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erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

Note

okay so ive seen a couple of your blurbs/one shots in mlbrry trope talking about their fuck in the baltimore dugout, and honnestly, i wanna know the deets 😫😫. is there a one shot on the baltimore dugout anywhere?

So Pretty, It’s Blinding

prompt: a follow up to this one shot, what happens when YN wants to use her redeemable coupon on Harry?

warnings: public sex, smut, minors dni

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

an: hi everyone! im backkkkkkk. i missed you all so much but have been having a really rough time outside tumblr. this is pure smut and i know a lot of you having been waiting for this. enjoy 🐠 🌮 🏝

Harry was exhausted.

The game went into three innings of overtime, for the majority of which, Harry was on the mound, and the other - he was on base.

During the bottom of the fifth, Harry was bolting from first to second to get a double, and the short stop ‘accidentally’ tripped him.

It resulted in Harry falling onto the dirt hard, with a minor pain shooting up his side, but before he can register it - he’s up on his feet and cussing out the opposing player.

He nearly got kicked from the game but luckily, his teammate stopped him before he could land a hit to the dude’s face.

YN watched from her seat, no babies, they we’re back in New York with Anne and Gemma.

She watched with a bit of humor because her husband that was currently on the field calling the player a ‘cunt’ was just FaceTiming with his babies before the game - cooing at them and telling them how much he loves them.

The coach put him on the bench for an inning to cool down and in that time, their next up pitcher gave up five fucking points - though YN could hear him still shouting curses from the dugout.

“Fuckin’ curveball it. You’re ruining the game that I had us winning, fucker!” To his own teammate.

“Of course, you only fuckin’ sign cheaters!” To the opposing coach.

“I suck? Explain to me why I make more than all of you combined then! Fuckin’ idiots.” To the rival players.

But a few hours earlier, Harry was murmuring softly to Ezra, “Daddy loves you so much. Miss you ever my second I’m away, bubby. You gotta be good f’your nana though, yes?”

They won the game but it wasn’t a win that Harry was satisfied with because he stormed off the field and didn’t shake hands at the end of the game.

YN feels a bit of disappointment ball in her stomach because this is the first time in quite a while they’ve gotten a child-free night and she didn’t want him in a sour mood for it.

She had brought it along and kept it in her purse for this sole reason, a crumbled up piece of paper that read in Harry’s handwriting, ‘one free fucking, redeemable whenever, expiration never’.

Unlike her husband, she held onto her coupon until the timing was absolutely perfect and she saw opportunity when he walked back onto the field after everyone had cleared out and he found his wife perched on the barrier - waiting.

He had taken an extra long shower to calm down and then a long talk with his coaches because he doesn’t reappear for over an hour and a half - YN is sure he had texted her telling her to go back to the hotel because he was hung up but she didn’t bother to check.

And Harry is predictable, since he didn’t get a reply text - he would come back out to the field, just to make sure his wife still wasn’t waiting.

When he steps back out onto the green, his brow furrows grumpily when he spots her still sat, waiting for him to come retrieve her.

“Your phone die or somethin’? Tried texting and calling you to tell you not to wait for me,” Harry huffs as he arrives in front of her, big palms resting on her thighs.

“Mm,” YN hums non-commitally, she could already feel herself soaking through her underwear with the anticipation of what was about to happen - her body knew him inside and out, knew the pleasure he could give her whenever she asked.

Harry reaches his hand out, a bit confused but honestly a little too pissed off still to question her any further on why she waited but she pressed her foot against his thigh to push him back.

“What are you doing, mama? Don’t you want to go back to the hotel?” Harry asks with a slight harsh edge, he was honestly getting annoyed - he wanted to get the fuck out of this stupid stadium.

“Watch your tone, H,” YN chastises lightly before she’s taking his hand and slipping something into the palm of his calloused one.

He is perplexed as he opens his fist and unravels the tiny scrap of paper from a few months ago, eyes quickly flitting over his own writing before his facial expression darkens with realization.

“Fuck,” He grunts, his voice getting at least an octave lower with lust as he yanks her off her bum and says, “C’mon, let’s go to the hotel. Give you want you want. Nice n’ hard.”

“No,” YN tells him haughtily as he tries to interlock their fingers to walk towards the exit of the green, “It said whenever, I didn’t say I want it at the hotel. If I wanted it there, I would have waited to give it to you.”

YN watches him as he finally connects the pieces of the puzzle, his shoulders straightening and he takes a deep inhale, “You want my cock here? At the stadium? Are you just messing with me?”

“Does it feel like I am?” YN bites back, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and bring his hand to her center where through her thin biker shorts, he can feel not only the heat but the delicious wetness.

“Fuckin’ hell. Know just the place to pound into you,” Harry nearly growls as he wastes no time in pulling her along the turf until they’re going down just five steps to get into the dugout.

It’s so fucking hot, how absolutely turned on he is - it’s like he’s feral with how his jaw is clenched and his movements are demanding and rough as he shoves her into the deep corner of it - somewhat shielded from wondering eyes (but not really).

The tips of his fingers dig roughly into the meaty flesh of her hips as he attempts to spin her so her hands are braced on the wooden bench and her ass is presented to him.

YN doesn’t obliges, she gives him a light shove and a warning glare before roughly palming at where he’s completely stiff in his athletic shorts.

“Bab-baby,” He gasps lowly, hips bucking into her hand, trying to create as much friction as possible - he was shameless, he wanted to fuck his wife whenever she would let him, would fuck her in the middle of the field if she asked.

“It’s my coupon to redeem,” She reminds him harshly, plopping down on the bench and spreading her thighs, “Get on your knees.”

Harry’s mouth is open like a fish, eyes wide in disbelief before they dart around to make sure no one is nearby them to see.

“What the fuck has gotten into you, mama? Gonna make me come like a schoolboy in my pants,” Harry shakes his head as he kneels down - his hands moving to roll down the band of her biker shorts and thin underwear.

Not a lot, just enough that her pretty folds are glistening in the light reflected from the field in front of them.

Just enough that he could duck his head and lick a fat stripe at her lower lips and taste the sweetness that was waiting for him.

“My favorite meal, darling,” He groans in pleasure before burying his face between her thighs again, giving her a warning pinch when she tries to wriggle her shorts down more, popping back up, “Cut it out, not getting you naked here. Greedy brat.”

YN grumbles a bit but that quickly dissipated when his front teeth graze her clit, just a tiny spark of pain then followed by him creating a tight, wet suction that soothes the sting.

YN’s hands are knotted into his freshly-washed curls, tugging and bossy but it just has him moaning further into her cunt - no care that they’re in a public space.

With the excitement of it all, it’s only a few more minutes of Harry lapping at her, laying his tongue flat so she can grind against it, and his fingers coming up to tuck into her to stroke at her walls before she’s trembling.

“H, oh my god. It feels so good, s’good,” YN begins to moan much to loudly as her orgasm comes crashing over her and Harry keeps his mouth busy but his hand comes up to smack across her mouth to shut her up.

Harry’s quite sure he’s never been this close to coming without any stimulation - eyes watching as his wife shivers through her pleasure in then corner of a dugout.

He rolls up her bottoms as soon as she’s ridden out the wave, he has no desire for anyone to see her undressed, no matter how hot the sex.

YN’s has a cocky but hazy smile on her lips when Harry removes his hand but it disappears when she hears a loud noise of a machine revving up.

Harry peeks his head around to see, at the far back right in the outfield - one of the employees was doing turf maintaince on a utility cart, among a couple other men out there helping him.

“Perfect timing,” YN giggles as she stands up, legs a bit wobbly.

“You’re right,” Harry smirks, he maneuvers his confused wife until she’s right where he wants her - hands braced on the bench, bum pushed out for him.

“Harry, wha-?”

“You got yours, mama. Don’t be greedy, gonna give me mine now,” Harry rumbles as once again, he only pulls down her shorts enough and then pulls her shirt down as far as possible to cover her up.

It didn’t make it any less sexy but at the end of the day, she’s his wife and mother of his children - not someone who’s just a sex object, he would never want to expose her.

“There’s people on the field, H,” YN hisses as Harry pulls himself out of his shorts, already swollen and begging for his own relief.

“Then you better keep you’re pretty mouth shut so everyone doesn’t hear how good your husband fucks you, huh?” He teases, lips brush her earlobe as he slips his wet tip through her folds, her entrance giving way easily for him.

“Oh-ohh!” She moans, much to loudly, as she clenches her warm, velvet walls on him - nearly suffocating his cock with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“You like that?” Harry laughs meanly, pulling out only to slam back in, admiring the way that her cheeks jiggle with the force, “Love how slutty you are for me.”

“You-you’re the slut,” YN bites back, hands gripping the wood enough to feel like she’s going to get splinters, knuckles white as her knees weaken with sensitivity radiating from her core.

He lets out a delighted, sleazy laugh as he kisses the back of her shoulder, “Of course I am. S’all for you though. Big ole’ baseball star, make the most money in the league, most sought after, and you’re the only one who’s got this cock.”

Then there’s a shuffling sound nearby that has Harry pulling out and nearly ripping his wife’s shorts with how fast he pulls them back up over her cheeks before stuffing himself back in his shorts.

Harry’s yanking her up so she’s not in such a compromising position and tugs her into his chest so that by the time one of the maintenance men steps into their line of sight - it doesn’t giveaway what they where doing.

The janitor looks at Harry with wide, star-struck eyes, nearly dropping his bucket as they meet gazes, the man stutters out, “You-you’re Harry Styles.”

Harry is thankful that his hard on had managed to go down at a reasonably fast rate so that when he turned to the man and detached from the hug, he didn’t look like a perv.

“I am, s’nice to meet you,” Harry smiles genuinely, it’s not this man’s fault that he interrupted something that wasn’t supposed to be happening there.

“I, I usually not allowed t-to ask but my kid-kids would,” The man continues with his hands shaking like he’s just met God himself, reaching down into the bucket to grab a dirty ball, probably from the bull pen.

“Sign it? Not a problem, mate. What are your kids names?” Harry answers for him, stepping forward and waiting patiently for the man to dig out a marker from his pocket.

“Lilianna, Joseph, and Luke.”

The superstar signs the ball with a personalized little message for the children and while he does, the man casually asks, “What are you still doing on the green?”

Harry is so fucking smooth though, doesn’t even blink before responding with a easy lie, “My wedding band fell off and m’wife wasn’t gonna let me in the hotel room unless I found it. Luckily, I did.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. Thank you for this, Mr, Styles,” The man says before waving at YN and disappearing through a door that was just to the right of them.

Harry tries to hide his disappointment, that their spontaneous sex didn’t pan out how they planned, and so he steps over, kissing his wife’s lips, and muttering, “To be continued at the hotel?”

YN gives him a rough pinch to his bicep, “Since when are you the vanilla one?” Basking in enjoyment when his expression because stormy, “You can take me back to the hotel or you could take me to the locker room like the old days.”

Despite how deep the ache from the game is in Harry’s bones, he’s grappling for her hand and pulling her along towards the field exit and to the locker room.

It’s cleared out by now, already cleaned by how the carpet is freshly vacuumed, and all the stalls for the players are empty and wiped down.

“Get fuckin’ naked,” Harry orders loudly, cock easily harden back to full mast because he was that ready for his wife and he was pretty positive no one else would come into the locker room.

“But-“ YN hesitates but it’s interrupted when Harry roughly pulls her Jersey over her head, then her bra, before yanking down her shorts and panties in one go.

“But nothing,” Harry hisses as he undressed himself quickly, fucking in YN’s fist when she wraps her hand around him, “Don’t act like you’re shy now, love. Just let me have y’cunt in a full ass stadium. You’re used to this, remember how many times you came on my cock in the college locker room? Of course, you remember.”

“Harry,” YN giggles, face heating up even though it’s just them in the room.

“What? No need to be embarrassed. S’just me, your husband, yeah?” His voice is like pure sex on its on as his fingers dip between her folds to make sure she’s still drenched, which of course she is.

“Harry,” YN squeals quietly, letting her boyfriend manhandle her in the dingy, cramp shower stall in the bathrooms of their college locker room.

“Wha’?” He smiles cheekily, dimple creating a deep crater in his check as he pushes her up against the wall and lifts her leg to give him room.

“You’re insane,” She scolds, voice still low but she allows him to maneuver her into a comfortable position.

“C’mon, baby. Had to wait until I found the love of my life to fuck. Least you could do is spread ‘em and let me fuck you like I mean it,” Harry has no shame in his words as he starts to guide himself into her warm center - there’s a rustle outside and YN’s eyes widen but Harry just shuts the curtain even more and thrusts in.

Harry’s press her into a locker but just like before, she pushes him back by his chest, scolding, “You’re always so bossy when we have sex.”

He can’t help it when he lands a hard smack on her ass for her comment but his cock visible twitches when she sits him down on the bench and knees his legs open.

“Baby, baby,” Harry begins to babble excitedly as she straddles him and grips his length to line it up to her, “You gonna ride me? Fuckin’ hell, give me your perfect cunt. How’d did I get so lucky? Fell in love with the hottest woman on this planet.”

YN isn’t gonna lie, her ego is stroked with his reverent praises - he always acts like he’s starving and has been deprived of sex for years when he just got it yesterday.

The horniest of his college years truly never wore off and YN couldn’t say she was happy about it - who wouldn’t want to always feel wanted and beautiful by their partner?

It is also intense when she opens up and lets him in, stretching her walls in the most delicious way - his large, strong hands come to grip the extra plush at her hips to sink her all the way down.

YN’s head falls back, hair cascading down her back, throat exposed as she lets out a loud whine at the feeling and Harry has to try his hardest not to shoot off right there as her tits bounce with her movement.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, mama,” He groans, not embarrassed to admit his thighs are shaking with effort not to come on the spot, squeezing him so fucking good, “You are so pretty it’s blinding. I swear it makes sense why I’m demi, only made for you.”

“Fuck, like that,” YN mewls, nails digging into his shoulders as she exerts all her might in her thighs, burning from the positioning but she’s so close to her second orgasm that it doesn’t matter.

“Need you to come, don’t be selfish now,” Harry grits out, planting his feet flat and beginning to fuck up into her with power that most men couldn’t dream of having.

“I-it’s,” She doesn’t get any other words out because while he’s pounding into her, his teeth come to graze at her sensitive nipples before biting at them with enough still to hurt.

“I said, come on,” It’s now an order, amplified by a forceful smack to her backside, followed by three more consecutively that have pain radiating in every nerve ending but it does the trick when he bullies her into coming.

“Finally,” Harry rumbles proudly, letting go and joining her in release as so as she starts rhythmically clenching around him - he voice echoing through empty room as he unabashedly moans loudly enough that someone surely has had to hear.

YN’s legs ache, she’s not a professional athlete like her husband who can fuck in the most exhausting positions for hours and so, as soon as she comes down from her wave she’s letting her head fall to his now sweaty chest, his chestnut curls matted to his temple.

He was so attractive it hurt.

No only was he her husband but the father of her babies and if she thought about it for too much longer, she’s get turned on all over again.

“That was a nice surprise,” Harry murmurs, more softly now, hands kneading apologetically at her irritated cheeks from where his rings had raised her skin.

“I can be sexy sometimes,” YN chuckles, pushing back into the massage for a moment before swinging her leg off and getting up to gather her closing.

Harry stops her though, grabbing her jaw with light pressure until their eyes meet, “Hey. You’re always sexy. We don’t have to do anything crazy for me to be craving your cunt every second of the day. Whether it’s at a stadium or right before we go to sleep in our bed. Anytime you give it to me, I love it.”

“You’re too good to me,” She mumbles sheepishly, pursing her lips until he leans forward to connect their lips.

They get dressed, ready to go back to hotel and shower, then order room service and cuddle - excited to sleep in tomorrow.

As they walk out, hand and hand, they don’t see the employee around the corner who’s emptying trash cans and pulling out his phone to text his wife.

Pretty sure Harry Styles was just fucking his wife in the locker room

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noellawrites · 3 years ago

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Friend Zone - Yandere!Carl Gallagher

warning: rape, abuse, manipulation, handcuffs

You had always been so close to the Gallagher family. Being Kev’s younger sibling on the run from your abusive family had taken you to his doorstep seven years ago. At age twelve, you had found your biological brother when no one else could.

You still lived with Kev and V in the renovated basement of their home as a built-in babysitter while you attended night classes at the local community college. You loved taking care of Amy and Gemma.

It was just another day babysitting when Veronica came home early. “Hey, how’d the girls do today?” she asked as she picked Amy up and began cooing to her. You were finishing up the cookies you were making in the kitchen.

“They did great today! I got Gem to take from a bottle again, and Amy left a mess in her diaper that I cleaned up.”

“Why don’t you take those cookies to the Gallagher’s? Kev’s blood sugar is gonna kill him if he eats those,” V said, shaking her head.

“You’re right, I’ll go take them over,” you agreed, pushing the cookies onto a large serving plate and covering them with saran wrap.

It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and Frank Gallagher was passed out on the front lawn.

You made your way up to the door and let yourself inside, something you had started doing years ago.

“Anybody home?” you yelled, making your way through the kitchen. For the first time ever, the Gallagher house seemed… empty.

“Hey, what’s up? Sorry, Fi left for work like an hour ago, Ian and Lip are at work, Liam’s at school and Debbie’s with her wheelchair-bound sugar daddy,” Carl explained, taking off his bulletproof police vest.

“I brought cookies for you guys. I made them for Kev and V but in hindsight, I should’ve paid more attention to my brother’s new healthy habits.”

“Thanks, they look great. How are the twins doing?”

“They’re great! I know i’m only nineteen, but they’re almost making me want my own someday,” you confessed.

“You’d be the best mom ever, like, seriously,” Carl admitted, pouring you a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. He cracked open a beer for himself.

“Hey, I don’t get a beer? I had a long day of work too,” you laughed. He rolled his eyes and wordlessly grabbed another.

“I really like you, (y/n).” Carl confessed, placing his hand on top of yours and looking into your eyes.

“I really like you too, Carl, you’re my best friend.”

“How ‘bout we start on our own little family?” he asked nonchalantly, standing up from his seat.

“W-what?” you balked in shock. Did you hear him right? He wanted to have kids with you? Right now? You didn’t even like him like that.

You stood up from your chair and all of a sudden Carl had you pinned facedown against the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” you cried in pain, but soon your question was answered. He had pulled his handcuffs out of his belt and clicked them, one by one, onto your hands.

“Carl, stop!” you demanded, attempting to wiggle free. Unfortunately, Carl’s front was pressed against your butt, preventing you from moving away.

He grabbed your head by your hair and yanked it up, swiftly slamming your head back onto the table. You cried out in pain, but your cry fell onto deaf ears.

“No one’s gonna be home for hours, so don’t even try. And besides, no one would believe you if you said that the Gallagher cop forced you like this.”

He dragged you into the living room and threw you onto the couch, hands still handcuffed behind you.

You willed yourself to wake up from this crazy dream, but it didn’t work. You were still being undressed by Carl as you lay helplessly on the couch.

You tried to scream for help once again, causing Carl to clamp one hand over your mouth. “Shut up, you stupid bitch!”

You whined and whimpered as he pushed into you raw, no condom or lube. Your eyes glassed over with tears as you attempted to remove yourself from the situation mentally.

“You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Carl said, a sickly smile growing on his face.

You only stared up at the ceiling, unresponsive, wondering how in the world you had gotten into this situation.

#yandere carl gallagher #carl gallagher x reader #carl gallagher imagine #yandere shameless x reader #yandere shameless #yandere carl gallagher x reader

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theewritingroomm · 4 years ago

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Happy’s Girl

Summary: Happy finally get the courage to ask out Y/N Telford, who happens to be the daughter of none other than Chibs Telford. But neither Happy or Y/N stopped to think about how Chibs would react. Pairing: Happy Lowman x Reader Word Count: 2,583 Warnings: Out of character Happy, kinda. swearing. A/N: Happy is probably written out of character but I just love the ‘he’s a bad guy to everyone but her’ trope. Also, for those that wanted a continuation of THIS Happy imagine, this is the whole one shot. Tell me what you think!! Text divider by: @firefly-graphics

Y/N was walking out of the garage office and making her way to her car when she heard someone calling her name. She figured it was one of the guys coming to ask her about something related to the garage or to ask her if she had seen Gemma. Which she had not. But what she was not expecting was to turn around and see Happy standing there, and not meeting her eye. It confused her, she was used to seeing the killer hold a stare with anyone and not back down.

“What can I do for you Happy?” she asked, “Need something from the office?”

“No, I actually just need to ask you something,” Happy paused, taking a second to look around for others. Y/N waited, hoping he would continue.

“I was just wondering if you’d let me take you out?”

As soon as the words left his mouth Y/N’s stomach erupted in butterflies. She had never expected one of the guys, let alone Happy to be asking her out. Especially considering her father had a seat at the same table and the repercussions for dating his daughter were always great. But Y/N could handle her father and his temper, and neither were going to stand in the way of going out with the guy she had been ogling at for as long as she could remember.

With a smile on her face Y/N replied, “Of course Hap, I’d love to.”

A wide smile broke across his face at her words. “Tonight? I can pick you up around 8.”

“That sounds great, I’ll see you then.” Y/N replied, the smile never leaving her face as she got into her car.

Y/N was putting her earrings in when her doorbell rang. She let out an excited gasp as she run out of her bedroom and towards her front door. Sliding to a stop in front of it she took a moment to gather to breath before opening the door.

“Hey,” she said breathless as the door opened to reveal Happy on the other side.

“Hi,” he replied, nearly as breathless as Y/N had been. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Y/N mumbled as she felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she stepped out of her doorway.

Happy took a step back to let Y/N lock her front door. He took a moment to admire her figure in the jeans that she had chosen to wear, thinking to himself that she was the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with the best ass he’d ever laid eyes on. But that was something he would tell her later.

“You ready to go?” Y/N’s voice broke Happy out of his thoughts.

Happy smiled and held his hand out for her to take. Y/N happily took it, letting him lead her to the motorcycle that sat next to her car. Happy handed her the helmet that was hung over the handlebars before mounting his bike. Y/N followed him shortly after, buckling the helmet as she slung her leg over the bike.

“Hold on tight,” Happy said over his shoulder, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he revved the engine of the motorcycle.

Nearly thirty minutes later Happy was pulling his bike into the empty parking lot of what looked like a bowling alley outside of Charming. As the two dismounted from the bike Y/N sent Happy a questioning look, as if to ask why the parking lot was empty.

Happy seemed to catch on because he began to speak, “Buddy owns the place and owed me a favor. Figured we’d get a better chance to be more open if no one else was here.”

Y/N simply nodded, knowing better than to question him as to why he was owed a favor. But she also couldn’t fault his thinking, which is why she did not argue with him when he grabbed her hand and led them to the front door.

The door opened easily, indeed opening to an empty bowling alley. However, all of the lights were on and there was even a table set up at the start of one of the lanes piled with different types of food and drink. It shocked Y/N, as she had just been expecting a simple dinner or movie. She never expected Happy to put in so much effort to impress her.

“Happy, this is...” she began, but was quickly interrupted by Happy.

“It’s nothin’.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile on her face, knowing that this man wasn’t going to accept any compliment or praise from her. And she didn’t get the chance to argue with him as he led her to the table. Once there Happy took a moment to set up the scoreboard for their game while Y/N poured them both a small glass of beer from the pitcher on the table.

“And we’re all set.” Happy spoke as he turned around to face Y/N who was unable to wipe the smile off of her face.

Nearly four hours later the two of them were walking up Y/N’s driveway and to her front door. Y/N was still unable to rid her face of the smile that she had been sporting all night. From the surprise that was the bowling alley to the good food and great company she could not have asked for a better date.

“I had a great time tonight,” Y/N said as Happy walked her to her door after what she would consider a pretty good date.

She turned to face him when they reached the door, smiling up at him. He gave her a small smile in return, the emotion actually reaching his eyes.

“I did too,” Happy replied, taking a step closer to her so she was less than an arm’s length away from him. He reached up to brush a piece of hair out of her face, watching her e/c eyes flash to his lips.

Happy took that as all the invitation he needed to lean down and brush their lips together; not kissing her yet giving her the chance to pull away is she wished. But Y/N didn’t pull away, instead she placed on of her hands on the side of his face, casting one final glace into his deep brown eyes before pulling him the rest of the way to her, slotting their lips together.

It was a soft, deep kiss. One that knocked the breath out of Y/N’s lungs and had her craving for more. Despite the feeling deep within her she pulled away, smiling as she could still feel the kiss on her lips.

“Wow,” she breathed out against his lips, touching her forehead to his.

Happy chuckled, pulled back a little more to look her in the eye, “You wanna do this again sometime?”

Y/N nodded, “Pick me up next Friday at eight.”

As the weeks went on everyone could see the change in Happy’s demeanor, but no one was complaining. They all just wanted to know what girl had Happy so whipped. So, while sitting at the clubhouse bar a few weeks later Tig decided to ask.

“Hey Hap,” Tig started, waving the larger man over, “I’ve got to ask man, whose got you so pussy whipped?”

The handful of men around them laughed, including Jax and Chibs. Happy looked from Tig to Chibs, trying to come up with something to say that wasn’t going to anger the Scotsman. But he soon realized that that was going to be next to impossible as the woman he’s been seeing is none other than his daughter.

So Happy decided to bite the bullet and come clean. He’d rather Chibs knock him to the ground now rather than later, or in front of Y/N.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, knowing that they all heard him. That much was evident by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

“My fuckin’ daughter,” Chibs seethed as he got nose to nose with Happy. Happy nodded as the club house went silent. “Ya’ bangin’ my fuckin’ kid!”

“Dating,” Happy replied, not backing down now. “We’re dating.”

Chibs shook his head, anger pouring off the man in waves. “No, end it now. She’s not dating a Son, she deserves more than this life.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Happy began, “She deserves so much more than I can give her, and I’ve tried to tell her than. But she’s chosen to stay.”

Happy took a deep breath, shocked with himself for feeling so many things about this situation and his girl, he wasn’t used to it. “I think I may love her,” he continued.

The clubhouse went deadly silent. No one dared make a sound as the anger rose in Chibs, rather many of them took a step back just as Chibs brought his arm back and slugged Happy across the face, sending the larger man stumbling back a step or two. Gasps and exclamations broke out of the men surrounding Happy and Chibs, waiting to see what would happen next. Many of them expected Happy to come back and lay Chibs out, none of them would blame him if he did. But Happy didn’t do anything but wipe what little blood escaped the cut on his lip.

“I’m not gonna fight you brother,” Happy said, putting his hands up near his chest. “It would kill her to know we went at it. But I’m not gonna lie to you brother, I think I love her.”

Chibs was seething, he didn’t want to hear anything Happy had to say especially when it came to his daughter. His daughter who he loved with everything in his heart, who he so desperately wanted away from the club life, his little girl. He wanted to hit Happy again but knew that he was right it would tear Y/N up. So instead Chibs turned around in a huff and walked away from the group of men, storming in the direction of the office near the garage.

Y/N was sitting in the office with Gemma working on paperwork for the garage when the door opened. Both women looked up from their desks to look at the person who had opened the door, seeing Chibs standing in the doorway.

“Gem, can you give Y/N and I a minute?” he asked with very little emotion in his voice.

The older woman got up from her desk without a word, shooting Y/N a smirk and knowing look over her shoulder. Once the door closed behind her Chibs took a step forward towards his daughter.

“Y/N Telford, how could you not tell me?” her father growled out trying to keep himself from yelling.

Y/N was stunned for a moment. Her father had not talked to her like that since he caught her sneaking out of the house in high school. But she also had no idea what he was talking about, there was a lot that she didn’t let her father know simply because it would give him a heart attack if she did. And she let him know that.

“Dad, I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb wit’ me. I know,” Chibs let out a long, angry breath. “I know your screwin’ Hap.”

Y/N looked at him stunned, “And? We’re dating, what’s the big deal?”

Chibs stood there with his mouth open, stunned himself. He wanted to yell at her but refrained, knowing there was probably already a crowd of bikers standing outside the door.

“He’s a goddamned Son, Y/N! He’s done things that most can’t come back from. He’s just no good for you.”

Y/N shook her head as she stood up from her desk chair. She wanted to meet her dads eye, show him that she’s still the spitfire that he had raised her to be.

“None of that fucking matters Dad. You’re a Son, you’ve done the same things and I never look at you any different.” She took a step closer, “So why the fuck does it matter that its Happy? He’s more than proven that he will be able to take care of me, to keep me safe. And he makes me so happy Dad, isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted for me to be happy?”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears from forming or falling. She didn’t want to argue with her dad especially not over something like this.

“Of course, I want you to be happy,” he nearly shouted, “But not with a Son, not with someone who could be putting you in danger.”

“This fuckin’ club is my family because of you and that’s why there’s always a chance that I’m in danger. So why shouldn’t I find a guy who can make me happy and protect me against the people that are after me because of you?” Y/N sighed as she looked at her father. He stood in the same spot with the same amount of rage behind his eyes. “Forget it, I’m not going to keep arguing with you.”

Y/N pushed her way past her father, catching his shoulder on her way to the door. She ripped the door open and watched a dozen men outside attempt to look busy as she stomped through the parking lot. No one attempted to stop her instead letting her storm to her car and peel out of the parking lot. Everyone cut their eyes to Chibs who still seemed to be fuming as the roar of a motorcycle’s engine roared through the air. Signaling Happy had decided to follow Y/N out of the parking lot.

Y/N slammed her front door as she walked into her house her anger at her father coming to the surface. She was livid with her father; he had no right to be that angry at her for dating someone. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, she was an adult who was completely capable of thinking for herself and making her own decisions. She didn’t need her father to tell her want to do anymore, so why he thought he was still able to was astonishing.

“Babe?” Happy’s voice sounded through the house, reaching Y/N in the kitchen and breaking her from her thoughts. However, she did not respond to him scared that if she did she would end up crying or screaming.

“Baby,” he tried one more time as he stepped foot into the kitchen. Once in the kitchen he saw Y/N leaning against her countertop with her eyes closed, practically shaking. As he moved into the kitchen Y/N didn’t react to her boyfriend, not until he was directly in front of her and pulling her into his arms.

“Why does he have to be such an ass?” Y/N mumbled into Happy’s chest as she wrapped her own arms around Happy’s torso.

“Because he wants what is best for his baby girl.” Happy rubbed his hand up and down Y/N’s back as she tightened her arms around him. “And I’m not that.”

Y/N looked up at Happy with wet eyes, the fear of him breaking up with her running through her mind, “But you are Hap, you’re the best guy I could ever ask for even if you are a little rough around the edges.”

Happy cracked a small smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. As he did he thought to himself that they were going to be okay, the two of them would get through this and Chibs would pull his head out of his ass eventually.

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lailoken · 3 years ago

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‘Wells, Witches and Guardians’

“That there exists a relationship between witch and well is exemplified by the many wells bearing the word witch in their name. This seems to be particularly so in Wales, where gwrach meaning 'witch' gives names unto wells including Ffynnon y Wrach, Montgomeryshire, Ffrwd y Wrach in Cardiganshire, Rhdy Wrach in Carmarthenshire and Lyn Gwradiod in Pembrokeshire.

Witches sometimes made their home near holy wells. Alsia Well, in Cornwall's West Penwith, we are told by William Bottrell was home to a widely reputed witch. She kept a garden well stocked with herbs from which she would prepare curative healing abilities. ointments and lotions, and was consulted for She created and supplied magical charms and could lift the influence of 'black witchcraft' and the evil-eye as well as read people's fortunes. Her cottage, a little above Alsia Mill became a granary in the 1870's, but is again a home and is inhabited by Alsia's current well-guardian — Trevor Rogers.

In Cornish tradition, we also find the ghost of a witch associated with a well. Two tin miners and their sister lived together in a small cottage close to a beautiful well near Kenidzhek. The two brothers gave their sister strict instructions that she was not to go near the well after daylight hours, but would give her no reason. One day however, upon forgetting to draw the next day's water, she ignored her brother's warnings and made her way to the well after nightfall. As she approached the well, she noticed an elderly woman, wrapped about with a red shawl, crouching strangely in a break in the hedge. She spoke politely to the woman but received no response, and so set about drawing water from the well. However, although the pitcher she used was perfectly sound, and she saw it fill with water, each time she lifted the vessel from the well it would be empty. Becoming frightened, she made quickly for home whereupon meeting her brothers she told them of what had occurred. From them she discovered that the old woman she had seen was the reason why they wished her not to visit the well after daylight - for what she had seen was the ghost of 'Old Moll'; a black witch who had terrorized the community in her life and they saw her spirit, sat in the hedge by the well each night as they returned home from the mine. It has been suggested that the well guardian, a figure once common at many holy wells, who would not only tend to the well, keeping it and its path clear, but would also instruct visitors in the traditions of the well, or in some cases play an important role in performing and overseeing its rites. It has been suggested that such well guardians may have formed some kind of survival of an ancient priesthood of the well cult.

As unlikely as this may seem, well guardians have been known to claim that it was only they who had the special ability to interpret the signs of the well in its associated rites of divination.

As we shall see, a 19th century guardian of Madron well, Cornwall, was regarded as a wise-woman, supervising and instructing visitors and patients in the proper ritual procedure to be carried out at the well. Also in Cornwall, not far from Madron, a well in Gulval had another wise-woman guardian in the 18th century, who cared for the well, and instructed visitors in its divinatory powers and was regarded at the time as a priestess of the well's virtues.

In Wales, a well named Ffynon Sarah in Caerwys, was cared for by a witch who gave the well its name. Like Gulval Well's wise-woman, Sarah was seen to hold a priestess-like role, for it was believed that the waters of the well would be of no beneficial use without her assistance.

Traditionally, some wells were said to be meeting places for witches' covens. Upon May's Eve and at Midsummer, witches were said to gather and dance at Skimmington Well in Somerset.

A 'Witches Well' in the Quantocks was also said to be a meeting site for witches. Due to its association with witchcraft, a Cunning Man was called in to exorcise the well for farmers were too afraid to take their cattle there to drink. A ritual was performed in which the man said some 'special words' and cast salt into the well to rid it of evil. A ring of protective ash trees were also planted around the well.

In the 17th century, a reputed witch lived in a small cottage beside a well in Irongray, Kirkcudbright, Scotland. She was said to perform rites by circumambulating widdershins around the well, which made others afraid to draw water for they believed, by her rites, some ill-influence had been imparted upon it. For this she was put to death by being rolled downhill in a blazing tar-barrel.

In the West of Cornwall, modern day meetings of witch covens and other magical groups still take place at holy wells, particularly Madron well and its baptistery chapel, Sancreed Well and Alsia Well. The current well-guardian of Alsia, Trevor Rogers, has observed folk making their way to the well silently, late at night, and has often found evidence of ritual having taken place there. He told this writer that, on one occasion, he discovered shards of smashed pottery lying about the place in a hidden grove beside the well which appeared to be the result of some kind of ceremony or magical working. The next morning, all trace of them had mysteriously disappeared.”

—

Wisht Waters:

Aqueous Magica and the Cult of Holy Wells

by Gemma Gary

#wisht waters #gemma gary #holy well #traditional withcraft

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harryhandstan · 4 years ago

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two hearts in one home

or the one where the reader is homesick after moving to London to live with Harry and they attempt to make an apple pie together!

word count: 1.5k

Maybe it's the chill in the October air that makes you miss home so much.

London weather in the Fall was much different than the warmer, Southern climate you were accustomed to. You don't regret for a second moving to be with Harry, but something today about the cooler weather has you nostalgic for the view of the mountain and trees with the changing colors of the leaves that used to grace the view in your backyard.

So when Harry comes home to the smell of foods you had missed from home, he smiles softly to himself as he closes the door behind him. He rounds the corner from the small entryway into the kitchen, not surprised in the least to see you standing near the stove; an apron around your waist, hair up in a messy bun, fuzzy socks gliding across the floor as you work.

"Somethin' smells nice," He bends to kiss your cheek, "A little early for holiday dinner, innit?"

You smile at him, but he notices quickly that it doesn't reach your eyes. They remain sad and untouched by the gesture.

"Just craving a bit of home, I guess." You shrug.

Home. His heart sinks slightly at the grief in your voice when that word falls from your lips. You had left the home you'd known all your life to make a new one with him. He had taken you from that, and he couldn't help but feel guilty.

"You missin' home, baby?" His hands soothe from your shoulders down to your elbows.

"A little," You turn to face him, a hand pressed to his cheek, "It's almost ready if you wanna set the table for us?"

"Sure." He's grateful for the task, swallowing thickly as he moves away from you to pull plates from the cabinet and silverware from the drawer.

The food is already warm and waiting on the table, the last thing to come out of the oven is a pan of homemade rolls your mother would be proud of. You brush them with butter before stacking them into a towel lined basket. Most of the dinner is side items, which was always your favorite part of the holiday meals anyway. You had even made a pitcher of iced tea, hoping you didn't make it too sweet for Harry.

He's already filling his plate by the time you join him and he plucks a roll from the top of the pile before you can even set the basket on the table. You fill your own plate quickly, but when he lifts his fork to dig in, you stop his hand.

"Do you mind if I pray first? Just..feels right to me."

"No, 'course, go ahead." He holds his hand out for you to place yours in, bowing his head over his plate.

You'd always been too self conscious to say the prayer out loud over dinner around your family, scared that maybe your words wouldn't come out as elegant as you hoped they would. But things are different now, here it's just you and Harry and you express a brief thank you over the food. You lift your head and open your eyes to find Harry studying you from his spot next to you.

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

He shakes his head no, his hand still clinging to yours, a thumb rubbing along your knuckles, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, anything."

"D'you regret moving here with me?" His gaze has fallen to his plate now, terrified of what he might read on your face before you answer.

"Not for a second, Harry..why would you think that?"

"S'just that you sounded so upset when ya said you were missin' home. Got me thinkin' maybe you were second guessing your decision to move here with me."

"Never. H, please look at me," He finally does, unease still written on his features, "You are my home now. Not only the space we share here but you. I didn't mean to sound so sad. I guess I miss the people more than I do the place..my family, friends. I thought making the food might ease some of that homesickness."

"Did it?"

"A little."

"You could plan a visit. Go back to see 'em anytime ya want. Y'know that, right?"

"Of course I do. It's just not the same without you now."

"Got some time off set aside for the holidays. Mum and Gemma aren't that far and we see them more anyway, so we could take part of that to go back to see them for a bit, if ya want."

The heaviness in the air seems to have lifted and you smile as you watch him devour a few bites of his dinner.

"Sounds good, yeah. They'll be thrilled to see us, I'm sure."

"I want you to promise me if y'ever start to feel like that again, you'll tell me. Hate you feeling all homesick and sad and thinkin' you're alone."

"I will. Really, Harry, I'm okay. Honestly it just hit me a couple of hours ago while you were gone."

"Coulda called me, can always call me if I'm away and you're missin' me."

"I know. Just wanted to make myself busy today instead of worrying you."

"Y'not a worry, not ever. Moving here was a huge sacrifice and s'important to me that you know how much I love and appreciate you."

"I love you too, Harry." The grin that spreads across his face is contagious, has you returning the expression before pointing to his plate and asking, "How is it?"

"Amazing, truly." You know he's being genuine. He relaxes into his chair, head falling back and his eyes closing. His lips pressed together, a satisfied hum around the bite of food he's currently chewing. He swallows the mouthful before continuing, "Easily the best mac and cheese I've ever had."

You roll your eyes, "Now you're just being dramatic, I know it can't be that good."

His eyes go wide at even the accusation of not being truthful, "I'm not! Promise."

"I wanted to make dessert too but I ran out of time. We've got those apples left over from the farmer's market, thought you could help me make a pie after we eat?"

"I would love to, baby."

The two of you slip comfortably into sharing the rest of the meal together; exchanging stories from your day. You're content to let him do most of the talking, the sound of his voice a warm reminder of why you'd never regret moving to be with him. It could always put you at ease, fill you with a relaxation you would never be able to find in anything else.

Putting all the leftovers away becomes a harmonious balance of both of you sharing whatever tasks needed to be done. It doesn't take long to have everything clean before you're gathering ingredients and utensils you need. The organization of your kitchen was something you insisted on, no matter if other areas of your space were sometimes cluttered or in disarray, your kitchen would always remain the opposite.

There's a tone of amusement in the air while you work; maybe it was you almost bumping into one another as you move around the kitchen, or Harry attempting to juggle the apples before he begins peeling and slicing them. But when you accidentally drop part of the flour you were so carefully trying to measure, Harry loses it. His head thrown back with a cackle at the sight of your face dusted with the white powder that had landed with a poof when the measuring cup slipped from your hand.

Suddenly any activity you had been so focused on before was abandoned, and you fall into a fit of giggles yourself. He starts to help you clean up, a hand cupping around the mess to scoop it off the counter and make his way to the trash can. He smirks at his palms covered in flour, wiggling his fingers as he moves closer to you.

"Harry, don't you dare!" You try to remain stern, pushing him towards the sink and urging him to wash his hands. He just can't resist though, and when you turn your back to him to restart the measurements, you yelp when a playful swat lands on your butt, leaving a perfect white handprint across one side of the back of your black leggings.

You whip around to face him, a look of shocked surprise thrown his way. His bottom lip is tucked into his mouth, his eyes bright and waiting, anticipating what revenge you may be plotting. Your mind is racing with ways you could get back at him, but all self control falls away almost immediately when he reaches to tug you closer to him. He bends to kiss you just as you're pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, and you accidentally bump your forehead against his chin.

The action has the two of you spiraling into a burst of euphoric laughter, the pie a forgotten project until you can compose yourselves.

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #i've got more fall writing prompts saved #enjoy!!

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spidermilkshake · 3 years ago

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Kin of Klavis--Chapter 3 (Redwall Fanfiction)

Figured since I'm playing with this one currently, I should possibly share it one here alongside my visual Redwall fanworks!

Content Warnings: Redwallish-type curses, Medieval style violence (PG-13, on par with what's already in the novels), and the occasional joke that goes beyond G-rating.

Setting: Like a successor to the book before it--roughly two generations (60 seasons) after the events of The Rogue Crew

Continue below for Chapter 3:

Kin of Klavis

Chapter 3:

At the Starting Line to War

----

Myna bustled about with a metal tin of bilberry scones, engraved decoratively with the figures of full-boughed pine trees. After the container came open with a sharp pop, she set the tin down on the center of the table and hustled back to the larder for pitchers of honey and meadowcream. “Ooh, bring out some chilled apple cider too!” Bluedrop grinned as he sat nearby; the only work he seemed willing to do was holding and rocking the tiny harebabe. Though when he spoke, he quickly lost focus and forgot to rock. “No, Myna, just the mint tea will be fine,” Gemma shot a look at her husband. “And Blue, the baby.” “Oh…Oh!” He began to rock the little one gently again, quieting the mumbling fusses she had been starting to make. “Do you see Dochunn hedgehog yet, or any of his mates?” Gemma addressed Myna again as she stepped over Bluedrop’s large feet. The younger hare carried the hot pot of tea and a basket of little carven wood cups and plates over to the round oak table for her as the old one peered out the parlor window. “Nay, I reckon it’d take them a while, ya know ‘ow ‘ogs are…Wait, I see ‘em, great hulkin’ spikedogs. They’re a-comin’ down the path from the woodland side, look right tired out too. Wonder wot’s got such a fire under ‘em…” “I hate to say, but it may be bad news.” Miss Witherfield shook her head and moved to the threshold, “I’ll let th’ hogs in, but pray both of you be civil with that lot. They’re warriors so they’re manners ain’t up to my breeding’s level, but we owe them our town’s safety.” She flitted into the kitchens and slipped out the main door onto the front porch, standing by the steps with a paw up and waving the small band of burly creatures in. Faintly, Myna could hear her warning them about the patch of slippery slush just near the stairs, but only on one side. No doubt her warnings saved the soaking of many pairs of forester’s boots. “I don’t think that tin’ll be enough…” Myna grimaced, heading to the larder door again, “I’m goin’ ta fetch a couple jars o’ preserved berries an’ some nutloafs. Master Bluedrop, do not let ‘em touch anythin’ that ain’t on the table there.” With a huff she ducked into the dark cool recess. Blue was left alone with his little babe Blythe for only a few seconds. The baby animal whimpered unhappily as the front door flew open and five huge hedgehogs clumped their way in. They were obviously fighters, four big males and a particularly muscular female, clad in tough woolen tunics that clinked suspiciously, as if they had chainmail underneath. At their belts or strapped across their backs were a variety of typical hedgehog arms: short, straight-edged swords, single-headed axes, slings, and a single bow and full quiver on the largest of the males. It was this male who led the party, his headfur grizzled and silver-black, a thin plaited beard hanging from his scarred chin. “We’ve got a meeting place ready, here in the parlor,” Gemma practically shooed the five huge creatures in. The space was high-ceilinged enough, as the old house had been built for large lanky hares, but the general space suddenly became quite crowded as the hedgehog warriors clumped and shuffled to find their seats. The old one, Dochunn, remained standing, leaning against one of the support beams to the side of the table. “Thank ye, Missus, we’re glad y’ could be so accommodating on such a blasted wet day.” He grunted fiercely at one of his fighters who had been about to prop his slush-crusted boots up on the table, “There’s some trouble afoot this mornin’. I’ve called on old Nemria and Torby Pawhold t’ come over too. They’ll want to hear this.” “That’ll make half the town here.” Gemma chuckled as she brushed her distracted husband aside and served scones and tea to the five of them, “I take it ‘tis bad news for all if y’ want to get all the Chieftains involved.” “Aye.” Dochunn accepted a cup of tea, but politely waved away the scone, “We’ve got a vermin problem again.” “Again?” Bluedrop whirled his head up, startling little Blythe and starting her up on a thin wail, “I

thought Witherfield has never been attacked by vermin rogues before!” “It hasn’t, not in yore lifetime, that is.” Dochunn corrected him, “In the days before ye were born an’ I was a liddle hog babe of four seasons there was a horrible war between two vermin tribes nearby. It was near enough that one side o’ th’ wicked beasts decided ta sack Witherfield f'r supplies. They didn’t bring enough beasts, though, an’ th’ woodlanders routed ‘em good. Now it seems some vermin creatures from one of those old tribes are back in th’ area, an’ slinkin’ around in a lot of places…” “They haven’t bothered anyone yet?” Gemma seemed thoughtful, placing a paw on her chin and setting her scone down. “Nay, not unless ye count the terrorized ‘uns who spotted ‘em first. ‘Twas one o’ Nemria’s squirrels, out gatherin’ kindling. Pore thing was scared nearly t’ death at th’ sight of a big, tough weasel with a sword stalking around her woodcutting patch.” “Just one?” “There’ve been more sightin’s since then. All this mornin’.” Nemria arrived with Torby Pawhold, entering without knocking and with grave expressions on their serious faces. Nemria’s ginger and white tailbrush bristled as she strode in with the thin woodmouse trailing after her. Torby bowed slightly at the sight of Gemma, but talk continued as if they hadn’t been late. “Aye, so it’s fairly serious, y’see. I think I’ve counted up five different vermin creatures for sure roaming around the town, possibly more, but these were seen from further off, couldn’t tell ‘em apart from th’ others. There is definitely a big weasel, an’ ‘e’s armed up well.” “Any way to tell what they’re planning?” Torby asked in his timid songbird voice. “You never can tell with vermin.” The age-old and somewhat clichéd answer was given by Myna as she stumped back into the parlor, arms laden with goods. Nemria the squirrel nodded. “I always tell my young ‘uns that, and it’s a damned good hard lesson,” she scowled. “I’ve never met a vermin I cared for more than a midnight trip in a rainstorm..!” “Easy, Nem.” Torby smiled but his eyes widened as he sidled out of arm’s reach of the squirrel, “I’m sure nobeast’s going to be caring for vermin anytime soon. Well, caring about them, caring about what they’re up to I mean. That’s what I meant.” He tittered, muffling his snout into his tunic sleeve. “I think we should start assigning day an’ night watches, in light of this,” Gemma said with a resolute cross of her arms. “That is if your beasts are willing.” “My ‘ogwarriors are always ready to serve an’ protect.” Dochunn wrinkled his spiky brows forward in a hedgehog salute. Nemria followed up with a tail-themed salute of a similar nature. “My squirrel archers can watch from the two large sycamores on either end of town. And from the ground I will post two more every three hours to defend with javelin and blade.” “I can get the word out to all the families that they’re not to wander outside of town unless it’s urgent,” the mouse chimed in, wringing his paws with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t have many warriors, only farmers and craftbeasts. But we’ll make sure your battlers are well-armed and fed. I’ll send my daughter Meelain to inform all the crafters and cooks that they’ll be needed at once.” “Good effort, we’ll be needin’ food delivered to th’ watches and smithy’s services to make sure all weapons stay in fightin’ shape.” Gemma smiled and patted the thin mouse on the shoulder, “Send for your daughter. Somethin’ tells me action now will save a lot of grief later…” --- Dankwood wasted no time that morning gathering support from those who had been cheering him during the competition the day before. Only a few of Mogja’s tribe were willing to go with him and do his bidding at first, but some prodding and a renewal of the threats he’d used against the four guard ferrets soon had a round score creeping after him in the sun-flecked frost of the middle-morning. Two older weasels, both females, lay dead inside their tent, hidden to the early risers. They had been stubborn,

otherwise known as loyal. As the traitorous weasel looked back down upon the camp from his far perch in a beech on a hillock he grinned savagely as he heard a piercing yell. They had discovered one or two of the bodies then. “West, hurry west!” He ordered, slipping from the tree fast as a fur-covered viper, “I want to get underway. We should reach the little woodlander town in two hours if we run hard.” “Why do we attack this woodlander hovel? Is it not dishonorable to fight when no injury has been—“ The stoat that was speaking was smacked out of finishing his sentence with the back of Dankwood’s paw. He leveled his sword’s deadly point at the unfortunate speaker’s face as he steadied himself. “No injury, you say?” The weasel’s eyes gleamed with a murderous smile as he chuckled, “Faraf, you are a fool if there ever was one. No injury!” He swept the sword aside, burying half the blade length in the bark of the very beech he’d just climbed and left it there a moment to rave, “Think back, stoat, what injury have ye lived with since the very first breath ye took?” The stoat paused, his lips pursed. Dankwood continued for him. “Thou art stoat.” The weasel parted his arms wide, as if begging something of the woodlands, “It is a curse to be stoat in this wood! Think! What have ye heard, seen, witnessed, smelt—evil that you’ve felt because you were stoat? Have not the woodlander creatures always treated us as little more than brigands, simply because some Corsairs and we share species? Is that not injury enough to take some retribution from their… soft, comfortable dwellings?” The stoat blinked rapidly, then turned away. Several of the other mustelids were now carrying the weights of anger and grief on their brows; some spoke the causes of their personal strifes: “Aye, mine father did not return home from fishing for grayling one summer—he was found full of otter javelins!” “My daughter and I cannot walk the path or streamsides without eye-curses being throw our way by voles and shrews.” “Last season—that insolent mousebabe thought he could get away with slinging stones at my tail—just because I am a ferret!” “Yea, I’ve been slung at more’n once.” “Then why is this dishonorable?” The weasel knew he had them, rage uniting the once reluctant creatures. Now that he had demonized the woodlanders, he had the twenty of them like fish in a net constructed of old pain, “It may well be the very otters that slew your father, or the shrews that give you looks of evil, or the very mousebabe dwells in the town they call Witherfield! Have we not the Right of Vengeance in this case?” “We do—those woodlanders will pay!” “Kill the otters! Kill the shrews!” “I’m goin’ t’ bundle every mousebabe I see into a sack and toss ‘em off a brink, so ‘elp me!” Dankwood forced a sly giggle down, replacing it with a triumphant roar, just as angry-sounding as his riled-up mob. “Well, why do we wait?! We attack the woodlander town! We will burn it into ash and scatter it as a bad memory!” His claim was met by hellish roars of bloodthirsty approval. The mob charged off, ignoring the similarly enraged noise echoing from the tribecamp behind them in the hollow… --- “Chief!” Mogja was woken from his thundery war-dreams by frantic shouts and the sound of his tentflap being pulled open regardless of secure ties. He whipped his still-powerful body upright in one movement and snagged the long-handled axe he always kept hanging over his bed of skins. Blinking the bloody visions from his eyes, he stared down a visibly terrified Uark with the axe held level with the weasel’s neck. “What?” “Chief Mogja sir, the dishonored Dankwood has escaped in the night. Taken a big crowd of our hunters with him, killed two of the elders—they must’ve been tryin’ to stop him from leaving—“ “Where’s Fayron?” The silvery beast slung the axe over his shoulder and made for the open flap with alarming speed. Uark was forced to grab hold of his bead-bedecked wrists and be dragged a few paces in order to stop him. “Chief, Fayron, he—“ the

weasel gulped hard as the large ferret glared down at him, “He’s been badly wounded. That weasel took a blade all the way across ‘im. The healers aren’t sure if he’ll live or not, he’s so old and feeble already—“ “My Seer is not feeble!” Mogja stormed away, following the sound of the commotion by the healer’s tents, “He will not die! If he does, I shall kill him!” Uark watched the stormy Chieftain stalk off, shoving and bodily forcing his way through the throng of hysterical tribebeasts. The cool confidence that had made this tribe’s spirit what is was had deteriorated in the wake of the unexpected tragedy. Wordlessly, the weasel ran a paw through his tawny locks and turned instead towards his friend Klavis’s tent, very near to the Chief’s. “Klavis, wake up,” He rapped on the tent flap, not surprised in the least when it flopped ajar. Klavis was, to his credit, “confident”. So confident he left his door untied at night, his sleeping area and prizes unprotected. The big ferret was lounged, still quite soundly asleep, in a pile of variegated rabbit’s furs, straw and leaves beneath to cushion them. His keen knife lay close to paw, but lying on the ground beside the bed. Uark didn’t waste his time with a disapproving shake of the head; he’d done it too many times already to the Chief’s son’s face for this one to count. “Come on, lazypelt, wake up!” “Duaaa…Bring more wine..! Ah, erm, good morning, friend.” The ferret stretched sleepily, unaware of the weasel’s strained features. “’Tis an ill morning, Klavis, friend. You’re needed immediately by your father—Dankwood’s gotten out of his cage and coerced a score to join him.” “What?” The weasel stood back a bit in caution. It was remarkable how similar Klavis and his father sounded when angry. “Aye, just what I said—he’s killed two elders and sorely wounded Seer Fayron in escaping. Follow me. I’m sure your dad’ll want you in the war party after those scum…” Klavis gritted his teeth tightly, slamming his beautiful knife resolutely into its sheath on his waist. Donning an eelskin jerkin with cured and toughened leather shoulderguards, he strapped on the nearest quiver and slung an unstrung bow across his shoulders. “I must have… words… with yon weasel scum, Father’s permission or not!” Uark shivered as he held the tent door open for his mighty friend. It was clear this was Mogja the Lethal’s offspring, though the weasel was frightened to see him so… ferocious. Predatory. Vicious. Verminous.

#Redwall #fan fiction #Kin of Klavis #Chapter 3 #chapter story #headcanon

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sapores · 3 years ago

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My first milk punch

I've been on a few cocktail obsessions this summer, fueled by geography (my Mai Tai obsession came from spending time in Hawaii) or interesting articles feed to me by the Facebook ads algorithms.

One of the latter category has been clarified milk punches. The basic structure of a clarified milk punch is this: when you mix milk and an acid solution below pH 4.1, the milk curdles. The curds are made out of coagulated milk proteins, primarily casein, and happen to really bind to the same flavor compounds that make teas and oak-aged beverages taste dry and bitter. So by filtering the curdled mess, the curds pick up a LOT of complex compounds from the solution, and the resulting whey comes out clear, with a silky smooth mouthfeel and a much mellower flavor.

So far the theory.

I got my first taste of a milk punch at A Bar Called Gemma in Stockholm, where they have a carbonated clarified milk punch on whiskey and plum wine they call Näck With It. It's a pale yellow, translucent, incredibly refreshing and surprising drink, and it made me return to Gemma several times in order to order it again.

Later on I tried to different clarified milk punches at Pharmarium in Stockholm: the one with miso was an unfortunate combination, served in an awesome glass pitcher shaped like a milk carton, but the saltiness really didn't work. Their other milk punch, with rum, arrack, coconut cream, vanilla, lavender and lemon, called the Cry Baby was utterly delicious and also had me coming back for more.

Back in NYC I tried the pineapple milk punch at the Dead Rabbit, which will probably become my go-to drink for future visits there.

DIY

Having seen several milk punches I really enjoyed, the obvious next step is to make it myself. And yesterday so I did.

After futzing around with a spread sheet to work out pH levels of mixtures of different solutions so I could gauge in advance whether a planned drink would be sour enough, I put together my very first milk punch:

100ml rye

100ml tawny port

100ml pineapple juice

100ml whole milk

Start by mixing the three non milk ingredients in one vessel, pour the milk into another vessel, large enough to hold all the liquids.

At this point, slowly pour the mixture into the milk (not milk into mixture: if you do that, the milk curdles on impact and the curds end up irregular in size and not as good at filtration as we want). Stir a little, then let the mixture rest.

After testing for a while, the curds and whey will likely have separated a little bit, and it's time to filter the punch. People suggest cheesecloth and coffee filters - I decided to go with an artifact of my childhood: a "saftsil" - a fine woven cloth bag hanging in a scaffold made to balance on top of the rim of a pot so that you can filter out the solids when making cordial.

The curds quickly glom up the fabric and start capturing everything that passes through: the first little bit that passes through will still be cloudy, but after a bit the dripping filtrate will be clear. At this point you can pass the initial but through the filter again to avoid clouding the result.

The result is a clear, pale yellow liquid - the actual clarified punch.

I quickly discovered, though, that this recipe is not sweet enough. You need to go for bold and exaggerated flavors in the pre milk mixture since the filtering mellows everything so strongly. Here, it meant that without additional sweetener, it tasted admittedly refreshing, but with a weird wine-y time from the port that ultimately didn't really please my palate.

The next day (ie today) I tried adding a little bit of Creme de Violette as sweetener. The result was difficult to photograph - the purple of the Violette with the yellow of the punch came out as a weird brownish color, but was a bit more purple in person. Flavor wise it was all the difference! The sweetened milk punch is a subtle, light, deceptively easy to drink beverage that retains tones from its components without any of the textural or flavor wise harshness that can show up in both rye and tawny port.

Final verdict? Great and relatively easy technique, that with a few hours waiting times produce a drink wholly unexpected in flavor and texture.

Next up I want to try

Infusing or macerating spices into the liquor or into the milk

Sweetening before mixing

Adding teas. An intense Earl grey, or a very oversteeped lapsang Souchong should both be interesting to clarify

Mocktails: the alcohol does not actually do much in the mechanics and chemistry of this technique - it should be possible to make interesting mocktails this way!

#milk punch #rye #port #tawny port #pineapple #cocktail

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hegemoneapple · 4 years ago

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Basilisk Eyes: Chapter 41: Fish tales

Crossposted: Basilisk Eyes by Hegemone | Completed: Chapter 41 out of 157 | T | AO3 | FFN | WATT | HPFF

Gemma had left his side and he guessed she was hugging Mei from the muffled sound of Mei’s sobs. He stood there holding the plate of biscuits and feeling like a jackass.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Bing.

“No worries, man. It’s messed up. It’s all messed up.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

There was a plinking sound like someone had dropped some beads and a whiff of fish that made Harry wonder if they were having fish for dinner.

“Did someone break a necklace,” Harry asked.

“Oh, no, I’ll get those.” Bing had gone down on the floor and was picking up the rolling beads.

Harry, feeling a bit useless, fished a biscuit off the plate and ate it.

Mmm. A chocolate bourbon.

Soon, Mei’s sobs quieted to hiccups. Harry got his staff out his pocket and summoned a clean handkerchief from it without managing to spill the biscuits (he was feeling pretty skilled about that) and offered it to Mei, taking a step toward her wet sounds.

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed as something rolled under his foot and he almost fell, but Bing caught his elbow.

“Oops, missed one,” Bing said.

“Thanks, mate.”

Harry tried again to hand the handkerchief to Mei.

“Cheers,” she replied, sniffling while taking it from him.

“Want to have some tea with us at our table?” Harry invited.

“Sure, I guess,” said Mei.

“The charm is Scribunt loqui if you’d like Gemma to be able to understand what you’re saying,” Harry suggested.

Mei huffed.

“Hey, Mei,” Bing said. “I’ll help you do it.”

Harry repeated it. After many attempts, Harry heard the tattletale crinkling of paper.

Gemma had come back over to him as they worked on the charm, her hand on his arm.

Mei hesitantly greeted Gemma and Harry could sense her hands moving in a signed response. He also heard a little bit of paper flapping by Gemma which he hadn’t noticed before.

“Gemma, do you have a charmed bit of paper, too, for your signs?”

She tapped his arm twice, “yes.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” He felt a bit sad, a little left out and then he shook his head to get rid of the feeling.

She tapped his hand and he took her arm and they made their way to the table. Gemma guided Harry’s hand to the tabletop and he placed the plate on it. Harry felt for his lunch plate, worried that he’d put the biscuits on top of them accidentally, but couldn’t find them.

“Did someone clear our plates?” Gemma tapped twice on his arm.

Bing was moving a chair away so that Mei had a place at the table next to Gemma, and Harry sat on her other side, and Bing next to him.

Harry had a moment of thankfulness that the spilled pitcher earlier had not been hot tea when he took a sip of the tea that Bing had poured out for him.

He became aware that Mei and Gemma were in an intense conversation from Mei’s responses. It sounded like Gemma was really telling Mei a lot more than he’d ever known her to say.

Well, probably because our communication is limited to writing in the palm of my hand. It’s hard to get into depth when it is so slow, he thought.

“Bing? Can you tell me what Gemma’s saying?”

“Sure. She was signing a bit, but I think she’s just learning how to sign, because now she’s actually just writing on a notepad to Mei. That must be faster,” Bing said.

Bing was leaning around Harry, trying to see what Gemma was writing.

“Hey, Mei, Gemma!” Bing interrupted, “Can you sit so that I can see what you’re writing? I can read it to Harry.”

He turned to Harry, “Let’s trade seats, then I can see what Gemma’s writing and read it to you.”

“Geez, Bing. Why do you have to make everything so complicated?” Mei whinged.

“Come on, Mei. Don’t be so difficult. Let’s include Harry, too. You know you hate to be left out.”

She responded with a harumphing sigh.

Harry was ready to let it go, but he heard Bing stand up, so he pushed back his chair and followed the edge of the table to find Bing’s seat as Bing walked behind him and took his seat. Bing helped sort out their tea and plates. Harry moved his fingertips forward on the tablecloth until he located the saucer of his tea cup, then took a sip and waited. He wondered where Mrs. Boot was.

“Bing, is Mrs. Boot at the table,” Harry asked.

“No, why?”

“Oh, she just wanted some shortbread. Could you put some on a plate for her?”

“Oh, I think Gemma already did that. There is a plate where she was sitting with the biscuits on it,” Bing replied.

“Oh, okay. That’s good.”

“Okay, Gemma’s pointing to spot on the page that she wants me to share with you, Harry,” Bing said, his voice directed away from Harry, but loud enough for Harry to hear even over the din of the dining room.

“She was telling Mei about how she was really sick with spattergoit last year and they thought she was going to die, but she pulled through. She missed her first year at Hogwarts because of it. She said at first when she started recovering, she was so out of it that she didn’t realize that she couldn’t hear anymore or speak… all she did was sleep and she barely ate or drank. I guess she lost a lot of weight. When she did finally feel well enough to notice that she couldn’t hear anything at first she was really scared and she tried to hide it from her family. I guess she was afraid that they wouldn’t want her anymore if they knew that she couldn’t hear or talk on top of being disfigured.”

Mei seemed to be comforting Gemma now. Harry wondered if Gemma knew what Mei had said earlier about her face… if she had read Mei’s lips. He wondered at Gemma’s capacity for forgiveness… What would cross her line?

“But her family figured it out and, of course, they weren’t going to kick her out. She and her family have been learning sign language at home with a private tutor, but she was finally well enough to come to the Center for more diverse training—not just sign language, but also to learn other things such as nonverbal spell casting so that she can go to Hogwarts in September.”

Harry leaned forward, hoping that Gemma could see that he wanted to speak to her and said, “I’m chuffed you’re here now and that you’ll be at Hogwarts in the autumn.”

He was glad to hear more of her story and was curious about Mei’s, but knew how it felt to have people constantly wanting you to recount a dreadful experience. He wondered if this was the time to tell Gemma and Mei about what happened to him.

It might make Gemma not want to go to Hogwarts! A giant serpent roaming the corridors turning students to stone and a mind-controlling diary that almost stole a first-year’s soul.

He thought about Hermione—of all people—lying to her parents about what happened because she was afraid they wouldn’t let her return. He wondered what she told them about what happened their first year when Professor Quirrell taught the whole year with Voldemort living in the back of his head.

He decided to wait.

Harry nibbled on another biscuit, a shortbread. He slipped one in his pocket for later, for Hedwig. He had put a piece of roll in there, too, earlier.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the stash of food in your pocket, Potter,” Bing teased.

“Oh, er.” Harry felt his face grow hot. “It’s for my owl, Hedwig.”

“Yeah, right,” Bing laughed.

“Do you go to Hogwarts, Bing?”

“Yeah, I’ll be a sixth year. I’m in Hufflepuff.”

“Do you play Quidditch?”

“Yeah, but I’m not on the team. But I saw you play. You’re really good,” Bing said enthusiastically, but then uttered a heavy, “Oh,” and got quiet.

“Yeah,” Harry said, addressing the unsaid thing. “It sucks.”

He kicked himself for bringing up Quidditch at all.

Mei and Gemma were quiet, too.

“Mei, too,” Bing said heavily. “She was really good at Quidditch before… ”

“I turned into a fish… ” Mei angrily interjected.

That surprised Harry. “Wait—What?”

“Oh, come on! No one told you?” Mei hissed. “That prissy, frizzy-haired know-it-all didn’t tell you that I have a fishtail? I can’t believe that after the looks she gave me when I accidentally dumped you in the sand. I didn’t know that would happen. No one told me!”

Harry noticed that the rest of the dining hall seemed to be quiet as if everyone was listening to Mei ranting.

“No… no one told me,” Harry said.

#fanfiction harry potter #blind harry potter #basilisk eyes #hegemone

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Revel Ch. 6

Factitious First Impressions

Tori was as good as her word. That night, when they went for bed, she drew the curtains and he snuffed the lights, leaving the pair of them in pitch and utter darkness. Tori climbed into her part of the bed and Katakuri his. There was space enough for another full grown man in the bed between them, and though she would have welcomed some contact Tori was smart enough to know that Katakuri, in his shyness, might panic.

So she kept her hands to herself and when the morning came she rose without him. She dressed herself in a simple lace robe over her long nightdress and left the room. No one would expect her to be in finery for breakfast.

She shut the door quietly, leaving Katakuri sleeping in their shared room, and made her way down the long hallway. The ancient floor was worn soft and cold under her thin slippers, and sunlight streamed in from skylights above her head. She walked into the Silver Hall with a halo of light floating across her sea-dark hair.

The Silver room was home to three long tables equipped with benches. One was for the staff, who had already had their breakfast, another for the soldier girls, who would eat later, and the third was reserved for the nobility.

For Tori and the other rich, high ranking women she had grown up with.

She was one of the last to arrive. She took her seat amongst the others, already chattering. It was all idle, easy gossip, nothing that would make its way into court or true intrigues. This was a place for eating, not a place for doing business.

Tori piled her plate with fruits, took a bowl for yogurt and a pair of hard boiled eggs. Most of the others were eating pastries. Someone handed her a cappuccino.

Tori joined the idle chatter. She alone did not stop when the door opened once more and Brulee walked in, sticking out like a sore thumb. Her clothes were plain, her face was scarred and her hair was a mess. Tori adored her.

“Everyone,” she spoke, “ I would like to introduce my sister-by-law, the Lady Charlotte Brulee.”

Brulee’s smile was somehow both awkward and unnerving. She took an empty seat, and started piling her plate without saying much to anyone.

“If that’s a Lady, I’m a cat,” Seline muttered, loud enough to be heard by everyone from Selbo to Tori herself. Brulee’s shoulders lifted and drew together and her smile spread wider and tensed. Tori stood up abruptly. She walked around the table, grabbing a bowl and a pitcher of milk. A strange anger possessed her, pushing her forwards.

She brought it over to set it in front of Seline, pushing her plate away.

“You,” she said as she poured milk into the bowl, “Are Seline Butelli. Your father is a duke, and you are not even a duchess, when you marry your brother with inherit and you will hope for the best . I , am Victoria di Imperia, crown princess and your future queen. And if I say that my friend is a lady well .”

She set the pitcher aside and nudged the bowl of milk towards a stunned Seline, “You had best start lapping kitty .”

Dead silence descended upon the women in the room. Tori had never been so aggressive, so uncivilized.

Yet now she stood, throwing her rank around in defense of a stranger who even Tori barely knew. But she would not tolerate it. She would not.

Satisfied with the mortified and red face Seline, and knowing that some form of retribution would come her way, Tori returned to her seat and continued on like nothing had happened to begin with.

Tori sucked in her stomach while Madelle laced up the back of her dress, pulling it taught. It pushed her tits up and gave her the illusion of not having organs. On top of the underdress and its laces draped a long length of blue as dark as magpie wings across her, falling straight down to the floor. On top of that she dropped a shorter length of imperial purple that fell only to Tori’s upper thighs. The edges were carefully embroidered in patterns, inlaid with fine, miniscule diamonds that shone when she moved like stars in the sky. It clasped at her shoulders with silver fibula adorned with a diamond skull. Rather grim, but befitting her new status.

“Beautiful, as always,” Madelle told her. She pulled her hair and piled it in tight ringlets atop Tori’s head before binding it with a thick ribbon encrusted with constellations.

“Of course,” Tori said absently, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a vision. She was beautiful and beloved by her people. It felt false. More so now than it had in a long, long time.

Tori slipped on her soft silk slippers. The sun was burning in the west, dipping towards the cradle of the sea.

Her mother lullaby came back to her again. She had learned it first in the Green Tongue, the one spoken in the forests.

Roll forth Ocean mother

Carry you children far

Shine bright moon hung o’er

Watch over their tepid flight

Bring with you, Great mother

The silver crashing mist

Protect your sons and daughters

Great Oars push to safety

The tide shall guard the night

Lift high sea walls honor

Shine under sunstones bright

Stand tall, brother-sister

Guard each truth and steel

Cradle those, earth protector,

Crowned in stone from their ordeal

Senten them moon sister

The sorrow of the earth

Tori hummed softly. She knew there were more verses, but Dolce had never shared the full song with her. She told her that the sorrow of the earth was too sad for a child, but when she grew up she would sing it to her.

She never got the chance.

After Gemma was born, Dolce got sick. A post partum depression, she stopped sleeping, didn’t eat as much as she used to, and she was left open to infection.

It had been common, in the first days of Imperia as its own nation, shortly after the Novara civil war eight hundred years ago. A disease that swept through the vulnerable, cultivated by dying on the battlefield it was given free reign, passed through blood and sweat and tears. Or perhaps the air, no one had known and still no one did. It killed within twenty four hours.

The dark spots appeared, and the children were taken away. Dolce was quanteened, and she died. Followed by five servants, all four her handmaidens, and three doctors that tried to help her. They were blessed than the disease had stopped there, and hadn’t destroyed the entire city. Blessed, people said, but Tori and Lucien had lost their mother and Gemma had never even gotten to see her.

Now, Tori was a grown woman, married already, and Dolce would never see it. Would never know the woman that she had grown to be. Beautiful, and the daughter-by-law of an empress. One day, as the eldest child, she would be queen.

Dolce would not see that either.

Lapa finished with her hair, spreading a silver net encrusted in diamonds across it while Varinia lay her lips on. At last, she was ready.

Tori turned to the door.

“Let’s get this party started,” she joked lightly. Madelle, dressed in fine sapphire, skirts, nodded her assent swiftly. Lapa and Varinia took their places beside her. Aelia and Daria were hidden in the walls, in identical dresses to switch places with her if need be.

The gaggle of girls walked out of the room and into the hall. Katakuri had been shooed away some time ago, to dress himself properly. If he showed up in anything other than leather, Tori would be privately amazed.

They turned down the hallway and descended the stairs, meeting up with Brulee as they reached the bottom. She was flanked by the rest of Tori’s handmaidens, who had dressed her up in fine a lavender gown the color of her hair that draped across her long body well, bordered in pale blue. They had painted her lips and sculpted her face, tamed her hair and braided it into a crown adorned with blue roses.

Tori offered Brulee, who was closer to her size but still taller by a good head, her arm. Brulee took it, looking at her with a new light and together the pair walked into the atrium. Long vines dripped down from the ceiling, covered in wisteria, bougainvillea, and honeysuckle. The impluvium was filled with false lilies that held candles in the center and glowed faintly as they floated.

Tori took Brulee to the edge of the water and sat with her while her handmaidens scattered. they had their own duties to attend to.

Tori could see her sister, dressed in her uniform, standing off near the door with her captains. Her brother was talking to a judge near the spread table of fruits, cheeses, and wine. Nothing that Tori couldn't eat, but with Katakuri expected to be in attendance she couldn't either way.

Unfortunate, but she’d eaten before hand. Tori was no fool.

She chatted idly with Brulee until the attention in the room moved to the staircase once more. She turned with the rest of the room to find Katakuri standing at the top. He was wearing an actual shirt that fit him well, dark and bordered in red to match his scarf. His pants were still leather and his boots were spiked, but he was missing the knee pads.

Tori stood and glided towards the stairs. A silence fell across the room, or perhaps she simply wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were on her, and for the first time in a long time she felt a longing pressing against her ribs.

For someone so large he walked with a shocking amount of grace. He descended the marble staircase and when Tori offered him her hand he took it in his. A smile pulled at her lips, threatening the false one layered over top with silver glitter.

Katakuri kept his eyes on her and she her eyes on him as she guided him to his sister. He sat, crossing his legs, and Tori stood at his side, tucking her arm in his.

The band started playing soft strings, a low hum that build beneath her bones. Tori let herself stand close to Katakuri, for once taller than him, but true to her word, she didn’t try to sneak a peek. His arm was strong and warm beneath her hand and she felt that heat in her ribs once more.

While they sat, she talked, pointing out courtesans, officials, and visitors scattered around the room.

“That one,” she said, gesturing to a man in the corner that dressed in what appeared to be plain street clothes, no more than a tunic and leggings “is Orso Orseolo. He is a long trusted friend of my brother, sister and I but he won’t take any lands we offer and so he’s not a real nobleman at all. He says titles give him hives,” she smiled like she was sharing a conspiracy, “because he’s not got a title or lands but still has our backing and speaks with our voice, the rest of the court is terrified of him.”

She moved on. “The woman in the green dress is Arcielda Severan. She has quite the scandal about her divorcing Pietro, the one with the red boots and the frown lines. Still, she’s a good person, reliable and loyal to a fault. Once stabbed Chealsea Pruili with a fork and proposed Oblivion for her and hers when she tried to imply that disfigured babies shouldn’t be kept. Chealsea is the one in the brown gown with the bear bracelet.“

“How do you keep track of all of these people?” Brulee asked her, peering up at Tori with her same eerie smile.

Tori shrugged. “It’s not very hard. I just do.”

She was surprised when Katakuri’s low voice reached her.

“You said that flowers mean things. Do those?” he looked towards the flowers that dripped down the walls in long lines of white, purple, and pink. Tori felt her heart lighten at the interest Katakuri paid, and perhaps a bit at the attention in general.

“Bougainvillea, the pink ones, are for ‘peace and free trade’. We have ambassadors from the other Novara islands here. The Honeysuckle is for affection, fraternal and devoted. Wisteria, the purple, is for love, sensuality, support, sensitivity, bliss and tenderness. They’re for us.”

She felt his pulse under her fingers. Felt his shoulders draw together.

She drew a slow circle across a silver scar that crossed his arm, soothing.

“What’s oblivion?” Brulee asked next. Tori’s eyes darted again to Arcielda, speaking quietly to Alton Izard.

“Oblivion is the greatest disgrace for an Imperian,” she told them quietly. “It’s to have your entire existence erased. From the hearts of men and the Hall of Records. Your name will never be spoken again and you will be lost to the sands of time. Made into nothing and no body.”

Tori’s voice grew soft as silk and quiet as the grave. She was well aware of the attention that the two foreigners were paying her, rapt in her words.

Arcielda broke away from Alton and came over to them as the music picked up. She took Brulee’s hand and tugged her to her feet, sweeping her away to dance. Tori was left with Katakuri, who didn’t seem the type to waltz.

Brûlée was about as graceful as a colt, new and ungainly on its long, long legs. Bit Arcielda didn’t seem to mind. Her son wasn’t present, still just a child, and in any case he hated crowds.

Without really thinking about it Tori traced the strong lines of Katakuri’s arm. She kept talking him, telling him about the people around them. Where they came from. The positions they held. Their influence. Their temperments, histories, old grudges and new ones.

“Some of them are like me,” she told him. “Charlotte Victoria di Imperia. The ‘di’ is just a place holder. It means ‘of’. If they have that in their name, they are as old as the island. If their family name is all their claim, they’re newer blood. There aren’t many ‘di’s left to us. It’s been too long. Mostly, it’s my family.”

His voice was low and deep beside her when he spoke.

“Your family is very small.”

Tori smiled. Small, showing now teeth. A grin was threatening a rude. “Yours is very large. And new, isn’t it?”

“Mama is the first,” he confirmed, but Tori already knew that. She hummed softly, her voice a quiet melody. The band picked a quicker tune and she watched Arcielda lead Brulee through a clumsy spin across the floor. Arcielda was a sweet woman, and a complete lesbian.

“And you are the second. Third?”

“Second son, third child.”

“That must be a lot of presure,” Tori mused. Katakuri shot her a look.

“You’re a princess .”

Tori smiled again, almost wide enough to split her false lips. “But I don’t have to work for that. My whole life has been presented on a silver plate. I don’t need to choose anything to get my future.”

Katakuri’s head tilted ever so slightly. Once more Tori found she couldn’t read the look in his eyes. She wanted, suddenly, impulsively, to steal him away. Drag him out into the gardens and sit him in the grass and unravel his scarf so she could see .

But Tori was more well behaved than that. She let herself lean against his shoulder instead. Arcielda dipped Brulee low, until her hair almost touched the floor before pulling her back to her feet. Katakuri never looked away from them.

“You’re very protective of her,” Tori commented idly. He stiffened minutely under her fingers. Tori repressed a wince of guilt. That was right. Brulee’s scar.

“She’s my sister,” he said simply. Tori didn’t respond. Her own relationship with Gemma was much less… good. Gemma was a fighter, a general, hungry for power and stubborn. She was vicious and able. Tori was none of those things. She wanted no power, she fought for nothing. She was no vicious, so long as she could help it. She had been an honors student, she had competed in S.T.E.M., she had won academic decathlons almost single handed.

She wanted none of those victories again. She had no ambition. She coudln’t. Ambitious people drew too much attention, had too many expectations placed upon her and here-

No one expected her to be anything but pretty here.

“She told me what you did this morning.”

Tori looked at him, brows pinching minutely. She’d almost forgotten what she’d done. “Oh. Seline? She’s never been a kind person…”

“You didn’t have to stick up for her,” Katakuri said. There was a note of suspicion in his voice that pained Tori.

“You forget,” she said quietly. “She is my sister now too.”

She patted his arm and released him, the magic broken, to go find Orso. Her friend caught her hand when she appeared at his side and kissed each cheek. Familiar, kind, with a hint of concern in his soft brown eyes. He talked to her about nothing. Court gossips, hail storms, his sister. The pair of them walked to find others that Tori had grown up with, just as painted and false as she was.

There were three genuine people in the room. She was not one of them.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia

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cloudoclock · 5 years ago

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BACK TO SCHOOL| #favouritebooks #booksofinstagram here are my all time, life changing, imagination evoking favourite books✨ Ghost girl - Torey Hayden The sky is Everywhere - Handy Nelson Shiver - Maggie Stiefvater The Declaration - Gemma Malley You against Me - Jenny Downham The rest of us just live here - Patrick Ness All the bright places - Jenifer Niven Silence is goldfish - Annabel Pitcher Undertow - Elizabeth Heathcote Maternal Instinct- Caroline Leavitt The One Memory of Flora Banks - Emily Barr . . . #studygram #studyblr #studynotes #bookish #studytips #studymotivation #studywithme #studytube #gcse2019 #study #stationery #handlettering #stabilo #planner #student #studygrammer #bujo #notetaking #booklover #bookstagram #allthebrightplaces https://www.instagram.com/p/B1gLYsjBMIg/?igshid=y8l9uj0cd6x

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hismissharley13 · 6 years ago

Text

Diary of Lady Reapers

This is my little birthday gift to @soawonder ... Hope it’s a great day, doll!

Kat - Brittany’s Birthday

I woke up extra early this morning. Lots to do. Plenty to organise. It’s my doll’s birthday and it’s going to be EPIC!

I hopped over to Jax’s room to shower, not wanting to wake Brit and Tig. Jax woke as I was towelling my hair dry,

“Mornin’ Kitkat.” I smiled as his sleepy expression morphed into confused, “uhh, why are you using my bathroom?”

“I didn’t want to wake the sleeping beauties, Brittany’s birthday, remember?”

“Of course, party day…but it’s like, 6am…why you in here so early?”

“Because, Prince Charming, some of us have a lot of work to do. I want today to be perfect,” I fluffed up my hair and pecked him on the cheek. I pulled on my jeans and buckled my belt, sitting on the edge of his bed to pull on my boots,

“You ridin’ today sweetheart?”

“Yeah, just got a little rounding up to do. Gemma and Lyla are on decorating duty today, I gotta pay the order at the liquor store for the cocktail stuff and as I’m taking my babygirl to the cabin tomorrow I need to go clean it today. God only knows what kind of shit-show Piney has left it in this time,”

Jax chuckled knowingly. He nodded and dropped back onto his pillow. I raised my eyebrows as I stood up,

“Don’t you dare sleep the day away, Teller,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss,”

I snorted as I walked out. We’d had to practically crow-bar Piney out of the cabin yesterday. I’d left the windows open to air the place through before I tackled it. When I got there, the place smelled decidedly sweeter. I smiled to myself as I plugged my iPod in and set my ska-punk playlist to shuffle. I bopped around unashamedly, singing along as I cleaned. I set fresh wood in the fireplace ready to light, cleaned the bathroom and laid out one of Brittany’s favourite bath bombs on the vanity and candles around the room. I was just making the bed with fresh linens when I heard a familiar voice,

“Kat? Where ye’ at princess?”

“Bedroom,”

“Perfect,” he chuckled. I stood and turned as I heard him come in behind me. I held out a hand as he approached, pushing him lightly in the chest,

“Uh-uh Chibby, this is all set out for Brittany. You don’t get to spoil it for her, I’ve worked so hard!”

He smiled kindly and caressed my cheek,

“Ye’re a sweetheart. How’s about we fool around outside a little then?”

A smirk crept across my face, my expression mirroring his as he took my hand and I allowed him to lead me outside.

***

I followed Chibs back into the town, stopping at the liquor store to pay off the order. I confirmed delivery with the store assistant and swung my leg back over Bella. I’d just kick-started the engine when Hale pulled up in front of me,

“What can I do for you, Deputy Chief?” I sighed.

“A little less sass please, Kat. I only stopped to tell you that the charges have formally been dropped. I still have my eye on you, though,” he retorted in a clipped tone. Ah, yes. The charges. One day David Hale might actually arrest me for something that is worth both our time. Until that day, he keeps proving to be a major pain in my ass. I know Brittany likes him, though, so I try and keep a (mostly) civil tongue in my head.

“Thank you, Officer. I’m sure Charming is a much safer place with you around,”

Hale narrowed his eyes and drove off. I revved the engine and rode back to the clubhouse.

Juice jogged up to me as I parked my bike in line with the Harleys,

“Hey Kat. I was wondering if you could help me, I can’t for the life of me wrap this gift!”

I chuckled,

“Of course I can honey, lead the way,”

Juice had a plethora of different wrappings set out on the bar. I grabbed a small basket and showed him how to wrap it in cellophane. He arranged the gifts and I helped him tie a huge bow. A selection of marijuana from Clear Passages and a full smoke kit.

“Thanks, Kat. You’re a star,” Juice beamed at me. I returned his smile fondly as Gemma pounced,

“Aha, there you are. Lyla’s driving me mad, come and talk some sense into her,”

Two hours and much running around later, everything was almost ready. Opie and Kozik had the barbecue fired up, Chucky was in the kitchen and Chibs was behind the bar, mixing various huge pitchers of cocktails. Tig had taken Brittany out for the day so I went back to our room to get myself ready.

I had on a red lace bustier and matching thong, over which I wore a black figure-hugging sleeveless dress. I put on skyscraper heels and headed into the bar. Clay and Piney wolf-whistled as I entered, making me giggle a little. I grabbed a glass of wine and downed it.

“Ok guys, Brit and Tig should be back shortly. I know she’s always loved the cake cliché so lets roll it out pretty quick…I’m not sitting in there missing the party all night! Bobby, can you frost the top once I’m in there please? Jax, Hap, help a girl out?”

“Ok Kat, all done,” Bobby’s voice muffled through the structure. The music started and a murmur of conversation filtered through where I was hidden. I heard Brittany’s excited squeal as she entered, allowed ten minutes for everyone to greet her and give her their gifts before texting Juice. I felt the wheels roll as I started to move, Happy and Jax must’ve gotten the nod. At least I hoped.

“Happy birthday!!!” the club cheered as Brittany was presented with the cake. I heard the pout in her voice as she complained and grinned to myself,

“I can’t cut the cake, Kat’s not here,”

I prayed silently that someone was videoing this for me, switching the microphone on as I heard the first bars of the song, I readied myself;

“You’re just too good to be true,

Can’t take my eyes off of you,

You feel like heaven to touch;

I wanna hold you so much…”

As the music reached the crescendo before the chorus, I erupted through the cake with a big grin on my face. Unfortunately, Bobby had been a little heavy handed with the frosting. As the cake split open, a big dollop of pink icing was dumped across my chest and shoulder. I rolled my eyes at him as he grimaced before turning back to the star of the show. As I broke into the chorus, Jax and Happy lifted me in their strong hands out of the cake,

“I love you Brittany,

And if it’s quite all right

I need you baby…”

Peals of laughter rang through the song as she flung her arms around me. Juice faded the lyrics back into the song as I switched off the mic.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful,” I giggled into her ear. Her eyes sparkled and she leaned down to lick the frosting off my collarbone,

“Mmmm, strawberry?”

I winked at her with a sly grin,

“Naturally,”

@hanaissupergirl

@cole-winchester

@samcroslut

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfic #Jax Teller #juice ortiz #chibs telford #david hale #tig trager #opie winston #happy lowman #bobby munson #herman kozik

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tpwkwrites · 6 years ago

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what if | h. styles

warnings: none

type: female reader insert

request: no

part two

“Okay, but what if I turned into Shrek twice a month for an entire day?” She chuckles at her own question. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Then I’d just have to be your Fiona.”

She squeezed his cheeks, making him open his eyes to her. She was leaning over him slightly, her hair framing her face, and her head blocking the harsh sun from his eyes. “You’d go ugly forever for me?”

one where Harry finally decides its time to marry you.

Harry doesn’t remember exactly when he’d fallen in love with y/n. He reckons it’s happened a few times since he’s met her.

When y/n, literally, stumbled into Harry’s life she was midway through university, studying sociology and psychology (and yes she’s tested Harry’s personality against her lecture notes. He’s a type two: the caring, interpersonal type – demonstrative, generous, people-pleasing, and possessive). Around this time is when he had first fallen in love with her. Their relationship was under wraps, no one knew but them. They liked it that way, maybe Harry a little more. He felt like he had her all to himself like he could get to know her in his own time.

See, how they would meet was Harry would wait until her dorm was officially closed to guests at night, and then he’d just sneak in. She’d given him an extra fob to get on the hall, and after shooting a quick here text, she would prop the suite door open for him. He would slip in, toeing his shoes off in the hall first, and make a beeline for her room before any of her suitemates could wake up.

On this one particular night, if he remembers correctly it was a Wednesday, when he stepped into the room she had the lights dimmed, dollar store candles lit, and a plate of minute microwave noodles accompanied by two glasses of orange squash. Harry remembers the shine in her eyes and the smile on her face.

“Wanted to get some takeout, but I didn’t have enough for everyone in the suite and I didn’t want to be that person, you know? So, like, I tried making some alfredo, chicken of course, but I burnt it. Still not sure how that happened, so, yeah.” She took a breath and smiled up at Harry. He felt his heart stomp in his chest. “Just know you’ve been busy lately so I want this to be your place to relax. Even if it’s just a little twin bed in the corner of Williams’ all-girls hall.”

And since then, she’d just continued to amaze him. When he turned twenty-four she got him a bouquet of pink roses and a spiral bound book with How To Fall in Love with Harry Styles sharpied on the cover. Inside was a note.

Harry,

When I met you, I was convinced you weren’t real. People like you don’t exist for people like me. But yet, you’re all mine. I don’t know much about love or soulmates, but I know that right now you are my everything, and I am so grateful. You’ve been around for twenty-four years today. I’m so lucky that I got to spend one of those years with you. To many more. And to you. Enjoy.

With all the love I can offer,

Y/n

Chapter 1: Get ready for smoothies, juice cleanses, Higgs and ridiculous amounts of yoga.

The smile on his face was embarrassingly large for the rest of the day. And every centimetre was for her.

Y/n is something Harry still can’t believe is real. Harry didn’t always believe that there was someone for everyone, himself included, but he was wrong. He was so wrong. Y/n is that one person who was so unusual to the natural order of things; who is his one exception.

Every time he looks at her all he can wonder is how far had she travelled. Years? Thousands of years? Lifetimes? All just to end up with him.

Once their relationship hit the press, Harry was certain it was all going to end. Though they never confirmed their relationship via social media, it was very obvious that they were a couple. Because of this, y/n had to pull out of in-classroom lectures and settle for online, which ended up putting her behind in her curriculum. Then came the harassment and stalking. Once people found out her dormitory, she had to move off campus. And unfortunately, so did her suitemates, as they were getting harassed for details of the couple as well. Harry thought the final straw was when she had to delete all forms of social media. Death threats, attacks, and abuse followed her everywhere, under every tweet, and under every Instagram post.

He sat her down one evening. They were at his place in London because, well, she hadn’t bought a flat and there was nowhere else for her to go, so. They were about to go out for dinner and Harry just knew that paparazzi were going to be hounding over him, especially since this is the first time he’s been out mid-tour break. He wanted to lay it down thick, give her a clean way out so she didn’t have to feel guilty or forced in any way.

“Harry, it’s nearly half eight.” He sighs, and she nods knowingly. In a hushed tone, she says, “is it your tummy again? I’ll cancel the reservation, we don’t have to go.”

Harry rubs his forehead gently, shutting his eyes. “No, y/n...I just...“

She sends him a smile. “H, everyone gets an upset belly. And you know I won’t judge you. Now come on. I’ll get the electric blanket and turn on Forrest Gump.” When she turns to leave the front room, Harry grips her arm a bit tighter to get her attention. She looks at him, a bit bewildered, before taking a seat again. “What’s going on?”

Harry thinks, at that moment, her eyes are the most beautiful they’ve ever been. Filled with wonder, longing, and fondness. He wants to savour that look because he’s not sure if he’ll get it forever.

“This is your out.” He says it after a deep breath and with what y/n recognised as his this-is-very-serious voice. “Out of me. Out of us. You’ve got nothing but–but shit since media found out, and all because of me. Don’t let me and my life ruin yours. So, there. This is your out. I won’t be mad at all. I won’t mention you in interviews or press. I won’t even contact you if that’s really what you want.” His hand drags through his hair, tangling it further. He hasn’t looked at her yet, he’s afraid to. “I love you, y/n, and if it takes you leaving then...then okay.”

She grips his hands before nudging his head up to hers. She’s got a smile on her face and water in her eyes.

“Thank you,” is what she says. Harry can nearly feel his lungs collapsing and he can nearly hear the crack dividing his heart in two.

He nods. “Well, I suppose–“

“–but no thank you.” The confusion on his face makes her giggle. “I’m far too in love with you Harry, it’s going to take more than a few cameramen and aggressive women to push me out of your life.”

And he’s beaming again.

So now, after a year and a half of dating, Harry had decided that he was going to marry her. It was simple really. He couldn’t possibly count the number of times a day he thinks of her. Or how many times he’s dreamed of her. Or how many times he’s seen her face and thought wow, that girl is all mine.

He went to his mum first. She, of course, cried. Big, fat, ugly, but very happy, tears. Her baby boy was getting married. Goodness. Then there was Gemma, who was more than pleased. Since she had met y/n she’d fallen in love with her too. It was impossible to not love her.

Telling her family was fairly easy as well. Sure, in the early days of their relationship her parents were a bit skeptical of them being together, Harry to be more specific. To be frank, they thought he was a bit too much for her. But they came around to the idea of having him around and might have even fallen for his charm as well.

All that was left to do now was ask.

The ring he’d gotten was a combination of their two favouritecolours. His, champagne and hers, emerald. The ring was emerald cut with white diamonds around the gem. It was her, it screamed her. It would be a pity to not have it adorning her fourth finger on her left hand.

He chose the 5th of May to ask for her hand in marriage. It was the sunniest of days in London, his back garden had been freshly cut a couple of days ago, and the groceries were just delivered. She was out getting petrol in Harry’s Range Rover. When he came home she surprised him with a five-day getaway to Chewton Glen’s Treehouse Hotel and Spa. Because they were leaving so early she’d thought it would be a good idea to fill up now. While she was gone Harry cut fruit, made sandwiches, made a pitcher of squash, and mixed a greek salad. He wanted this whole thing to be perfect. He wanted her to brag about this for the rest of their lives together.

He grabbed the softest blanket and the basket he’d whipped up and set up an area in the back of the garden, under some trees. The ring was burning a hole in his trousers.

She came back and stood on their deck with the cutest of grins on her face. Her bounce down the garden was quick, unlike the kiss she’d given him once close enough. “All this for me? What for?”

Harry pushes some hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear with the rest. Her face nuzzles into his palm and he could nearly burst. “Jus’ cause I love you.”

Lunch was amazing. They spoke about songs Harry had written, papers y/n had written, and then they moved to stranger topics. Like, what ifs. What if the earth just opened up and decided to eat us? Or what if you got locked in an elevator for five hours? He had his head on her lap. She was gently massaging his face, sometimes straining her back so she could kiss him.

“Okay, but what if I turned into Shrek twice a month for an entire day?” She chuckles at her own question. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Then I’d just have to be your Fiona.”

He barks out a contagious, boisterous laugh. “I’d flip the world upside down for you.” She kissed him. Soft and sweet. Just how she is. Harry cleared his throat. “What if I asked you to marry me?”

Her movements stopped and Harry felt her body tense a little. “What?”

Harry rocks up on one knee, sliding the ring from his pocket. Her hands fly up to her mouth and Harry chuckles nervously, a heat spreading over his cheeks.

“What if I told you there were over 100 billion stars in the sky, and not one of them shines as bright as you? Or what if I told you there were poems and songs that could make me cry, but none of them could ever move me like you do? And what if I told you that all I ever want to do is love you and be yours for the rest of our lives?” She’s wiping tears from her eyes hastily. “Y/n, will you marry me?”

A loud sob racks through her body and Harry smiles, sniffling lightly along with her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, wiping her eyes even though the tears kept coming.

Harry chuckles and grabs her hand. “It’s okay.” He pulls her hand closer, pushing the ring towards her finger.

Suddenly, she yanks it back, and that’s when the air starts to get cold. London’s sunny May 5th quickly became a chilling Antarctic winter.

“No. I’m sorry.” She walks away.

Now Harry is left wondering where he went wrong.

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 6 years ago

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Hold Back the River

Hey there! Here’s Part XI to the Chaos and the Calm series, which can be found here. I know I usually post at night, but I really wanted to get this one out to you guys. I’m really proud of it, and it’s a definite don’t miss, so be sure to tell me all of your thoughts and reactions. it really makes my day hearing feedback, and as always, don’t forget to reblog!

Hold Back the River

July 2020

Tried to keep you close to me/But life got in between/Tried to square not being there/But think that I should have been

He had triple-checked his bags before they had left for the airport, but Harry found himself rummaging through his carry-on once again as Alex drove them to Holmes Chapel.

“Love, if you’ve forgotten something, it’s not exactly like we can turn round and get it,” she said gently, trying to hide a smile.

“I know,” Harry muttered bashfully. “Jus’ wanted to make sure.” He hadn’t forgotten anything, just like the other three times he had checked. Harry tapped around on his phone for a few minutes, starting to play the Beatles. As much as Alex enjoyed her and Harry’s recent spontaneous trips— they had gone upstate for a weekend on a hiking trip a few weeks after Johannesburg, this one had been planned for months. It was her youngest brother Charlie’s birthday in a few days, and they hadn’t been to visit either family since Christmas. Seeing Alex’s wistful look to the fields and towns they passed on the road, Harry smiled. “Penny for your thoughts, love?”

She tapped her fingers on the wheel. “It’s just...I miss this place, you know? I love New York, but it’s not home. Don’t know if it was ever meant to be.”

“Think you might want to move back?” Harry asked. He wasn’t exactly surprised at her confession; she had been seeming a little antsy for the past few weeks.

“I might, yeah.” She said, swallowing nervously. “Dunno, Stupid question, forget I asked it.”

He cocked his head. “You know I won’t, love,” he said teasingly.

It was about an hour’s drive until they reached town, and another five minutes until the tires of their rental car crunched against the gravel of the driveway of Alex’s childhood home. It was a Saturday, so Charlie was off from school and Sam, their other brother, had come back from university at St. Andrews for the summer a few weeks prior. Alex dug out her keychain from her purse, unlocking the door and dropping their things by the entryway. “Hey knobheads, we’re home!” She hollered, causing Harry to snicker next to her. He loved her brothers like they were his own, and seeing her with her family was always an amazing time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, plodding out of the kitchen with an apple in one hand and his phone in the other. Smiling, he hugged them both.

Charlie came out a few moments later. Alex ruffled his hair, prompting him to pull away and wrinkle his nose at her. “I’m your sister, you loon. I’m allowed to do that,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that my kids I hear?” Alex’s mum said, cheerfully whisking out of the kitchen, wearing a patchwork apron. Diane Jones had always been Alex’s rock. She was never anything short of a total mumma’s girl, and leaving her mum in England had been by far one of the hardest things for Alex about leaving for America. Especially after her dad, Timothy had died when Alex was 16, their bond had grown even closer. She had never been anything but incredibly welcoming and gracious to Harry, calling him “her long-lost third son.” When they had told her that they had finally gotten together, there was nobody that was as excited as her. Even as corners had to be cut for ends to meet when money got tight, there was always a spot in the spare room for him to sleep over, a kind ear to turn to when he couldn’t go to his mum, and a place at their table for meals. Her curly dark brown hair— a trait she passed onto her daughter— was pulled back and her hands were dusted with flour, but the smile on her face was unmistakable.

“Hi mum,” Alex said, throwing her arms around the woman. “I’ve missed you.”

“Not half as much as I have, love,” Diane responded. “Harry, so good to see you. Been treating my daughter right?” Alex groaned as Harry chuckled.

“Never anything but the best,” he responded.

Once upon a different life/We rode our bikes into the sky/But now we crawl against the tide/Those distant days are flashing by

After a hearty dinner of meat pie and roasted vegetables, the family began to trickle off into their respective bedrooms. Diane hesitantly let Harry and Alex share her childhood room, and after a stern warning of “no funny business” and two pairs of very pink cheeks, they snuggled under the blue cover of her old duvet.

“It’s so funny being back you know?” Alex said softly. “The last time I was really here for more than a week or so, I was in university. So much has happened since then.”

“It’s definitely odd, but I like it, you know? This is our place, it’s somewhere where we can be ourselves without any pretenses of what people expect of us. I can be Harry here, not Harry Styles. Just a normal guy. Used to work at a bakery, y’know?”

She swatted his shoulder. “Yes, I know, you numpty. You used to make me go in and get my croissants from you every Saturday so you’d have someone to talk to, remember?”

He kissed her forehead. “Of course I do. Just one time of many where I’d be hopeless without you.” Harry joked, but it was true. When his world was spinning a hundred miles an hour, she was the person who kept his feet on the ground and his eyes on the stars, never letting him take anything or anyone for granted. I’ve been thinking about what you said, ‘bout wanting to maybe move back to England?”

“Yeah?” She asked curiously.

“More I think about it, more I like the idea.” Harry said. “I get what they say about home being people more than a place, but I can’t really shake the feeling that New York’s not really a long-term plan for me. For either of us. I love it, and I love performing there, but there’s something missing, y’know?” He said, going on, “it’s always felt temporary. It’s a place to have fun and visit, not to put our roots down.” His voice grew quieter. “I’ve thought a lot about the two of us settling down, but I’ve never really entertained the thought that we’d live anywhere but England. That we’d raise a family anywhere but England.”

Alex’s heart swelled. She knew he thought of them as a long-term, permanent kind of thing, but hearing him voice his hopes for their future in such a concrete way comforted her in a way she didn’t know she needed. He looked at her with a slightly worried expression on his face, and she realized she had been lost in thought for nearly a minute. “If yeh don’t like that—”

Alex cut him off, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, not at all, H.” Her tone grew gentler. “That sounds exactly what I’d like.” A soft smile appeared on his face. “You, me some house in the London suburbs. Close enough to commute to the city but without all the stress and prying eyes…” She trailed off, getting lost in Harry’s eyes and the thought of their future.

“Somewhere safe with a big backyard and room for a dog and a few kids,” Harry picked up. He glanced at Alex, who didn’t seem to be running for the hills, so he continued, “how many d’you think you want?”

“Two or three,” Alex responded, without much pause. She’d thought about it, especially after the pregnancy scare. “I’ve loved having siblings growing up, and I’m sure you’ve felt the same with Gemma.” Gemma had always been like the sister Alex had never had. When her mum was away and she needed advice on guys, someone to binge Bake-Off, or a sympathetic ear, the older Styles sibling was only a few roads away. “What about you?”

“Three would be nice, but all I really care about is they’re happy and healthy. Know they’ll be as beautiful as their mum.”

“And as generous as their dad.”

Alex woke late the next morning, still sleepy from jet lag but hopeful from their conversation. Harry’s side of the bed was vacated, which wasn’t unusual— he usually got up before her. Padding down the hallway, she poked her head into the kitchen. Her mum was reading the newspaper dressed in her scrubs at the kitchen table; she had taken an odd shift on the weekend to be free for Charlie’s birthday on Monday. Harry was parked in front of the stove, flipping what Alex assumed to be pancakes from the batter-splattered bowl next to him, and a half-open carton of eggs lay on the other side, a few sizzling in a pan. A pitcher of orange juice already sat on the table, next to a heaping bowl of cut fruit. Alex leaned against the doorway, observing the scene. “Did you make all this?” She asked.

Harry nodded. “Least I could do. I know yeh don’t do well with jet lag and your mum had work today. Plus, I like cooking. Make a mean chocolate chip pancake,” he said, making her smile. Damn, he knows me well. “Yeh think it’s weird?”

Alex shook her head. “No, I love it. It’s very…” she paused, searching for the right word, “domestic. Suits you.” Looking for a way to help, she eyed the table. “Let me get the dishes?” Harry nodded assent, and Alex picked up a stack of plates, setting them in front of each chair. “Boys not up yet?” She asked her mom, who shook her head. Sighing good-naturedly and walking back to the room that Charlie and Sam shared, she banged her fist on the door. “Get up if you want to eat!” At the mention of food, both were our in a matter of seconds, and everyone was sat gathered at the table a little while after.

After breakfast was finished and Alex had kissed her mum goodbye, the couple headed to Harry’s. His mum was there; Gemma had wanted to make the drive up but had a packed schedule for the week.

Lonely water, lonely water won't you let us wander/Let us hold each other

A few hours of catching up and several batches of ginger scones later, Harry and Alex sat next to each other on the couch, one of his arms absentmindedly draped across his shoulder as they watched reruns of the Office on the BBC. Breaking the silence, Harry spoke. “Let’s go on a walk.”

“Okay?” Alex said, an edge of confusion in her voice.

Harry shot her a classic half-smile, taking her hand and helping her up from the couch. Slipping on the pair of shoes she had left by the entryway, the two exited, walking down the path that led from his house to the town’s main road. While walking, they passed a few shops, including the bakery— which he insisted on stopping in for a bite to eat— and pet no fewer than four very cute dogs. After giving the latest a scratch behind the ears, Alex looked up at Harry.

“Yeh want one. Don’t you?” He asked with a knowing smile.

Alex nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Can we?”

Harry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “How ‘bout we wait till moving back here? Less hassle with adoption, and we’ll have a backyard instead of just the apartment.”

Alex crinkled her nose, but nodded in reluctant consent. “It that’s what it’s got to be.”

Chuckling, they continued, walking further and further out of city limits. Alex would usually be confused at this point, but she trusted Harry, and it’s not like the outskirts of Holmes Chapel were known for being particularly dangerous. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve gone?” She asked.

“Like walking? I think it’s only been 2 kilometers or so.” Harry said, slightly confused.

Alex shook her head. “No, like us,” she said, gesturing between them with the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s. “From childhood friends to dating to living together…It’s kind of crazy to think about.”

“It has been a bit of an odd progression, hasn’t it?” Harry asked, smirking. His smile faltered. “That year when we weren’t really talking… I don’t know if we ever really talked about how that impacted us. It was…” He slowed down his pace, nervously running one hand through his hair, “It was tough for me, to say the least. Shitty might be a better way of putting it,” he said with a wry smile. “I already knew I was in love with you, and I had made myself okay with the fact that we might never be together. Had resigned m’self to it. But not having you in my life at all, it was just about the worst thing possible. It was a bad time for me, I tried to distract myself from thinking of you, but nothing seemed to be working.”

Alex’s breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed Harry’s hand tighter. “You never told me that, H.”

“Didn’t want to bother you with it. We weren’t talking, and then we were together and things were going so well and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“You can come to me with anything, you know that, right?” Alex asked Harry, looking at him. “We all need support sometimes, and I’ll never think less of you for asking for it.” Having gotten caught up in their conversation, she hardly noticed where they were going. The lavender fields. “I haven’t been here in years,” she breathed, letting her fingertips brush against the blossoms. They hadn’t made it out last year, and they hadn’t visited it before that since Harry left for tour. Nothing had really changed, however. It was still slightly overgrown, still full of sunshine, and still incredibly beautiful. Harry took the canvas bag that he had been toting around off his shoulder, reaching into it pull out a familiar-looking green quilt. “Is this...Is this our old blanket?” She asked, touching a corner.

Harry nodded. “The same. Didn’t we have a name for it?” He asked.

After a moment’s thought, Alex responded. “Candace. Dunno where we came up with it, but I’d stake money that it was Candace.”

He snorted. “Sounds ‘bout right.”

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes/Hold back the river so I/Can stop for a minute and be by your side/Hold back the river, hold back

“It’s really sweet that you brought us out here. I’ve missed our picnics.” Alex said, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder as he shoved one hand into his pocket unceremoniously. His heart rate shot up and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

Alex furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong, love?”

Stepping away from her, Harry forced himself to meet her eyes. “I do have food. Brought sandwiches, apples, and that shoddy rosé we used to beg my sister to buy for us. But there was something I needed to do first.”

Alex was a pretty intuitive person. She prided herself on her logic, so she knew this conversation wasn’t heading for a breakup. They had already all but settled the fact that they’d be moving to England in the near future, so he couldn’t be bringing up that topic again. They’d agreed that they wanted kids in the future, after buying a house and getting married. Marriage. The air seemed to leave her lungs. That must have been why he kept bringing up conversations about our future, she thought, quickly stopping before she got too ahead of herself. The last thing she wanted to do was get her hopes up and then be disappointed. But when Harry knelt to the ground, in a worn pair of jeans and plain white t-shirt, Alex didn’t think she had ever seen a sight as beautiful. The hand that had been in his pocket was now pulled out, holding a dark red velvet bok, shaking so much she thought he might drop it.

“Alex, you’ve been so many things to me over the years. A friend, confidante, partner in crime, girlfriend, lover, I could go on,” he said, giving a watery grin, “and I probably would if you’d let me. But all I’m trying to say is that when I don’t think my life could get any better, you somehow find a way to make it happen. You’re an incredible woman, kind and generous, smarter than me,” Alex let out a choked laugh, “and very possibly the most beautiful person to ever walk the face of the Earth. You’ve been there for me when I didn’t believe in myself, there to pick me up, dust me off, and tell me to get my ass over it. You haven’t wavered in your love and commitment to me when things get hard, which is probably most of the time, if we’re honest.” He took a moment to wipe one hand on his jeans. I know our relationship can be hard, I know this can be hard, but it’s what I want. I choose you, Alex. Through the good and the bad, the distance and drama, whether we’re making love or fighting because we’re both too stubborn to admit we’re wrong. I can’t promise it’ll get any easier, love, but I can promise I’ll always be there. I chose this spot for a reason, love,” Harry said, looking around at their surroundings and then back up to the face of the woman he loved more than anything. This is our place, somewhere we’ve spent countless hours sitting and talking and worrying our parents when we didn’t come home.” Alex dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her flannel. “It’s where I realized I loved you, and where I’m going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me.” Alex wasn’t generally a terribly emotional person; it took a lot to make her cry, and there were definite tears. “So Alex. Alexandra Diana Jones, will you marry me?”

It was almost like slow motion. Alex fell to her knees in front of Harry, bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks. Leaning their foreheads together, she whispered, “Yes.”

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