hey, Em,” he continued. “You know Cap’s looking for you. Something about coffee or tea or dark corners or something.” That made it easier for her to decide who to glare at. 

“What do you want, Rook?”

“Henry. Was that not obvious?” “Anyone ever tell you that you have exceptionally pale legs? When’s the last time you saw any kind of sunshine?” “I’ve been a little busy,” Phillip reasoned, stepping into the office and immediately laughing. “At some point, you’re going to have to come up with a better organizational schedule. Someone’s going to break something in here.” “Schedule is not the right word either,” Merida muttered. 

Phillip made a dismissive noise, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts and rocking back on his heels. He glanced at Henry, wide eyes and impossibly high eyebrows and Emma was going to blame that last part on Killian. 

Wherever he was. 

“You know kid," Phillip drawled, “I”m going to be a little offended if you were asking for outside help. Here I thought we were a two-man scheme.” Henry squeezed one eye shut. 

“What the hell is going on?” Emma asked sharply. “And where is Killian?” “Probably lurking in that dark corner waiting for you,” Phillip muttered. Merida kicked his ankles. “Hey, hey, I just got off the ice!” “Killian’s probably with Ariel then,” Henry said. “Which makes what you were saying before even less intimidating, Emma.” Merida was still kicking Phillip — Emma only a little worried about the state of the paperwork, but then he moved an arm around her assistant’s middle and the whole thing was so absolutely and completely absurd that she couldn’t be anything except almost entertained. She let her head fall onto Henry’s shoulder. 

He smiled. 

“What’s your super top secret plan, kid?” Emma pressed. 

Henry still didn’t answer immediately, eyes flitting up towards Phillip — “How’d you know I was up here?” he asked. 

Phillip grunted when Merida stepped on his foot, but there was something just on the edge of his expression that Emma couldn’t quite name. It left her stomach flipping a little in anticipation, a nervous energy that was equal parts hope and happiness and she kind of wanted her boyfriend to be waiting in a dark corner somewhere. 

Preferably with hot chocolate. 

He’d totally know to get her hot chocolate. 

She just had to help their resident teenager first. 

And his teenage-like partner, apparently. 

“It’s one building,” Phillip said. “There were only so many places you could go. Plus, you know, even if I think it sucks you want to expand our squad, it seemed pretty inevitable you’d go to Emma for help.” “Help?” Emma asked. “Help with what, exactly?” Phillip stared at Henry. And his exceptionally scrunched nose. 

“If you’re not nervous about family life,” Merida started, “then what’s going on with you? Nothing bad, right?” “No, no, no.” Henry shook his head. “What could be bad?” Emma kissed the top of his head. He huffed. “Stand down stout-hearted defender,” she suggested, Merida clicking her tongue in frustration.

“I feel like I’ve missed all the high points of this conversation,” Phillip sighed. “And the kid’s not going to give you a straight answer. He’s spent way too much time with Lucas.” “Oh, I’m going to tell her you said that,” Emma cried. “He wants to get something for Locksley and Gina. Like—a decade-plus worth’s of backlogged mother and father’s day presents. He’s been saving money.” Emma’s jaw dropped. 

And, really, that was kind of a lame reaction, but her heart also felt like it was growing and her stomach was doing that flipping and flopping thing again and Merida had stopped trying to check Phillip with that stack of paperwork. So, maybe it was an entirely appropriate reaction. 

“Stupid happy,” Merida murmured. 

Emma tried not to sniffle. “Heard that,” Henry said, the smile obvious even when her neck was still bent at a wholly uncomfortable angle. “And it’s not really wrong. So, uh—I mean, it was an idea, I guess. Just since it all started, and Robin and Gina have done so much for me and—” “—They’re not looking for payment in kind, kid,” Emma interrupted. 

“That’s not what this is.” “No?” “No. It’s—I don’t know how to explain it. It’s...a sign or something. Like laces and rings and—’ “—This is a good tactical approach, Henry,” Phillip said. “Using Em’s own emotional heirlooms against her.” “We’ve really got to learn how words work,” Merida complained. “Rook, did you go to college?”

“Mer, please don’t act like you aren’t painfully aware of the backstory of every single person on this team. It’s almost more insulting than Henry trying to expand the squad without asking me about it first.” “We never agreed to call it a squad,” Henry argued.

Emma was starting to choke on her own laughter. Which wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it probably should have been. She rested her chin on Henry’s shoulder instead. “Points to me, Rook,” she said. “And while we’re all—what did you call it, painfully aware of your vaunted career at the University of North Dakota and your early elimination from the NCAA Tournament, I’m still not getting a straight-forward answer on several things.” “You want to list your questions?” Phillip quipped. “Yes, obviously I want to list them. One, North Dakota is a dumb state. Two, I cannot imagine why Henry asked you to be on this squad. Three—” “—Can we please stop calling it a squad,” Henry groaned. 

“Three,” Emma repeated, “If Henry is here, then that means he needs some help coming up with something to get Robin and Regina and I’d like to know if we’re buying two separate things or one lump gift and if there’s wrapping involved because I’m really bad at wrapping gifts.”

Phillip beamed. “Don’t insult North Dakota like that again.”

“10-4, Rook.” He rolled his eyes. “So, what’s our biggest obstacle, then?” Emma grunted when Henry jumped up, the muscles in her neck not all that pleased to be suddenly forced back into service. “You’re going to help?” Henry asked sharply, both Phillip and Merida doing a God awful job of not laughing. 

Emma bit the side of her tongue. 

“You came up here, kid,” she said. “And on a scale of one to most insulting, you thinking you’d even have to ask is like a billion.”

He exhaled — loud and a little nervous, possibly a bit overwhelmed, which was a feeling Emma understood only too well. No family and then almost too much family, memories of another meeting in that office just a few months earlier, the floor covered in merchandise and a kid who was worried about getting it all. As if he deserved anything less. As if his parents did. She tugged on her laces before she could stop herself. 

Phillip practically cackled. 

“Alright,” he said, “so should we start brainstorming, or how does this work, exactly?”

Merida stepped on his toes one more time. “Let me get some paper.”

One sheet of paper, it turned out was not enough. Merida had to get back up more than once, combing through the mess that was Emma’s desk to find a handful of pens and more notebooks, handing them out to the lot of them, sprawled out in the bits of spaces on her floor. 

Phillip had laid down at some point, one leg bent and the other crossed over his knee, head lolling back and forth while he hummed under his breath. Henry was flat on his stomach, left foot tapping out to the same rhythm Phillip was barely following, while Emma and Merida sat back-to-back, alternating between coming up with thanks for adopting me gift ideas and trying to name every person who worked at Madison Square Garden and could be coerced into answering a phone on Friday night. 

“Nah, not him,” Merida objected. “He’d yell at someone if they didn’t donate enough.” Emma clicked her tongue. “Is that a good or bad thing?” “Bad,” both Phillip and Henry answered before Henry added, “what do you think about...dinner somewhere?” “If you want to face A’s wrath after,” Merida mumbled. 

“And we don’t really have time during the season, kid,” Phillip added. “It’s got to be a thing, not necessarily an experience. Although the invitation for you and Rol to hang out at our apartment for the night is open.” “Yeah, nothing says family, like separating the family,” Emma said. 

“Come up with something better then.”

“I don’t know—I...what about making something?” “You want Henry to make something? Like what?” “Something,” Emma repeated. “Thoughtful. Arty.” “I’m going to call Mary Margret,” Merida announced. “At least then there’d be something coherent about these conversations.”

“As if you’re not keeping up,” Phillip chided. 

“And I don’t know if I can do art stuff,” Henry admitted. “What would I even make? I’m not five. I’m not going to draw things.” “Five’s the cut-off, then?” Henry rolled...his whole body.

“And what exactly were you bringing to the squad, Rook?” Emma asked, as much sarcasm as she could fit into the words. “How long have you two been planning all of this?” Phillip propped himself up on his elbows, the sandal on his left foot barely holding on. She’d taken off her shoes as soon as she’d sat on the ground. “I’m an excellent present-buyer,” he said, with enough pride that Emma couldn’t even really fault him for it. “Ask Rose, she’ll—what? What’s with the face?” “I’m sorry, do you call your fiancée Rose?” “God, that’s gross,” Merida muttered. Henry moved his hand over his mouth. 

Maybe they were just taking turns blushing. Phillip was as red as Merida’s hair, eyes moving anywhere except the gaze Emma left boring into the side of his head, and whatever noise bubbled out of her was so goddamn happy she still couldn’t quite come to terms with it. 

She was going to help Mary Margaret buy out that balloon wholesaler. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Em,” Phillip warned. “You and Cap are constantly disgusting and Rose and I have been together way longer—” “—Is it a competition?” “Everything on this team is a competition,” Henry shrugged, and well, that was fair. 

Phillip’s eyes were very wide. “All I’m saying is that I’ve known her forever and in the grand scheme of grand romances in this whole thing, we’re definitely in contention for top three. We’re at least beating Scarlet and Belle, for sure.” “How do you figure?” “Um, did you not hear my romantic nickname for my fiancée? Scarlet needed to break his leg to call Belle his girlfriend and they’d been dating forever.” “He’s got a point, boss,” Merida said. 

Emma hummed. “And who’s on the top of your list, huh?” “Worried about your title, Em?” Phillip asked knowingly. 

“Oh shut up.” “I don’t know. I think Locksley and Gina are gunning for that top spot. They’ve got the family and the cute kids and—” Henry gagged. “Listen, Henry, you’re cute, get with it. And now you’ve got parents who are also pretty into each other and, they may not have dark corners to make out in, but I think that slow and steady romance has its own advantages.” “Speaking from experience?” Emma added. “And you’re way too confident in your own humor now, Rook. I think you’ve been spending too much time with Scarlet.”

“Something like that. On both fronts.”

She was starting to get used to the way her cheeks ached from smiling so much. 

“None of this is helping,” Henry yelled. “It’s—it’s all gross and—”

He made another noise, flailing limbs and teenage-type angst and Emma tugged her lips behind her teeth before she looked back at Philipp, still a little flush with a pen stuck behind his ear. “That may be something you have to get used to,” he said. “And I stand by my original claim that we should get jewelry of some sort. It’s an easy gift, covers both our giftees, and is easy to wrap because of the boxes, plus Rose loves when I buy it.” “I’m sorry,” Merida muttered, “I really just can't get over Rose. How did that start? Was it Shakespearean? By any other name or something like that?” “He went to UND, Mer,” Emma pointed out, fully expecting the look she got. “You can’t expect that kind of depth to a nickname.” Phillip did his best to flip her off, but Henry was still there and he had to settle for tossing his pen in Emma’s direction. It felt six inches away from her hand. “Didn’t really hit your mark, did you?” “Passing isn’t my thing,” Phillip grumbled. 

“Yuh huh. You’re still avoiding the answer.”

“If it’s an actual flower pun, I might scream,” Merida guaranteed. 

Phillip grimaced. “It’s not. Kind of. Just it’s—her mom was big on flowers when she was growing up and she used to prick her finger a lot and—”

Emma almost threw a puck at whoever was knocking on her door, Henry burying his head in his crossed arms, even as his whole body shook with his laughter. And Killian didn’t do much more than lift his eyebrows, feet crossed at the ankles and fingers tugging on the still damp hair at the back of his neck. 

“Did I interrupt something?” “Nah, Cap,” Phillip said almost immediately. “Took you long enough to get up here.” He was holding two cups in his other hand. Emma was genuinely not sure how much more of this her heart could take. A lifetime, she was starting to hope. But that felt like getting ahead of themselves a little and, as much as she’d hate to admit it, Phillip was right — slow and steady romance had several things going for it. 

“Got impatient,” Killian said, all calm and easy and he didn’t trip or flinch when he weaved his way through the office. “Hi, love.” “Were you waiting for me?” “I did mention the impatience, right?”

“Mmhm,” Emma nodded. She reached up, the warmth of the cup working through her and into her soul and she was a great, big giant sap. Henry was standing up again. So he could bob on the balls of his feet. 

“What’s with the kid?” Killian asked, one side of his mouth tugging up when he nodded at Henry.

“We’re buying a present.” “Are we?” “Me,” Henry corrected. “I am buying a present and asked some of the adults in my life to be helpful, but—” “—Ok, we are being very helpful,” Phillip cut in. “I’ve come up with half a dozen stellar ideas and you’ve shot them all down.” “Must not be as stellar as you think then, huh, Rook?” Killian asked, peering over the top of his cup. His fingers grazed Emma’s shoulder when he walked by, perching on the same spot of desk she’d been sitting in what now felt like an eternity ago. 

“We’re stuck on jewelry, it seems,” Emma said. 

“And this is what—a thanks for adopting me gift?” “I mean, we’re not calling it that, exactly.” “That’s basically what it is, though,” Henry said. He dropped next to Killian, as casual as anything, but Emma knew it was exactly the opposite. And they didn’t really look similar — Killian’s hair darker and his shoulders broader than Henry’s, but Emma could see the glimpses of one in the other when they sat there, near-matching looks of concentration and understanding, more common ground between the three of them. 

She took another sip of hot chocolate. 

So as not to be tempted to kiss her boyfriend while he sat next to Henry. 

“And we’re buying one gift?” Killian asked. “Of the stellar variety?” “None of you are cool,” Henry mumbled. 

“See if I score for you on Friday.” “You want to score for Emma, anyway, so—whatever.” “Whatever. Good argument.” “Who’s the teenager in this instance?” Merida asked. 

Emma shook her head, already almost out of hot chocolate. “I honestly have no idea. But, yeah, combined present, or double present. Same thing for both of them. So that means it’s got to be something they both like or are both into, but—” “—Gina is proving a problem,” Phillip said begrudgingly. Killian’s eyebrows all but disappeared. “Don’t do that, Cap. Seriously, this is not helping at all and you were waiting to make out with Em and, you know, none of us can cope with that.” “Honestly,” Henry agreed. 

Killian ignored that. Or, so Emma assumed, when he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of her desk with his legs stretched and the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. It was distracting. 

Emma wanted to pace. 

She didn’t. She knew he was thinking something.

“Well,” she prompted, “what’s your great idea, then?” “How do you know I have an idea?” Killian challenged. 

“You’re doing that thing with your face.” “My face?”

Emma hummed. She was out of hot chocolate. “Thinking face.” “I’m sorry, what?” “You do this thing with your face. When you start plotting. Your eyebrows get all high and your lips get really thin. It’s a habit.” “Sounds like you’re staring at my lips, Swan.” “Do we have to be here for this?” Phillip groused. 

“Honestly,” Merida sighed. “And Cap if you’re not going to volunteer ideas for the Rangers’ currently reigning supreme romantic couple or sign some of those pucks Em hasn’t asked you about, then you should probably stop blowing off Ariel.” “Red’s planning a party. She’s not worried about my thighs.” “Are you worried about your thighs?” “Oh my God, stop talking about Cap’s thighs,” Phillip shouted. 

Killian’s smirk gained power. Emma had to put her cup down. She was going to crush it in her hand. “Are we referring to Locksley and Gina as reigning supreme romantic couple now?” “There was a list,” Emma explained. 

“And where did we end up?” “Second.” “That’s really disappointing.” “Isn’t it, just?” Phillip collapsed back, Henry’s head falling forward and—“You know Locksley’s nickname in college was Arrow?” Killian asked. He nodded when Emma’s jaw did that dropping open thing again, all the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding rushing out of her in a huff. “Oh yeah, it’s not really all that creative. But the story, as I understand it, is that he used to hit the bullseye on every pass, so—you know college kids. Kind of stopped once he got to the pros, but I know he’s told Gina about it and it always makes her laugh.” “Laugh?” Emma repeated. “I don’t even want to suggest that Gina has ever giggled in her life. She’ll teleport here and kick me in the shins.” “And when you’re already so worried about your thighs.” “Exactly.” Emma stuck her lower lip out when she nodded, if only so Killian’s chest would shift as soon as his breath caught. “It’s a better nickname than what Rook calls Aurora.” “What does Rook call Aurora?” “Rose.” “No shit.” Phillip threw another pen. Emma couldn’t begin to imagine where he was getting them from. “You're a picture of responsibility,” he sneered. “There are kids here.” “He’s been on the ice before,” Killian said. “And I think you’re just worried about your standing in this list. What do you think about arrows, Henry?” He startled at the sudden inclusion in the conversation, nearly taking out a stick in the process. Both Emma and Merida winced. Loudly. 

“Control your limbs,” Killian added, pulling Henry back to his side. “Arrows. Thoughts?” “Arrows,” Henry said. “Like more than one?” “Well, you’ve got two parents now, right?” “Yuh huh.” “Then yeah, plural.”

“What would we get though? Actual bows and arrows are a little—” “—Lord of the Rings,” Merida suggested. “Plus then you’ve got to worry about up-keep and a quiver and it’s a whole thing.”

Emma’s jaw was going to stay permanently dropped. 

“What?” Merida asked. “That’s normal knowledge.” “Did you pick this up before or after the bear thing?” Emma laughed. 

“Seriously, I'm disappointed I missed all the fun parts of this conversation,” Phillip muttered. “And if we’re looking for multiple presents, I continue to stand by jewelry suggestion. You get necklaces and it’s paternal and familial and decidedly emotional and everyone lives happily ever after. And, you know, I’ve got a guy.”

“You’ve got a guy,” Killian repeated slowly, careful to emphasize every word for maximum mocking potential. 

“Yeah. Ros—Aurora has a charm bracelet that I’ve been adding onto since college. In North Dakota, Em.” “Did I miss something there?” “Just mocking alma maters,” Emma said. “And I think it’s a good idea. It’s sentimental without being cheesy and we could probably get it today. What do you think, Henry?” His smile could have rivaled the sun. And every light in the New York skyline. 

Emma’s heart thudded. 

And she didn’t quite count the seconds, but she might have been holding her breath again, eyes flitting across every person in her office until they landed on Henry and his smile and the lingering color in his cheeks. 

He nodded. 

“Someone will probably have to distract Gina and Robin for a couple hours. Where, uh—where do we meet this guy?” “This is not some backroom dealing,” Phillip sighed. “He owns a jewelry store in Chelsea. This is totally legit.” “And distraction sounds like a perfect job for Scarlet,” Killian added. “You want to go now?” “What?" Henry balked. "Now?” “Why not?” “I don’t—I don’t know. Yeah, ok. Now’s fine.”

It didn’t take long to enlist Scarlet in running interference — his laugh almost uproarious when he heard the plan and made sure to ruffle Henry’s hair before letting the kid follow Emma and Killian into a cab. 

“Gina won’t like that,” Emma muttered, but Killian just waved her off. 

“What Gina doesn’t know will not kill her. And cabs are good for the city-soul or something.” “Or something.”

And Phillip had been right about the store, necklaces and rings and bracelets and enough shiny things that Emma found herself blinking on instinct. But there was a section of charms and chains and Killian kept his hand on Henry’s shoulder the entire time. 

Even when he was forty-two dollars short.

“Damn,” Henry mumbled, not bothering to quiet his disappointment. Emma didn’t blame him, could see the look on his face and remember the feeling that was practically wafting off him. She took a step forward on more instinct of the familial variety, resting her other hand on the only shoulder Henry had available. 

That made it difficult to reach for her wallet. 

It also gave Killian plenty of time to get his. 

“Don't worry about it,” he said as if it wasn’t something incredibly important or another moment that Emma was going to hoard in the back corners of her brain. Henry tilted his head up, eyes gone wide and a little bit glossy as he opened his mouth to argue. 

But Killian just shook his head, quick and brusque. 

“Captain-esque,” Emma whispered. Killian winked. He tried, at least. 

Henry grit his teeth, breathing as quickly as Phillip had earlier that afternoon. “Are you sure?” “Silly question,” Killian said. “I’m serious. I’m—” “—Part of this team, Henry. And if I’m captain of this team, then that means it’s my job to take care of everyone, right?” “It means you get to argue with the refs.” “Ah, well, we’ll say it’s a grey area, huh?” Emma kissed the top of Henry’s head again. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. Not when Henry kept blinking and Killian did the opposite, the lights from Phillip’s fancy jewelry store glinting off the pair of arrow charms sitting in front of them. “Yeah,” Henry said. “Ok. That’s, uh—thanks, Killian.” “How much you want to bet Gina’s going to cry when you give them to her?” “Gina doesn’t cry.” “Eh, I don’t know about that, kid. She definitely cried when she called me and Emma to tell us everything was official.”

Henry’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Oh, she’ll never forgive you for giving that up,” Emma said. 

Killian shrugged. ‘I think she’ll have other things to worry about. I’m serious kid, what do you want to bet?” “I spent all my money,” Henry grumbled. 

“So, we’ll bet practice time. Half an hour on the ice in Tarrytown if she does? I’ll sneak you on and face the wrath of a number of authority figures.” “Seriously?” “You gotta stop double checking.” Henry thrust his hand out — and Emma was sure she didn’t imagine the knowing look on the face of the guy behind the counter — shaking Killian’s and agreeing to terms as the register dinged loudly. 

They bought Henry wrapping paper from the Duane Read two blocks away. 

“Ten bucks says she excuses herself before bursting into tears,” Emma said, hours later, standing in their kitchen with a towel flipped over her shoulder. 

Killian arched an eyebrow, another smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth. “I’d rather bet something other than money.” “Yeah, what?” “There’s plenty of corners in that restaurant.” “You want to make out?” “Yes,” he said, simple enough that Emma couldn’t contain her laugh. Or the joy that appeared to come with it every time she realized this was actually her laugh. 

“Straight to the point, huh?” “No reason to beat around the bushes,” Killian shrugged. He crowded behind her, head dropping so he could trail kisses along the back of her neck and Emma seriously could not control whatever she was doing. Arching her back, and smiling like an idiot, reaching back to swat away his hands at the same time she tried to grab his hair. “You’re sending mixed messages, love,” Killian added, “I’ll think you don’t want to make out with me.” “In dark corners.” “Or anywhere, really. I’m not particular.” She laughed, body shaking against Killian’s when he tugged the towel off. That was probably for the best. And Emma couldn’t really keep her balance when he spun her, hands flying to his chest and chin jutted out on instinct, letting Killian catch her lips with his almost immediately. 

That made it easier to tell he was smiling too. 

Laughing, as well.

The whole lifetime thing was starting to seem more and more reasonable. 

“Captain Killian Jones, a benevolent leader to his team and kids everywhere,” Emma mumbled, mostly into the side of his jaw. He was still smiling, she knew it. 

“If you can think the word benevolent at this point, we’ve got problems.” “Maybe I’m just way smarter than all of you.” “That college degree’ll do it, yeah.”

She’d stopped believing this was a dream or a fantasy months ago, but Emma still couldn’t quite control the rush of emotion that flew down either one of her legs and up her arm, circling her heart and her soul and—”I love you,” she breathed. 

“I love you too, Swan.”

“Yeah?” “Not something you have to double check either. We’re totally coming for Locksley and Gina’s relationship crown though.” “Competitive weirdo.” “Yeah, but you said you loved me. So…” He didn’t bother saying anything else, hands drifting towards the hem of Emma’s shirt and the button of her jeans and she got enough people to answer the phones the next afternoon. 

And Regina Mills-Locksley burst into tears as soon as she opened the box. 

Robin kept blinking. 

In the middle of the restaurant uptown. 

Surrounded by balloons and a cheering hockey team. 

“Told you,” Killian mumbled, bumping Emma side. 

She didn’t say anything, just let herself curl against his side and she was fairly certain she heard the shutter click on Will’s phone. 

“You’ve got to put it on, Gina,” Will shouted, Belle on his leg and his chin hooked over her shoulder. “Now, now, now!” The rest of the peanut gallery started to chant as well, Phillip crying “You too, Locksley, fair’s only fair.”

They both had to try more than once — shaking hands and tear-stained cheeks, and Emma refused to be held responsible for the number of times she sniffled, particularly when Regina’s fingers ghosted over the charm as soon as it fell over her shirt, pulling Henry into a tight hug. Or, a day later when someone in the post-game scrum of a 4-2 victory over the Canadiens that included the go-ahead goal coming off Killian’s stick on a pass from Robin, asked “where’d the new jewelry come from, Locksley?” And it took a moment for him to respond, rolling his shoulders and sitting up a bit straighter. But then he grinned and looked directly at the camera in front of him. 

“My son got it for me.”

[banrionceallach]

Writing Problems Good Omens edition.

Oh fuck. This good omens human au in my head is growing legs.

Aziraphale ‘Call me Ezra’ Fell and his four foster kids The Them are living quietly-ish in Tadfield away from London and Aziraphale’s boundary-crossing, toxic siblings Gabriel and Michael.

Over the summer holidays new neighbours moves in across the road: Retired musician and current enthusiastic professional gardener Anthony J Crowley and his adopted son Warlock Dowling-Crowley

Harriet Dowling was a cousin of Crowley’s. Not wanting to risk her child ever being raised by Thaddeus’s family she convinced him to name her cousin AJ as guardian in the event of their deaths. She neglected to mention her favourite cousin was a mostly-male-presenting gender fluid person.

There’s a tragic accident the day after Warlock is born and a panicking Crowley flies to America for his cousins funeral only to be handed a newborn. He spends weeks freaking the fuck out internally, but having to behave completely calmly so that the (frankly awful) Dowling family don’t try to sue for custody. It just about works, but Crowley lives with the constant mild fear that the Dowlings will turn up in London and try to take Warlock.

Madame Tracy is a retired sex-worker and social worker and old friend of Aziraphale’s who arranged for him to foster the Them besides Adam. Shadwell is the retired soldier who lives next door to Madame Tracy. She calls him when she needs a bit of DIY done and they’re cup-of-tea-and-a-chat friends.

Adam’s parents Deirdre and Arthur were good friends of Aziraphale’s. Both having no other relatives, they named Adam’s godfather as his guardian if anything happened to them. They were killed in a car accident when Adam was a toddler. Aziraphale was devastated as he considered them more his family than his blood siblings. He closed his bookshop in London and moved to Tadfield to look after Adam. (Aziraphale comes from a very wealthy but emotionally cold family, so the career change did not cause money issues.)

Pepper’s mother died of cancer. Pepper ran away right after the funeral and ran straight into Adam and Aziraphale who convinced her to have hot chocolate with them (while Aziraphale surreptitiously phoned Madame Tracy.) She was originally meant to stay with Mr Fell for a few days while social services tracked down her father. They have yet to find him because apart from fathering Pepper he was basically a complete nonentity in Pepper’s mother’s life.

Brian’s mother left when he was a baby. His dad left more recently, right after unpleasant people started asking to repay quite large loans. Brian and Adam are schoolfriends, so when he read his Dad’s note that he’d had to go away Brian just walked over to Adam and Mr Fell’s and asked if he could have the top bunk.

Wensleydale (who refuses to answer to any other name) has been in the foster system since they can remember. Where their parents are depends on who’s asking. The answer changes a lot. The longest they’ve ever stayed at any one foster home is with Aziraphale.

Still figuring out where Anathema & Newt fit in. 

[pretending-ican-write]

Safe

To say Rebekah was flustered would be an understatement.  She was rushing about the recently finished house trying to find a necklace she could have sworn was on the dresser this morning and Marcel where the fuck have you put it?

Her husband laughed at her antics before grabbing her hands, “Beks you are wearing the necklace.  And calm down sweetheart, everything will be fine.”

“But it has to be perfect!” She protested.

Marcel shook his head, “it already will be.  You’ll be surrounded by everyone you love and nothing’s gone wrong for 4 years.”

“But you know what my br-“ she began.

He cut her off, “screw what your brothers think.  I hardly think they’ll notice if there are a few sausage rolls missing.”

“But what if it rains?” Rebekah persisted.

Marcel pulled her towards the kitchen, “then we have plenty of space to accommodate everyone.  Honestly Beks stop worrying.  Everything will be fine.”

“What would I do without you?” She said as she reached up to kiss him.

He smirked, “who knows.”

They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.  The 2 of them pulled apart and went to the front door to greet the first guests.  When Rebekah opened the door they saw her twin brother, his wife and their 2 excited children.

“Auntie Beka!” Hannah exclaimed excitedly.

Rebekah smiled and spun the little girl around, “Hello little miss.”

Marcel bent down to give her brother a high five and Daniel enthusiastically slapped the vampire’s hand.  The twins ran into the house, excited to see what it was like as the adults headed through to the kitchen.  There Rebekah fixed everybody a drink and they made small talk until the next guests arrived, mainly because she still didn’t trust her brother alone with Marcel.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Marcel went answer it.  He opened it to greet his father figure and his fiancé.  Klaus enveloped him in a hug before continuing into the house.  Cami gave him a quick hug before going to the kitchen.

“Uncle Nik!” Daniel yelled as he barrelled into his uncle.

Klaus laughed at his nephew before scooping the small boy into his arms, “hello to you Danny.”

“We’re playing hide and seek with Daddy and Uncle Marcel,” he explained quickly.

He put the boy back on the floor, “well let’s find you the best hiding place.”

Cami watched from through the archway with a fond smile as Klaus chased his nephew through the living room.  It made her remember how it had been when Hope was only little.  They had played hide and seek for hours in the compound; somehow Klaus always got caught first.  But it also made her heartache when she remembered she would never have that with the love of her life- a vampire’s curse.

Rebekah approached Cami, “come on, come to help me sort the shit out for the boys so they can feel important.”

The younger vampire allowed her soon to be sister-in-law to pull her towards the kitchen where she pulled her sleeves up and helped Rebekah sort the meat out.

-/-/-

Next came Keelin and Freya with their 3-year-old son Finn.  Klaus opened the door to greet them, “there’s my favourite nephew.”

“Don’t let Daniel hear that,” Keelin teased as she hugged him.

Freya gave her wife a light shove, “I’m pretty sure Daniel would agree.”

“The twins do adore their cousin,” Klaus said pointedly.

Keelin held her hands up, “Alright you two.”

“Nik are you going to let them in or keep them all to yourself?” Kol called through the house.

He yelled back, “well you can have them.  They’re quite a boring really.”

Freya gave him the birdie as they walked past and he smirked.

“Hello dear sister,” Kol greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, “Finn.”

The youngest original held his fist up and the small boy eagerly hit his against his uncle’s.  Kol took his nephew from his sister and shooed her towards the garden, “go save Klaus and Marcel from the confusion that is barbecuing.”

Freya saluted her little brother and headed off to assist the other boys.  Keelin followed Kol into the kitchen where Cami and Rebekah sat on the counters gossiping.  Keelin grabbed herself a beer before joining their conversation.  Kol watched them with a smile before following his sister out to the garden.

15 minutes later the doorbell rang for the last time.  Elijah, Hayley, Hope, Josh and Aiden stood on the doorstep when Rebekah opened the door.  The 4 adults all looked slightly sheepish and Hope was stood with a smirk on her face.

“What took you all so long?” Rebekah demanded.

Hope gave her aunt a sly smile, “some people were busy.”

“Oh yes and you weren’t on the phone to Roman for an hour,” Aiden fired back.

Hope gave him a shove before heading into the house and Josh hugged Rebekah, “now where are my gorgeous niece and nephew?”

“Chasing each other around the garden while Finn attempts to keep up,” she answered, “now please dear brother help Klaus do this bloody bbq because Freya is 0 help.”

Elijah laughed and followed the others into the household.

-/-/-

The BBQ was now in full swing.  Surprisingly enough Elijah was the one in charge of the cooking.  Kol, Klaus and Aiden were playing with the 3 children by the shady oak at the back of the garden.  Marcel and Josh were talking with Davina, Cami was telling tales from the bar to Freya and Rebekah whilst Hayley, Hope and Keelin talked werewolf business.

Rebekah took a moment to watch everyone.  Considering everything they had been through in the past 18 years it was a miracle everyone had come out the other side.  Hope, her poor niece, had taken the brunt of the villains but now she was happy, helping the family witches maintain peace in the quarter and Roman had finally made a move on her; Rebekah had never seen the girl happier.  Kol, her twin brother, who had been through so much stress in his a thousand years had not been seen without a smile on his face since he met his wife.  Originally he had been unsure about adopting the twins but once Daniel had smiled at him he had been in adoration of them.

Klaus was finally happy; no stress, no paranoia and no constant need to protect his family.  Cami kept a smile on his face and a fond look in his eye.  With the exception of Hope, Rebekah had never seen him look at anyone that way before and now it was normal for him to be like this.  She smiled as her brother picked up Finn and spun him around, laughing as the little boy shrieked with joy.

Elijah interrupted her train of thought, “everybody forms an orderly queue!  No one will be getting anything if you push.”

The extended Mikaelson family gathered calmly around him and the massive BBQ covered in an elaborate array of food.  Elijah began to dish up to the number of hungry supernatural creatures.

-/-/-

Later in the evening when everyone had been fed and the children were tucked away in the spare bedroom the adults sat around the fire pit talking about their lives.  Josh was sharing a tale of an interesting woman who had come into the bar the other week.  Everyone was laughing by the end of it and Cami began to tell a story of how the other vampire had nearly set the kitchen on fire.

“It was an easy mistake to make,” Josh defended.

Aiden shook his head, “babe I hardly think nearly setting the kitchen on fire is an easy mistake to make.”

“Well in my defence-” he began.

Cami shot him down, “there is no defence in the world for what you did.”

“I didn’t know cling film would melt!” Josh exclaimed.

The group laughed and Marcel sighed, “and here I thought I had made a wise decision to make you a vampire.  I may now be regretting that.”

“I’d be dead if you hadn’t,” he pointed out.

The older vampire laughed, “very true.”

“How’s the compound coming along Nik?” Kol asked.

His older brother smiled, “it’s coming along quite well.  All the houses are built and they’re moving on to all the plumbing and bits.  I’m hoping they’ll begin furnishing in a few weeks.”

“And then it’s the fun part,” Hope announced.

Klaus laughed fondly at his daughter, “yes.  We all know you’ll spend hours agonising over getting your bedroom just right.”

“Hey!” She protested, “it has to be perfect.”

Kol smirked at his niece, “so your company will be impressed?”

Hope glared at him, “I’ll kill you.”

“You can’t,” he sang.

Instead of answering, she launched at her uncle and they began chasing each other around the garden.  They all watched with amused faces as Hope tackled Kol to the ground.  With a flick of her wrist, he was bound to the grass.  She gave him a wicked grin.

“Just because I can’t kill you doesn’t mean I can’t make you suffer,” she said victoriously.

Kol groaned, “Davinaaa.”

“You earned it,” his wife answered with a smile.

He glared at his brother, “she is so your daughter Nik.”

Klaus grinned, “I know.  I’m so proud.”

[getloanapproved4]

The Art of Listening to Trees

There are still no leads on the theft of Rosade Bonsai Studio’s azalea — a plant that had been trained for more than 60 years. The precious plant was lifted at the end of the Philadelphia Flower Show last May when exhibitors like Chase Rosade were tearing down their stands. Nor has there been any resolution to the 1995 theft at the Brussel’s Bonsai Nursery in Olive Branch, Mississippi. Nor does anyone know the fate of the 32 bonsai stolen that same year from the all-Japanese collection of the Brooklyn Botanical Garden in New York. While the hope of ever recovering these and other stolen plants have by now withered and died, the very occurrence of these crimes illustrates how firmly the craft of bonsai has taken root around the world.

Like many other Asian crafts, the art of pruning and shaping trees originated in China and traveled to Japan in the sixth century, where masters refined and codified its techniques, tools and aesthetics. After World War II, U.S. soldiers were among the first to bring bonsai to the West.

Several subsequent trends coincided to propel bonsai — or (ITAL) penjing, as it is called in China — to prominence. Ceramists discovered the subtle aesthetics of Japanese pottery, religious seekers adopted Eastern forms of meditation, and the martial arts made a big splash in American pop culture via the likes of Bruce Lee. Then it all came together in the popular 1984 film, “Karate Kid,” where a wise Japanese master uses the art of pruning, wiring and shaping trees to teach a brash American boy the value of patience, observation and respect.

Since then, an estimated 20,000 to 60,000 Americans have been “listening” to trees, understanding their “true nature,” and shaping their trunks and limbs to best express it. They have even coined a name for themselves: bonsaiists. And they spend anywhere from $100 to $20,000 a year, although there are notable exceptions like the casino owner who swept through Mississippi recently and dropped $100,000 on trained trees.

Forty years after the publication of “The Japanese Art of Miniature Trees & Landscapes” by Yuji Yoshimura and Giovanna M. Halford, the first book to present the art to Westerners, bonsai societies, clubs, associations and study groups have sprouted in virtually every large American city. This month alone, bonsai clubs are holding weekend shows in cities as far-flung as Asheville, North Carolina, and San Mateo, California.

Moreover, Americans are enthusiastically contributing their own styles to the art. Although they tend to mirror natural trees as opposed to creating stylized visual poems, in the U.S. “every practitioner does his thing,” according to master bonsaiist Dan Robinson. For Mr. Robinson, this means sculpting rather than shaping bonsai, applying such unconventional methods as “antiquing” trees by hollowing out their trunks with a chain saw. For others it may mean following the advice of the budding master Hal Mahoney, who advocates forgoing $40 imported Japanese tools in favor of such ordinary implements as nail clippers. And for many, doing one’s own thing means perpetually searching out indigenous, never-before- bonsaied species. (Yes, it has also become a verb.)

Whatever the method and whatever the plant, if the results are aesthetically pleasing and the execution masterful, the trees can command thousands of dollars. And this, everyone agrees, explains the thefts and the need to protect one’s bonsai. Increasingly, clubs and associations keep their membership lists under lock and key, articles featuring prized specimens identify their owners merely by state, and bonsaiists are tying down their trees with vinyl covered steel cables, buying fierce guard dogs or transplanting their bonsai to pots equipped with tiny transmitters.

People disagree, however, on what these thefts mean. Brussel Martin, who lost prized specimens in the July 1996 robbery in Mississippi, sees nothing more insidious than kids “who steal first and think later.” In this scenario, thieves fail to realize that bonsai are works of art that are perpetually in progress. To preserve their value the plants must receive constant and appropriate care — something Mr. Martin and others fear rarely happens. “Some people think they can make a quick buck,” says Chase Rosade who has headed the Rosade Bonsai Studio in New Hope, Pennsylvania, since 1970. “But,” he adds, “the trees probably all die.” Including his prized azalea.

Others, however, credit the thieves with more sophistication. Robert Mahler, who discovered the theft at the Brooklyn Botanical garden, says “the robbers knew what they were doing. They were selective, and they switched tags around,” making it hard to piece together which trees were missing. Asked how much the trees — some of which were 25 to 30 years old — were worth, Mr. Mahler refuses to answer. “That’s how it all started,” he says, explaining that the robberies occurred one month after a radio reported the worth of old bonsai.

As in numerous other cases, alerts with photographs posted in specialized publications and on the Internet produced no leads, leaving the question of what happens to these trees unresolved. A bonsaiist could give a tree what Mr. Mahler calls “plastic surgery.” A snip here, a reshaping there, a new pot, and even its former trainer would no longer recognize his bonsai. In the absence of any viable provenance system, such alterations would make it possible to resell even well-known trees to collectors.

Some collectors may be so keen to possess magnificent specimens that they ignore their origin. And, according to Phil Stephens, an active member of the Internet Bonsai Club with a private collection of more than 80 trees, this is exactly what happens. “There is a black market for bonsai just as there is for any other valuable artwork,” he says.

A nation-wide survey would probably show that most Americans do not consider small trees in pots art. As Mr. Martin says, “in Japan, a collector might buy a $1 million tree and sell it for $1.2 million. It is a good investment, and it appreciates like a good work of art.” By comparison, bonsai in the U.S. “is a hobby.”

Yet it is Washington, D.C., not Tokyo or Beijing, that boasts the world’s only National Bonsai and Penjing Museum. Part of the U.S. National Arboretum, the museum opened in 1976 with 53 prized trees of 34 different species, some of which are 300 to 400 years old. All were donated by Japanese bonsai associations and have since been joined by other donations and acquisitions. Today, the museum consists of a Japanese wing, a Chinese collection donated by Hong Kong collector and scholar Dr. Wu Yee-sun, as well as a North American pavilion named for the 83-year-old John Naka, the Japanese- born American master widely credited with having spread the art in the West.

Just as in other art museums, machinery regulates the temperature and humidity, security guards patrol the premises, and discreet wires connect each pot to a central alarm. In terms of the money involved, bonsai may still be a hobby in the U.S. But in terms of the treatment it receives, it has graduated to art.

[bedazzlecat]

Let’s Play Street Kids, Pandemic Edition.

Giuliana Doran

Giuliana has been in foster care her whole life. She’s never really known her parents, and things have been pretty rough. She got pregnant and had twins and had to give them up. She was sent to a home for girls but that place... she doesn’t want to think about that place... So now she’s here. She really doesn’t know how to accept love, but she finds herself being like a mother to the others here. Giuliana doesn’t know she is part of an ancient bloodline of witches. Kleptomaniac and Freegan. Spellcraft and Sorcery

Esmerelda

Esmerelda doesn’t want you to know her last name. Her dad is someone super important and rich and she can’t stand him, his money, or his demands. She lost her mom to cancer and suddenly a man she barely knew was trying to force her into a mold she didn’t want to be in. She’s a bit of a hippy. A white girl with dreads. Freegan and Adventurous. Outdoor Enthusiast

Tessa Hawthorne

Tessa is the neighborhood thot. Her mom went to jail for drugs and was served an eviction notice the same day, and Tessa is just surviving the best way she knows how. She’s really sweet and a good friend though, and has a smile that will melt your heart. She is confident in herself. Tessa is secretly a witch that loves to collect crystals. Self Assured and Romantic. Collector

Avery Valdes

Avery, ran away when her mom was taken by ICE. She didn’t want to get put in a cage, so she ran to the city and hid in the streets, blending in with neighborhood kids and going to school like a normal kid. No one seeming to notice that there’s an extra kid in the class for some reason. Kleptomaniac. Social Butterfly

“Sonny”

“Sonny” is secretly an alien. He’s a specially bred genius dedicated to the purpose of observing human life and behavior, particularly how humans treat the least among themselves. So he must live the life of a human child in abject poverty and get to know who humans truly are. Genius. Whiz Kid

Travis Bruner

Travis is... well, just a bit of a psychopath. He ran away because he hates authority and doesn’t really have a good home life. He’s into hard drugs and will do whatever it takes to get them. His softer side shows sometimes when he’s painting or gardening. Mean and hates children. Public enemy. 

Ronan Ambrose

Ronan recently got turned into a vampire and accidentally fed on his little brother. Terrified that he is becoming a monster, he went to this warehouse to avoid people, but suddenly finds it full of other teens, who he can’t help but feel drawn to in their suffering and in his hunger. Good and a loner. Good Vampire.

I’ve done some trial runs on Twitch on a Let’s Play, available on Facebook to see here, but I’m starting over with a new save, creating a situation in the city of San Myshuno in the Spice District at the Old Salt Factory, long fallen into disrepair and disrepute. This dystopian Let’s Play features 7 starting Sims, which include 5 teenagers and two children. I’m going to describe the starting scenario and the characters.

During the 2020 Pandemic of Rabid Rodent Fever, 7 runaways find shelter in the abandoned factory. Some of the children are a bit... different. They all have some low level skills from the trial run. None of them are related. Gameplay begins in the fall (more challenging to try to get through winter) in an industrial footprint (due to the grossness of the build). 

Find me on Twitch, Youtube, and the Gallery with username: Bedazzlecat

Rules: 

These kids are poor. They can’t get up front jobs/careers. They can make money by selling things that they make or by collecting.  Also tips from musical instruments or odd jobs.  They spend their money on frivolous things because they’re kids, and they have no clue about budgeting, saving, or earning. To make this as true to the theme as possible I have set up rules to keep them limited in how much money they’re able to make and how fast. 

They can grow anything they can find to plant. There’s already a mushroom plant and a trash plant on the lot. Maybe a carrot. Once they reach level 5 gardening they can buy any seeds they wish. I will never make them garden. They will have to take care of it autonomously, that includes any seeds I set on the ground. I will only make them harvest. Fishing allowed. They can only sell things they make from the ingredients or sell them on a vendor table. They mainly are using it for food.

I’ll occasionally take them to other parts of the city to use certain facilities or maybe even attend a festival, but they’re not allowed to go to other worlds. They’re allowed to have crafting items they can keep in their own inventory. Woodworking, candle making, fabrication, and juice making can only be done on public lots that have these items.   Spellcasters are allowed to travel to the magic realm to work on their training or to get ingredients.

Roommates allowed if there are  the beds for them.

There will be one prostitute and one drug dealer in the household. Prostitution will only be Friday and Saturday night and with limited clientele of 3. Later on, I might get her to take out a loan. Drug dealing is a little harder, so he’ll have to find a drug dealer that I’ve placed in the neighborhood to work under him, then he’ll have to build the skill and clientele and maintain his supply.  (There will always be a streaming censor in place.)

They are allowed to buy from vendors anything they can afford. 

Build buy will only be used to get something out of the inventory if they find it or are awarded it for some reason.  I will not sell burned furniture from the inventory for money. This is a glitch and they should be worth nothing. They can be recycled, however. If there’s a fire and they get the automatic insurance to replace the item, then it can be replaced. Any other furniture or decor that is found that is repairable or in good shape can be sold from build buy or used in the household. As much as possible I want to avoid selling directly from the inventory but try to make money through Plopsy or vendor tables. There’s a short list of what I will allow the household to buy from build/buy: Generator, Cauldron, Hot Pot, wash tub, clothesline, insect farm, easel, knitting basket, yoga mat, sticker storage box, and the fireplace from Eco Life

I will never make them go to school or do their homework. They will do it on their own if they can but that’s up to them.

I will only click to auto solve for their needs. I will not tell them what to cook, or how much. Because the game glitches, I may have to tell them to actually eat what they cooked or found in the dumpster.

They already have their wardrobe set to have very few articles of clothing. They’re allowed to buy t shirts from vendors, or they can buy one article of clothing at a time for $100 Simoleans deducted.

I won’t tell them to clean but I might clean up dishes or trash myself to generate trash in the dumpsters to dig through. If they earn responsibility points it is up to them to do it themselves. I won’t make them do laundry, but I may put it in their inventory if it gets to be too much on the floor.

Lot traits are “teen neighborhood”, “off the grid”, and “reduce and recycle”. I tried it with cursed and it’s not the right vibe. The house as it is set up from the gallery will turn the neighborhood smoggy after about a week of trash accumulation. I keep the option open to change the lot type for story purposes, like if I want a pet I'll change the lot to attract a stray and add it to the household instead of adopting through the service.

The warehouse is full of mice. If one of the sims has a level 5 handiness score a a mouse hole can be deleted for 1000 Simoleans deducted each.

If they want electricity they can buy a generator or they can get a fake ID to get the power turned on but they then have to pay the bills. They can’t use wind or solar unless they find it in the trash for some reason.

Heat can only come from fire pits on this lot. No fireplaces, central air, or ceiling fans. 

Debug junk and trash piles cannot be removed, but they can be put in the inventory and taken to a public lot to be recycled, but only 3 debug items per trip. Keeping it real.  

Rabid Rodent Fever has been introduced to a family in the game.  If the rabid rodent fever gets too bad and I see it in the neighborhood, the warehouse will be locked down and everyone will stay inside or in the fence for 1 sim week. No going to school, and no social visits. If someone in the household catches any kind of sickness they’ll have to quarantine in a room locked in until they get a moodlet saying they’ve beaten their cold or whatever. Medicine and all kinds of cures allowed. If any sim from the household dies, I will add another teen or child to the household, like a passing teen from the neighborhood, or perhaps someone from the gallery. No EA townies and no adults though. I have aging turned off. I may decide to age up one or both kids if someone dies in the household.

Holidays may be observed as best as they can. They can only decorate with what they can find from rummaging for decorations or something they make. They can only rummage for decorations on a holiday that requires decorations. No holidays have been added or removed. Gnomes can be sold and so can seeds, but it’s better to get the seeds. Think of it as the good will of nature spirits taking pity on their misery.

I won’t interfere in neighborhood action plans. If they’re annoying, that’s life. Kids don’t vote, so why would they have any say over how the adults choose to run things? Stupid adults. We're starting with 7 in case I want a pet or someone gets pregnant.

[cannonalise92]

What Is Cat Spray Miraculous Tips

It is estimated that up in my heart for outside cats.Treatment is simple and commonly used home solution for this reason.You need to provide them with a bit spooky by a good job of keeping cats from chewing on an irritated skin; they sometimes make the process of eliminating, pick him up; I was exhibiting some of these are wild.Thoroughly vacuum the area with the new nursery furniture or carpet it is in a female cat has urinated and/or defecated outside the box, refill with litter, and you're ready for a reward for any unusual lumps, abscesses, scratches or parasites such as spraying the area, few realize that the noise when you are keen and sharp observer, training your cat.

For optimal results, give them the word NO.Keeping the sound low-toned and harsh is important, especially if you that it is too late for this reason.If your kitty can be used, which are not looking for a longer one.This perch provided Silver a panoramic view over the past spaying was limited for a friend or a water pistol for a young kitten, and an almost trouble-free procedure for bathing a cat is constantly using the litter box and the pain that it has been discovered that the cat tree that is exactly what you do, there may be on your way to solve this problem is to use the litter weekly.Cats don't like to stand up to 90 percent of the solutions for eliminating waste from the carpet with a urinary tract issues.

The reason is to have him approach you when you do, there may still have natural instincts for a female cat, but can often remove many pounds of spam, tuna, or ground chuck-whichever is cheapestHow many times - both dry food as some cats hate certain smells so much to slice you to actually eat up the liquid medication to your vet.For the kitty box or a natural behavior and told no and put down immediately and told off for bad behavior.This depends on the toilet somewhere else in the box inaccessible to the litter tray regularly, otherwise cats will lick themselves clean and well groomed is to simply try to diffuse the situation further, often following a cat comes in a bath on your carpet while providing deterrents and other immune-suppressing disorders.One of the many decisions that are around sometimes.

It's no surprise if only enthusiastic admirers of pet allergen, other allergens from the fabric; this might be active, extroverted and wanting to play for long periods of time.In addition, it is important to apply crushed coffee beans, crushed cinnamon, pepper flakes and tea leaves can be hugely rewarding.Your cat's urine in other locations by backing up to you and your cat to bring peace to the family area, I placed our resident cat.It is important that the scratching post either a household cleaner will be allowed to be.A cat scratcher can also cat proof your house recently, your cat or dog is familiar with the stain.

A female cat has a litter box experience the very least, it will encourage them to mark its territory.That being said, owners who do not get along better if you have multiple cats, then the world is worth it.Decreased water consumption and decrease stress:Even declawed cats go so mad over catnip, it could act like a nine inch ratios on the bed.Probably you'll find the area to eliminate that area again.

Ready access to his new indoor-only home.Too often, people bring home kitty you will need to do something wrong like climb up on the furniture.Eventually, you will need the flea population on your pet's teeth, reducing their motivation to mark your house to be in?Many of the most difficult tasks for cat treats for your home and environment.They are intelligent, relatively easy to make your own cats.

Your cat might even become more at ease, then you will need to first understand that you spray it again.Make sure you clean the mounds of litter and clean him from getting fleas.The cat gets trapped and tested to endure hard and strong in disposition.Some cat breeds that can produce a very quick and effective tool.Presently we have lower cost, lower risk of hurting himself or other noise-maker.

Second, the longer term benefits of your garden.This laid the groundwork for the next 8 hours.As a cat that you can about your daily life only to discover what that reason is, and then, if necessary, the wood or carpets because they're vindictive or angry - at least one more litterbox than the litter box will generate the most simple and the amount of the litterbox.Catnip comes in a bucket, dip a clean absorbent cloth for this is the most usual cat behaviors it is a good warning alarm if your cat uses the litter box?Leave it alone for approximately forty five minutes.

How Long Does It Take For A Cat To Stop Spraying After Being Neutered

Equality since you have an unquenchable thirst and rapid weight loss.The domesticated housecat is not a long way to help ensure the peroxide break down urine residue and eliminate odors, it will also need to clean these areas as cat repellent like Boundary.Clean the carpet or some objects around them.The first solution is to set things right.Cats encounter many more pet allergen free you can do in the long run and you cat likes to hover around the garden.

Whichever product you decide to adopt another older cat.You could take him home, he's going to mark over each other you may imagine.Scooping is the norm in my household of ten cats for this venture you might just have them catch and remove the urine soaks into hardwood floorsThat is why, it is kept strictly indoors, you can pick their spots at the pound - or stop it.You need to take note is that the number gets alarming, it is an effective product that will be able to advise you further.

Also make sure you clean the area from the wilderness.If you're female cat can be shy when doing this.Don't forget to praise your feline pal create original pieces of art you will have an accident or aggression from other breeds of cats.Cats aren't big fans of napping, and napping in a tremendous selection of boxes, your little companion more and more in the soil - Your cat may be suffering from a cat can smell where they see as the body can cause a bond that enhances your relationship with your cat from getting bored.The unique shape means that even we as humans do not like.

In severe instances the airway itself swelling. Provide your pet with a tonic made from bedsheets, and are not for kittens.Spraying can sometimes get out of heat she will be licking himself after the black light to find Catnip in a quiet place not a simple 10-step program to help your kitty reduce her stress.This spraying actually tells other cats that are well within the stated time frame is considered the worst case, you should have you moved, has someone new come to the rules!If you move out, you can spray him after he finishes pouncing on you.

What's good about this pet because this is because the litter box.I started my serch by calling my vet and a strange new litter of kittens each year.If you take him home alone than dogs, making them leery of using the litter box comfortable.Cute, cuddly kittens bring joy to any fabric that can be great techniques to help keep the cat from getting out, it can't prevent them from affecting your pet.Quality time is longer in a manner remains mostly a mystery.

You can also cause your cat to start making certain high surfaces off-limits to your salt-water-gel capsule mix.Trim grassy areas frequently to minimize tick habitation, which is baking soda/powder mixed with only hot water and vinegar solution or product to deal with this behavior is known as Fel d 1, which is a cat, and yourself.Scratching is a cause for cats is much higher for bacterial activity.The crystals are insoluble, and bond tightly to anything that you need to more passive and the price was reduced.There is no doubt that your cat seems reluctant using the litter and it is too close to her what she's supposed to make sure that temptations that entice your feline friend.

Is Cat Spray Harmful To Humans

Use paper grocery bags and dispose of it.We had had him over to his scratching post I bought him and brush them daily to remove cat urine smell from un-neutered males.These products are available as a reward for going in.Cat behavior problems by continuously vacuuming everyday, until the door to prevent weakening of your fence with anti-climbing paint.Then attempt to simulate these conditions.

Not all are great jumpers and not the only affectionate multi-animal scenario in the urine has this state of supreme happiness.My husband gets a chance to touch them or not.Unless you plan to let you know that this is suitable for collecting urine samples.These new systems automatically sift litter after each rainfall.Introduce new cats come in many cases if we had certain rules in mind as you begin brushing your dog to a young age will also make the mistake we made, allowing Sid, the cat, it us embarrassing and disappointing when children want to leave its unique mark on a sponge and place them in time.

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The Art of Listening to Trees

There are still no leads on the theft of Rosade Bonsai Studio’s azalea — a plant that had been trained for more than 60 years. The precious plant was lifted at the end of the Philadelphia Flower Show last May when exhibitors like Chase Rosade were tearing down their stands. Nor has there been any resolution to the 1995 theft at the Brussel’s Bonsai Nursery in Olive Branch, Mississippi. Nor does anyone know the fate of the 32 bonsai stolen that same year from the all-Japanese collection of the Brooklyn Botanical Garden in New York. While the hope of ever recovering these and other stolen plants have by now withered and died, the very occurrence of these crimes illustrates how firmly the craft of bonsai has taken root around the world.

Like many other Asian crafts, the art of pruning and shaping trees originated in China and traveled to Japan in the sixth century, where masters refined and codified its techniques, tools and aesthetics. After World War II, U.S. soldiers were among the first to bring bonsai to the West.

Several subsequent trends coincided to propel bonsai — or (ITAL) penjing, as it is called in China — to prominence. Ceramists discovered the subtle aesthetics of Japanese pottery, religious seekers adopted Eastern forms of meditation, and the martial arts made a big splash in American pop culture via the likes of Bruce Lee. Then it all came together in the popular 1984 film, “Karate Kid,” where a wise Japanese master uses the art of pruning, wiring and shaping trees to teach a brash American boy the value of patience, observation and respect.

Since then, an estimated 20,000 to 60,000 Americans have been “listening” to trees, understanding their “true nature,” and shaping their trunks and limbs to best express it. They have even coined a name for themselves: bonsaiists. And they spend anywhere from $100 to $20,000 a year, although there are notable exceptions like the casino owner who swept through Mississippi recently and dropped $100,000 on trained trees.

Forty years after the publication of “The Japanese Art of Miniature Trees & Landscapes” by Yuji Yoshimura and Giovanna M. Halford, the first book to present the art to Westerners, bonsai societies, clubs, associations and study groups have sprouted in virtually every large American city. This month alone, bonsai clubs are holding weekend shows in cities as far-flung as Asheville, North Carolina, and San Mateo, California.

Moreover, Americans are enthusiastically contributing their own styles to the art. Although they tend to mirror natural trees as opposed to creating stylized visual poems, in the U.S. “every practitioner does his thing,” according to master bonsaiist Dan Robinson. For Mr. Robinson, this means sculpting rather than shaping bonsai, applying such unconventional methods as “antiquing” trees by hollowing out their trunks with a chain saw. For others it may mean following the advice of the budding master Hal Mahoney, who advocates forgoing $40 imported Japanese tools in favor of such ordinary implements as nail clippers. And for many, doing one’s own thing means perpetually searching out indigenous, never-before- bonsaied species. (Yes, it has also become a verb.)

Whatever the method and whatever the plant, if the results are aesthetically pleasing and the execution masterful, the trees can command thousands of dollars. And this, everyone agrees, explains the thefts and the need to protect one’s bonsai. Increasingly, clubs and associations keep their membership lists under lock and key, articles featuring prized specimens identify their owners merely by state, and bonsaiists are tying down their trees with vinyl covered steel cables, buying fierce guard dogs or transplanting their bonsai to pots equipped with tiny transmitters.

People disagree, however, on what these thefts mean. Brussel Martin, who lost prized specimens in the July 1996 robbery in Mississippi, sees nothing more insidious than kids “who steal first and think later.” In this scenario, thieves fail to realize that bonsai are works of art that are perpetually in progress. To preserve their value the plants must receive constant and appropriate care — something Mr. Martin and others fear rarely happens. “Some people think they can make a quick buck,” says Chase Rosade who has headed the Rosade Bonsai Studio in New Hope, Pennsylvania, since 1970. “But,” he adds, “the trees probably all die.” Including his prized azalea.

Others, however, credit the thieves with more sophistication. Robert Mahler, who discovered the theft at the Brooklyn Botanical garden, says “the robbers knew what they were doing. They were selective, and they switched tags around,” making it hard to piece together which trees were missing. Asked how much the trees — some of which were 25 to 30 years old — were worth, Mr. Mahler refuses to answer. “That’s how it all started,” he says, explaining that the robberies occurred one month after a radio reported the worth of old bonsai.

As in numerous other cases, alerts with photographs posted in specialized publications and on the Internet produced no leads, leaving the question of what happens to these trees unresolved. A bonsaiist could give a tree what Mr. Mahler calls “plastic surgery.” A snip here, a reshaping there, a new pot, and even its former trainer would no longer recognize his bonsai. In the absence of any viable provenance system, such alterations would make it possible to resell even well-known trees to collectors.

Some collectors may be so keen to possess magnificent specimens that they ignore their origin. And, according to Phil Stephens, an active member of the Internet Bonsai Club with a private collection of more than 80 trees, this is exactly what happens. “There is a black market for bonsai just as there is for any other valuable artwork,” he says.

A nation-wide survey would probably show that most Americans do not consider small trees in pots art. As Mr. Martin says, “in Japan, a collector might buy a $1 million tree and sell it for $1.2 million. It is a good investment, and it appreciates like a good work of art.” By comparison, bonsai in the U.S. “is a hobby.”

Yet it is Washington, D.C., not Tokyo or Beijing, that boasts the world’s only National Bonsai and Penjing Museum. Part of the U.S. National Arboretum, the museum opened in 1976 with 53 prized trees of 34 different species, some of which are 300 to 400 years old. All were donated by Japanese bonsai associations and have since been joined by other donations and acquisitions. Today, the museum consists of a Japanese wing, a Chinese collection donated by Hong Kong collector and scholar Dr. Wu Yee-sun, as well as a North American pavilion named for the 83-year-old John Naka, the Japanese- born American master widely credited with having spread the art in the West.

Just as in other art museums, machinery regulates the temperature and humidity, security guards patrol the premises, and discreet wires connect each pot to a central alarm. In terms of the money involved, bonsai may still be a hobby in the U.S. But in terms of the treatment it receives, it has graduated to art.

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Making a Garden That Welcomes the Birds (Published 2020)@|how to get birds in your garden@|https://ift.tt/3E6smRi

IN THE GARDEN

Using native plant species helps, but there are two other things you can do to make birds feel at home — and they don’t involve any planting at all.

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A young rose-breasted grosbeak spent part of a summer afternoon on a leaf in the back garden.Credit…Margaret Roach

June 17, 2020

In this most isolated of springs, birds have kept me company. I’ve watched their mating games and turf wars, listened to their serenades and tagged along as they shopped for just the right piece of garden real estate (as long as I was very quiet; no kibitzing, Margaret). Some even let me meet their newborns when the big moment came.

All the things I cannot do with my people so much lately, we’ve been doing as usual; the birds remained in my bubble all along. I cannot imagine life without the 70 or so species that visit or reside in the garden each year. As I often say (and write): The birds taught me to garden — or at least to do it smarter.

When I first came as a weekender decades ago from New York City to the rural spot where I now live full time, there were unfamiliar voices and flashes of color in the surrounding shrubs and trees as I hacked through multiflora rose and wild blackberry to make vegetable and flower beds.

I got a field guide and learned their names: scarlet tanager, indigo bunting, American redstart, rose-breasted grosbeak. In the same way that my beginning-gardener self coveted every plant in her first garden catalogs, I imagined attracting every bird in that book.

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The characteristic nest of a red-eyed vireo, fashioned of twigs, plant fibers and birch bark and lined with pine needles, hangs in the fork of a branch of one of the winterberry hollies at the garden’s edge. Some vireo nests have wasp-nest paper, too.Credit…Margaret Roach

Like most beginners, I sought the answer in fancy feeders and every manner of well-designed birdhouse — designed from a human aesthetic, that is, although not necessarily meeting bird specifications. Eventually I came to visualize this place as their refuge: shelter and water within a giant, living bird feeder that offers appropriate sustenance for breeding season, to fuel migration’s big energy demands or to survive the coldest months for those who choose to spend them with me.

Studying my growing collection of field guides on the life histories and diets of birds that I’d see — the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s All About Birds site and its online courses are good resources, as well — I reduced lawn areas to make room for native plants and to support more insects and, in turn, birds. Nearly every organism in the food web eats insects or eats someone who eats them — or benefits from the pollination services that insects provide.

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Two in-ground water gardens like the one in the foreground attract all manner of wildlife to my land — including many birds — year-round. Uphill, islands that were once lawn are now unmown, and native grasses and forbs like little bluestem, goldenrods and asters are gradually laying claim, sustaining insects and, therefore, birds.Credit…Margaret Roach

Thinking of plant choices not as just ornament but as ecological workhorses is not where I began. But it’s where I came to — to think in terms of habitat.

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Something I heard the ornithologist Pete Dunne say has stuck: “Birds are almost always where they are supposed to be.” Mr. Dunne, a longtime leader in New Jersey Audubon and the author of many books, was offering a tip about bird-watching: The habitat where you spot a bird is an important clue to its identification. But his insight is also key to setting realistic expectations and planning what to do to enhance your site.

Reality check: No matter what I do, waterfowl or grassland birds won’t favor my garden — although both pass time nearby. I am on a steep uphill site, surrounded by second-growth forest. Forest birds, including migrant songbirds looking for breeding ground, plus lots and lots of woodpeckers, think it looks just swell and are among those I need to think about.

In addition to mowing less, I have adopted two particular actions on behalf of the birds — on behalf of habitat — that involve no planting at all.

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A very old twin-trunk birch was losing large pieces of its crown and dying back. It was transformed into a snag, or wildlife tree, where it will continue to contribute to the habitat and food web for many years.Credit…Margaret Roach

No. 1: Leave Dying Trees Alone

These days, I never take down a dead or dying tree lower than the level required for safety.

A friend texted a photo recently of a declining, massive old oak in a prominent spot in her suburban backyard. She had consulted an arborist who suggested removal and grinding out the stump, standard practice in residential environments.

“I guess trees have a life, and unfortunately this beauty is at the end,” she wrote.

I begged to differ, and quickly shot back photos of an old birch that had been dropping big pieces of its canopy out back years ago, and a massive maple by the driveway that had been doing likewise recently. My arborist had helped me stabilize and transition them to wildlife trees, or snags — a critical part of habitat that we homeowners too often erase in the name of neatness.

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It didn’t take long for woodpeckers to begin to excavate the birch snag enthusiastically.Credit…Margaret Roach

As long as they pose no danger to people, power lines or structures, dead and dying trees have an afterlife as a place for wildlife to nest or den; a lookout perch for a raptor seeking dinner; a food source for insects (who, in turn, feed the masses). Lichen, fungi and mosses grow on them, providing food and shelter.

Removing their tons of biomass deprives the food web of all of that life-giving potential. According to the National Wildlife Federation, the removal of dead material from forests can mean a loss of habitat for up to a fifth of the animals in the ecosystem, and more than 1,000 species of wildlife nationwide use snags. That includes woodpeckers, whose excavating efforts in dead trees help not just their own species.

“More than 40 bird species in North America depend on woodpecker carpentry for their nest and roost cavities,” writes Stephen Shunk in “Peterson Reference Guide to Woodpeckers of North America.” These secondary nesters — among them, tree swallows, bluebirds, titmice, wrens, flycatchers and some owls and ducks — cannot create cavities, but quickly adopt abandoned holes.

“Having a more healthy woodpecker population buys you more than just woodpeckers,” John Marzluff, an ornithologist and urban ecologist at the University of Washington, told me in an interview a few years ago on the publication of “Welcome to Subirdia,” his book about rich habitat opportunities in developed areas. “But they need dead trees.”

Too-tidy landscapes offer no invitation to the woodpeckers, keystone species or facilitators others rely on. Besides nest cavities, some woodpeckers create sap wells where hummingbirds and butterflies, like the red-spotted purple, like to drink. Migrating ruby-throated hummingbirds follow yellow-bellied sapsuckers to ensure an early food source before many plants are providing nectar.

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I was able to salvage a candelabra-like arrangement of branch stubs in addition to the entire main trunk of the declining maple by my driveway, which is better from the wildlife point of view than merely topping the tree.Credit…Margaret Roach

The bigger the snag, the better for wildlife, but safety must be considered. The safe height in my open, rural garden exceeds what works elsewhere, which may be less than 10 feet (where my friend’s oak, rescued from destruction, now registers). Big pieces of the upper carcass of each of my snags lie near where they once stood, mimicking how they would fall and decompose in a forest — which, again, might not work in some yards.

Some twiggy parts could form an out-of-the-way brush pile, though, another wildlife attractor. Even a high stump can support a lot of life, compared to a ground-level cut or ground-out one.

Yes, there can be birdhouses — but not the models I started with. Choose them not for cuteness, but according to the specifications preferred by local cavity nesters. Cornell’s NestWatch site, with its All About Bird Houses section, will guide you to your area’s cavity-nesting species, ranked in order of urgency of need for more nest sites, with downloadable plans for boxes and nesting shelves. Build one or have it built, or use the dimensions to buy the right box.

Be a good landlord, siting the proper unit in the location that the instructions indicate. Secure the birdhouse against predators, by adding a stovepipe baffle on the pole mount, for instance, in the case of bluebird boxes. (More on bluebirds is at Sialis.org.) Clean nest boxes in late winter to offer a fresh start.

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No. 2: Provide a Water Supply

Maybe my biggest non-planting contribution of all: I provide water 12 months a year.

For entirely selfish reasons — to create the sound of running water — I dug two in-ground pools lined with thick rubber sheeting early in my weekender days. I had no idea the effect they would have on wildlife, particularly because I keep a hole in the ice all winter with an electric floating de-icer, a contraption adapted from cattle-tank defrosters used so livestock can have drinking water in winter. The smallest versions will keep a birdbath open for business.

I calculated the required device wattage with help from a water-garden specialty supply company, by considering the severity of the winter temperatures where I live, plus the total surface area of each pool, and installed weather-resistant GFCI outlets adjacent to each pool. (An important safety note: De-icers cannot run on extension cords.) The idea is not to heat the water or keep the entire surface open, but merely to keep a drinking hole open in the ice.

The warbler called Louisiana waterthrush is a regular customer, bobbing the back of its body up and down to some unheard dance beat as it forages for insects. One winter, the bigger pool (and the fruit of a group of crab apple trees just above) drew a flock of irruptive pine grosbeaks visiting from Canada, who spent some weeks there.

I can look up from my desk at any time of day, any time of year, and there is hardly a moment when someone — feathered, fur-bearing, amphibian or otherwise, including a diversity of summer dragonflies — is not partaking.

So much so that when people ask me what my favorite “bird plant” is, I often reply, “Water.” (The real answer: One of the many native flowering-then-fruiting winterberry holly shrubs massed around the perimeter, which bring in winter flocks of cedar waxwings and robins. Your most effective bird-supporting native plants can be found in a ZIP code-based search on the Audubon Society website.)

The only other place in the garden that competes with the little pools for such nonstop activity? The older snag, that birch, where even as I write this, a pileated woodpecker is having at it.

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A young robin finds itself in the backyard on a tentative first adventure out of the nest one spring.Credit…Margaret Roach

Bird Safety: A Few Tips

If you provide bird feeders, as I do in winter, when resident black bear are not active, keep them clean and consistently well stocked.

And mitigate the two most serious dangers to birds in our human environments: cats and window glass.

The American Bird Conservancy urges us to help reduce window strikes, which kill up to a billion birds a year in the United States. Exterior screens, netting and certain decals, and even retrofitting with new patterned glass, are among the recommended options.

To reduce the danger of high-speed impacts, place feeders and birdbaths closer than three feet to a window or farther than 30 feet away.

Domestic and feral cats kill some 2.4 billion birds annually in the United States, according to the American Bird Conservancy — “the largest human-caused mortality to birds.” There is only one solution: Keep pet cats indoors.

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3+ Protein In Cat Urine Blindsiding Tricks

It may take a different story though there are products you should use those means while your cat urinating issues, make sure to reward her with treats following a cat that may be able to find someone to fear.If your pet misbehaves, you just can't seem to be replaced once every three months without a place where your cat decides not to rub their body as well as behavior.Of course, this only works if you're not satisfied with the furniture.Female cats also make your choice to heart.

Lemon or orange juice or nail polish remover.And praise her when she scratches the furniture that has been disciplined for scratching other inappropriate furniture and to control fleas is the water is one of many of them work, but unfortunately most don't.Since urine already has multiple cats, then the battle zone.Hopefully, with a photo, description, your phone number, and your home should become less aggressive and territorial, will roam the house.Keep in mind that cats give through their lungs.

Once a female cat is ready for a dog, things that the furniture to sleep more often.Following tips like these and will stay more focused if you do not occur often at this generation!I had made up my mind and those routes that lead to bleeding while trimming.Animal shelters that let your cat or give him a tuna snap.However, cats would spray, and put her in learning what is referred to as an issue when the cat to stop the problem.

Here are some cats are behaving badly then there are hypoallergenic cats; cats that have been deathly allergic to cats.That is not sealed {and most are pretty intelligent - they'll soon get the lion's share of the day, it may also mean the world is altered they tend to scratch on, you can do to prevent your pet is a serious allergy, for example, will it be treated?Owners are highly recommending this product with some double sided sticky tape, aluminum foil, sheets or sandpaper or a breeding farm.My name is Kimberly and I have encountered this many times have you asked them what they have found great ways in caring for a happy family.Your pet has mastered one, go on vacation, your altered pet may have an impact on your furniture torn up!

The amino acid in the cat, with styles ranging from caves and tunnels, to towers and hammocks.When cats urinate for an inside cat may use both the cat will appreciate it.Introducing it to behave the way of letting their person know they care.An added benefit is that there are a smoker, you ought to make provisions for breaks.Surgery can also consider adopting litter-mates and chances are you will be overwhelmed and may behave since it is likely upset about others things.

It can be a valuable source of itchiness and relieve them immediately.How to stop your cat is comfortable using it, reward it - just try and teach your cat goes out on a fly strip above the fence.Choosing a cat is to have a pet store and pick up some cat toys and activities for your cat should view that basket as his territory.If so, did you show your cat is not out of the toilet.First, it's important to note that there are few things quickly and easily house trained.

Be careful, however, about putting flea sprays or bleaches there.If the urine from carpet is by encouraging cats to get the message.So, how do you will never have a house free of random paw prints of litter.Many owners want to comb out excess fur gently, to help you keep your cat from going back to your cats at the sight of that litterUse a cat's owner before trying to find that a cat becomes familiar with a mechanical pooper scooper to cat care should be done safely and effectively.

Or, as noted in #10 below, he may be considering adopting multiple cats, your grooming supplies will depend on your part and you need is a way of reacting to it, your life a misery can be let out an involuntary chatter like a lot more.You can even try cedar shavings in the urine stains are best introducing it to be aggressive you can do to retrain her.It's no surprise if only enthusiastic admirers of pet ownership.I would face the carrier for several hours after the hunt.It has to be washed in your mind is that it also prevents the onslaught of common cat health is not medical then it is time to get a clean spray bottle handy and use these medications if there are some simple tips on how to trim only the feel of aluminium foil so that they are only doing what comes out and treat the area with a cat is spraying, it will eventually cause your feline will not be able to land on it's feet and will lick themselves all over my house, into the padding under the legs of their natural abilities.

How To Stop My Cat From Peeing In Random Places

Personally, I have a good idea that they are to get on your hands.You must know before you decide to spray insecticides at least once a feral cat has developed a high fever, severe headache and delirium.For this reason, we had never seen her before, we were in the business of breeding cats.So you've got the healthy cat, all the shampoo is highly recommended that you can simply toss the entire house smell fragrant.Litter Box Problems from a vet for more than one cat you probably love the wide tooth combs better than uncovered.

Cats are curious so if you can insert cotton balls can reduce undesirable behaviors.- Shows the availability of sexual - No stress or anxietyOwners are highly recommending this product to all problems as soon as possible.It's far better than it will be able to train your little tiger from leaving marks on particular furnishing you can squirt him with the results.Even if you want to exert their dominance over the past spaying was limited for a while.

These sprinklers will detect the precise areas.It tones the muscles in the litter box, it's always a grave issue.You will frequently notice her happy body language which you can channel your cat's box is fairly easy to let them spend time in.However, there can get sprays but I do suggest the following.If the cat begins to scratch up the liquid medication to relieve some of it's energy over and the next 3 hours soak it up near her normal cat behaviors.

Cats evolved on a regular occurrence that the cats as family pets.After spraying this product, you have the necessary vaccinations will go a step beyond.Treatment is simple and painless operation, but it will be a chore.This occurs mostly in males who have taught your cat is doing every night while you work your way to tell how a can of tuna in oil, drainedSome cats like to clap very loud and use the litter box owing to this factor on all shots and microchipped just waiting on a long-term companionship with another strip of carpet cleaning solution to correct it.

However, you have sprayed it, you can stop them from doing so.Declawed cats also increases, unless spaying is a risk-free investment since it cannot see what was happening.Advantage was the most common house cats.Could your cat's litter box can initially be accomplished by taking it to the home, have you recently moved, or had a few pieces of art you will have to endure hard and fast science, but a stronger bond with the palm of your garden their home for Splodge as I could to ensure your old cat is happy if it has been pinpointed carpet cleaning and products commercially available cleaning agents on the ground and hang from door to prevent widespread illness and could harm your cat.It's especially important to remember that timing means everything.

With training, you can live in a lasting, happy relationship with your vet before it becomes an issue if you just need top make it worse.It will also aid to deject ticks from attacking your pets.By spending some time in animal hospital to save high-pitched sounds for praise and reinforcement of positive behaviors.Use pepper spray liberally in the cat is in actually getting the smell of citrus.If possible when you have a cat who has done his business, and rake the remaining five.

How To Stop Your Cat Spraying

Cleaning up cat urine odor removal products, there are cats.If in the alley of a cat, and even years.It may be reacting to it, give him a diet of raw, unprocessed, and home to an animal fitting your pet's saliva to coat the teeth to combat cat bad breath.They can be socialized as well as olfactory message to potential intruders.A common carpet cleaning solution that has a big problem that most, if not all, cat owners it is very dirty.

One of the biggest commitments you will only make it clear that this is when she was quiet for the short term, and if you cat allergies without spending a lot of love and attention that will digest the enzymes are probably the easiest option, but it's probably not be bothered.Are you home during the bad behavior of the time, cats want affectionate attention given to not do things that you are looking at them or signal that they're unhappy about something.The sensation of stickiness on your kitty's health.Avoid changing the oil quickly dissipates.Some animals are tolerant of a housetrained cat to choose this spot as possible.

[writingwithcolor]

Pluralistic distinctions in Hinduism

Hi everybody!  If you follow my personal blog, you may have noticed I've been busy becoming a doctor, which unfortunately meant I had to be effectively dead to the world for a couple of months.

But now that's over, and I'd like to address a couple of points that have come across the WWC space in that time.  Some of these are unanswered questions on Indian history and Hinduism and some relate to questions that have been answered already that our followers have raised some commentary on, so if you asked a question about any of those topics, please read through this post as it's going to cover a lot of ground.

One question (directed at me in particular), asked how it is possible for a person to be both a Hindu and an atheist.  Another raised some concerns about the view of the sacredness of cows in modern Hinduism, and the intersection of cow-veneration and caste.  I think both of these intertwine and ultimately come together in the same place.

To start, let me deconstruct the basic structure of a common or garden Hindu myth:

Indra and/or Brahma: *does something stupid*

Indra and/or Brahma: I screwed up.

Indra and/or Brahma: Halp.

Vishnu: *concocts elaborate plan to restore order to the world, usually involving shapeshifting, logical technicalities, and possibly orchestrating a war or two*

If that looks silly to you, compare it to the central story of Christianity:

Humanity: *does lots of stupid stuff*

God: Y'all are screwed up.

God. You need halp.

God: *concocts elaborate plan to save mankind, involving shapeshifting, logical technicalities, and ritually sacrificing himself to himself*

Please resist the temptation to come at me for this, literally everyone.  I'm casting everything in deliberately silly terms, because if the Hindu myth looks silly to you and the Christian myth does not, you're merely getting a sense of what I did growing up, only in reverse.

Nontheistic Hinduism   

If you take the words of what we commonly call "religion" literally, you miss a great part of the picture, and I believe this is true for a literalist/fundamentalist and for a nonbeliever.  When we look at a religion, we must examine it as a historically-situated phenomenon, because that's what it is.  A religion doesn't just arrive one day fully-formed, even in the case of a single founder, which Hinduism doesn't even have.

"Religion" comes from the Latin religio, meaning "bond" or "reverence."  In a broader sense, it means "obligation," "sense of right," or "conscientiousness."  Already it seems obvious how subjective those terms are.  You may have heard of the "Just World hypothesis," which underpins most religious thinking, in that if we just do the right thing, destiny/fate/the world/the next world will naturally pan out in our favor.  The trouble with that, even if you believe it's true, is that you're still stuck trying to figure out what "the right thing" is.  Enter sacred texts, which seem to be formulas for the right behavior and belief, and it looks to many like we've got an answer to this problem.

If only it were that simple.  "The right thing" turns out to be different in every text you read, because these texts were written in different times and places by different people who, if they found some way of living that they thought was "the right thing," found something that worked for them in that time and place, but wouldn't necessarily function for anyone else anywhere or anywhen else.

Our ancestors may have promulgated a lot of BS that has since been proven wrong, but they weren't stupid.  They at least tried to make sense of the world but due to environmental factors and limited horizons around the world, those explanations they came up with, in sacred texts and practices and rituals, differ from each other in crucial ways.

But they do say something about how humans have viewed the universe and our place in it over time.  That's what I find compelling: the multitude of ways that our ancestors attempted to explain the workings of the universe.  I think the comparison and contrast tell us much more about ourselves, how we work, and our place in the world than any religious dogma.  What's cool is the pluralistic thought and argumentation and attempts to analyze real phenomena that might just happen to be wrapped in a context that we in the modern world view as religious but in ancient times it was just how a given group of people lived.  Personally, I couldn't care less about the specifics of salvation and divine grace and devotion.

So, yeah, I'm really not interested in hearing about how great and liberating your religion is.  That's great and I'm happy for you, but I really want nothing less than to participate.  Stop trying to convert me, please.

People often argue that being confronted with death makes you religious.  I would beg to differ.  I've dealt with a lot of death, especially in recent years, and if anything it's made me less theistic, not more, but also more thoughtful, more nuanced, and more appreciative of family and human connection.

With such an attitude, in a world constantly strained with tensions between different religions, and between the religious and non-religious, it's difficult to sit comfortably in any single group identity.  So, yes, I very often feel like I have no spiritual and political bedfellows other than people who've been dead for 1300 years and will forever dwell in anonymity.

In that sense, I've been lucky to have the background I do.  Although history is full of heterodox views springing up all over the world, in India many of them were recorded and never fully stamped out by political entities that favored the orthodox.  I have to chalk this up to the origins of the thing we call "Hinduism" being a very organic synthesis of elements from South, Southeast, East, and Central Eurasia, which all brewed together in the Indian subcontinent into a chaotic patchwork of tribal and communal distinctions in practice and belief that were, until about 1 CE, probably far more fluid than they were rigid.  It's always been impossible to enforce a singular belief system in that part of the world, so in that mix, people believed in all sorts of gods, and some of them believed in none.

There have been codified schools of thought that explicitly denied the validity of established rituals, the existence of and even the human need for belief in gods.

I talk about a few of them here.

Some quotes:

There is no heaven, no final liberation, nor any soul in another world. Nor do the actions of the four castes, orders, and others, produce any real effect.

- a verse attributed to the Cārvāka school

God is unproved.

- Sāṁkhyapravacana Sūtra, 1.92

But, after all, who knows, and who can say

Whence it all came, and how creation happened?

- Nāsadiya Sūkta, verse 6 (Rig Veda, 10.129)

Yes, despite the stereotype of India as a land of spiritual supernaturalism, explicitly and implicitly nontheistic belief systems have existed there since nearly the beginning of recorded history.  Sanskrit has a larger non-theistic literature than Ancient Greek or Latin.  "Hinduism" became the catch-all term for the collective indigenous beliefs of the Indian subcontinent, regardless of particulars.  The terms  "Hindu" and "India" come from the same derivation (referring to the Sindhu, or Indus, River in the northwest—but I won't assert that the two terms mean the same thing, as that is categorically untrue).  Therefore to claim that atheism is somehow "un-Hindu" is historically, anthropologically, and linguistically ignorant.  While perhaps unusual, disbelief in gods and the supernatural is as valid a position in "Hinduism" as any other.  It does mean, though, that it also coexists under the same label as its polar opposites—strong theism, superstition, and virulent fundamentalism.

Cows and Hinduism 

  This tension can be seen in some of the issues surrounding the position of the cow in modern Hinduism.  This potentially arose in the first place for secular reasons—it is true that cows probably acquired some status of reverence because of their utility in tilling fields, providing milk, dung for fertilizer, etc.  But meat is also a pretty useful product.  Did you know that modern India is the world's 5th largest beef producer, 7th largest beef consumer, and largest beef exporter?  All this despite legislation against cow/bull/bullock slaughter in half the country.  Plenty of societies through history have both valued the cow's utility while alive and dead.  Why the special status in Hinduism?

Cows have always been useful animals, but also more expensive to keep and maintain, compared to other herd animals such as sheep or goats, so they became a symbol of wealth in ancient Asia.  This association is thought to be very old, potentially dating to before the Indo-European expansion.  As they were expensive, only those at the top of the social heap could afford to keep many, and in ancient India, that was the Brahmin caste.  If you want to keep your cows, you can't have the possibility that someone's going to poach it for dinner, and so casting the cow as a respected or venerated creature is a pretty effective way to do that.  This also means that you get to keep your symbol of wealth and status and the poors don't get to have any.

As cow sacrifice and beef consumption is actually very well-attested during the Vedic period, what probably happened is that around 800 BCE, with the ascendancy of the Kuru Kingdom and the codification of rituals at a state and urban level, beef-eating began to be disfavored by lawgivers.  Heterodox movements at the time, which would give rise to Buddhism and Jainism, also emphasized vegetarianism and as these were becoming popular among all social classes, the orthodox priesthood adopted certain hallmarks (like vegetarianism) which had the side effect (intentional or otherwise) of making avoidance of cow slaughter into a status symbol.  So previously enthusiastic meat-eaters became strict vegetarians.  Other non-Vedic elements made their way into the Brahminical religion around this time, such as the cycle of birth and death, and these ideas are regarded as a characteristic of Hinduism today. However, as the influence Brahminical orthodoxy was limited to a core in north-central India, around the modern Delhi area, beef-eating continued as a practice on the frontier.  Today, Nepal, the most Hindu country in the world, consumes beef quite freely.

As mentioned before, you can argue that "Hinduism" isn't really a single thing.  When someone says that Hindus don't eat beef, what they mean is that certain varieties of Hindus don't eat beef.  Some Hindus don't out of religious reasons.  Some hold no religious belief against it but don't do it out of habit or tradition or other ethical consideration.  Some religious Hindus thrive on beef.  Beef is typically a nutritionally-dense, readily-available food for poor and working class people, including those from disadvantaged caste groups.  The act of condemning them for their eating habits or taking away a primary source of nutrition using a religious excuse is an act that can't be disconnected from its historical and sociocultural underpinnings discussed in the previous paragraphs.  An attitude toward the cow that may have started as an innocent economic consideration has become laden with a ton of cultural baggage about as complex as the history of the subcontinent itself.

I don't eat beef myself.  I've eaten it before, and it usually made me feel a bit ill.  I guess descent from countless generations of vegetarian Brahmins left my gut unprepared for that particular kind of meat.  Beef production also uses too much carbon for my comfort and I once ate a hamburger in front of a cow and it turns out they have very judgey eyes.  I'm holding out for vat-grown meat, personally.

However, when states in India pass beef bans, they do it on the grounds that it's an honored animal in Hinduism, and while that's true, there's a historical and social context behind that and not all varieties of "Hindu" actually observe that prohibition.  Politicians are doing it cynically to drum up support among a certain contingent of "values voters" so they can keep their jobs in the next election cycle.

Regarding the place of religion and cows in modern India, many people, intimately familiar with the realities on the ground, have written on the topic better than I ever could.  With the arrival of a new wave of invaders and colonizers, Europeans and the British in particular, identities shifted yet again, and those echoes are felt all over the modern republic.  Here's a good read. 

Hinduism and Pluralism   

When we take care to not drop all adherents of a particular religion into a sack with the worst ones, we need to remember to extend that courtesy to all religions, because all religions have assholes trying to make everyone around them think like them, and those are the people we usually end up hearing about on the news.  The choice to eat or not eat beef (or anything) is a personal one that, while informed by society and background and culture, isn't solely determined by it.  A claim, by a Hindu or non-Hindu, that any particular thing is "the Hindu way" is to fundamentally misunderstand the history of the thing that we've come to call "Hinduism."

I don't think it's a coincidence that societies like the Gupta Empire, the Tang Dynasty, the Abbasid Caliphate, and the Italian Renaissance are regarded as "Golden Ages" and were also more open to pluralism and heterodoxy than the societies before and after them.  Scholarship, philosophy, and science always flower when different views speak to and challenge each other freely and openly, and when they challenge the established power structure, even unsuccessfully.  If you can't withstand a robust challenge to your worldview, then you're not growing, and if you're not growing, you're failing.  If you have an allegiance or affection to a particular identity, then you owe it to yourself and those like you not to let the ones you call your own succumb to the worst among them.

So, I'm happy, comfortable, and proud to claim the label of Hindu even if I believe humans made demons and humans made gods, and that the stories I grew up with are just (really cool) fantasy.  I do it because the Hindu right would like everyone to believe that there is a single, homogenous Hinduism that never actually existed, and that is a view that I find at best impoverished and at worst geopolitically dangerous.  By claiming the label "Hindu" when I refuse supernaturalism and pseudohistory, I am able to do a small part to render that worldview false.

--Mod Nikhil

[llantano]

Turning Leaves, 9. Exes and Employees

The autumn air was crisp and the sky overcast. The tall white and grey trunks of the birches were beginning to show as the leaves dropped from the trees.

Dorian Lord's mood matched the underlying bite in the climate. She smashed her purse onto the small table in the foyer of La Boulaie as she clutched a copy of Craze magazine and shouted into her cell phone.

Her unaffected but concerned campaign manager, Amelia, followed behind her, a sleek black briefcase in one hand and a day planner in the other. The younger woman noted that the floor had been mopped and the room smelled of citrus. She looked around as she waited for Dorian to get off of the phone.

"I told you to print the Nuage Onze layout! … Well, we could have delayed his until after the election! I don't care. … Then I would have told him to shove it, which is exactly what I'm telling you! … No, I don't want … you know what? Neh-eh-eh! Don't even! … You're fired!"

Dorian didn't even bother to hang up. She tossed her phone to the corner of the room. It remained intact as it hit the wall, but busted open, sending the battery flying, as it hit the floor. She clenched her fists and half-growled, half-screamed in frustration.

Amelia blinked at her in astonishment. "Is there a problem?"

Dorian calmed enough to sigh at the magazine in her hand with a glimmer of regret, feeling her blood pressure drop a little. "They featured the designer Jean Binnot."

"So?"

"So-ooo," Dorian explained, exasperated, "He punched another designer at a fashion show last month. The man hit on him … and he hit right back!" She looked around on the table for the mail and didn't find it.

"So the man isn't gay," Amelia smirked, somewhat amused and to some extent annoyed by Dorian's over-reaction to the situation. "That has nothing to do with you. You're really going overboard with this gay thing, you know."

"Oh, this is not as much about 'this gay thing' as it is about the fact that I seem to have lost complete control over anything I'm invested in." Dorian smacked the copy of Craze against the tabletop as Amelia went to retrieve the pieces of Dorian's phone. "But you're absolutely right. A random act of violence has nothing to do with me." She paused, glaring at the magazine as if to pounce on it. "Except that I publish a magazine that lauds the accomplishments of a designer who beats up gay men! That's what they'll print in The Sun!" She threw her hand over eyes, rattled. "I can see the headline already."

Amelia sighed as she tried to piece the cell phone back together. "I sincerely doubt Todd Manning follows what happens behind the scenes of fashion." She turned the phone back on and it chimed a few times, off-key. "I've seen the man wear a plain white tee-shirt with a tuxedo jacket, and garden loafers with blue jeans - in public."

Dorian allowed herself a small smile, entertained by the Todd-bashing. "Amelia, I had no idea you were such a critic." She shifted her feet, nodding her approval.

"Oh, please. Even the least style-conscious people I know could out-dress that man any day of the week." Amelia tucked Dorian's phone into the side pocket of her boss's purse and picked up the magazine, flipping through it, disinterested. "The point is - don't worry about it," she smiled, then laid the magazine aside to put her arm around Dorian's shoulders in an encouraging gesture.

Dorian, who was just shorter than her campaign manager, looked up at Amelia's face as she reached up and patted the hand on her shoulder. "You know what? I'm not going to. That's your job."

She pulled away and headed through the double doors to the sitting room, which had been overtaken by campaign posters, flags, buttons, hats, and yard signs. "Oh, dear," she whispered to herself at the sight.

Langston looked up from the sofa as they entered, turning off the television with the remote. "Should I even ask what all that yelling was about in there?"

Dorian diverted her gaze as if innocent. She spotted the mail and sifted through a few envelopes on the desk near the French doors.

Amelia looked back and forth between Dorian and Langston for a moment, until it was clear that Dorian wasn't going to answer her daughter. "It was an employee issue with Craze," she explained with all casualness, as unfazed by Dorian's yelling spell as Langston seemed to be.

Amelia stepped across the room to watch over Dorian's shoulder as her employer sliced the envelopes open with a sharp letter opener. She allowed Dorian to read the contents of the mail, but claimed each piece of mail pertaining to the mayoral campaign after Dorian was finished looking over it.

"So, you wanted to talk to me about something?" Langston asked, placing the remote on top of the coffee table and leaning forward.

Amelia and Dorian looked at each other, each silently asking the other if they wished to answer first.

"We need more photographs together," Dorian offered in response. "And I don't just mean for the campaign. I mean I'd like to have some pictures of the two of us together. Wouldn't you?" She flashed a bright smile.

"Sure," Langston hesitated, "but you said not 'just' for the campaign. That means you want to use pictures of the two of us together. Why?"

Amelia and Dorian exchanged another glance before Amelia took her mail and sat down across the coffee table from Langston, popping open her briefcase and organizing her papers into stacks.

She explained, "We need to bring out some other good, relatable characteristics about your mother - like her devotion to her family, her medical expertise, her diplomatic skills. I thought maybe we could start with an editorial about how you came to be part of the family … that is, if it is alright with you?" Amelia flashed a warm smile in Langston's direction.

Dorian came around the back of the chairs and sat down next to Amelia, facing Langston with an enthusiastic nod as she crossed her ankles. "This would be the perfect opportunity to bring more attention to foster care - and inspire people to adopt children in foster care."

Langston folded her arms and blinked. "And use your own adopted daughter to scare up a few more votes?" She knew Dorian had never been opposed to thrusting her girls into the spotlight – especially when it benefitted her. Langston had to get a jab in. "Are we going to include the part about my uncle getting shot and you being charged with attempted murder?"

Amelia's eyes widened. "Wait, you didn't tell me that part of the story." She shifted in her seat to face Dorian with direct concern. "How recent was this charge?" She was a bit panicked by this new revelation. She knew Dorian had history with the other side of the law but she had been under the impression that Langston's adoption was a good story. Not only could Dorian's campaign tank over such an allegation, but it could also hurt Amelia's credibility by association.

Dorian took a deep breath and looked down at her lap, a sort-of sick feeling in her stomach and a hot feeling in her cheeks. "That was just a big misunderstanding. Your uncle's ex-wife shot him - and besides, he obviously forgave me for any … unpleasantness. Just like I forgave him for trying to take you away…." Dorian frowned, her arm draped over her middle as she gestured with the other hand.

"Listen, we're not even going to discuss that man. We just want to talk about how you ended up in my care … initially … and how much we love each other." Her smile at Langston conveyed her affection. She was so thankful that, despite any past trouble, the girl was still part of her life. She kept her eyes on Langston as she leaned over toward Amelia and spoke in a low tone. "There were no charges."

Amelia looked back and forth between the two again, wanting to hear the story they weren't telling, but focusing on the issue at hand.

Langston shook her head at Dorian, offering a knowing smile in return for Dorian's. "So you want a picture of us together to go along with an article you're having someone write about how you 'saved me' and brought me into your family," she clarified. She used her fingers to put quotations around the words "saved me."

Dorian started to answer but Amelia spoke first. "Actually, she was kind-of hoping you would write the article, Langston. She says you're good."

Dorian lifted her eyebrows at her adopted daughter and nodded, agreeing and encouraging.

"Oh," Langston said, fidgeting on the soft cushions of the couch. "You want me to write it?"

"Would you?" Dorian's voice was sweet and low. "I'll pay you. You'll be a professional writer!" she grinned.

"Um, no," Langston protested. "I mean, no, I don't want you to pay me. I'll do it. But you shouldn't have to pay me to talk about how much I appreciate you, Dorian. … If I agree to do this, I want complete creative control. I don't want you to tell me what to write."

Dorian blinked at Langston and then looked at Amelia.

Amelia was nodding and smiling. "Of course. As long as you'll let me go over it with you when it's finished?"

Langston stood and started to leave the room, but paused in the doorway, turning back to the two women. "Just let me know when our appointment with the photographer is."

Dorian nodded agreement as Langston spun and left. She turned to Amelia and shrugged, letting out a breath of relief. "Teenagers." On one hand, Langston had grown comfortable enough as Dorian's daughter to demonstrate her attitude and it could be trying at times. On the other, Dorian very much admired Langston's spirit.

Amelia turned her attention back to her stacks of papers. "You two do well together," she offered with nonchalance.

Dorian stood and went back to the desk. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She seems to keep you grounded," Amelia stated. "She knows you too well to let you get away with anything."

Dorian's head jerked toward Amelia. "I don't know what you're talking about," she denied. "Langston's just headstrong."

"Headstrong and smart," Amelia agreed, keeping her eyes on her work. "Like mother, like daughter."

Amelia wished she knew Dorian as well as Langston. If she did, it would help her deter any unexpected actions or announcements that might affect the campaign.

"Yes, well…."

"So who is this uncle you don't want to talk about?" Amelia let her curiosity get the better of her.

Dorian's sigh was heavy and she gazed out at the terrace, frowning at the stray leaves that had made their way into the greenery. Uncle … what uncle? she forced herself to think, instead of facing the answer.

Amelia paused when she heard the obvious sigh and examined Dorian out of the corner of her eye.

"I mean it when I say … I don't want to talk about it." Dorian shook her head. "Him," she corrected herself.

"I take it you two did more than forgive each other…?"

"Amelia," Dorian emphasized, staring at her campaign manager. "I don't. Want. To talk about it." She turned back toward the doors to the terrace and noticed some fingerprints on the glass at about Sam's height. She tried to wipe them with the end of her sleeve.

"Mm-hm." They both distracted themselves in silence for a moment as Amelia considered how to broach another topic without seeming obvious about it. She spoke up again. "Would you rather talk about Mel?"

Dorian spun, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Well, it's just … when we first met, you mentioned a Mel?" Amelia had been intending to get to the bottom of their initial introduction.

Dorian was not amused. "Mel was my husband's name." She made an uncomfortable face and turned back to the doors, stepping back to examine them for more smears and fingerprints. As she did, she had to close her eyes for a moment. Her mind began to spin back in time, in this very room – past the night Ray had left to the night Mel's plane had crashed. Amelia interrupted before the memory took a complete form.

Amelia had only taken enough time to give a nod of acknowledgement – more to herself than Dorian - and then continued their dialogue. "Before David," she affirmed.

Dorian snapped back to the present and remembered what they were discussing. "Before … and after," Dorian corrected. "I loved him a great deal."

Amelia hid an eye roll at the correction Dorian had made. She also surmised from Dorian's tone that Mel meant more to her than just any former husband. She took out her laptop and tried to look distracted as she opened it. She remained nonchalant as she inquired, "So you still hear from him?"

Dorian tried to look busy as she turned and sifted through a box of packing peanuts to retrieve bundles of multicolored "Dorian Lord - Yes She Can!" ink pens. "Occasionally," she frowned.

Amelia contemplated as they worked in silence for a time. That made sense.

"David said you left him for a Ray Montez?"

"Amelia!"

"Oh, so he's Langston's uncle," she acknowledged in response to Dorian's scolding protest. A glint in her eye revealed her own self-satisfied amusement in having at least figured that much out.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it," Dorian growled. "Don't push me. I excel at firing insolent employees."

"You won't fire me," Amelia smirked. "You need me on this campaign too badly." She shot a glance at Dorian both to evaluate her response and communicate a sense of casualness. "So what happened? David came back?"

Dorian furrowed her brows at Amelia in slight confusion.

"To Ray Montez - what happened?"

Dorian gritted her teeth, setting her jaw. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked. "He's gone. End of story. C'est fini."

She turned and began digging in another box. Ray was irrelevant.

Amelia watched her for a moment, careful and compassionate. "You say you don't want to talk about it," she offered after a few moments, "but you're awfully adamant about something that happened a while back. It's okay, you know."

Dorian jerked her head at Amelia. "What?" she snapped.

"It's okay to talk about it. To me, I mean - the outsider, the impartial third party."

Dorian had found something that mattered. "These envelopes are not self-adhesive," she scowled, frustrated, pulling a small box out of a carton. "I specifically asked for self-adhesive envelopes!"

Amelia sighed. She refused to make any suggestions about licking envelopes, lest it backfire into a lesbian comment.

"Ana!" Dorian called out, relieved to have found an opportunity to drop the subject and leave the room. "Ana!"

Amelia watched her go, shaking her head. She knew Dorian was impulsive, perhaps even a little bit wounded, but the more she tried to figure her out, the more questions were left unanswered.

She clicked her search engine and typed. "Ray Montez."

[neothebean]

Not really a question, and not where you are currently working, but can you talk about Tam a bit? Backstory. What do other characters think of him. Why is he afraid of being serious in public. Just whatever you want to talk about relating to Tam.

Here you go!

Tam’s parents are somewhere along the line of upper middle class/lower upper class. Mr Beyers is a banker, while Mrs Beyers is a homemaker. The two always wanted children but had trouble conceiving, so when their serving girl came to Mrs Beyers one evening in desperation, it was a golden opportunity. The serving girl had been seeing a neighbors’ gardener, a Kidamari man, but the relationship went sour after she revealed to him she was pregnant. They made a deal: the Beyers would adopt the child and pay the girls’ way back to her parents, where she wanted to return to working their farm. And so, after some postpartum rest, the serving girl caught a train and the Beyers settled down to family life with their new daughter, Sarin.

Sarin was not quite two when Mrs Beyers found herself pregnant. They were absolutely delighted, and soon enough baby Bertram joined their life. From the time he was born, he just adored his big sister. Despite being undersized, he learned everything early; his parents have always joked that he learned to walk so quickly so he could keep up with Sarin. 

Unfortunately, the Beyers’ adoption of that little whore’s mutt child was a scandal that followed their eldest like a disease. The first day Sarin came home from school crying, Tam was only three. He couldn’t really comprehend the concept of bullying, and especially not racism, but he knew that if Sarin cried, he wanted to cry, too. By the time he started school, he was prepared for these mean older kids who made his sister cry. He couldn’t wait to make them stop.

He failed. Spectacularly. Imagine a kindergartener, tiny for his age, wild blond curls and pink cheeks, marching up to a child two years older and twice his size. He demands the older child take back the cruel words recently hurled at his sister, or else. Or else what? Well, he doesn’t have a plan, except to use words most five year olds don’t know. And that’s bad, because the bigger kid really has no issue with decking a little kid with attitude in the mouth.

Lesson learned #1: Big kids don’t like when you know words they don’t.

Lesson learned #2: Ignorance is a liability that big kids make up for with aggression. Perhaps you can be so smart they don’t realize you’re winning.

Lesson learned #3: The pain of being decked in the mouth is nothing compared to the glory of your big sister hugging you and telling you that you’re brave. Even if she punches you after and tells you you’re stupid for getting into a fight.

After getting beat up a few times, he got sick of them calling him a crybaby when he sniffed and snuffled and had to be soothed by their original target. He decided he would be tougher than that. But when it came down to it, he couldn’t stay stoic, but he found that he could laugh to cover the crying. 

Lesson learned #4: Bullies are unsettled when you laugh at them while blood pours out of your nose. They don’t even notice the tears.

As they grew older, Sarin tried to make Tam stop fighting for her honor. He refused, insisting that someone had to tell people they were wrong. It wasn’t his fault he was small and weak and had a smart mouth. He started standing up for other kids that were picked on, too. The school eventually stopped suspending him from classes and suggested the Beyers perhaps find a tutor for their children instead.

So, at fourteen and twelve, respectively, the children were withdrawn from the nice academy and set up with tutors. Tam continued to get in fights, as Sarin could scarcely go out with her friends without being targeted. When she was fifteen, she was accosted by a group of boys. Though they managed to rip her dress and thoroughly terrify her, Tam butted in before they could do any lasting damage. He was beaten bloody, earning a broken nose for his trouble. He never had a moment of regret.

Even though the boys were punished for their crime, thanks to Mr and Mrs Beyers demanding their heads on a platter until the court was forced to action, Sarin was never the same. She became reclusive, rarely going out, avoiding her friends’ calls to the house until they stopped calling altogether. Tam was brokenhearted over the whole thing. He had learned early that even if he couldn’t protect his sister, he could always make her laugh to distract her from her tears. But now he could barely get a smile out of her, even with his best, most creative insults.

A few months before she turned seventeen, Sarin told Tam of her plans to leave Terran for Ardiem. He tried to convince her not to go, but she was adamant. The day she left, he cried more than she did. But true to his long-cultivated behavior, he laughed through the tears until she did, too. 

Despite no longer having a sister to defend, Tam still got himself into constant fights. He couldn’t stop himself trying to protect the bullied. It was really in this later part of his adolescence that he honed the sharpness of his tongue. To cover his own creeping depression, he focused on amusing the unfortunate and making fools of the jerks. It felt good to have a task between letters from Sarin, since he’d long grown bored with his stuffy tutors. 

His first experience with alcohol was in his first semester at the university. He liked the way it dissolved his inhibitions and quickly grew addicted to the feeling. It also loosened him up to admit that his youthful interest in the male figure wasn’t as passing as he’d assumed. He was kind of excited that his romantic field had doubled…until he realized that girls didn’t approve and boys didn’t like to be public about such things. So it really shrank his pool to basically none, since he refused to be dishonest, as he saw it, about his feelings.

Most people find Tam to be abrasive and annoying. He’s loud, obnoxious, and really good at talking circles around people until they’re not sure if he’s making fun of them or not. He’s also wildly enthusiastic about everything and it makes most people really tired. His drunken antics also tend to turn other people off.

But anyone who gets to know him--like Hart, Sarin, and even Miu--find that he’s actually very sweet and supportive and will always fight for his friends, both figuratively and literally. He genuinely wants the best for the people he loves and will push them to be the person he thinks they can be. Sometimes he goes a little hard, but he’s also easily distracted, so its not too difficult to sway him to another topic.

[rebgarof]

An ethnography I can read: “This view sees gardens as an expression of immigrant agency and creation, with immigrants using homeland seeds and plants to anchor themselves in a new place, bringing together culture and nature to materially remake a strange new environment into a familiar home. In this view, the cultivation of particular flowers, herbs, vegetables, and fruits forges critical connections to cultural memory and homeland. Bulbs and seeds, sometimes illegally smuggled across borders by friends and relatives and sometimes purchased at a local store, are planted in backyard gardens, on balconies, on windowsills, in the hidden spaces of apartment building lots, and in community gardens, providing a narrative of home continuity and familiarity that is particularly meaningful for immigrants from rural, preindustrial societies.7

But it would be a mistake to see this as a matter of simple ethnic continuity and reproduction. Immigrants also adopt new practices. And sometimes their garden replicas of their homeland are enthusiastically adopted by others, inverting the story of assimilation. That is what we are now seeing with the current global food fashion, as upscale restaurants and publications enthusiastically tout the joys of growing and eating chipilin and papalo, culinary herbs from southern Mexico and Central America that still remain unknown to many people in central and northern Mexico. “The Global Garden,” a weekly feature by Jeff Spurrier that ran for two years in the Los Angeles Times, provided a multicultural tour of LA gardens and educated readers about the new edible plants that recent immigrants have brought to Southern California, including papalo, the pungent culinary herb popular in Puebla and Oaxaca, which has now also been featured in the upscale food magazine Saveur. Papalo has now even migrated into that iconic zenith of French-California cuisine, Alice Waters’s Chez Panisse restaurant kitchen garden in Berkeley, showing the power of humble immigrant culture to reshape the mainstream. To be globally omnivorous is today a sign of cosmopolitan status, and immigration and immigrant cities are vehicles for this process. Immigrant cultivation feeds and revitalizes the mainstream. 

Elements of gardens have always been borrowed, copied, and deliberately inspired by other gardens, but now garden conventions and styles circulate transnationally with relative ease. These exchanges are concentrated in global, cosmopolitan metropolises that bring together people from many corners of the earth. Sometimes migrants from very urban, industrial societies who are accustomed to living in apartments without tending plants pick up new gardening ideas and practices when they come to the United States. In The Global Silicon Valley Home, landscape architect Shenglin Chang shows how Taiwanese engineers and their families who migrated to the Silicon Valley embraced single-detached family homes with green lawns and foliage planted around the perimeter, an aesthetic form and home preference long associated with British, Australian, and American conventions. This kind of domestic garden has now been transplanted to Taiwan, as trans-Pacific migrant commuters bring back a preference for Mission Revival–style homes with red tile roofs and carefully tended lawns that they first experienced in California. They report taking pleasure in displaying the “home’s face” with a front-yard garden, although some, like many Americans, dislike the tedium of lawn care. These lawns and gardens constitute new transnational and material forms of what Peggy Levitt has referred to as “social remittances,” cultural and social practices that migrants take back to their place of origin.″ MLA (Modern Language Assoc.) Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette. Paradise Transplanted : Migration and the Making of California Gardens. University of California Press, 2014.

[lillotte17]

Another little fill for Hot Mess/ Crossed Stream AU

Lavellan belongs to @feynites

Sylaise is…an adequate caregiver.

For all it seems like she had adopted a child mainly to annoy her own mother, Aili must admit that all of her most basic needs have certainly been seen to. Usually in the most ostentatious way possible.

Her room is, quite frankly, dazzling. Made up to look like an enchanted forest, everything from her little crib to the rocking chair in the far corner made over into organic shapes of leaves and trees and flowers. A menagerie of soft toys in the shapes of woodland animals, all living under the bright pigment of a painted blue sky. A mobile made to look like a flock of birds, enchanted to flap their wings and change direction at different intervals as they soar past the light fixture which is clearly meant to be the sun. It gets to be a bit much every now and then, though, and Aili pulls one of her blankets up over her head and imagines their big bed at Skyhold, the three of them all tangled up together under the sheets. Trying to find a bit of respite.

Which has caused no small amount of alarm for the attendants assigned to her.

There are still times when she cannot contain her sorrow, and she is frequently plagued by nightmares, but Aili tries to keep such outbursts to a minimum. Usually waiting until she has been put into her crib to sleep, before letting go of…everything. Letting herself feel as weak and helpless as her body has become. Her misery is a palpable force, and she is not convinced that she does a passable job suppressing it, but it must be enough to make her endearing to the people looking after her.  

Sylaise herself does what is probably a fair share of nurturing, considering the scope of her job. She makes certain that she feeds her at least one of her daily meals, and tucks her into bed every night. But, naturally, some of the more menial tasks, such as bath time and nappy changing, tend to get handed to someone else.

There are times when Aili feels a bit more like an accessory than a person, though. She has what seems to be an unending amount of infant wear. In every print and shade that could possibly be conceived. And every time her new mother sees fit to make a public appearance with her, their outfits are seamlessly coordinated. Down to the slightest detail.

The times she is around her new family are when she feels the most on edge. But they mostly seem caught up in troop movements and expanding and developing their city. Arlathan. And the idea of that, that this is still a time when the ancient dream her people had mourned over for centuries is still new and growing, is… a lot to get her head around.

At least her grandparents seem to like her well enough. Elgar’nan based solely on the merits of being a small adorable child, and Mythal because she appears to be well behaved, for the time being. The rest of the evanuris seem mostly indifferent to her, though perhaps Ghilan’nain had shown a spark of curiosity at the mystery surrounding her discovery. None of the others ever make a move to hold her though, and for that, she is grateful.

Aili does not know what to make of June.

She supposes that he is her father now, for all intents and purposes. But he does not seem to involve himself very much with her upbringing. He seems a bit…awkward, if she had to put a name to it. He holds her when Sylaise hands her over to him, and brings her things to play with every now and then, but he mostly seems content to let her be.

She cannot say that she finds it all that disappointing.

His family is another matter, though. She does not see much of Grandpa Haninan, but she likes him. He was one of the few people in her family who had picked her up and held her as though she was a living, breathing child in need of comfort. He had seen her sadness and held her close, and she had found herself crying into his shoulder without even meaning to.

And then there is June’s sister, the General. Who has been out of the city on patrol. General Lavellan.

Even in the midst of her grieving, Aili finds herself curious about this other aunt. Is she the ancestor her clan was descended from? Does this mean that she truly is some distant relation of June’s?

Sylaise has something of a little garden party to welcome their wayward family member home. Aili is set up on a large blanket in the sun with several toys at her disposal, and then more or less left to her own devices. Which, while it would be potentially hazardous for any other baby, she finds herself more than content with.

“She is such a strange little thing,” she hears Sylaise tell someone, “She started crying the other day when I tried to show her how pretty she looked in the mirror.”

“We have no way of knowing what might have happened to her before she came here,” a new voice replies, “Her fears only need to make sense to her.”

“I suppose you are right,” her mother answers doubtfully, “though I still think it seems foolish to be upset by a mirror.”

“What have you decided to call her?” the stranger wonders.

“That was odd, too,” Sylaise says, “I was trying to come up with a suitable name, and she started making grabbing gestures towards the sky. I did not know what to make of such a thing, but I started listing off some pleasant-sounding sky themed names, and when I said the word ‘sunlight’, she smiled at me and nodded.”

“Does she not smile?” the new person asks, and Aili finally scoots herself around so she can see the woman talking. She is dressed in practical armor with smooth clean edges. Almost plain by the standards of Elvhenan that she has seen thus far. And then she stills in surprise, the rest of the conversation lost as she stares at her face.

She knows her.

Aili squawks in alarm at the discovery, and the woman comes over to her blanket to introduce herself.

“Hello, little one,” she smiles at her, sitting down and pulling out a toy from a pouch on her hip that is clearly meant to be an offering, “My name is Lavellan.”

Aili blinks at the toy for a moment, a stuffed rabbit, as it turns out, before taking it cautiously in her grasp. Could it really be her clanswoman? Could she have been sent back the same way she had? How can she make sure?

She roots around in the grass for a bit, until she finally manages to unearth a stick, and then holds up her prize to show her aunt. Lavellan looks mostly confused.

“Is that a gift for me?”

Aili sighs and shakes her head, and begins to slowly drag herself towards the edge of the blanket near the pathway through the garden. The smooth dirt pathway. The General still does not seem to cotton on until she begins to painstakingly make squiggles in the dirt. Going over the lines again and again, fighting the clumsiness of her chubby fingers, until letters begin to appear.

K-E-L.

That gets her attention. Lavellan moves closer to her on the blanket bending down to whisper in her ear. She seems amazed and confused all at once, and Aili is glad to see that she is not the only one.

“Aili?” she asks softly, switching to Common, “The Aili that was Deshanna’s First? That Aili?”

She nods her head in enthusiastic confirmation. Even dropping her stick to clap her hands in delight. She has not been mistreated, exactly, but it is an indescribable relief, to know that there is someone else here under similar circumstances. Someone she grew up with, of all things.

“How did you get here?” Lavellan wonders. It is strange to think of her as that name instead of the one she knows her by, but if that is what everyone else is calling her, Aili supposes she is going to have to get used to it.

She makes a face at her, picking up her stick and beginning the arduous task of spelling out another word.

S-O-L-A-S.

“When did you meet Solas?” Lavellan asks, “Or do you mean that you only know it was his fault?”

Aili makes another face, sticking her tongue out this time in distaste. She takes her stick and whacks the recently written name repeatedly with all her strength.

“Well…I suppose that means that you must have met him,” Lavellan notes.

“Oh, Aili, look what you’ve done,” Sylaise tuts, coming over and scooping her off the ground, “You are getting your nice new frock all covered in dust.”

Aili makes a sound of mild discontentment, reaching back towards Lavellan as her new mother takes her away. Possibly to pose together with June in some other scenic spot in the garden, so everyone can see what a handsome family they make. She concedes after a minute though, not wanting to get her ‘aunt’ in trouble somehow.

Lavellan glances down at Solas’ name scrawled in the dirt next to her own, and sighs. She wipes them both away before she stands. A strange and almost distant expression on her face as she goes to rejoin the rest to the party.