#i spent an hour at his owner's place eating biscuits and being told all the reasons why texas is ''a bit zinzin''

[hedgehog-moss]

Look, friends.

Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.

It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.

I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:

No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.

(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)

I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.

This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.

(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)

It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.

Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:

horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack

infuriated barking from Pandolf

very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit

basically, chaos.

I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)

Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.

My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.

He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.

I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.

I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.

He immediately got stuck between two trees.

I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.

"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."

I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."

I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.

"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."

The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.

Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.

I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this

(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)

#crawling along #llama drama #i spent an hour at his owner's place eating biscuits and being told all the reasons why texas is ''a bit zinzin'' #for example he runs away to the nearest farm to steal the cow feed (pellets) at feeding time #he was caught red-pawed by the farmer and just. stole the entire plastic tub that contained the pellets #and ran back home. holding this very large tub in his mouth and sprinkling cow feed everywhere along the way #this time around his owner must have feared he would come home dragging a bag with pampe inside or something

[mako-and-tails-and-stuff]

Day 6 - Mermaid AU (but seeing as they’re already Mermaids we’re doing Human AU)

(Sorry it’s a little late)

Pairing: Rita/Veridia

Words: 1,634

Rating: T 

Moving to a new school is hard. Moving to a new high school, even harder. She should know. She’d done both. 

When Rita and her family first moved to the Gold Coast at the age of six she hated it. She knew no one and her parents were too busy to take her out so they left her with some woman she didn’t know and it was boring. All the lady wanted to do was read her books or tidy the house.

There wasn’t even a proper garden, just concrete. There was grass outside between the houses but she wasn’t allowed out there without supervision.

It was only marginally better when she started school a few days later. At least she made a friend - Nerissa. They bonded over both being new to Miami Primary School and spent break times and lunch together. 

School was fun but home was boring. All Rita was really allowed to do was read and a lot of her books had yet to arrive. 

They’d been in Brakes Crescent just over a week when the next door neighbour came round to introduce himself. A single man on his own, about the same age as Rita’s parents, who had a young daughter the same age as her, Veridia. They invited Rita round to their house to play while her parents were out.

The very first day Rita officially met Veridia they became best friends. Every spare moment they had was spent together, usually at Veridia’s house but sometimes they managed to sneak to hers. They had a really cool ‘secret room’ that was technically the basement but the previous owners had put in a cool hidden door that was disguised as a bookshelf. 

It was dull and dusty down there but there was lots of cool little alcoves and even an actual pool of sea water. They never went in the pool in case a great white shark sneaked in somehow, but were both fine with swimming in the actual sea at the beach. 

Veridia’s dad took them to the beach on Sunday’s where they would play in the waves for hours. They saw dolphins once, grey fins glinting in the sun as the dolphins dove and splashed around. It was always Veridia’s dad that took them places, the beach, the cafes, and let Rita stay over.

That first sleepover  had neither of them could sleep. They bundled up in Veridia’s bed, a bunk bed and turned the bottom bunk into a blanket fort lit up with fairy lights. Veridia’s dad had brought the hot chocolate with marshmallows and let them eat biscuits and go without brushing their teeth. The last one was especially big for six year olds. 

As six turned into seven, Rita was spending every weekend at each Veridia’s house. Veridia went to a different school than her so during the week time together was rare. Veridia’s dad was rather strict on keeping school nights for school work and making sure Veridia actually went to bed. Which was fair enough, they usually didn’t sleep much over the weekend. 

As the years went on, it stayed the same. Weekend sleepovers, swimming at the beach, drinking hot chocolate in a blanket fort. Things changed when they moved up to high school. Like with primary school they both ended up in separate schools. Veridia went to Suncoast High, a private school not too far from their street while Rita went to Miami State High School with Nerissa.

After that neither had much time to meet up. They tried to but time became scarer.  

It didn’t really come as any surprise to Rita when her parents split up. It was just after she moved into her second year at high school. Her mum moved up, moved back down to Sydney where Rita’s aunt and cousins lived while Rita stayed with her dad in the Gold Coast. She’d never lived in Brisbane, moving there would mean starting over. Again. And moving away from Veridia, even if she had hardly seen her. Sometimes she’d see Veridia through the window, they’d wave at each other and pull faces. 

Rita ended up having to start over again anyways when she moved from Miami State to Suncoast High. Her heart fluttered when her dad suggested the move. That was the school Veridia went to. 

On her first day, instead of trailing in alone, Veridia walked with her, chatting away about all the classes and the different teachers and who to watch out for and who was pretty nice. She felt bad about leaving Nerissa, but she’d be fine - Nerissa was one of those people that people loved to be around. She had tons of friends aside from Rita. 

In all, Suncoast High wasn’t that bad, and her and Veridia became fast friends again, like that year with minimal contact had never happened. Veridia came round to Rita’s house most nights after school for ‘study sessions’. Over the summer before Rita started high school her and her dad had given the secret cave a proper clean out and turned it into a sort of study/hang out area with cushioned seatings, bean bags and all of the different treasures the family had collected over the years. 

Her dad had a lot of stuff that her mum never liked him having on display. Parts of a real life pirate ship, animals bones - mainly skulls, and a lot of shells. Rita had a lot of shells too, many collected on her weekends at the beach with Veridia. 

The study sessions down in ‘The Grotto’ has her dad had dubbed it, were mostly just Rita and Veridia lounging on the bean bags, eating crisps and sneaking cans of juice from the fridge all while pretending to study. 

Sometimes they went swimming the pool, the irrational childhood fear of the shark in the swimming pool, long gone. There was one night when Rita’s dad was off on a business trip and Rita was left home alone, Veridia came over to stay and they spent the night seeing who could do the best dive into the pool and who could hold their breath the longest. 

Those days spent with Veridia just hanging out in the Grotto were the best times. Rita looked forward to the next day every time Veridia left. Even after she left they’d usually make a point of seeing each other through the window. 

Rita was sixteen when she finally let herself admit that she liked girls the same way she liked boys. She was seventeen when she finally let herself admit that she had a crush on Veridia. It was hard not too, she was so pretty. And she was really nice. To Rita at least, Veridia could be very cold towards people, a lot of the boys in particular. Which was a good thing, to say the least, it kept her hope up that maybe Veridia could be open to returning her feelings. If she ever told Veridia that was. Right now school was more important than dating. She was top of almost all of her classes and intended to keep it that way so she could ace her exams and get into Griffiths Uni. It was one of the best for teaching and that’s all she wanted to do - be a teacher.

Veridia meanwhile was leaning more towards working within politics or nursing. She kept changing her mind. 

Rita soon learned that just because her head said one thing didn’t mean her heart would listen. She was good at ignoring problems though, why would this be any different? 

It worked. For about a month after she decided to ignore her feelings; she got by but pretending she felt nothing when Veridia’s hand accidentally brushed her’s, or when Veridia asked her to braid her hair for her before trying to do the same for Rita. Until finally she couldn’t any longer.

Rita’s dad was away again, off to Brisbane for some client so Veridia came over, armed with crisps, sweets, and enough fizzy drinks for their entire class. 

“We having a party?” Rita joked as Veridia piled her supplies on the kitchen counter.

“Hell no. I don’t like enough people to have a party. I was thinking we could try something we’ve always wanted to do.”

“And what would that be?” Rita raised an eyebrow.

“See if that tunnel in the pool really does lead out the sea.”

The pool in the Grotto had an open tunnel at one end. They’d swum a little ways into it but never the full length of it, just in case it lead to nowhere and they both drowned. The tunnel was dark, but wide enough for two people to swim through easily.

“Okay,” Rita agreed.

“Really? I thought you’d say no.”

“I still might.”

Veridia laughed and slipped her arm in Rita’s. 

“We should go now before it gets dark.”

The swim out was terrifying. The tunnel was dark, Rita hit her arm against the side and her lungs were burning by the time they both made it out in the sea. At least they were right about that part. 

Veridia took her hand and Rita kicked up to the surface. They both surfaced laughing, salt water in their eyes and hands still in each other’s.

“We made it!” Veridia cheered.

Veridia slung her arm over Rita’s shoulder and pulled her in closer.

“I almost died.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I could’ve been dead right -”

Rita swore her heart stopped when Veridia kissed her. It took her brain a second to process that this was actually happening. That Veridia was really kissing her. When her brain finally kicked in she closed her eyes and leaned into it. Veridia tasted like the salt from the sea and very faintly of strawberry lip balm. 

#mako mermaids #FemslashFeb2021 #mako mermaids femslash february #rita x veridia #verita

[aziraphalesrarebooks]

Neighborly Affection

Anthony J Crowley was four years old the first time he met the tiny Ezra A Fell; he wasn't impressed.

He was forty-six when he found him again in a bookshop in Soho.

The Childhood Friends, Flower Shop, Christmas, Friends to Lovers fic nobody asked for in the middle of October.

Read here or on Ao3. 

Anthony J Crowley was four years old the first time he met the tiny Ezra A Fell.

He was small, wrinkled and had grey-white curls atop his tiny little head. When he leaned in for a closer look, bright blue eyes stared back at him while his small fingers tangled in his hair and tugged.

Both boys cried after the encounter.

Little Anthony hadn’t been impressed and told his mother as much when they arrived home after the visit. She had tutted and given him a biscuit, promising him that one day the two would be great friends.

 He didn't believe her.

The second time he met Ezra, his mother was babysitting, taking care of the small infant while his mother went shopping for that week's groceries. She had sat him down on their sofa and gently laid the tiny bundle in his arms. This time, instead of his hair, Ezra had wrapped his small fingers around Anthony’s and held them tightly, inadvertently gaining the approval of the young boy in the process.

 He was utterly taken with the baby and had asked his mother if they could keep him.

 She politely told him, "no."

He’d proudly told Mrs. Fell that he had helped his mummy take care of Ezra and that he was very strong; for a baby, that is and asked if they could visit more often.

As the boys grew, Anthony became protective over the little boy.

  When Anthony was in third grade, Ezra started kindergarten. Anthony held his hand as he walked him to his class on the first day, and subsequently every day for the rest of the year.

 He made sure to show him all the best spots on the playground and taught him how to properly kick a football.

He helped Ezra with homework, although, he seemed to have a rather firm grasp on it, or with making new friends; as he’d always been better at it than Ezra.

They were an unlikely duo, despite their age difference, the two got along well and could play for hours while their mothers visited with one another. Often playing under the old apple tree in Ezra's back yard or helping their mothers bake.

 Christmases were the best, they could spend hours out in the snow and ice, only returning to home when they were completely and utterly frozen. Anthony especially loved the days when Mrs. Fell would make them mugs of cocoa topped with extra marshmallows while they thawed beside the fireplace, munching on Christmas biscuits and listening to records.

When Anthony was in sixth grade; his mother fell ill.

 Mrs. Fell did her best to visit her dear friend often, Ezra would keep Anthony company, taking his mind off things for a few moments and allowing him to just be a kid.

By the time he was in eighth grade, she had passed away.

Ezra had been devastated for his dear friend, the older boy who’d he’d grown up with now seemed so lost. He was distant and sad, so unlike the Anthony he knew.

They moved away from the sleepy little village of Tadfield not four months after her passing. Too heartbroken to stay in the home that she’d kept, they moved away to London.

 Ezra missed him terribly.

 When Crowley was in tenth grade, his father remarried. The woman was cold, spiteful and so distant from what he remembered of his warm and soft mother that he missed so dreadfully much. Ezra and his parents had been invited to the wedding. Anthony had recognized him immediately and had all but run over to them. He’d hugged Mrs. Fell so tightly she winced and when he pulled away, he pretended not to have tears in his eyes.

He and Ezra had spent the rest of the evening together catching up and eating more cake than either of them should have.

They both promised the other they would write, and they did for a brief time, then as it usually happens, the letters got fewer and further apart until communication ceased completely.

   When he graduated, he received a package from Mrs. Fell in the post containing fifty pounds and a framed picture of his mother, Mrs. Fell, Ezra and himself smiling widely, eyes full of mischief and mirth.

 He'd cried that night holding the framed photo, missing simpler times and his mother dearly.

 Years later, it still hung proudly in his living room.  

  Anthony, now known almost exclusively by his last name; Crowley, hadn’t thought of Ezra Fell in many years with more than a passing memory. As many adults do, he had forgotten what had been important to him as a child. The times he did stop to think about the Fell’s, he reflected on how perfect the world had seemed during the days spent together with his mother and her best friend and Ezra.

  He’d done well for himself, he’d become a florist of all things and had opened a shop in Soho called Nightshade. He had worked hard, saved and pinched until he’d had earned enough to secure the building and the small flat above it. He’d worked to make it his, painting the shop and arranging the shelves just so. He made his workspace sleek and tidy.

 His work had become popular, even making it into several of the top bridal magazines for arrangements he created for a few celebrity weddings.

His assistant; a woman by the name of Anathema Device, was the only other person he would work with. He felt she kept him grounded, she also happened to make a good cup of coffee.

He was proud of the life he’d created for himself, he had a home, his dream job, a few close friends who meant the world to him and a little snake he’d jokingly named Crawley.

 There were times when he missed his Mother and wished he liked his father and stepmother enough to visit. He often wondered what she would think of his choices, would she be proud of him? He felt that she would. His father had been livid when he'd left the hospital, he had never really wanted to be a doctor, but it had been expected of him. No, at forty-six, he was much happier as a florist than he ever had been as a doctor.

 It was one of those days when he had been thinking a bit too much of his childhood, the days laying out under the huge apple tree in between the Fell’s property and their own. The way the sun seemed to warm his soul all the while listening to Ezra’s insistent chattering or playing some silly little game. As they got older, they would read quietly as their mother's laughed in the kitchen.

 He sometimes wondered what the boy had gotten up to. He had once attempted to find him on Facebook but had never been able to find him. He had probably married some local woman, had a few children, maybe a dog. He hoped he was doing well, that he was happy.

 He was pulled from his musings of times long past by Anathema. “Crowley? When do you need the delivery of roses by? They just called and said they could be a day late.”

 He ran a slender hand through his shocking auburn hair, “Shit, at least by this afternoon so we can start prepping for the wedding this weekend. Call them back and tell them early tomorrow morning at the latest. Tell them if they do this again, we will find a supplier that can meet deadlines.”

 She nodded and walked into the back office.

 Across the street, the relator took down the For-Sale sign in the window of the old tea shop. He briefly wondered who had purchased it, it needed work. The previous owner had done little in the way of maintenance and whoever purchased it would need to put in quite a few hours to make it inhabitable again.

A month later, a work truck arrived.

New windows were put in, repairs were made to the roof and to the building. Once they were finished on the outside, it looked much the same but refreshed. From what he could tell, the inside was being heavily renovated as well.

It was mid-October when a moving truck arrived outside the shop. He knew there was a flat above that shop as well; he’d briefly considered buying it since the space was a bit larger than his own shop but the amount of work needing to be done on it was outrageous. If the new owners were moving in, that must mean that they were close to opening.

He decided to take a nice bouquet over soon, once they were settled to introduce himself. It never hurt to be friendly with the neighbors, especially when they could direct customers over to you.

 A week later, various vans arrived delivering what he assumed was the merchandise they planned to sell.

A bookshop, he concluded by that afternoon.

He’d yet to see the new owners, only a small blue sedan that had been parked beside the building since they’d moved in.

Yet another week passed, and Crowley was beginning to wonder if the shop would ever open. He'd decided it was likely a young couple, pilling all their funds into their dream bookshop.

They still didn’t have a window sign up and neither he nor Anathema had yet to catch sight of the new owners.

  Two more days passed before he spotted any signs of life beyond stocked shelves and an old blue car.

 “Do you think they are ever going to open? If they don’t open by the holidays, I don’t see them lasting the year.” Anathema said as she arranged a new order of succulents, they’d gotten in on the window sill.

 “Move the two bigger ones into the middle of the display, there. But you’re right, maybe they took too big a risk in all those repairs. I told you the place was a wreck when the old owner left.”

 She nodded towards the window, “Don’t look now but I think that might be him!”

 He caught sight of a man around his own age, he had white hair and dressed like his grandfather. Still, he was attractive enough from what he could tell.

 “Exactly what I expected from a bookseller.”

 “Crowley, really. He looks nice enough.”

 “That he does.”

 "He could be single."

 He spluttered, "Oi! That's no way to speak to your boss."

 "You're more than that and you know it," she said, mussing his hair as she walked into the backroom.

 "Hey!" he replied, using his fingers to comb through his hair.

 The next morning, he could tell someone was in the shop. Lights were on and he had seen someone walk past the newly formed window display several times.

 He wondered if he'd been wrong. The man looked about his age, but he'd yet to see any sign of anyone other than the blonde.

 He put together a nice arrangement, nothing too personal but a nice welcome nonetheless, and made his way across the street.

 He knocked twice.

 He heard shuffling, he moved to adjust the floral arrangement, obscuring his line of sight as the door swung open.

 “Oh, hello. I’m afraid you have the wrong address.”

 He propped the vase against his chest and reached out a hand blindly to the other man. “Definitely the correct address, I own the shop across the way and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. My name is Anthony Crowley, but you can just call me Crowley. Everyone else does.”

 He felt a warm hand slide into his own, firm and strong, “Anthony Crowley? Was your mother’s name Beatrice? I do believe we’ve met before.” He said taking the arrangement and leading him into the shop.

 Curiously, he followed.

 The other man placed the flowers on one of the tables up front and turned around.

 His usually quick-thinking brain stuttered to a halt, the man was gorgeous. Bright eyes and plump lips and the softest looking hair he’d ever seen. His hand tingling from where they’d just touched, and...

 Then it hit him.

 Oh.

 “Oh, it’s you! Ezra?”

 Ezra laughed, a sound so familiar and foreign it made him ache. How long had it been since he’d heard that laugh? It was deeper, different but the same.

 he felt a pang of nostalgia wash over him as he thought of all their adventures as children.

 “Quite well, what a surprise to see you! You must tell me how you’ve been. The last mother heard you’d become a doctor like your father.”

 He wrinkled his nose, “I did, just wasn’t for me. I’m much more suited to life as a florist. I’ve been at it… oh, about ten years now. What made you decide to open a bookshop in Soho of all places?”

 “Well, it’s always been a dream of mine. I have visited Soho many times throughout the years and oh! I just came to love it, it felt right. I was a professor of literature for many years and I came to find that I was quite good at finding rare works. It seemed fitting.”

 It didn’t surprise him; from what he remembered of Ezra, he'd devoured books faster than a plate of his mother's biscuits.

 “It’s a nice area, are you married?” he blurted out.

 The man beamed, “Not at all, I thought I might have come close once, but he turned out to be dreadful. It’s just me and my books.” He laughed nervously, “What about you dear?”

 “I was married briefly but we were not good together. We divorced after I started as an intern and I’ve been mostly single since.” He shrugged, "I'm not complaining."

 "If I may ask, what did you practice?"

 "Pediatric oncology, too many sick kids. Too many bad memories, I wanted to help but..." he trailed off.

 "I understand." Crowley was surprised to believe him, he'd been there through his mother's cancer.

 "Well, uh, I better get going."

 “I’d love to catch up, I haven’t gotten my kitchen up and running yet or I would offer you something to drink,” Ezra said sheepishly.

 Crowley laughed, “What about dinner tonight? My treat. We can catch up then.” He pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbled a number on the back and handed it to Ezra. “Call me, I close at 7 tonight. We can go to my favorite place two blocks over.”

 Ezra nodded, "See you tonight, then."

 "Tonight."

 At 7:30 PM, Ezra Fell and Anthony J Crowley walked down the street together. The air was cool, even for this time of year. Their hands brushed accidentally as they moved out of the way of a couple passing them on the sidewalk, Crowley has been surprised to feel a lingering tingle where his warm hand had grazed his own.

 “I should have mentioned it was sushi, are you ok with this?” he asked cautiously.

 He wiggled, Ezra still seemed to exude excitement when food was involved. “It is a favorite of mine!”

 Crowley nodded and held the door for the other man.

 The night went well, they’d gotten along just as well as they had as children.

 Crowley had learned that Ezra’s parents had both passed away recently, his father first then his mother not long after.

 He learned that he’d originally wanted to go into the ministry before a Shakespeare class had inspired him otherwise. He had sheepishly admitted that he would have likely been a terrible priest but was a relatively good professor and had enjoyed it immensely.

 Crowley told him about his strained relationship with his father, about the marriage his father had convinced him would be the best for his career. How she had cheated on him with his father on multiple occasions. How he'd been good as his job but couldn't take the suffering and death.

 They spent time together often, dining out and going to plays or concerts. They fell into a familiar pattern, nearly every night was now spent in the company of the other.

 And despite everything, Crowley found him incredibly attractive.

 Perfect even.  

 He was intelligent and kind, steadfast in his beliefs and was just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

 He also had excellent taste in wine and didn’t mind sharing his finds.

He was a bright light in a world of darkness, and he found that he was addicted to Ezra.

 They were sprawled out on Ezra's old sofa, wine glasses full.

 He was content.

 And quite suddenly, he realized it had come full-circle. That he loved Ezra Fell, that the childhood love he’d felt for the boy he was, held nothing in comparison to the love he felt for the man sitting next to him.

  In the blink of an eye, two years had passed.

Two years of being head over heels for his best friend, two years of dreaming about that soft, unyielding hand in his own, and two years of knowing with the utmost certainty that Ezra would likely never feel the same way for him.

 November quickly rolled around, and the shops of Soho had already begun to decorate for the holiday season. Crowley had been taking orders for poinsettias and other Christmas arrangements for most of the day.

 Anathema and he sat discussing the upcoming orders and how to best get them delivered quickly and efficiently so they wouldn’t be left clogging up their window space when she nudged him in the side. “Your boyfriend’s coming over.”

 “Ngk. He’s not… we’re not. Anathema” he whined. She had been teasing him for months since she had sussed out his feelings for their neighbor.

 She grinned and stuck out her tongue as the bell rang over the door. "You should just kiss him already, he likes you too."

 "Go away!" he hissed, under his breath as Ezra walked into the shop.

 “Oh, will you look at the time, it’s my lunch break.” She said tapping her watch, then stood up, grabbed her bag and walked out the door heading towards her favorite café.

 He turned his attention to Ezra, “Mr. Fell, how may I assist you today?” he teased.

 “I had hoped to steal you away for a bit, but it seems Miss. Device had a hankering for caffeine… or she wanted to see her young fellow before he left for the day.”

 Crowley laughed, it was no secret Anathema had a thing for the klutzy barista. Newt was a nice enough man, but he certainly didn���t see what she saw in him. “She has asked him out three times already and he still hasn’t gotten the hint. She told me she’s going to just kiss him and drag him to bed if he doesn’t catch on soon.”

 Ezra raised an eyebrow at that, mumbling something under his breath that sounded like “I know the feeling.”

 “Hey, did you want any arrangements? I’m about to place the first order for poinsettias, mistletoe, and evergreen.”

 He sighed, “I suppose, whatever you think best dear. I do love seeing young couples getting caught under the mistletoe.”

 Crowley nodded.

 “And done, I'll bring it by when everything comes in. I think we can close for lunch a few minutes early, Anathema should be back soon, and I’m starved. What did you have in mind?” he grabbed his coat and keys from behind the counter, taking a moment to lock up.

 “Sushi?”

 “Sounds good.”

 During the walk to their favorite restaurant, their hands accidentally brushed not once, not twice but three times. he wasn't sure why Ezra kept running into him, but his poor heart wouldn’t take it if it happened again.

 Ezra took a sip of his tea, swirling it around in the mug. "What would you say to Christmas this year at my parent's place? We haven't gone home in a while and it would be nice to get away for a few days."

 Crowley grimaced, "I haven't had Christmas in Tadfield since... well, you know."

 "We don't have to, you can come over to mine."

 "You know, one of the things I have missed most about Christmas was the biscuits and cocoa. Sure, why not, let's do Christmas back home."

 Ezra grinned and popped a piece of fish into his mouth, wiggling happily as he did so.

 November soon became December, and both rarely had time to leave their shops, often staying open until 8 or 9 to keep up with the near-constant influx of customers. Their meals consisted of takeout and copious amounts of wine to survive.

  Then, finally, it was Christmas Eve. They were closed for the next three days, as Christmas had fallen on a Saturday that year and would be closed as usual on Sunday.  

Crowley had come to find that he was looking forward to his trip to Tadfield. It wouldn’t be the first time they had returned to Tadfield, often using the cottage as a retreat when the bustling London streets became too much, but it was the first time he'd gone by during Christmas.

Ezra left the night before, Crowley would be meeting him the next morning if he was able to beat traffic. He'd packed the essentials, fed Crawley and headed on his way.

By the time Crowley arrived, it was nearing noon. He noticed the wreath on the door and smiled, Ezra loved Christmas. As children, he remembered the Fell house decorated beautifully in reds and greens. Mrs. Fell always had Christmas biscuits on hand and made the absolute best hot cocoa of anyone he’d ever met.

He gathered the two gifts he’d bought for Ezra along with the extra wine and goodies he’d picked up before leaving London, he managed to open the door and push through before being hit with nostalgia.

 It smelt like his childhood, and as he took in the interior, he noticed decorations that hadn’t seen the light of day in years were out and twinkling as brightly as they had many moons ago.

 Cinnamon candles were burning, and he could smell the freshly baked biscuits wafting from the kitchen.

 He was so overwhelmed, he didn’t notice the shy smile Ezra flashed him.

 “Wow” was all he could say, “Uh, wine?”

 “I take it you like the décor? I got carried away, but Mother always made it so festive, it seemed wrong to only get a few things out.”

 “It’s perfect.”

 Ezra beamed, the room felt brighter somehow. His heart ached, he loved him so much. Being here, with the memories of the past and present made him want, the ache settling in between his ribcage. He wondered what his mother would say if she knew that he'd fallen in love with her best friend's son. She would probably tease him and run over to tell Mrs. Fell.

They made dinner together, Crowley built a fire and put on some old Christmas records Ezra had found while decorating. Before they both knew it, they were dressed in their pajamas and sipping on hot cocoa.

 “You know Ezra, I think this is the best Christmas I’ve had since we were kids. Do you remember the biscuit exchange? Our moms would spend hours decorating and baking then you and I would sneak out handfuls? As a child, I was sure we were unnoticed, but I think they left that plate out just for us.”

 Ezra chuckled, “I believe you are correct in that line of thinking, it would be difficult not to notice two loud little boys barreling into the kitchen.”

 "I used to think of those moments often, so many of my memories were made in this house. My mother truly loved your mother, they could spend hours together all the while you and I were busy causing trouble."

 "I suppose we take after them in that way" he grinned.

   Conversation quieted, as they enjoyed the company of the other while listening to the fire crackling and popping, Christmas music playing softly in the background.

 Ezra sighed, Crowley’s eyes were closed, and he had a warm grin plastered to his handsome face. He stood up and walked over to the small tree; it was the only one he could find but it had worked perfectly well. The lights twinkled and shone, casting a warm glow on the room.

 He picked up the gift reverently, fiddling with the paper as he walked back to the sofa. The package had been wrapped beautifully, he’d taken his time.

 It had to be perfect.

 This could make or break everything, he sighed.

 Crowley’s eyes popped open when he felt the couch dip as Ezra sat back down. The other man was sitting stiffly, he looked nervous. His cheeks were flushed, and he refused to meet his eyes. “Ezra?”

 “I just want you to know, this doesn’t have to change anything. I just, well. I thought you should know.” He passed the red and gold package to Crowley, atop the package was a small bunch of mistletoe.

 For a brief moment, Crowley considered what Ezra would do if he held the greenery above his head and kissed him.

 He looked at it curiously before delicately opening the box, nestled inside was an ornament of all things. It was beautifully crafted, an angel with white hair holding an apple in their hand with a snake that looked suspiciously like Crawley wrapped around him. His golden eyes met blue, Crowley's brows were knitted together in confusion.

 Ezra looked away, flushing as he did. “It reminded me of us, I hope you know how special you are to me, Anthony. You are my oldest friend, I must admit before I knew it was you, I had hoped to get a chance to meet the attractive man across the street. Then, you came over and introduced yourself and I feared I would ruin everything. I have never known a world without you in it, even when we didn’t see one another for all those years, I would think of you and hope you were doing well. Then you waltzed into my life and I have never wanted so badly.” He was fidgeting with the buttons of his tartan pajamas, not looking up.

 “You, are you? You want me?” he breathed, baffled at the thought his feelings could be returned.

 Crowley felt a warm hand softly wrap around his own, entwining their fingers.

 Ezra swallowed hard, “I do, very much and I do hope you want me too.”

 Crowley nodded, arranging himself to be closer to the other man. He reached out his other hand to rest on Ezra’s face, his thumb brushing over his lips and rubbing circles on the apple of his cheek. “I love you, Ezra.” He paused, watching closely for his reaction, “Would you mind, that is… may I kiss you?”

 Ezra sighed in relief, a beaming smile blossoming on his face. “I would love nothing more than for you to kiss me, Anthony Crowley.”

 As kisses go, it was soft and sweet. Uncertain and new, their noses bumping from time to time as they fell into a rhythm.

 Out of breath, flushed with swollen lips, Crowley pulled back, resting his forehead against Ezra’s, “Happy Christmas.”

 “Happy Christmas, Anthony.” He leaned over to kiss him once more, his fingers finding his hair and tangling themselves in the gloriously soft tresses.

 He briefly pulled away, “Oh, Crowley?”

 “Yes, Ezra?”

 “I forgot to say, I love you too. I was dreadfully distracted by your lovely mouth.”

 Crowley snorted and laughed, capturing Ezra’s plump lips in another kiss.

 Anthony J Crowley was four years old the first time he met the tiny Ezra A Fell; he wasn't impressed.

He was forty-six when he found him again in a bookshop in Soho.

 He was forty-eight when Ezra A Fell became his boyfriend.

And he was forty-nine when he became his husband.  

#Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens #Good omens fic #Long fic #Friends to lovers #Human au #mentions of cancer #lots of kissing at the end #christmas a #I know it's october #why am I like this #Crowley #Aziraphale is Ezra #I'm not all that happy with how it turned out but i'm done tweeking it

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Nutteh!

You have been accepted for the role of MARY MACDONALD, with your requested faceclaim change to Imogen Poots! I really loved the way you brought Mary to life! I could tell through your application that you truly understood what this version of Mary Macdonald, a character who often gets pushed to the side, is all about! I’m so happy to see you embracing her dark parts. I am so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Nutteh

AGE: 26

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I work full-time, but one para interaction per week is more than doable. When I get into something, I get really into it.

ANYTHING ELSE: No. 

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Mary MacDonald

AGE: 20

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-female, she/her. She is bisexual, if she had to identify herself, but truth be told the idea of placing her heart in anyone's hands - be they male, female, or anything in between - is a daunting proposition. 

BLOOD STATUS: Muggle-born

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I'd like to change her FC to Imogen Poots, if possible. She has a slightly softer look than Emma Mackey, but there's an underlying darkness - a potential for darkness - that I think is important for Mary's faceclaim.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: 

Mary MacDonald is good at “soldiering on.” She is adaptable, capable of flexibility when it means a better chance of achieving her goals. A hectic family life prepared her for such a thing. Navigating the streets and slums of Glasgow at a young age made her a direct-line thinker; when the only goal was survival, it was hard not to be steadfast in one’s endeavors. The Sorting Hat debated putting her in Slytherin for that reason, which is perhaps why she’s so close with Alice, but it’s not a trait that makes her particularly gregarious. She finds it difficult to be a devoted and dependable friend when she is wary of people’s intentions, and Mulciber’s attack only exaggerated that part of her psyche. It’s unfortunate, as her splintered relationship with her family has left her in desperate need of real friends. Always a worrier, Mary is used to thinking ahead; but, after she emerged from her fifth year with that long, nasty scar across her cheek, she was convinced she’d grown soft. Her need to be one step ahead of everyone else has morphed into a kind of high-functioning anxiety. She and fear are close fellows and she hates it, but at this point she has become quite good at using it to drive her.      

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Mary was born in Glasgow, Scotland to eighteen-year-old newlyweds Richard and Ruthie MacDonald. The pride of Mary's young life came from pointing at her parents' few grainy wedding photos - "That's me!" she screamed, jabbing a finger at her mother's swollen belly, straining beneath her wedding dress. Her elder brother Adam, however, was a more concrete installment; he stared blankly at the camera from his perch in Ruthie’s arms, not at all moved by the joyful occasion.  Love ruled the MacDonald household - it had to, as they didn’t have much else. Two more children followed - Patrick and little Holly - and Mary knew nothing but family. All six MacDonalds lived in a three-bedroom flat above Ed’s Bakery, a rather seedy establishment with an owner whose heart was far bigger than he let on. Richard built ships and worked long hours, and Ed employed Ruthie downstairs. Mary’s childhood was filled with the scent of baking (and sometimes burning) bread, and it was spent leading hodge-podge football matches in the back alley. Underneath it all, though, was a kind of dutiful sobriety; she wanted to be like the other children at her muggle primary school, seemingly carefree, but there were things to be done and things to be taken care of at home and she didn't know how to not care. 

That was why it was so jarring when her Hogwarts letter arrived, accompanied by a witch with square spectacles (who, it can be noted, took quite a liking to Ed’s biscuits). Mary’s magical abilities revealed themselves late and subtly; footballs seemed to do exactly as she willed them during games with her siblings, and any spats she had in Ed’s shop mysteriously set the baked goods to burning. The news that she was a witch, however, was somehow less unfathomable than the idea of being away from her family for nine months out of the year. She was used to being surrounded by them, by focusing only on their well-being and their survival; she didn’t know how to have thoughts that didn’t include them. Ruthie and Richard were proud and very supportive of their daughter’s new endeavor - at times, perhaps too supportive. Mary would never admit it, but she agonized over their eagerness and enthusiasm for most of her first year. Were they glad to be rid of her? Were they happy to have one less mouth to feed? She missed them and her siblings something awful, but as time went on she made peace with the anxious squall in her head. To this day it’s unclear, but if her mother and father did want to get rid of her she doesn’t blame them. Their family was a loving family, but it was also a hectic one; as Mary grew older and wiser (or perhaps more cynical?), she became inwardly critical of her parents. Why have so many children if you don’t have the means to care for them? She used to believe love was enough, but when her little brother Patrick was sent to prison for robbery shortly before her graduation, she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps this was why her relationship with her family, once so strong she could scarcely think of anything else, faded. It was gradual, but she was engrossed in a new world while they stayed engrossed in theirs - they had to. They taught her hard work and flexibility, but they both intentionally and unintentionally taught her to protect herself. Despite Richard and Ruthie’s example, Mary learned how to dodge missteps, how to keep from acting rashly and damaging any chance of her own survival. Of course, the more sinister and dire the war becomes, the further she strays from self-control.    

OCCUPATION: 

Mary was fifteen when she was attacked; she was fifteen when she was left panting against the wall of a third-floor corridor, clutching her face as portraits screamed and gasped around her. She was in the thick of her O.W.L.s when Mulciber, a boy two years her senior, unleashed his prejudice upon her, and she only wished he’d done it sooner. If he’d had the sense to do it before she started studying, she would have known what to say when asked about career choices. The attack had done everything it wasn’t meant to do; instead of silencing her, it made her bolder. Instead of making her shrink away from magic, it spurred her on, adding fuel to a fire she’d been allowing to smolder inside her. 

Upon graduation, however, Mary was at a crossroads. She wanted desperately to be an auror, but the Ministry was beyond corrupt and she knew better than to expect anything from it. She idled, working odd bartending shifts at The Leaky Cauldron whilst scanning the Prophet behind the bar. That’s where Dumbledore found her, and his proposition to join the fledgeling Order of the Phoenix wasn’t one she had to think much about. Still, it wasn’t making her any money - organizing against dark wizards wasn’t a job, especially the slow, hum-drum way the Order went about it. As good as she was at getting by with very little, she needed something more. 

The first time she heard his name was during an Order meeting, said with an air of discomfort and slight distaste. He was one of those radicals, one of those militant rebels who found murder a perfectly good way to deal with Voldemort’s regime. Both confirmed and suspected Dark Lord followers were turning up dead all over Europe, and Mary’s skin prickled. The Order did not endorse him, but she met with him in secret; if anyone were to find out or ask her about her current employment, she’d maintain that she has to make a living somehow. It’s an excuse that doesn’t quite fit, but working underground as an assassin, for lack of a better word, keeps her out of the public eye and in a stream of steady income (sometimes more than steady, and in Mulciber’s case, sometimes out of the goodness of her heart).        

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: 

The speed with which she rose through the ranks came as a surprise, though not to Mary. It was poetic, really - a muggle-born barrelling her way into the “inner circle” - but she didn’t allow herself to think about what it all meant. Every now and then she wondered if her recruitment was meant to be more of a statement than an actual tactical move, but in the end it didn’t matter. If it started as a statement, fine. If Dumbledore recognized the need, the hunger for revenge eating her from the inside out, that was fine too. How she got there wasn’t as important as what she was doing now that she was here, and Mary clings to that thought. She isn’t blind to the Order’s setbacks, but she is comforted by all they have done - all she has done. After the attack during her fifth year, she often wondered why Mulciber didn’t kill her. He had the chance, didn’t he? Why hesitate? Well, she didn’t hesitate, and sleep comes quicker now than it has in years.  

SURVIVAL: 

Preservation is a strong instinct for Mary - she’s good at surviving. Glasgow was in a period of economic decline while she was growing up in its underbelly, and she learned how to avoid trouble, how to avoid being robbed (not that she had anything of value). This was why, as much as Mulciber’s attack drove her forward, it also shocked her and gave her self-esteem a firm shove backward. How did he sneak up on her? Why didn’t she expect anything? Why wasn’t she ready for him? Since then she has worked hard and resolved to be more prepared, more perceptive; it seems all well and good, but she has heard the term “trigger-happy” thrown around more than once. As much as her vigilance has helped her, it’s also made her somewhat of a liability.  

RELATIONSHIPS: 

At this point, Mary’s relationships with the rest of the “inner circle” are strained. She’s been successful so far, hasn’t she? So why do these men (save for Alice, and what the fuck is that all about?) seem so keen on dismissing everything she says? She’s taken Death Eaters down before, likely more than her peers know, but they’re so focused on outwitting and outmaneuvering the opposition that they’re forgetting the merits of just going for it. That’s why the methods of the newest recruits have her straining to hear their conversations, glancing sideways at them as she heads for “inner circle” meetings. Dorcas, Emma, and Benjy are people of action, and Mary respects that. It’s only a matter of time before she offers her help, especially if things keep slogging along like they currently are. 

Her relationship with her family is all but nonexistent. It’s been a year and a half since she saw her parents, and Adam doesn’t write to her anymore - that stopped before her fourth year. The distance became too great to bridge with friendly letters, and now Mary doesn’t know how best to do it. Besides, she doesn’t have the time, and sometimes she feels that the farther away she is, the better it is for them.    

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I ship Mary/Chemistry. It's hard to know exactly what her relationships to other characters entail at this point, but if accepted I am happy to discuss those in depth with my fellow players.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

I suppose Mary has had the luxury of seeing the muggle and wizarding worlds as two separate entities. She isn’t totally naive - she knows muggles aren’t immune to the unseen war raging among them - but given her experience as a muggle-born with a more or less indifferent family, she can’t help but see a stark line between the two. So far her parents and siblings remain unaffected, and that makes it difficult for her to understand the plights and fears of her fellow muggle-borns, especially ones with strong, lasting familial bonds. 

When it comes to wealth, she has a gigantic chip on her shoulder as well; she appreciates the Potters’ and McKinnons’ generosity, but she never allows herself to stay at their estates for long. Seeing the sheer scale of their fortunes sometimes makes her sick, nevermind that they’ve been nothing but kind to her.    

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 

I'm looking forward to dabbling in Marauders' Era again. It's been ages, and there might have been some light peer pressure involved in my applying at all. But now that I've done it I'm really excited! One thing that I think always turned me away from Marauders' Era was the fact that there was a concrete endgame. We know what happens to these characters, so exploring the bits in between seemed silly to me. Now I'm starting to understand the draw, and I think this roleplay being AU is opening a lot of doors and making me feel less constricted.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I’d really like to play with Mary’s questionable occupation. She has focused on targets with stark, black-and-white, obvious loyalties to the Dark Arts so far, but I think it’d be fun to have her confront a gray area - perhaps being sent for someone who is good and does good but doesn’t set themselves firmly against Voldemort? Perhaps someone within the Order? I want her job to become a source of contention within the Order if/when the other members find out.  

ANYTHING ELSE? Nope!

#homenumaccepted #marauders era rp #harry potter rp #harry potter rpg #harry potter roleplay

[travelingtheusa]

KENTUCKY

2020 Oct 8 (Thu) – We spent the day in the campground.  We drove over to the laundry room and did the wash.  Paul tried playing with his drone but it was acting up.  He’ll have to look at that.  I spent the afternoon looking at attractions in Pigeon Forge for our next stop. We move to Tennessee tomorrow where we will meet up with other SMART members for a non-muster.

2020 Oct 7 (Wed) – We sat around the campground this morning and gave the animals a chance to play outside.  At 10:30 a.m., we left for Cumberland Falls State Resort Park in Daniel Boone National Forest.  Within the park is Cumberland Falls.  Rarely, an event that takes place there only occurs in the Western Hemisphere once in a while. It’s called a moonbow.  We see rainbows all the time.  All you need is sunlight and water droplets in the air.  This happens very frequently after rainstorms. Rainbows occur at the base of waterfalls a lot.  A moonbow is when the conditions are right at nighttime.  Rather than sunshine, it is moonshine reflecting on the water.  It’s supposed to be very beautiful to see and open happens when the conditions are just right with a full moon and no clouds.

     After we hiked along the falls and river, we drove to the lodge for lunch.  The food was very good.

 2020 Oct 6 (Tue) – We packed up and left Dry Ridge at 9:35 a.m. The weather was good and the drive was easy.  We arrived in three and a half hours at Laurel Lake Camping Resort in Corbin. After the crowded environment with the constant noise, this campground is heavenly.  It is maybe one-quarter full with lots of space with all the empty sites.  It is a very long, spread out campground with trees and a lake.  

     We drove into town to the Harland Sanders Café and Museum.  It is supposed to be the first Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant Colonel Sanders opened (before he became known as Colonel Sanders) with a small museum attached to it.  The café and museum were closed for renovations; the drive-through was open for take-out.  We didn’t want that so we drove back into town to look for a restaurant.  The Depot on Main was a bar and café.  Paul had a pasta dish and I had their special - Hawaiian Chicken.   Our waitress had such a heavy accent, we could only understand about every third word.  She was new and slow.  I left the restaurant annoyed.

     After we finished our meal, we walked down to Sanders Park.  There was a small area with a life size statue of Harland Sanders with plaques and bricks honoring donors.  Storyboards told the story of Sanders rise to prominence. He had quite a storied life with lots of failures before his chicken franchise made him a millionaire.  

 2020 Oct 5 (Mon) – We went out to lunch to Beans Café.  The food was excellent.  Paul had a hot ham and cheese with potato soup.  I had a hot turkey melt with bean and ham soup. After lunch, we went to the post office so I could mail off the letter I wrote for the American Legion fund raiser. I called a bus tour company today to complete reservations for our caravan next year.  The agent I had spoken with before is working from home so the office had to take the message, then call her, and then she called me.  She took all the information and promised to send me an email with the final price quote.  

 2020 Oct 4 (Sun) – We went food shopping this afternoon.  It was hard to find a restaurant for lunch. We finally went to the Waffle House and had breakfast for lunch.  The food was good.  Afterward, we went food shopping at Kroeger.  The store was big.  Next door, Kroeger had a liquor store and we stopped there next to get wine and booze. After putting the groceries in our portable cooler, we drove to a winery and did a tasting.  It was on the high side - $8 for a flight of 3 wines, $8 each for a glass of wine, and $28 for a bottle of wine to take home.

     I called the commander of Rusy Bohm Post back home.  They are running a fund-raiser that I just happened to come across on Facebook.  I offered to write a letter for him to send out to the membership.  He agreed and I spent the afternoon composing a letter. I will send it out to him tomorrow.

 2020 Oct 3 (Sat) – I finally got through to the Niagara Falls campground only to find they have raised their rates.  We budgeted $113 a night and they said it would be $117.50 – and that’s with a military discount!  That’s just too much.  So I called a state campground about 15 miles away.  They have available sites but we have to make the reservations through Reserve America.  The clerk at that site had to make the reservations in groups of 6.  They also require the name and phone number of each individual.  We have 20 people signed up so far with 2 more spaces available.  So I gave the names and numbers of those folks who have signed up for the caravan to date, then gave 2 fake names.  We’ll see that goes.  As a result, we will save almost $7,000.  With that kind of savings, we can hire a bus to take the group to Niagara Falls.

     We drove to Williamstown to The Ark Encounter this afternoon.  We got $10 off the admission price as senior citizens. In addition, the price included a free dinner, which cost $15 each.  It was a pretty good deal.  The ark was huge!  It is the largest wooden timber structure in the world.  It was built to show what the ark was like. There were 3 stories with lots of plaques to read.  There were cages with mock animals in them.  Most of the animals were extinct as they imagined those were the types of animals they would have had back then.  The place was packed!  We couldn’t believe all the people who were there.  Almost everyone wore a mask in the ark but less than half wore one outside.

 2020 Oct 2 (Fri) – We packed up and left Olive Hill at 9:40 a.m. We were third in line for the dump station (a short stop before hitting the road).  The drive was pleasant.  The weather was good.  We arrived at the Northern Kentucky RV Park in Dry Ridge at 1 p.m.  This used to be a KOA campground.  It is old and heavily treed.  The sites are too close together and very uneven.  The campground is between a train track and the interstate. There is constant noise.  I don’t think we would come back to this place. The wifi is good.  We have full hook ups.  The pool has been closed for a couple of years.  There is a lake with some paddle boats on the shore but they don’t look like they’ve been used for a while.

 2020 Oct 1 (Thu) – A transformer blew in the campground this morning so Paul took me out for breakfast.  That turned out to be quite an adventure.  All the restaurants in Olive Hill (of which there are few) were closed.  A donut shop was open but we didn’t like the choices so we drove 20 miles over to the next town to have a meal at Biscuit World.  The biscuits were large and flaky – delicious!  The rest of the meal was not so good but it did what it was supposed to.

     We returned to campground and did the laundry.  During a walk this afternoon, Paul stumbled on a site with wood targets where people can throw their knives.  He came back to get me and I gathered up my throwing knife set then we went to the site and threw knives at the targets for 15 or 20 minutes.  It was fun and very challenging.  Afterward, we walked over to the horse stables and fed 3 horses and 2 donkeys some apples.

     The campground has been steadily filling up with RVs and tenters coming in.  It looks like they will be full this weekend.  The maintenance in this campground is minimal.  They put papers at each campsite with the name and dates when the site is reserved.  Many sites have dates that have passed but the papers are still at the sites.  Some sites have garbage piled in the fire pit. I don’t know if the staff is just lazy or if they are operating with minimal staff.  

 2020 Sep 30 (Wed) – We took a tour of the Cascade Cave this morning. It is a living cave with lots of water activity.  That made it kind of exciting.  We had to go out of the cave and back in another entrance twice to see everything. There were parts of the wall that had been bricked up by the cave’s owners to prevent unauthorized entry.  We enjoyed both cave tours (yesterday and today) very much.

 2020 Sep 29 (Tue) – We took a tour of X Cave today.  It was a very interesting cave in that it had two rivers running alongside each other, separated by a cave wall.  Over time, the wall collapsed and became one cave making an X-intersection with 4 passageways.  The cave is still an active one.

     I have heard the term “Caveland” used around here.  I don’t know if it refers to this area or to the entire state itself.  There are over 200 caves in Kentucky; 25 in Carter Caves State Park alone.  Only 4 caves are open to exploration over the year – 2 are closed right now because of the hibernating bats.

     We had lunch at the lodge.  The park is old and all the buildings and facilities show that.  The lodge is typical – made of dark wood and beams. The waitress was very slow although we told her we were in a hurry.  We ordered vegetable soup and grilled cheese.  We got something more like chili with lots of meat in it and the cheese sandwich was barely toasted.  I didn’t even eat my sandwich.

     We drove into town to mail off some things at the post office.  We drove around the area, exploring some of the back roads.  The buildings were mostly old and run down.  It looked like this might have been a well-to-do area years ago but has fallen on hard times.  Probably when the caves stopped being primary tourist attractions.

 2020 Sep 28 (Mon) – We packed up and left Meadow Bridge, WV at 9:55 a.m.  It was very foggy and overcast and we had rain on and off during the 5 hour drive to Carter Cave State Park campground in Olive Hill, KY.  We stopped about 15 miles from the WV-KY border at a Walmart to pick up a few groceries and have lunch.  The new campground is not near stores so it is better to get what we need before setting up.  Getting into the campground was a little hairy.  The road was narrow and had several hairpin turns as we drove through heavy trees.  When we arrived at the office, the clerk said we were already checked in and gave us our site number.

     The weather was crappy so we stayed in the campground.  There are several caves in the area that we will be exploring in the next few days.

[my-shipper-heart-beats]

Chapter 5: Talking Bodies

Yooooooooo.  So sorry this took so long, but hey, at least it’s not a year.  I’m heading into crunch time before graduation, so the next chapter might take a while to get out, but I’m working on it, so don’t despair. Thank you all for reading this far, and I hope you stick to it until the end.  Happy reading!

ao3: here and fanfiction: here

part 1 part 2 part 3  part 4.1  part 4.2

~~~~~

Molly put down her cup of tea and looked at her best friend.  A week had passed since her last meeting with Sherlock, and Meena had been dying for the details.  The two women now sat at the pathologist’s kitchen table, sharing some biscuits and fresh honey as Molly recounted the entire tale.  

“So…You two shared a bed huh?”  Meena asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Molly.

Meena was bursting with excitement.  She knew how Molly felt about Sherlock.  Before this whole experience, everybody knew that Molly had been quite taken by the brooding detective.  How could she not be?  He was handsome and mysterious, his eyes were ever-changing blue green oceans, and his voice was enough to make any person fall for him.  But, most importantly, he was brilliant.  Molly had always valued brains over beauty.  She had had many beautiful boyfriends in the past, but none of those relationships had lasted because none of them had challenged her intellectually.  Then, along came Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.  With him, Molly found someone she with whom she could speak without having to constantly explain herself.  She could speak freely and know that he understood.  And, for his part, Sherlock was constantly posing intriguing questions for Molly to answer.  

“Yes, but nothing happened.  We slept on separate sides of the bed, kept it perfectly professional, he took me home, and we haven’t spoken since,” Molly explained exasperatedly.  Why did she ever tell Meena anything?

“You know, sleeping together is the opposite of professional,” her friend pointed out.

“Well what’s done is done; there’s no undoing it. And, seeing as we’ll never be doing that again, I think we should all just move forward and forget it ever happened.” Molly was certain that that was exactly what Sherlock had done.  There was no way he was still thinking about what had happened between the two of them.

“Well, what are you gonna do for your next date? How can you top that?”  Meena grabbed another biscuit and slathered it with honey.  

“I haven’t really thought about it.  I heard that there was a very interesting science exhibit coming to the Science Museum.  It’s entirely dedicated to the human body.  There’s all sorts of plastinates all made of real human bodies.  I was hoping to go see that before they left. I think that would be fun,” Molly replied thoughtfully.  

“What?  No more torturing the consulting detective?” Meena asked.  “How interesting.”

“Just because I’m not actively trying to torment him does not mean that my feelings about him and this whole arrangement have changed.  I just think it’s a bit childish to play all these juvenile jokes on each other,” Molly explained defensively.  

“Well the Science Museum sounds like it’d be right up Sherlock’s alley,” Meena pointed out.

“I want to go to the exhibit because I happen to be very fascinated by the human body.  This is something I want to do for me.  If Sherlock also happens to be interested, that’s none of my business,” the pathologist insisted.    

“Okay.  Whatever you say,” Meena conceded, throwing her hands up in defeat.  She knew that, if Molly made up her mind about something, there was no way to convince her of anything else, and, if her friend wanted to believe that she had not taken Sherlock into account when deciding on this date, Meena would let her go right on believing it.  “So, tell me more about what Sherlock is like in bed.”

~~~~~

“What do you think, Sherlock?”

At the sound of John calling his name, Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts.  “What was that, John?”

“I just told you that I want to surprise Mary with a romantic weeklong holiday to Bali next week.  She said she’s been there before on business but wasn’t able to actually enjoy it.  So, I wanted to take her back for a real holiday, and I was wondering if you—”

“John, that sounds like a lovely idea, but, unfortunately, I won’t be able to come with you.  I have my monthly meeting with Molly next week, and our schedules do not permit any rescheduling.  The two of you will have to go without me,” Sherlock stated regretfully, getting up from his chair to look out the window.  

“Of course we’re going without you.  That’s what makes it romantic.  I was going to ask if you could watch Rosie for the week,” John explained.  The fact that Sherlock had assumed that he’d been invited to tag along on their romantic getaway made John wonder if maybe he and his wife had been spending too much time with the detective.  

At this, Sherlock turned back to face his friend. “Yes, of course I can watch after my goddaughter for a week,” he assured his best friend.  “In fact, I can bring her along with me to meet Molly.”

“I don’t think I want my daughter traipsing around London with you and Molly on one of your dates.  Things always seem to go awry when the two of you are together.” John looked uncertain.

“Nonsense, John.  Molly has decided that we will spend our next outing at the Science Museum for the afternoon to see some limited time exhibit.  Nothing to go awry,” Sherlock remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “There is no need to worry.  Your daughter will be in good hands.”

“Are you sure Molly won’t mind having Rosie along with you for your date?” John asked dubiously.  

“John, as I have said before, these are not dates. They are government mandated rendezvous. There is not emotional context. Just two people being forced to spend time with one another.  Now please, stop asking stupid questions,” Sherlock responded, frustrated.  He ran his hands through his hair in annoyance.

“Alright, if you say so,” John said, raising his hands in resignation.  “Well, I’m going to head home and start getting things sorted for Bali.”  Shaking his head, he left his friend in his flat to brood.  

~~~~~

“I hope you don’t mind my bringing Rosie along with me,” Sherlock said as he picked up the little girl in question.  They had just entered the museum, and Rosie had nearly run off in the excitement of being there.  “John decided to whisk Mary away for a holiday, so, not only have I lost my two partners in investigation, but I have been left with babysitting duty.”

“It’s fine.  I think this could be a very educational day for Rosie, if she isn’t too scared, that is.  These are real, dead bodies after all,” Molly said as they walked into the exhibit. She was concerned that the child was a bit too young for this exhibit.  

“Oh I assure you, she will be fine.  She is already four years old, and, with her parents’ occupations and mine, my goddaughter is perfectly comfortable with the subject matter.”  As if to prove his point, Rosie wriggled her way out of his arms.  

“Uncle ‘Lock, I want to see that one,” she said. She took the detective by the hand and pulled him to the nearest figure, the entire cardiovascular system suspended as though still in a human body.  “Look, it’s a heart,” the toddler exclaimed.

“That’s right, Rosie!” Sherlock replied.  “And what is the name of the vessels that take the blood away from the heart?”

“Ar’eries!” she answered happily.

Sherlock beamed proudly.  “As you can see, she is far smarter than most children her age,” he stated as he turned to face Molly.  “Now, let’s move along.  Shall we?”

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon, wandering around the exhibit observing all of the plastinates.  Rosie was fascinated by it all and relentlessly asked questions, and Molly was happy to answer every question the young girl threw at her.  She was always happy to see young minds fascinated by the art of science and the human body.  Sherlock watched with an amused expression as Rosie dragged Molly around the museum, insisting that Molly explain everything to her.  

After several hours of exploration around the museum, they had seen all there was to see in the exhibit as well as a few others at the museum.  Rosie was beginning to tire from the day’s excursion.  She was now clinging to Sherlock’s leg, allowing him to practically drag her along.  

“I think it’s time we call it a day,” Sherlock suggested.  “Rosie seems to have had her fill of knowledge for the day,” he added, gesturing to the small child attached to his leg.  He bent down to detached his goddaughter from his leg, opting to carry her in his arms instead.  

“It would seem as though you’re right,” Molly agreed.  With that, the three of them made their way to the exit.  

“Uncle ‘Lock, I’m hungry,” Rosie said as they left the building.  

“Is it really almost six?” her godfather asked after checking his watch.  “I didn’t realize so much time had passed.  Very well, I will take you out to eat wherever you want,” he replied.  

“Invite Molly to come too,” the toddler instructed, taking his face in her hands.  

“Why?” he asked through squished lips.

“Because Mommy always says you have to be nice to people that you like, and I like Molly,” Rosie answered, looking at the small pathologist from her perch high in Sherlock’s arms.  

“I’m sure Molly has other, more important things to do than to join us for dinner.”  The two of them looked at Molly.  

“I think dinner would be lovely,” she stated, smiling at warmly at the pair.  “Where to?”

“There’s an Italian place near here,” Sherlock replied. “I know the owner, so we’re sure to have a nice meal.”

“Italian it is,” Molly agreed.  The trio walked off into the night, making small talk on their way to the restaurant.  

~~~~~

After dinner, Rosie had insisted that they go out for ice cream as well.  Sherlock, being unable to deny his goddaughter of anything, conceded.  He and Molly sat on a bench on the waterfront holding ice cream cones with Rosie seating between them rattling on about all the things she had enjoyed about the day as she licked at her own cone. Sherlock listened attentively, and chimed in every time the little girl struggled to say a word or remember a certain fact.  

“My favorite part about today is that Molly came with us,” Rosie stated happily, swinging her legs back and forth. “You’re really nice.  That’s why Uncle ‘Lock likes you.”

Molly fought the urge to laugh out loud at the statement. She patted the little toddler’s head. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

“I do not like Molly,” Sherlock responded indignantly.  “She is my colleague, for whom I have great respect, but I most definitely do not like her.”  He was so mortified by his goddaughter’s declaration, he did not notice the look of amusement on Molly’s face.  

“Yes you do, I can tell by the way you look at her,” the young girl replied, matter-of-factly.  

“I look at her in a very normal way,” the detective insisted.

“No, you look at her special.  Plus, you wore your special purple shirt today because you think you look best in it,” Rosie answered, still happily eating her ice cream, not knowing the distress she was currently causing her godfather.  “It’s okay, though.  She likes you too.”

Up until now, Molly had been quite delightedly watching the exchange between the two of them.  Now, however, she was no longer amused.  “Rosie, dear, I do not like your godfather.  I merely think that he is a clever man and a brilliant detective.” Molly could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.  The little girl’s words had struck a nerve.  

Rosie looked between the two adults sitting beside her.  She shook her head in disapproval.  “Adults are silly.  They’re not very good at seeing other people,” she said.  With that, she hopped off the bench.  “Uncle ‘Lock, I think we need to go now.”  

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, gathering the child into his arms.  “Will you be needing a ride home?” he asked Molly.

“Oh no.  I’ll get home just fine,” she replied as she collected her things.  She turned to leave.  

“Tell her to call you to tell you when she gets home safe,” Rosie whispered loudly into his ear.

“Do let me know when you get home safe,” he said as she walked away.  

Molly turned back and smiled at them.  “I’ll be sure and do that.”  With that, the party parted ways for the night.  

Later that night, on opposite sides of the city, a consulting detective and a forensic pathologist found themselves unable to sleep, the words of a sweet, little toddler swirled in their minds.  Could she be right?  Was there even the slightest possibility that what she had said rang true?  They couldn’t shake the feeling that, perhaps, the young child was on to something. Nestled snugly in her bed, that little toddler slept soundly, without a care in the world.  

#sherlock #sherlolly #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #fanfic #mine