#garden benches scotland

[classicmemorialbenches]

Is oak wood good for outdoor benches?

Oak wood is an excellent choice for crafting enduring and sturdy outdoor furniture. It possesses remarkable strength and durability, which makes it an ideal timber for creating timeless pieces. As oak ages, it develops a stunning silver-grey patina that is highly desirable to many people.

Oak wood can be a good option for outdoor benches, as it is a strong and durable hardwood that can withstand weather and outdoor conditions. Additionally, regular maintenance, such as cleaning and resealing, may be necessary to maintain the appearance and longevity of the bench.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 4 January 2023

Even when the fronds of deciduous ferns have died back the rusty colour and structure still have much to add to the winter garden. Here the form was enhanced by the plain walls which were also home to a dramatic sculpture.

Jill Raggett

[enbycrip]

Folks, if you are talking about or sharing anything about “native plants”, please mention *your* location and *where* the plants are native to, not only country-wise but environment-wise.

So many people are learning about rewilding, gathering, foraging and gardening for food in harmony with the environment entirely online. Making your information clear for those people takes you little effort and limits confusion and misinformation getting out there.

The internet isn’t only “not just America”; many nations contain different environments with materially different conditions.

I live in Scotland. Most of the gardening and foraging information I get in the UK is calibrated for the south of England, which is a really different environment from mine - spring can come up to a month later and the south is semi-arid, which Scotland is *not*.

These days I actually look at a lot of Danish and Swedish gardening advice because their environment is a lot closer to mine. And that’s within one small nation. The world is wide and full of incredible diversity.

I am seeing UK-based pages sharing information about “native lawns” which contain plants from arid areas of the US because there’s no specificity in the original post. A small amount of information in the post, even a few lines, about locations, environments, context and goals would prevent this sort of confusion and incorrect information from spreading.

A lot of people are really enthusiastic and ready to be engaged in gardening for food, rewilding, gardening in harmony with the environment, soil preservation etc, but confusion and feeling they can’t trust information sources can really kill that. Make it easy for people new to the movement where you can, please.

ID: some photos of my native rewilded lawn from Scotland, UK, containing buttercups with butterfly eggs on them, yellow rattle, a willow tree, wild orchids, and many different grasses, and my small garden pond upcycled from a Belfast Sink surrounded by wild grasses, ladies’ mantle and wild geraniums and with woundwort and pondweed growing in it. There is a short path mowed in the lawn to allow safe passage of mobility devices and a wooden bench sitting in the long grass. A somewhat overgrown gravel drive and a front door with three steps up to it can be seen. The photos were taken in early June 2023.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Re-listened to Somewhere Over the David O'Doherty this morning, the 2011 show that became a significant part of DO'D's We Are Not The Champions album. What a good show. I've re-listened to his Bandcamp albums a lot, but I think I'd only heard that show once before, about a year and a half ago. I remembered it being very good, and it was. Possibly his best one until his excellent 2020 Live in His Own Car During a Pandemic, that was done as an audience-free recording rather than a live show, for obvious reasons.

I think Somewhere Over the David O'Doherty was a quintessential show, it had a lot of songs and routines that he frequently picks to perform at showcases and on TV and things, although he's not nearly as good out of context. I see why he's a common choice for doing one song on dictionary corner and things, but it's so much better when it ties together with his other stuff.

The word "gentle" gets thrown around a lot about him, frequently used by DO'D himself to describe his own stuff, but every time I listen to him I get reminded of what that means in his case, there's a lot more depth to his brand of gentle than you imagine just from hearing the word. Hearing of his songs out of context on TV will make you think "Oh that's fun gentle comedy". Hearing his stuff fall into place together will make you say "Wow, I had no idea gently could have so much substance." And by "you", I mean me. I can't speak for you. But everyone should go buy his albums on Bandcamp.

I mean, of you just take that show, there's a lot more edge to the material than you'd expect from gentle. Somewhere Over the David O'Doherty features stories about getting into fist fights over racism, social commentary on the economic crisis in Ireland, jokes about the violence and religious divides between Northern Ireland and The Republic of Ireland, general and specific heartbreak, references to the IRA, and the time he got robbed at gunpoint by members of a terrorist organization. He doesn't undercut the seriousness of any of these topics, and yet he still manages to do all of them justice while remaining gentle. It's brilliant.

And it was funny. I always feel the need to mention that, if I write a post about a comedy show that focuses too much on the things about it besides how funny it is. Because I can hear people say "Yeah, okay, he spoke very well about a perfectly blended mix of serious and lighthearted topics in a way that feels soothing and hopeful despite the darkness of some subject matter, but that's not the point of comedy. Was it funny?" Yes it was funny. It made me laugh out loud on a bench. What more could you want?

It was also a nice soothing thing to listen to on a morning train after a stressful night, though. His We Are Not The Champions song gets to me every time. Very nice to hear.

I mean, for example, this might be a nice and relaxing and reassuring thing to listen to if the night before, you had a panic attack during a Daniel Kitson show and missed the overnight train you were supposed to catch right after it, and as a result had to book a last-minute Travelodge and go sleep there for 6 hours (I mean, that's how long I was in the room, I actually slept for almost no hours) before getting the 5:45 AM train to Scotland instead.

There were a lot of factors as to why that happened, but to be honest, it was possibly inevitable, I'm sort of surprised it didn't happen earlier. I think I should get credit for managing to keep it together in the four days of heat (it's actually slightly cooler in London than at home, but only slightly, and at home I'm not out in the sun all day) and massive crowds and navigation of an unfamiliar system where you ruin like 400 people's day if you stop moving for a second to figure something out or do it wrong.

I mean, London was amazing and beautiful and I'm still in awe of it, I'm very very glad I did it. Only a few of the things I did are things I wish I'd skipped. I wouldn't go to Covent Garden again, or the touristy cathedrals. Wouldn't bother with the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. But everything else I saw, in London and Cambridge, was very very cool and I'd happily do it again. But it was stressful, overall. Cumulated in significantly higher baseline anxiety levels, anything would have messed me up at that point. It didn't help that the night before, I got back from the Soho Theatre late and was too tired to dig through my suitcase and find my anxiety meds, so I just skipped it.

I was then incredibly anxious about the fact that I'd have to sneak out of the Kitson show slightly early to catch my train - a show about the way Daniel Kitson used to yell at people for leaving during his shows. It's also a show about how he doesn't do that anymore, but still. It doesn't help that I basically agree with him - it is rude to leave a show early. And the venue was so much more full than it was on Monday, even though I'd intentionally sat at the back, I'd still have to walk by people.

So I sat there worrying about that, which it turns out is not the best mentality for enjoying a play collaborative experience. And then there was some stuff in the show, very new as it hadn't been there on Monday, about how Daniel Kitson doesn't like people who do exactly the sort of thing I've been doing, this week in particular. Which I haven't actually written about on this blog, but I've vaguely referenced it, and there's a recipie for an utterly irrational anxiety spiral. I mean, obviously he did not write those pages this week because he was Googling himself and read that on my blog. Obviously. He hasn't Googled himself since late 2019, he tells us in the show. But he also tells us he's 46 in this show, even though he's reprinted the scripts since turning 47, so he seems to be relaxing his previous standards of taking factual accuracy to pointlessly meticulous levels. Also, I know he's Googled himself recently, because a few months ago he referenced on stage his old BBC Awards TV set from 1995, he mentioned that just after my friend uploaded a video of that to YouTube, and I'd never heard him mention it before, that can't be a coincidence.

Literally everything in the above paragraph was something that crossed through my mind as I was in the audience going through an increasingly irrational anxiety spiral and ended up convinced that everything I've ever done has been wrong. Then I got a line and was convinced I'd yelled it much too loudly, and then my brain shut down and I didn't hear most of the rest of the show, I definitely did not sneak out at the right time to catch a train.

That, as I mentioned before, was meant to be the show that would override the memory of when I saw him on Monday, met him briefly afterwards, and as they say, got it wrong. Very wrong. And I actually did. Because I know anyone reading this will be kindly thinking "Aw, your irrational anxiety makes you think you conducted yourself incorrectly in front of someone you're a huge fan of, I'm sure in reality you were perfectly fine." Nope. I know what irrational anxiety is. I got that last night. I promise that I am correctly appraising the situation when I say that after the show on Monday, the people I was with very kindly introduced me to him, and I immediately forgot every single word in the English language. It was so weird. I kept trying to think of anything whatsoever to say but could come up with nothing so I just stood near him while not looking at him or talking, leaving him in the awkward position of having been asked to speak to someone who refused to acknowledge his presence. I think we did a fist bump for some reason. We definitely took a picture, which I cannot look at it.

There's something I like in the radio shows that Kitson did from Melbourne in 2009, where he introduced this band he loved called The Lucksmiths who were live in the studio, and to explain how excited he was to have them there, he said "I can't even look at them." I've always liked that as an accurate description of how being star struck feels. But it's not meant to be quite so literal.

I came out of that with a sense that I can't think of Daniel Kitson without horribly cringing at the memory of that, and decided I re-listen to his stuff too often to let that be a lasting thing, so it's good that I'm seeing him on Thursday, leaving me with the overriding memory of a good show, rather than anything else. Not sure it worked out that way, even though it was in fact a very good show, from the 60% or so during which I could process the words.

So it's nearly 8 AM now. I'm on the train to Scotland, have been since 5:45 AM. This one is going to Edinburgh, then I get another one to Glasgow, and another to Fort William, where I'll be tonight. Then trains through Scottish Highlands tomorrow, ending up back in Edinburgh, then 5 days there of comedy shows. Because you know what's probably a good cure for being overwhelmed by the crowds in London? The Edinburgh Festival. I hear that place is nice and quiet.

At least it won't be so hot in Edinburgh though. The heat in London made everything else much harder to handle.

It's been a nice train ride. Listened to some David O'Doherty. Saw some fields. I'm still seeing fields. Have already listened to the entirety of David Francey's Skating Rink album, since finishing DO'D's show, because that's the level of gentle I'm going for this morning. It's nice to have a train journey of a decent length. The train journeys to and from Cambridge yesterday were fun, but too short. Everything in England is too close together.

I came to England for a week when I was 16, but I've never been to Scotland before, and we'll be entering that soon. Not arriving by night train as I was meant to, but I'm still going to arrive in Edinburgh by train, which is pretty fucking cool, as I've spent most of my life hugely romanticizing both Scotland and trains.

This is definitely going to be one of those posts where I hit post because putting it up makes me feel better in a blog-as-therapy way, and I'll take it down pretty quickly. Don't need that up there forever. I've been doing a few of those overly personal posts like that lately. It's not great, but there are worse coping mechanisms. I still haven't had any alcohol since I got here, which I'm pretty proud of, given how badly I wanted something to take the edge off some of those London crowds.

[scotianostra]

On December 8th 1980, John Lennon was gunned down and killed in New York.

Over the years  it is Paul McCartney who is the Beatle most connected with Scotland, but John Lennon has links with our country going back to his childhood.

The ex-Beatle was a regular visitor to Durness in Sutherland during his younger years after his dear Aunt Mater remarried a dentist called Bert who owned a home that overlooked Sango Bay. John, who travelled north with his cousin Stanley Parks, who lived in Edinburgh and later in Largs, would head to the coast for weeks on end, often being dragged into helping his uncle fix up the house.

“The family party roughed it in a primitive farmhouse lit by oil lamp and candles and noisy with the screeches of Mater’s pet parrot,” wrote Philip Norman in his biography John Lennon: The Life. 

The house where Lennon holidayed at Sangomore, a settlement at Durness, was demolished just a few years ago with a new property built by the owners.

Parkes also recalled:

John never forgot those times at Durness. They were among his happiest memories. He loved the wilderness. John was nine when he started coming up with my family to the croft in Durness. The croft belonged to my stepfather, Robert Sutherland, and John just loved the wildness and the openness of the place. We went fishing and hunting and John loved going up into the hills to draw or write poetry. John really loved hill walking, shooting and fishing. He used to catch salmon. He would have been quite a laird. In the last letter to me before he was killed he quoted a famous Scottish saying that says ‘It’s a braw, bricht moonlicht nicht since I last had a word’.

John later took his to Scotland, but his visit was tainted by an accident he had in his Austin Maxi car.

He, Ono and Kyoko sustained cuts to the face and Ono’s back was injured.They were taken to Golspie’s Lawson Memorial Hospital where Lennon was given facial stitches, Ono 14 in her forehead, and Kyoko four. Julian Lennon was treated for shock but was otherwise unhurt. He was taken to stay with Lennon’s Aunt Mater in Durness, around 50 miles away, before his mother Cynthia took him back to London the following day.When she arrived at the hospital to demand an explanation from Lennon he refused to see her.Lennon remained in hospital for five days and famously told reporters: 

“If you’re going to have a car crash, try to arrange for it to happen in the Highlands.“The hospital there was just great.”

Lennon was never a confident driver and gave up driving after the accident, hiring a chauffeur to take him wherever he needed to go and reportedly having the old car’s carcass mounted on a pillar at his English estate.

This 1969 crash wasn’t John’s first brush with danger on Scottish roads; Ken McNab, author of The Beatles in Scotland, revealed that the Beatles had an accident during their first tour in 1960, when they were backing up singer Johnny Gentle as the Silver Beetles.

As McNab put it, “John Lennon began the ’60s with a car crash in Scotland and managed to end the decade with another car crash in Scotland.”

There is a wee memorial garden to Lennon’s memory in Durness, other memorials in the country include a bench in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens and a plaque  in Durness. 

[endless-summer-soldier]

you see me - epilogue

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky has grown used to a life of solitude after a mysterious accident leaves him forgettable. every person he comes in contact has no memory of him the moment he walks away. until he meets a cute girl at a record store who actual remembers him.

warnings: alcohol, sex (minors do not read), slight mentions of depression

taglist: @sebsgirl71479

word count: 1k

series playlist

series masterlist

X

“What brings you to Edinburgh?” the customs agent asked him.

“Holiday,” he responded. This became the standard answer they provided as they traveled throughout Europe. He reviewed the passport before giving it a firm stamp and allowing Bucky through.

Traveling was a challenge given Bucky’s predicament, but the two had fallen into an easy routine. He still had some credentials on him from when he was an Avenger which granted him easy access to different countries. His language skills became very useful as they crossed border lines and Y/N finally started picking up some conversational skills thanks to Bucky (and Duolingo). 

Making money was surprisingly easy. Y/N started writing travel articles for magazines and kept up a popular blog where advertisers paid to be featured on her site. Bucky found a new passion in photography and started documenting all their adventures together and selling his photos to travel magazines. They didn’t have a ton of cash coming in, but it was enough to support the vagabond lifestyle.

Y/N still kept in touch with her family and friends, constantly reminding them of her new beau, but being apart from them didn’t bother her all that much. All she needed was Bucky in her life and she loved exploring all these new places.

Y/N was especially excited to visit Scotland, mostly because Bucky was always talking about how much he loved it. Bucky had planned some excursions for the day and they were fortunate enough to get a beautiful day in the sun. After a quick lunch in a fish and chips shop, they headed to Edinburgh Castle. 

They walked up toward the castle hand in hand and Bucky was surprisingly chatty. Usually Y/N led the conversations, but today he was making comments left and right about seemingly pointless things. She figured he was just excited to be visiting one of his favorite spots again.

They navigated around the groups of tourists with little kids running around and walked through the castle as Bucky whispered bits of knowledge into her ear. Y/N was constantly amazed at how much he knew about history. He had his camera with him and was constantly taking shots of the architecture and views from impeccable angles. He always managed to capture a few candid shots of Y/N when she wasn’t looking, with the light hitting her in the perfect way. Once she started to pick up on his lens, she fell into a habit of photo bombing his shots with a peace sign or her tongue out.

As the tour came to an end, Bucky said, “I have one more spot I want to show you.” They walked down the hill of the castle and weaved through the gardens to an ornate fountain. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She always loved sitting around fountains with a cup of coffee and a book. Bucky would take photos from all different angles and she would sneak a peek to watch as he worked. Occasionally he would capture candid shots of strangers and would send Y/N to talk to them so he could send over some of the photos.

They fell into their standard routine: Y/N snagged a cup of coffee from a nearby cart and sat on the bench, book in hand, as Bucky circled the area to find the best angles for photos. 

In between snapping shots, he approached a young couple, chatted with them a bit and showed them some of the photos he took. Then he called to Y/N and gave a head nod to come over. 

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“Come on, this is my favorite place with my favorite girl. Let’s get a picture.” Bucky wasn’t usually one to pose in front of the camera but she couldn’t argue with his logic here. He handed his camera off to one of the kind strangers as Y/N walked over towards the fountain. She easily slid under his arm and they smiled together as the young woman snapped a few shots. 

“One more,” she called to them. Y/N adjusted her pose ever so slightly when she felt Bucky’s arm unfurl from her shoulder. She turned to him, thinking maybe he was doing a fun pose, but instead, she found him down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand.

“Y/N…” he started. Oh boy she thought. “These past few years have been the best in my life. I never imagined I’d meet someone who would bring me so much happiness and teach me what it is to be in love. You’ve changed everything for me and now that I’ve met you, I can’t live a life without you. So now I’m here, at my favorite place in the world with the only woman I have ever truly loved, and I’m asking you to make me the happiest man alive and marry me.”

A teardrop slid down her face. “James, of course I will.” He jumped up from his knee and captured Y/N into a warm embrace, his hand found her jaw and his lips softly enveloped hers in a passionate kiss. They were removed from their bubble by the sound of applause coming from all around them. She pulled away from Bucky to glance around as a blush crept upon her freckled cheeks. The girl holding Bucky’s camera was absolutely beaming. She showed them all the photos she captured of the special moment and it could not have been more perfect. The couple offered to treat them to a round of champagne at the local pub which Y/N and Bucky happily accepted.

As they walked together, hand in hand, she whispered into his ear, “I can’t believe this is my life.”

He kissed her on the cheek, “I’ve had that thought every day since I met you.”

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 797

McCoy

McCoy fell onto his bed with a sigh, but before the breath was fully out a knock sounded on his door.

“Come in,” he said, frowning into his pillow.

“Your trunk, your highness,” a voice said as the door opened.

McCoy got to his feet at once to help carry it in. Setting it near the end of his bed, he thanked the staff member and fell onto the bed again when the door closed.

He missed Scotty and for a few minutes he buried his face against his fiancé’s pillow. But everything had been laundered and no scent of the Scotsman remained. McCoy allowed himself to wallow in misery for only those couple minutes. They would be back together soon enough and then for always.

That thought cheered McCoy, and he sat up. He looked at the trunk and decided he didn’t want to bother with it yet. He sat, fingers idly twisting his ring wondering what he wanted to do. Warm air drifted in from his open windows.

He went to his dresser and in a few minutes changed from his school clothes and after a brief debate in front of his bookshelf, he left the room.

The gardens were in bloom and fragrant as McCoy walked slowly through them. He had last walked through them with Scotty for the candid shots for their interview. He wondered what Scotty was doing, if they had reached home yet.

His steps led him from the gardens to the orchard. Blossoms were long gone, and fruit was slowly growing. McCoy reached the gazebo and quickly climbed up the stairs. He settled himself on the cushioned bench and opened the book he had brought.

“Leonard!”

McCoy startled and something landed with a bang next to him. Blinking his eyes open he realized he had dozed off reading. The book falling had been the bang. He rubbed at his eyes as Leah called out for him again. He sat back up on the bench.

“There you are!” Leah said. She climbed up the steps and stood in front of him.

“What do you want?” he asked, stretching away warm sleepiness.

Leah shrugged. “I don’t have any work today. Thought I’d see how my little brother is.”

McCoy stuck his tongue out at his sister. “Little!” he scoffed. “I outgrew you ages ago.”

“Whatever,” Leah waved the comment away with her hand. “How’s it feel to be done?”

“Great,” he said. “Until we go to school again.” He laughed.

“You want to get married out here?” Leah asked, standing up. She walked slowly around the gazebo looking out at the orchard.

“Yes,” McCoy answered softly.

“Why?” Leah sat back down by him.

“Cause I do.”

“What an answer,” she teased with an eye roll.

“We made good memories here last summer,” McCoy said.

“But didn’t—”

“Yes,” McCoy said sharply. “And I wish I could erase it. But it happened here and now I’m going to keep making good memories and get rid of that one.”

Leah nodded in agreement. “That’s good. Mother will probably get started on you tomorrow,” she continued after a pause, changing the subject. “You’re lucky.”

“Why?” McCoy frowned at her.

“You get to have what you want.”

“You will too,” he said.

“Not like you,” Leah replied. “It will be so much more because I’m heir now. Probably will end up some huge thing where we barely know anyone because of all the important people who will have to be invited.”

McCoy felt a pang of sympathy for his sister, yet he felt relief as well that it wouldn’t be him.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he said. “Will- will it be Robbie?”

Leah looked over at him sharply, but her look softened after a moment.

“I hope so,” she said softly.

“I hope so too,” McCoy said.

Part 798

Scotty

It was strange coming back to Scotland. Scotty had not been home for so long. And somehow... it was no longer the home he had grown up in. It was no longer the home he was familiar with.

From the outside the building looked just like when they had left it last. The same walls, the same roof. Even though it wasn't actually the same.

Cautiously, both Scotty and Robbie stepped through the front door. Their eyes wandered the premises as if of their own accord.

A strange feeling went through Scotty as he looked at the familiar surroundings, yet so foreign to him at the same time. Alasdair and the people working on the house had really done a good job. The furnishings, the floors, the walls - everything looked exactly as it had before the fire.

But there were things missing, too. All the photos and mementos. They were just gone. And nothing could ever bring them back.

"Welcome home, lads."

Scotty heard Francine's voice and he felt her hand on his shoulder, but he barely took it in properly.

He had always thought he was prepared for the moment, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

And he knew that this situation was too much for Robbie, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scotty saw that his brother was shaking all over next to him. And only a moment later, without any word, he stormed up the stairs.

"Robbie!" Francine exclaimed, startled, while Alasdair shook his head sadly and sighed.

Scotty responded immediately.

"I'll take care of him, a mhàthair."

Quickly he hurried after his brother.

He ignored the tears forming in his eyes, and also the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had to be strong now. He had to be the big brother he was.

Scotty found Robbie in his old room. His brother was sitting on his knees on the floor in front of where the large picture of the blueprints of a spaceship their father had built had hung. It had been an original. But this memento had also been devoured by the fire.

As quickly as he could, Scotty dropped to his knees beside Robbie and wrapped his arms around him, rocking him gently back and forth.

His brother was crying and sobbing as loud as he could. And Scotty had to do his best not to just cry with him.

It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair that they returned to this place and still felt like they were in someone else's house.

"Shhh, shhh."

Gently, Scotty ran his fingers through Robbie's hair and hugged him tightly.

"It's all right. Everything's fine."

It was a big lie. Scotty knew that himself. But he also knew that somehow they would manage to get used to this change.

"Shhh, we're gonna be okay."

He couldn't keep the whimper out of his voice and just a short time later hot tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Together, the brothers just sat there, tightly embraced, giving each other the comfort they so desperately needed at that moment.

[lorriiraine]

on a bench on an October night

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x female!MC

Summary: MC and Sebastian are visiting the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade which will teach MC what it means to be scared. Sebastian gets MC out and take her to a save place.

Warning: angst

Format: One-Shot

Note: still learning to write - be patient and gentle 😩😂🖤

(hc) - MCs haircolor

(ec) - MCs eye color

(House) - MCs Hogwarts house

A soft rustling of the leaves, the gentle whistling of the wind, the calming crackling of the branches in the air current.

It was autumn in Scotland and Hogwarts Castle was surrounded by the most beautiful reds and oranges of the falling leaves. The air was getting colder, the atmosphere warmer. Pumpkins with different faces and filled with candles had been standing everywhere for a few days, illuminating the gardens, the courtyards and the main hall. Halloween was getting closer and closer. What was popular with the students at Halloween - Hogsmeade. Honey Duke's was a hugely popular destination at this time of year. Students would buy loads of sweets, arrange to meet in their common rooms in the evenings and tell scary stories around the fireplace or sneak around the castle at night. Others used this time of year to visit a very special place near Hogsmeade - The shrieking shack.

That was Sebastian Sallow's plan too this year. A young wizard from the seventh year. Strongly built, brown, tousled short hair. Hazel brown eyes. His face and neck kissed by the sun, which left soft freckles on his skin. With long strides he walked to the great hall with one goal - MC.

MC and he had been close friends since fifth grade. That was when she came to Hogwarts. He had liked her from the first moment she had beaten him in a duel in DADA. He had been enthralled by her. This enthusiasm developed into an intimate friendship.

Arriving in the great hall, he looked around and spotted her sitting at her house table. Her (hc) hair fell in gentle draughts over her shoulders. Her (ec) eyes were fixated on a book she was reading. With a smirk, Sebastian walked towards her.

"Hey, MC! Aren't you getting tired of this dull book? How about a real adventure after a long time?", Sebastian asked her while sitting down and taking the book from her. Bored and with a feigned look of disgust, he flipped through the book. MC rolled her eyes. "An adventure...? Can't mean anything good coming from you," MC said with a smirk. "You and I... go to Hogsmeade and visit the shrieking Shack. What do you say? Appropriate for Halloween?" came from Sebastian. MC just sighed in amusement. "Those are all just rumours... that house isn't cursed," came from her and amused, she shook her head. "If it's not cursed, then why not leave in the first place?", Sebastian teased further after closing the book she had been reading earlier. MC hesitated a little. "Fine... if you really want to," she spoke timidly. "Scared?" the Slytherin retorted. Briefly, MC blushed and avoided his gaze. "Pah. Definitely not," she spoke and gave a short snort, which made Sebastian laugh. "Fine... get your things. I'll meet you outside in twenty minutes," with those words Sebastian stood up and left MC alone.

Twenty minutes later on the dot, MC left the castle. She was wearing a jumper in her house colour, along with black leggings and dark boots. Around her neck she had tied a scarf, also in her house colours. She looked around briefly when she saw Sebastian. Wearing a grey cloak and a Slytherin scarf. "Sebastian," she exclaimed. Said person turned and smiled gently. "Shall we?" he inquired again. After an affirmative nod from MC, the two set off.

Arriving at the shrieking shack, the pleasant, harmonious mood of the surroundings suddenly changed. Bare, black trees adorned the path, the bushes sprawled over the road. Ravens sat on the signposts and crowed their cruel sounding songs. Every now and then there was a rustling in the branches, the crooked house didn't seem to be getting any closer.

"Creepy, isn't it?", Sebastian interrupted the silence between them with a cheeky grin. From his expression, he actually felt quite at home here. MC, on the other hand, noticed how she was getting more shaky inside. However, she tried to hide it from her best friend as best she could. She couldn't admit that she was getting nervous. Not after she had made such a big claim that this place wasn't haunted.

Her reaction elicited only a soft laugh from Sebastian. "Don't worry. Nothing will happen to you. I'm with you, after all, protecting you from the evil, evil spirits," he spoke arrogantly. However, for the sole purpose of reassuring MC. To make her laugh. And it actually elicited a response from her. "I'm not scared," she spoke, poking the Slytherin in the side, whereupon he laughed softly again. "It's alright, if the brave one (house) says so..." he quipped. MC rolled her eyes, smiling only slightly.

Arriving at the front door step, her smile disappeared again. Her eyes darted up the front of the house. Ivy vines grew up the wall, the rotten wooden shutters rattled and banged open and shut again and again. The dirty windows shook in the wind. A low howling could be heard and holes in the roof left the house unprotected from all of nature's powers.

"We don't have to go in. If you want to turn back, we will.... I can buy you a butterbeer," came from Sebastian after watching MC closely. The young woman, however, looked briefly at Sebastian. She didn't want to freak out and leave. They were here now. Then they should go in too. Without thinking twice, MC opened the heavy, creaking door.

Inside the house it was dark. Cobwebs hung in every corner. The smell of rotting wood was in the air. Slowly the two went inside. The furniture was dusty, the walls tarnished and scratched, as if a wild animal had run through the halls of the house. "Lumos," spoke Sebastian, who had drawn his wand. A bright light illuminated the entrance hall of the house and the two of them got a better view of the surroundings. Crooked pictures on the wall, some had fallen down and broken. The wooden floorboards were already grey from the dust. The two took their time and looked around.

Then a loud howling sounded. So loud and so shrill that it sounded like a woman's shrill scream. MC flinched and instinctively grabbed Sebastian's arm. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Sounds that sounded like footsteps could be heard. "Hey.... All good... the holes in the roof.... And presumably the broken windows.... Are providing a vacuum that's causing that howling. There's nothing ghostly there," Sebastian's voice was soft and calm. Slowly he released his arm from her grasp and put it around her shoulders instead. He noticed how quickly her shoulders rose and fell. How she trembled.

After a moment, MC calmed down, swallowed once and took a deep breath. "Of course.... I know," she said dryly. Sebastian smirked. "Do you still want to go further?" asked Sebastian gently now. The young woman looked up at her best friend, then nodded. "Of course," came from her. She knew Sebastian. If she wanted to leave now, he would tease her about it again and again. So now she had to go through it too.

Sebastian went ahead, climbed the steep and crooked wooden stairs. The banisters could no longer be trusted - they wobbled with every step and the wooden boards of the stairs creaked suspiciously under his steps. Slowly and carefully, MC followed him. For a brief moment she had the feeling that someone was behind her. An icy breeze brushed the back of her neck, causing her to turn around with a jerk. There was no one behind her and yet she had sworn that someone had been there.

"What's wrong?" asked Sebastian, who had arrived at the head of the stairs. "Nothing... I just thought there was..... hmh.... Never mind," MC muttered. The moment she turned to take the next step, her foot broke through the stairs and she fell. A scream escaped her throat as she broke through the rotten stairs. But before she could fall any lower, two strong hands held her arm.

"I've got you, don't look down!" exclaimed Sebastian, who stopped her from falling with a firm grip. Panic rose in MC. "Sebastian please!!! In Merlin's name, don't let go of me!" she screamed in panic. It was laborious not to let MC fall. Still, the Slytherin mustered all the strength he had in him and pulled MC up to him. As soon as he had pulled her up to him, Sebastian fell backwards onto the dusty wooden floor, dragging the young woman with him, whereupon she landed on his chest. She was now shaking and crying. Immediately Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, holding her safe and close, stroking her hair soothingly. "Shhht.... It's all right, you're safe with me..." he whispered softly.

MCs crying broke his heart. In all the years he had known her now, he had never once seen her cry like this. He felt her fingers digging into his coat and her body only trembled more. "Sebastian.... I-I....," she tried to speak between her sobs and crying, however her tears stifled any following words. Sebastian looked around for a moment. "It's okay.... I'll get you out of here, alright?" he whispered calmly and blew a quick kiss on her hair.

Again there was an ominous howl in the house, to which MC only nodded eagerly. She froze, unable to move nor did a single syllable leave her throat. "Okay watch out.... I'll get you out safely... do you trust me?" whispered Sebastian as he slowly sat up with MC. The young woman just nodded and tried to stop her tears - to no avail. Sebastian smiled softly and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, dispelling the falling tears. "Then close your eyes and don't open them again until I tell you to, will you?" as he said this he pulled out his scarf in soft white and green. MC looked up at him in tears and confusion at the same time. Then she nodded slowly.

With her silent consent, Sebastian covered her eyes and ears with his scarf to make sure she didn't see anything or hear any more of that horrible scream-like howl. After making sure she could still hear him and only him, he stood up and knelt with his back to her. "Okay. Come a little closer to me and hold on tight.... Not that you'll fall off me again," came a little jokingly from the brown-haired one. However, his expression became more serious again when he realised how much MC was trembling. And how wildly her heart was beating in her chest.

MC put her arms around Sebastian's neck and was carried piggyback by him. With one hand under her legs, he carried her on his back. With the other hand he lit his way with Lumos. The staircase was still there, but it no longer looked quite stable due to the two steps that had broken away. It was worth a try, however. "Reparo," Sebastian spoke and the stairs magically reassembled. If the stairs had collapsed under his and then MC's weight, he had to be extra careful now. Slowly he took a step down the first flight of stairs. It held. Cautiously he walked on. Again and again the wind howled through the crevices in the walls and the broken windows. Another step. The stairs creaked loudly and MC's body tensed on his back. "Seb..." she whispered in panic. Sebastian tried to take a breath. "Do you remember herbology last week? Where Leander got bitten by that plant? I heard he's been picking branches and leaves out of his hair ever since. Garreth himself said that a lawnmower will be needed soon," came amused from Sebastian. MC was confused and just pressed more against his back. "Seb...", came from her again. "Hey, MC.... what do you want to do after graduation?", he asked. "What?" she retorted. "Tell me what you want to do after school?" he asked as he took another step towards the stairs. Again, a strong squeak and howl of the wood. "I-I... I want to be in London.... To be posted as an Auror," MC spoke. "Auror then, huh? Maybe we'll be partners...." Sebastian replied with a smile, ignoring the sweat on his forehead.

"Yeah maybe..." the young woman at his back replied with a slight smile. Overcoming the problematic stairs and shortly after regaining solid ground under his feet, Sebastian walked calmly towards the exit. The moon stood bright in the dark, starry sky. The cold October air enveloped the two of them. "Are.... Are we out?", MC inquired uncertainly. "Yes... but I'm still taking you out of here... just relax, MC, and trust me..." came softly from Sebastian. MC was unsure, however, she just nodded. After a short while, and the further they got from the hut, her body relaxed.

Soon Sebastian came to a stop and let MC off his back. "So... we're there," came from him. "There? Where is there?", MC wanted to know. "In a place I've wanted to show you for a while," with these words Sebastian slowly pulled the scarf from her eyes. After a moment, the young woman opened her eyes. When she opened them, she saw a lake covered with the red and orange leaves of the surrounding trees. A lake in which the starry sky was reflected. MC was just speechless for a moment. "Seb this is..." she whispered, "Brilliant? Fantastic? The best thing you've ever seen?", Sebastian anticipated her with a grin. MC smiled a little. "Beautiful..." came from her. Then she looked up at Sebastian. Her eyes reflected the starlight. All fear was gone from her face. "I'm glad you like it, darling..." came from him. A slight hint of blush rose to his face as he realised that he just called her darling. MC noticed it and smiled softly. "you said.... You wanted to show me this place? So you knew the place before?" she inquired softly and sat down on a bench near the lakeshore. Sebastian followed her and sat down next to her. "Well... yes. I discovered the place here while exploring Hogsmeade, just before Ominis and I went back to the castle... The lake was filled with stars and... the sight of it made me think directly of you," he spoke softly, his gaze falling forlornly on the lake. "Of me?" the young student repeated. Sebastian nodded and a slight smile crept onto his lips. "To you.... To your smile... and especially to your eyes. They have... the same sparkle as the stars on the horizon and in the reflection," Sebastian whispered. MC's heart beat faster and her cheeks also turned red now.

There was a short silence.

"I'm sorry I forced you into it... I shouldn't have talked you into it in the first place," his apology sounded sincere and full of remorse. "I was really scared for you.... I swear to you I'll never do anything like that to you again..." he added, looking at her seriously for a moment. MC returned his gaze and smiled gently. "Don't be sorry... I loved being there with you... you saved my life... and showed me this beautiful place here.... I don't regret going there with you Sebastian," slowly and gently MC took Sebastian's hand and held it securely in hers. The brown-haired man looked at the young woman for a moment, uncertain and embarrassed. Then he sighed. "MC.... I" - "I know... me too...." she whispered. Sebastian looked at her for a moment, sighed and slowly pulled her close. "I will protect you at all costs...I promise," he whispered with certain emphasis as he gently lifted her chin and looked deep into her bright eyes. After a brief moment, a brief, uncertain hesitation, Sebastian sealed this promise with a gentle kiss on her soft lips in which he poured all his love.

On a bench on an October night, mutual love warmed the hearts of two souls.

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

This one will get also uploaded on my Wattpad in a whole OS collection 🖤

[thecryptidcottage]

↳ ft. lindsay + jace ! ( @infiinitys ) at jace's farmhouse

it did not take very long at all for lindsay to fall in love with the verdant plot of land that the professor who'd stolen his affections called home ; after spending nearly two years in harsh concrete landscape of the city, he'd be a liar to say there weren't times his heart yearned for the greener pastures of his own home, the sprawling hills of his family's mains, and jace's farmhouse ? well, he'd be hard-pressed to say it wasn't the closest he'd felt to home himself since he'd left scotland, and it floods his chest with a warmth that could rival the stifling august heat. the gardener admires the local flora as he strolls the perimeter of the property with jace, hand in hand, gaze dancing across a lush horizon as the sun sinks below the distant treeline that frames it. ahead of them, air bud leaps and bounds after butterflies that flutter not unlike the ones in his chest every time he finds himself in present company. ❝ it must be lovely being out here, away from everything and surrounded by so much nature, ❞ he muses aloud, dreamy and enamored. ❝ waking up every morning to the songs of all the robins and the thrushes, coming out to fresh dew on the grass... ❞ lindsay chuckles, shaking his head and stealing a glance over at jace. he looks beautiful right now, lindsay thinks ; the warm, golden-orange glow of sunset illuminates already rich brown irises, catches on curls that grow more wild the longer the pair spend wandering the balmy summer evening. ❝ i can thank the british railway fer my daily alarm. ❞ and he often has to step over trash in the stairwell on his way out of the building. lindsay doesn't mention as much, though ; for one, jace has been inside of his flat by now and knows well enough, but also, he is fond of the little place he's made for himself he doesn't want to paint it as desolate in any way. ❝ and thanks ta the kind folks of the br, i'm never late fer work. ❞ they round the property toward the back of the farmhouse, the bench swing on the porch catches his eye and lindsay tugs at jace's hand with a wry smile, head tilting toward the house. ❝ come on, swing with me ? please ? ❞

[mamabear-elinor]

Pesky Pigeon Pests --> [Open]

Open, 500 words. Elinor dealing with a pest* (human or in the more traditional sense)

Elinor had a routine: wake up in the morning, go for a run through the rose garden. Afterwards, a shower. Then, she made lunch for everyone. Herself, Harris, Hamish, and Merida to their different tastes and diet restrictions. Then, a walk into town with the boys, see them off to school, sometimes, Merida joined them if her shifts lined up. Often they didn’t. Elinor did not read into this.. Occasionally, she popped into Hatter’s for a tea before the bookshoppe, she only ever got herself tea. At noon on the dot, she took a lunch. If the weather was nice, she had it in the park. 

The pigeons had a routine too. They had learned Elinor’s she was sure of it and so, every day, there they were: a flock of them. Waiting patiently for Elinor on her favourite bench.

At first, this had been a minor inconvenience. Pigeons were a simple fact of life and shooing them was not a problem. It was something that Elinor had done plenty of times before. They were a nuisance to Castle Cawdor—roosting in the high windows, their feces eroding the historical stone. It was irritating, but Elinor rose above it.

But soon, more joined the others. And they grew bolder. Elinor had nearly stepped on one the other day as it simply wouldn’t move from underfoot. They eyed her delicious sandwiches with big, beady eyes and she could not eat in peace. She was sure that there was something strange about them. Something uncanny in the way they behaved. The way that they moved. Many of the animals in this forsaken town had a similar way about them. It was unnerving. There was something similar in the highlands of Scotland, a certain something that hung in the air, but here in this silly little town, it was simply unsettling.

Today, this scene replayed itself.

“Ach, bugger off!” Elinor huffed as she moved towards the bench. There was a flurry of feathers, and some cooing, the whole bench and ground around it covered in a moving sea of grey. She simply didn’t understand. She made sure not to leave any crumbs or trash, as not to encourage them. Surely, she didn’t feed them.

“I mean it, shoo!” Her voice rose slightly.

A few pigeons got the hint and hopped off the bench, ruffling their feathers indignantly. Most simply stayed put, having staked out this spot for themselves and feeling rather settled, actually. Elinor ground her jaw and took a deep breath. There was no point in getting so worked up about pigeons.

“This is ridiculous,” Elinor said aloud to the empty air, not aware of anyone watching her do battle as she moved closer, parting the birds, gently kicking them out of the way with her foot so she didn’t crush them underfoot. One flew up and hovered near her, almost considering landing on her outstretched arm. She glared at it and waved in the direction of the bird.

“Pigeons aren’t even this bad in London.” 

[outfit]

[classicmemorialbenches]

How do I find out the manufacturer of furniture?

There are a few ways to find out the manufacturer of furniture in the UK :

Check for labels or markings on the furniture itself: Many manufacturers will label their products with their name or logo or with other identifying information such as a model or serial number.

Check the original packaging or paperwork: If you still have the original packaging or any paperwork that came with the furniture, it may contain information about the manufacturer.

Search online: You can search for the furniture by name or description on search engines or online marketplaces.

Contact the retailer: If you purchased the furniture from a retailer, they may be able to provide you with information on the manufacturer.

Use a furniture registry: There are online furniture registries that allow you to register your furniture and track its history, which may include information on the manufacturer.

If none of these methods work, you can also try contacting a furniture expert or appraiser, who may be able to help you identify the manufacturer based on the design, materials, and other characteristics of the furniture.

[wcndvrlxst]

for: closed ( @0fmercy )

Since early in her childhood, Amara had been quite drawn to nature. As far back as she could remember she'd always felt more at home among the flora, fauna, and animals than any other place. Despite her training and upbringing- during which her mother seemed to be unwilling to admit defeat when it came to Amara's insistence at ruining her best dresses, shoes, and hairdos while playing outside- which tried endlessly to break her of her 'uncooth' habits, the Lady had retained her love for all things outdoors. Location no exception, one of the things Amara enjoyed the most about being in Scotland was the opportunity to feast on new scenery. Walking the gardens had become an exquisite pastime, one that the Lady ensured she partook in at least momentarily each day. Today being no exception, Amara found herself seated on an empty bench, lost in thought and in the beauty of the gardens. The sound of approaching steps drew her from her stupor, and she jumped visibly, standing quickly and smoothing her hands over her dress before speaking. "My apologies, I must have lost track of the time. Please, sit, do not allow me to disturb you."

[ailishsinclair]

The pink bench is in need of a little post-winter TLC. #garden #spring #scotland (at Aberdeenshire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqowLPjI0r4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[uwandapieceofme]

Pathhead to Everywhere

I’ve been walking in circles for weeks, parched and disillusioned, hoping that pushing ’til I break might break me out of my cycles. I keep walking away from myself, attempting to take refuge in a bright-green past, air buzzing with little black dragonflies, only to find myself frozen, with that song in my ear, watching a man in orange lycra shirt and black bike shorts struggle up a hill.

The pavement’s all cracked and busted open, jolting little dip between parking lot of the petrol station and the road. It’s along these cracks I find a filthy twopence coin. Found two in a dried-out raised garden in Belfast, deformed with strange growths. Discovering loose change on my walks, no matter how disgusting and unusable, is always a happy occurrence, like I’ve stumbled upon some secret.

My leg hurts from all the walking, tendons strained behind my left knee, but I prefer the quiet roadside to the noisy bus, with its engine stuttering along, full of strangers, the driver asking my destination and demanding fare like some medieval gatekeeper I can never seem to please. I’ve replenished my energy with a picnic in the grass, outside a new housing block, and a limerick I’ve written for Sam Fender, mind running wild imagining how sending it on might lead to a tender friendship, a passionate love affair, or both.

Something about the country and the biker and the music I’m listening to inspires me. I pull out my phone and type a poem. It’s a happy moment, etched in my mind alongside the more painful bits. It’s not the only one, either. The picture, as a whole, is marred by anxiety, depression, loneliness, and shame, but when I zoom in, other positive moments come into focus.

On the upper landing of the Lit and Phil, I find respite, huddled in a corner with a pile of poetry books, scribbling away in my journal, observing others’ lives. At the Scottish National Gallery, I journal again, sat on a bench next to an art student reproducing a sketch of The Monarch of the Glen. I’m massively relieved to have found an escape from the social obligations of my hostel dorm and the crush of strange bodies along the Royal Mile. At the Surgeons’ Hall Museum, I examine rows upon rows of organs in glass jars, until my eyes can’t take any more; across the street, at the National Museum of Scotland, I stand in rapture as the Millennium Clock awakens and performs its hourly dance. A bottle of stout suffices for lunch in Portmeirion; I drink it slowly at a cafe table on the patio, near two men sharing a bottle of champagne. In Penrhyndeudraeth, I pull cash from a shady ATM to buy my first ever kebab, walking back to my hotel, triumphantly clutching my spoils.

Bangor provides romantic trails among hillsides blooming with bellflowers, and I spend a whole day exploring Church Island and the surrounding countryside, getting lost along the beaches and sinking into muck, pissing in any shady corner I can find, procuring groceries on the way back from the cleanest, happiest Waitrose I’ve ever shopped in. Aberystwyth offers the best chocolate cake and almond croissants, and I relax somewhat uncomfortably into my seat at a Korean restaurant in Coventry, knocking back soju and spooning up mouthfuls of spicy seafood soup as I listen to a couple on their first date at a table across from me, discussing cybersecurity.

I contrast my pleasant roadside trek from Pathhead to Dalkeith, where I observe the lonely biker, with a five mile trek I undertook from my accommodations in Newcastle to a business park on the outskirts of Gateshead. Green fields were replaced with rows of tidy brick townhouses and a steady stream of cars which carried on past me, subjecting me to their ever-watchful gaze. I looked into every passenger window, imagining he might be there. I dreamt of him stopping and offering me a ride. I’d tell him the story of who I was and how I’d come to be there; he’d commend me for my bravery. That was all I really wanted, for my troubles. Someone to tell me I’d done something cool or worthwhile, to notice the effort I’d put in, how much I’d improved. But no one ever did, and knowing it in myself simply wasn’t enough.

I’m happy to retread my past, in moments like now, where I feel totally fucked. At least in the recounting, I find some worth, and it removes me, for a minute, from my current obsessions over job, money, and future plans. However it felt then, I’m happy to have done it, that I can occasionally escape to those far-flung memories and enjoy the strange, painful pleasures of a foreign land.

[rederiswrites]

Always attracted to unusual or shaded colorations. Of course, if you're buying from a big bulb place--and they have the most variety and sales I think?--do always look up everything and see other site's photos, ideally non-commercial photos. They retouch the hell out of the colors on Breck's, etc. Even so, sometimes the subtler real colors are nicer.

Here's a funny one: Breck's is selling it, under the Alliums section, as "Sicilian Honey Lily". It's a weird allium and an even weirder lily, but apparently it recently underwent a bit of a cladistic upheaval and is now (again?!) officially an allium. Just look at it, though!

The first photo is from Breck's, the second from a gardening website, so...you see what I meant. The first is dramatic and vivid, the second a beauty you have to look a little more closely for, but nonetheless what a beauty!

I used to think that hostas were painfully basic. Now I think they're basic for a damn good reason and also I enjoy growing out of my assorted snobberies. Frees me to enjoy things so much more.

In addition to being incredibly reliable mixed-shade performers and a great "background plant" that holds its own against weeds, hosta comes in an incredibly wide variety. You could have a lovely shade planting of absolutely nothing but hostas. People collect them. I can see the temptation.

Here are "raspberry sundae" and "white feather":

I have a weird little niche along the front of the house, where there are walls on three sides and it's the north side of the house. It's also where the bulk of the pipes and wires pass into/out of the house. We've been persistently thinking of this as "the sculpture garden" since we moved in, even though we have no sculptures, because someday ("when we're rich," as we say), we will have the space planted with hostas and coral bells and ferns around the edges, with white gravel over the rest, and display the work of some of the many talented people we know. I'm dreaming of a kinetic iron sculpture, and maybe @phantomtheraccoon and I will create something concrete with glass and mirror mosaic. Maybe speckle some fused glass flowers like these around. Anyway...

And while I totally definitely want to fill the 'park' area next to the pond (so called because it came with picnic benches below mature trees, mainly Shagbark Hickories) with all the usual cheerful crocus colors in the spring, look at these two unusual lovelies:

(don't plant Siberian Squill for that early spring color, though. It's reportedly very invasive, and there are so many good native ephemerals.)

And I've got to find some Surprise Lily bulbs, too. What an odd fucking plant. The leaves come up earlier in the year, and then die back, so when the flower stalk and big flashy flower comes up, it looks like this:

None of the photos I could find properly communicate how fucking weird it is seeing these things just sprouting naked out of the grass. But the girl likes them, so we get them. She's got us wrapped around her little finger, you see.

Think I gotta go steal some daffodils from @ahedderick, too, and see her farm. Always good to get a dose of mountains and see friends.

When I was a child, I visited Brodie Castle in Inverness Scotland. My grandfather contacted the laird directly, because the guidebook said that the castle would be closed while we were there, but the laird and I might be distant relatives. (yes, this was back when you couldn't just look it up on the internet. Fucken wild really.) In the end, we can't find any family connection, except for the small detail that the laird and my (other) grandfather looked like brothers. Either way, it worked-- the castle wasn't actually closed but the laird invited us to lunch with him, and it was lovely, and he was very sweet, and everything in his red sports car and private part of the castle was absolutely covered in dog hair. This is all relevant because HIS father had been absolutely mad about daffodils, and planted over 400 daffodil varieties around the town and castle, making it the Scottish national daffodil collection, and they were blooming while I was there.

It was incredible, and made a huge impact on my child brain.

So deep down, nine year old me still dreams of great swaths of daffodils.

Now I'm looking at fall-planted bulbs. Crocuses, daffodils, tulips, alliums... now there's a daydream that can get expensive fast! But it's hard, because the only way to get those babies dividing and filling out is to get them in the ground! Makes "you can always get them later" a less persuasive self restraint.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 451

McCoy

Granddad’s assertion that he would deal with Khan should he return had McCoy smiling into his glass of juice. He had seen just how protective Granddad was of his grandsons when he had visited Scotland. His first night there Granddad had pulled him aside and very plainly wanted to know McCoy was serious. He hadn’t been found wanting and McCoy was glad to have Granddad on their side.

“Francine,” McCoy said as they were leaving breakfast, “would you like to see the orchard this morning?”

She had said at dinner the previous evening she hadn’t seen it and Scotty had offered to show her.

“Oh certainly lads,” she said looking at both him and Scotty, standing close. “We’ll get some wedding ideas out of ye.”

McCoy couldn’t help but smile and he noticed Scotty’s face color too.

“Did ye sleep better last night Monty?” Francine asked as they led her through the gardens.

McCoy saw the surprised stiffening of Scotty’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Scotty slowly answered.

“I know ye had nightmares the night before,” Francine said and patted Scotty’s arm.

“What? How did ye…?”

“We heard the screams,” Francine said softly. “I know the sound of my own lad’s voice.”

“Mum…”

“And I demanded an answer from that guard on yer door.”

“Mum!” Scotty rubbed a hand across his face.

“Ye don’t have to tell me anything about the nightmare, but I’m always here for ye if ye do want to.”

Scotty stopped walking. McCoy and Francine stopped as well. Without saying anything Scotty threw his arms around his mother. Francine held him tightly back.

McCoy recognized a few of the Gaelic words that passed between mother and son.

“Ye keep taking care of him too Leonard,” Francine looked over and said. “And yerself.”

“I try,” McCoy got out.

They were quiet as they finished the walk to the orchard.

“Oh my!” Francine exclaimed. “I know orchards can be big, but I didn’t expect it to be so large. What on earth do ye do with all the fruit?”

McCoy grinned, and continued to lead the way to the gazebo.

“We keep some here. But most of what grows gets sent into town for whoever needs it.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” Francine smiled.

“The jams at breakfast were made with fruit from out here,” said McCoy.

“It must smell delightful when everything is ripe.”

“It really does Mum,” Scotty agreed.

“What a wonderful place to rest,” Francine said, climbing up the steps of the gazebo.

“We spent lots of time out here this summer,” Scotty told her.

“I can see why.” Francine sat down on the cushioned bench.

“We made lots of good memories,” McCoy added quietly. “It’s why I want the wedding out here.”

Francine nodded in understanding.

McCoy blew out a breath. He and Scotty had spent lots of time in the gazebo; reading or relaxing or eating fresh fruit. Everything he associated with the place was happy.

Except one moment.

Jocelyn and the kiss she had stolen from him.

He hid a frown as the memory surfaced. He and Scotty would get married out here and Jocelyn’s one mark on the gazebo would be gone. It was his and Scotty’s spot to make memories. Jocelyn would fade away.

“What was your wedding like Francine?” McCoy asked abruptly. How better to get ideas for their own than to ask the people close to them what they had done?

Part 452

Scotty

The boys sat down with Francine, who smiled softly at the thought of their wedding.

"It's been a while, but I'll never forget John's and my big day."

Scotty grabbed his mother's hand and squeezed it tightly. He knew how hard it often was for Francine to talk about her late husband.

"We also got married in the summer. On the beach, to be exact. I'm sure ye remember that the little house ye lads stayed at belonged to my parents, right Leonard?"

Leonard nodded slowly.

"Scotty told me."

"John and I actually met on that beach. His family was taking their annual vacation at a hotel nearby at the time, and we happened to meet at some point."

Francine laughed out loud.

"We were so young. I was... 15 and John 17, but it was love at first sight. And then, just three years later, we got married."

Leonard's eyes widened in surprise. He probably hadn't expected Francine to have gotten married young, too.

"A wedding on the beach. That sounds really great."

Francine nodded.

"Aye, it was. It wasn't a big wedding. We just had our families and our closest friends around. There was a buffet on the beach and then we spent our wedding night in the house. Small, but nice."

Scotty smiled. It would be really nice if Leonard and he could have a small, intimate wedding, too. But he realized that if the prince got married, it would cause a stir. Reporters would probably be on every corner and the whole universe would be there to see it.

"I want a private wedding, too. I don't care at all what the press says. After all, this day is just for us."

Leonard gave Scotty an affectionate look. He knew it was very important to Scotty.

"That realization is also very important, Leonard. It's yer day and ye shouldn't let anyone tell you what to do."

Francine seemed to speak from experience.

"An aunt of John's tried to plan the wedding to her liking at the time. She wanted me to wear her dress. She wanted to decide on decorations and location. But John explained to her that it was not her decision. She then didn't show up, but... we never regretted telling her the truth."

Scotty blinked in surprise. He had never heard of this story before. Of course he knew about the wedding, but he had never been told about his father's aunt.

"So do what ye like. Dress in whatever ye like. Pick out the biggest, most beautiful cake ye want. And invite whoever ye want to have around."

Scotty felt Leonard put an arm around him and pull him closer.

"That's what we're going to do, Francine. I'm sure we will. Maybe you could take care of the meal planning? Of course, we'll help decide what to have, but it would be great if someone with your talent could give us suggestions."

Flattered by Leonard's praise, Francine blushed slightly and giggled.

"If that's yer wish, I'd love to take care of it."

"You're the best cook I know, Mum."

Francine squeezed Scotty's hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Oh, ye two. Do ye lads know how much I love ye?"

Scotty laughed and nodded.

"Aye."

Francine stood up and wrapped Leonard in her arms as well.

"I'm so happy to call ye my son-in-law soon."

Even though she whispered the words, Scotty could hear them. And it made him incredibly happy.