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wandawiccan60 · 1 year

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I’m Sorry

An Alfie Solomons X Freya(FemOC)One-Shot

A/N: Hello everyone I know I have ghosted for a while just school and other things have happened lately good and bad really. But enough said but here is a lovely lovely One-Shot that I had the honor with working with my bestie and lovely @i-love-th-characters1. We thought of this story out of nowhere and we decided to make Alfie be such a brute because we thought that Alfie never really apologizes so we decided to make this tale of him and we are very proud to share this short and yet long one shot of the lovely King of Camden Town and his beautiful Scandinavian. Gypsy Freya(our very own OC). Romance, Friendship, etc is presented before your eyes and I hope you all enjoy this as much as me and I-love had such a fun and brainstorming time to bring this to life. Without further ado please as always enjoy, Reblog, Comment, and thank you all for being around I appreciate it every single one of you.

Summary: ”I'm Sorry."

Two words that she never thought she would hear from the man in front of her. If she's honest, she did look at him like he had 3 heads. Silence took over as they both stared at each other, wondering who would break it as his apology lingered between them.

WARNING 18+: Fem is a Virgin, Lit SMUT, Cussing, Mentions of Alcohol, & Lots Fluff

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The old grandfather clock chimed throughout the small hallway indicating that it was past 10 o'clock at night. Freya was peacefully sitting on the red velvet couch facing the small chimney fireplace. While in her hands she continued to read a book that she got from one of the bookshelves. Cyril was lying next to her feet on the floor while the smooth breeze of the ocean outside the window came inside the lit-up living room. Freya let out a low sigh placing the closed book on top of her lap feeling uneasy about Alfie not arriving home yet.

“Where could he be, it’s getting late?” she said out loud resting her back against the head of the couch hearing the crackling sound of the fireplace continuing to burn.

Feeling like time was going slow for Freya, Sophia, their young maid, appeared inside the living room making Cyril lift his head up from his nap.

“Would you like me to get you anything else for tonight Mrs. Solomons?” the young girl asked while picking up the silver tray from the small brown table in front of Freya.

“No, I’m quite alright now, Sophia thank you. It's best you head home. I'm still waiting for Alfie to arrive from his workplace. Don’t you worry about me, I can take care of the rest of the house. You have done a lot today which I appreciate very much and so does Alfie but enough said. Oh, and yes, your payment for this week's salary I’ll get that right away for you my dear. I’ll be right back,” Freya said, walking her way out of the living room to head to Alfie’s office, while Sophia put away the tea tray in the kitchen area.

A few minutes later Freya returned with the young woman’s payment in her hands, she saw Sophia giving cuddles and scratches to the big Bullmastiff. She smiled at the site while the big dog lay on his back enjoying the amount of attention he was getting from the young housemaid.

“Silly Cyril you, now come on then off to bed with you. Go on shoo, shoo,” Freya clapped commanding the big brown mutt to go away but was not listening.

“Hehe, seems he doesn't want to go to bed just yet, but I must go now Cyril I’ll see you tomorrow you sweet dog,” Sophia cooed raising herself on her feet smoothing out her white shirt dress.

“Here you go love,” Freya said handing over the young woman’s money as she continued speaking, “We’ll see you at the same hour in the morning as always, you walk safely back home now. Goodnight Sophia.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Solomons, and I’ll be here at 7 in the morning sharp like I always do. And it is a pleasure to serve you and Mr. Solomon-.”

The front door suddenly burst open making both women jump back in fright, noticing Alfie angrily mumbling some words under his breath. Both Sophia and Freya couldn't quite catch what he was saying, as he shut the door with force.

“Fuckin’ hell can tonight be something more difficult than the other nights,” Alfie loudly said walking his way towards his office room not noticing the girl's presence who have been seeing his small tantrum all this time.

“Umm, well then that means he didn’t have a good day at work I suppose. I apologize for my husband's behavior Sophia, he really isn't like this every night believe me. Anyways again goodnight dear, until the morning,” said Freya, opening the door for Sophia feeling embarrassed on the inside from Alfie’s actions.

After Sophia left the house, Freya with a small temper growing from inside, quickly walked her way toward her husband's private office. Cyril followed right behind as she opened the door with ferocity, seeing his back facing her way.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, Alfie? Have you gone out of your mind coming back home with that temperament?” Freya questioned, closing the door behind her and crossing her arms in front of her chest glaring her eyes directed at him.

“So fuckin’ what, eh? I can act whatever way I want, yea, you won’ understand the amount of shit I went through today,” he said, forwarding himself on his knuckles on top of his desk, letting out a big frustrated sigh.

Freya let out a slow sigh trying her best to steady her breathing, wanting to try and communicate with her loving husband. She felt her body relax until she talked to Alfie once again.

“Alfie, talk to me, you know you can always tell me what is wrong,” Freya said, placing a gentle hand on top of his left shoulder but he shoved her hand away from him startling her with fright.

“Why would you fuckin’ care about what happened to me at the job today, it's business that you won’t understand. And now you here telling me ‘what is wrong,’ like if talkin’ will make me feel better,” he said giving a menacing look at his wife, Freya felt chills forming through her body appalled by how Alfie was raising his voice at her.

“Are you listening to yourself, Alfie?” Freya now had her voice raised while her hands turned into tight fists as she continued on speaking, “What is the matter with you, how dare you're raising your voice at me when it isn’t my fault you had a terrible day at work. And you're standing here taking your anger out on me. Who by the way is your wife? Who wants to try and understand what the hell caused you to act like this.”

“Do me a favor, my dear yea? Why don’ you just leave me alone and shut your goddamn mouth and instead you can fuck off from my site yea! You're makin’ my damn head hurt more just by looking at your face,” he said breathing heavily in and out from his nostrils, Freya stayed silent feeling as though a sharp knife stabbed through her heart.

Not wanting to stay any longer Freya angrily walked out of Alfie’s private office, shutting the brown door with a loud bang. She leaned her back against the wooden door placing her hands over her eyes and letting out a small quiet whimper. She felt tears forming through her dark hazel eyes, inhaling a long breath of air as she walked her way through the small hallway. She grabbed a long black scarf from the coat hanger and wrapped the material around her shoulders. Freya made her way out of her house without a care in the world, as some thunder was heard in the far distance. Indicating that a storm was coming in but that didn’t stop her from walking her way to who knows where. Back inside the house, Alfie took out a bottle of whiskey from a side drawer of his desk. Before opening the cap, he stared at the bottle for a moment until he saw Freya’s face.

Realizing what he did and said to her was incredibly wrong and inside his soul, he was regretting it ever so much. Grabbing the whiskey bottle with his right hand he frustratingly threw it across the room, making a big splatter spot on the wall. Along with the pieces of glass shattered throughout the floor as he let himself fall on top of his armchair. Tilting his head back looking up at nothing else but the ceiling, exhaling a long sigh while he had his eyes closed.

What the fuck did I just do… I’m such a fuckin’ idiot…

Alfie walked his way out of his office room, walking through the hallway towards the stairs that led up to the second floor. Cyril walked alongside him making their way up wanting to apologize to her for acting such a dick towards her knowing that his anger got the best of him. Alfie reached the bedroom door and before going inside he softly knocked on it.

“Freya… sweetheart, I’m… forgive me for screaming at you. I… I don’t know what came over me,” Alfie said, letting out a disappointed sigh and placing his right hand on the doorknob making his way slowly inside the room.

But to his shock, she was nowhere to be found inside but only their empty bed and a small table lamp on the other side of the room. Alfie panicked feeling his heart racing out of control, as he walked his way back down the first floor.

“Freya. Freya, where are you?” he called out looking from one room to the other, not finding any trace of her whereabouts.

Alfie started to become more agitated after failing to find her in every part of the house thinking about where she could be or run off to. Alfie caressed his fingers through his short brown locks, letting out another irritated sigh. Wondering where Freya could have gone too and somewhere he and she would know to go when they wanted to clear their heads out. That's when it suddenly hit him where exactly Freya could have gone to.

The old stone bridge… she must have gone there…

Alfie didn't wait another minute to pass by and made his way out of the house, leaving Cyril all alone in the house. Outside the dark chilly night, it started pouring small drops of rain as Alfie walked his way towards the path that leads to the old bridge. Where they met for the first time when they were in their adolescent years. He only hoped and prayed that Freya made it there safely the rain however only continued to come down heavily.

This is all my fault…my own damn fucking guilt…

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14 Years Ago: Somewhere In Camden Town

"Follow the path, Cyril. You know better." A young Alfie told his then puppy.

The pup happily sniffed and walked along the path again, a path he and Alfie took for their afternoon walks for a few months now. It was all very familiar to both boys. Today was no different, or at least, it wasn't supposed to be. Yet, their ears picked up on something.

"Stop." Alfie whispered to his pup who stayed in place in front of him, waiting for his owner to be closer.

Looking around, Alfie couldn't place where the sudden singing was coming from. Not that he minded the joyous and raucous tune, but the path is known to be private, which is why he began walking Cyril here two months ago. Straining his sight again, he finally saw a figure under the old stone bridge.

A young woman, to be exact. She was dancing while singing. Her swaying movements and the unfamiliar tune was like a siren's song to the young man and his puppy. Neither even felt themselves starting to walk in her direction. Their feet simply had minds of their own. Slowly, they approached the young woman who hadn't seen or heard them yet. She was too busy dancing her heart out, the jingling of her many necklaces clinking against each other adding a different beat to the, what Alfie could tell was a, foreign song. He was in a trance as he watched her body move. Nothing provocative, nothing grand. She just seemed so free. Cyril looked up at his owner, wondering why he hadn't said anything yet if he liked seeing the girl dance so much. So, being the curious puppy he was, he happily barked.

The echoing noise immediately had the young woman stopping her movements and her song as she sharply inhaled, clearly startled as she looked towards the direction in which the bark came from.

"No, no, shh." Alfie told his dog as he tried to subdue the embarrassment he began to feel since he had gotten caught staring.

Instead of being able to control his puppy, Cyril barked again, and again, and again. His tail was wagging and his ears stood up halfway as he wondered why the girl wasn't singing or dancing anymore as she kept looking at them. Alfie wasn't sure what to do as he looked up from his dog. His eyes met the young woman's, and he could tell that she was either seconds from running away or she was too scared to move and was hoping they'd leave first. He knew one thing was for certain; neither parties moved from their spots as they simply stared at each other.

He could tell she wasn't from here. He had never seen her in the town, much less under the old bridge that he has been passing under daily for two months. He softly cleared his throat as he gave her a tiny nod, unsure of what to do as she kept looking at them. He wasn't sure if she'd do them both harm, though she didn't seem to be a bad person. Cyril, on the other hand, was still curious about this girl who seemed so free a moment ago and was now hesitant to leave the safety of the shadows of the bridge.

So, Cyril took matters into his own paws and sniffed the trail as he wandered over to where she was standing. He was surprised when Alfie didn't bother stopping him. Looking up at the girl who slowly looked down at him, Cyril barked, wagging his tail to let her know he was friendly. He sensed that she was being cautious, and the pup didn't blame her. He and his owner were strangers to her after all. He sat in place and softly whined, giving her the best puppy eyes that he could muster. Alfie took cautious steps towards the two, stopping just under the beginning of the bridge.

He watched her necklaces clink together as she slowly moved to kneel down in front of the puppy. Cyril immediately climbed into her lap, causing the young woman to seem taken back by the gentle action. The pup nudged one of her hands with his small nose, letting her know it was alright to pet him. Carefully, she very lightly patted his back, now curious about the tiny animal in her lap who seemed happy to see her. So she patted him again, and again, and again. Each time, she grew less afraid, less cautious, and soon, Alfie felt himself smiling as he watched her scratch Cyril on his belly which caused one of the pup's back legs to scratch the air.

He found her smile breathtaking, even if it was directed at his dog and not him.

"I…um, we're sorry for interrupting you." He said, noticing how her eyes were taking all of him in.

It made him feel too warm for his own comfort, but some tiny part of him deep down enjoyed the attention from this beautiful young woman.

She only gave him another smile, seeming confused as to what he was saying. Deciding to try and help the situation, Alfie carefully kneeled down in front of her and his pup, hoping she could tell that they're both friendly and meant her no harm.

"Cyril." He told her, pointing at the puppy.

She tilted her head slightly to the right, still seeming confused.

"Cy-ril." Alfie repeated, only slower this time so she could grasp the name.

She looked at the dog, slowly nodding. Though she didn't say anything, Alfie knew she understood. Suddenly, she was pointing at him, head tilting to the right again.

"I'm Alfie." He said, placing one of his hands on his chest.

Her eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Al-fie. Al-fie." He slowly repeated, being patient with her.

She gave him a slow nod, understanding that he was introducing himself.

"Alfie Solomons. I live here, in Camden. Do…Do you live here?" He asked, only to receive no answer.

They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"Freya," She softly spoke, copying him and placing one of her hands on her chest,

"Fre-ya." She said with a smile.

"Freya." He repeated the name, liking how it rolled off his tongue.

She happily nodded after he had said it. He stretched out his right hand towards her, watching as she looked at it with curiosity.

"You give me your left hand, and we shake 'em together. That's how you greet someone who you just met." He explained.

Freya still didn't understand, so he gently took her left hand in his right one. Very slowly, he shook hands with her, noticing that she seemed to be paying close attention.

"It's nice to meet you." He said, adding a slight smile for good measure.

He tried to let go of her hand, but she didn't want to let him go. She had never been so patiently dealt with by someone foreign to her. Alfie felt himself blushing as they just awkwardly kept holding hands, wondering why she would choose to keep holding on to him.

"Do you live here?" He asked her again, only to earn another head tilt.

"Um,"

His mind was racing as he thought of ways to gesture at a house or anything that resembled a home. Suddenly, an idea hit him as he spotted a small twig beside his leg. She let go of his hand as his other began picking up the twig. He did the best that he could to draw an outline of a house between them on the sand beneath their legs.

"Home?" He asked, motioning to his simple drawing.

All Freya did was curiously look at him before something visibly clicked within her. She pointed to the twig, and Alfie quickly gave it to her. He was so caught up in looking her over that he hadn't realized what she was doing. That is, until a voice was heard in the far distance.

"Freya!" A man's voice shouted.

Alfie watched as she happily turned around, looking towards where the voice came from. Turning again to face her new friend, she pointed behind her.

"Tata." She said with a smile.

Now it was Alfie's turn to give her a look of confusion, watching as she handed a snoozing Cyril to him before she carefully rose to her feet. He quickly followed, careful to not wake his puppy.

"Freya!" The man's voice shouted again, sounding slightly closer this time.

"Tata." The young woman repeated to Alfie who gave her a slow nod.

Then it clicked.

'Must be her father.' He thought as she gave him another smile.

"Home." She softly added as she tried her best to copy how he had pronounced the singular word, once again pointing in the same direction she had a moment ago.

"Oh, right, yeah. I best be headin' back myself.

"Home?" She asked with a curious expression, her words laced with happiness.

"Yes. My home is that way." He answered with a slight smile, pointing behind him, his thumb gesturing towards the path he and Cyril took.

"Jutro." She said with a look of hope.

Once again, he was confused.

"Jutro?" She asked instead, hoping it would make a difference.

"I…I don't understand." He softly explained, taking a step closer to her.

"Jutro…jutro." She slowly repeated, making a gesture with her hands as she also took a step closer towards him.

Alfie paid close attention, trying to grasp what she meant as he closely watched her hands. Her left hand stayed still as her right one moved back to the front over her left.

"Jutro?" She asked in a whisper.

Then it hit him.

"Tomorrow!" He blurted out, finally understanding.

"Jutro!" She happily hummed out, grateful that he knew what she meant.

"I'll come back tomorrow. Me and Cyril," He pointed to himself and his pup,

"Will meet you," He pointed at her,

"Here." He promised as he pointed between them.

They were both happy that they had reached an agreement, just in time, as her father called out a third time, the voice closer now. She reached towards Cyril, giving his head a loving pat, being careful to not wake him. With a final look to Alfie, Freya slowly waved at him, giving him such a sweet smile before she hurried out from under the old stone bridge. He watched as she soon disappeared into the fog that was covering the far distance of Camden.

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Some Time Later

Freya, Alfie, and Cyril were inseparable. Wherever one was, so were the other two. The three spent much time each day under the stone bridge. It was mostly because Freya was scared to leave its safety. She had never dared go past the bridge, and Alfie never forced her. Until one month later when one particular morning Cyril had stepped on a small thorn and Alfie wasn't sure what was wrong with his pup.

"Mate, you're limping." He said in concern as Cyril sat in place.

Squatting down, Alfie carefully looked over his whimpering pup, trying to figure out what the source behind the discomfort was.

"Alfie!" Freya happily called out to him from under the bridge.

Looking towards her, he waved at her since she was waving at him.

"I'll be just a second, alright? Something is wrong with Cyril." He called out to her as worry towards his dog's health began creeping into his head.

Freya quietly watched as Alfie sat on the floor and Cyril didn't climb in his lap. In her eyes, it was all too strange that the puppy would rather sit on the floor than in his owner's lap because Cyril loves being in her and Alfie's laps.

She could hear Alfie talking to Cyril, but all he would get in return were whines and whimpers of discomfort. Worry rose within her, and it was so fast in that moment that she hadn't realized her feet had minds of their own. They quickly walked her out from under the bridge and towards her friends. She sat beside Alfie, who glanced over at her then back to his dog, but then he quickly fully looked over at her.

"Cyril." She said in worry with a small frown.

Carefully, she picked him up, doing some inspecting of her own to see if Alfie possibly missed something when he had done the same just a second ago.

"Freya, you're-"

"Found it." She announced as she very gently laid the dog on her lap.

She spotted a very small thorn wedged between the pads of his left back paw.

"A thorn?" He asked her as she held it up for him to see.

"Yes." She answered before flicking it away from them.

"Better, Cyril?" She asked the pup as she set him on all fours.

He happily wagged his tail before barking, obviously in a much better mood.

"Freya,"

She turned to look at Alfie who wore a surprised expression on his face.

"Yes?" She asks curiously.

"You're out from under the bridge." He told her gently.

She looked behind them, finding he was correct. She had left the safety of the bridge. Yet it didn't feel different now that she was out from under there. She was with Alfie and Cyril, which made everything seem normal.

"Is good?" She hesitantly asked him.

He gently smiled at her, enjoying that she had learned the English language so quickly with his help.

"Do you feel good about being here in the open?" He asked her.

After giving the question some thought, she nodded, giving him a smile in return.

"Then this means I can show ya the shops in the town." He excitedly said, and the thought of seeing all the different stores and products they have to offer caused her to smile again.

That day, while they were in town, he asked her if she would allow him to be her boyfriend. She looked at him in slight shock as she thought of what he had just asked.

"If you don't want to be with me, I understand. It's just…I fancy you so much, Freya. You understand me like no one else does. You're beautiful and kind. Your nature is to heal and comfort. Mine is to destroy and create chaos. But none of that happens when I'm with you."

"Yes." She answered once his words ceased.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, big smiles began to spread across their lips before she happily hugged him. He hugged her back, holding her tightly as she excitedly giggled into his chest.

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1914: World War I

Two months passed before their lives drastically changed. A war had begun, and by what Alfie told Freya, any and all help was needed.

"They sent me this." He told her, holding up a folded paper.

"What is it?" She hesitantly asked.

He took a good long look at her. He didn't want to tell her. He couldn't. He couldn't bear to see the sadness he knew would be on her face. He didn't want to tell her that he might die far away from home. Yet he forced himself to answer her.

"It's a letter. I've been…"

She stepped closer to him, seeing the worry in his eyes,

"I've been drafted. They need me to go fight. I leave in two weeks."

Silence lingered between them as they looked at each other.

"You can't leave." She whispered as a small frown took over her lips.

"I have to. They'll punish me if I don't." He softly explained.

"But…But what if you don't return?" She asked him.

Tears began to form in her eyes, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her.

"I will. I will return. That much I promise you."

Those two weeks were spent with each other. The young couple felt that they couldn't get enough time together as the day they both dreaded quickly approached. When that morning came, the two closely stayed by each other's sides as they waited for the designated train to pull into the station.

Freya couldn't stop thinking about how to help Alfie feel less nervous. He was holding her hand as if his life depended on it. Then it dawned on her.

She moved to take off one of the many necklaces that hung around her neck. Making sure she had the one she wanted, she moved to stand in front of her boyfriend. He looked at her with curious eyes, wondering what she was doing. He had his answer when she held the necklace towards him. Understanding that she was trying to help, he slightly dipped his head down and felt her carefully slip it over his head. As it rested against his chest, he looked down at it, finding a small coin-sized plate hanging from the chain. The name of his girlfriend was engraved in a fancy font on the face of it.

She had opened her mouth to speak, but the train was coming into the station, blaring its horn in the process. The other men, young and older and who had also received a letter that requested their help in the war, began saying goodbye to their significant others or their families. Slowly, Freya's eyes met Alfie's.

"I promise to come back to you. No matter how far away I am, you'll be here in my heart. That's why you gave me this, right?" He asked as he pointed to the necklace.

"Yes." She answered in a whisper.

The train horn blared again, and even though the recruited men didn't want to, they all began lining up beside the train car to board it. Mothers and wives were crying while waving their sons and husbands off. Looking down at Freya, Alfie tightly embraced her. It was warm and loving, and neither wanted to let go. Reluctantly, he was the first to pull away after a solid minute.

"Don't cry, my love." He whispered as he gently wiped away her tears.

She placed her hands over his own, wanting to feel them in hers one last time until who knew how long. He leaned down, placing his mouth over hers, and she followed along by closing the space between them. The kiss was beautiful; familiar, and slow as they tried to be physically connected for as long as they could. When they couldn't breathe anymore, they pulled away, and after they caught their breaths, she sadly watched as he picked up his bags.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" He spoke softly.

"Anything." She answered quickly.

"Will you please look after Cyril and collect my mail while I'm gone? I don't get much, if any, but I'll write to you every chance I get." He explained.

She gave him a nod as it sank in for both of them that they were not dreaming and would be apart with neither knowing for how long. With an apologetic expression towards her, he began to also join the long line of recruited men.

He was only 15 feet away from her, yet she was already missing his touch. So, she did what any love stricken girlfriend would do.

"Alfie!" She called out.

He was about to fill an empty spot in the line when he quickly turned around. He was met by Freya rushing towards him, and just before he could drop his bags, her arms were around his neck. The force that came with her was so great that he almost lost his balance, but the young men on his right and left sides steadied him. They gave him knowing smiles as they took his bags and held them for him. His arms were wrapping themselves around her waist once his hands were free.

When she looked up at him, they kissed again, the action done in haste as the train horn was heard again. When they pulled away, Alfie rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you." He told her with such seriousness that she couldn't help but smile.

"I love you, too." She responded, and he slowly began to let go of her just like she did to him. The warmth they both felt from the embrace quickly turned cold as the two young men handed Alfie his bags again. Freya smiled sadly at him, earning the same smile from him.

A woman gently pulled her away from the line as it shortened, telling her that it was safer to wait by the waiting area than be too close to the tracks. Freya learned that the woman was a mother and had just said goodbye to her three sons. They both stood together, watching in fear and sadness as the train began to slowly take off. Alfie waved at her, just like the woman's sons did. The four had gotten seats right beside some windows. Freya waved back at him, trying her best to not cry so Alfie wouldn't remember her like that.

From that day, exactly one week passed until she heard from him. She was sitting in the living room of his home. Cyril was lying beside her as they both occupied the longest sofa. As she went through the mail to see if he had written to her, her heart raced when she saw her name on one envelope. She dropped the other few envelopes to the floor and got to opening hers right away. Her eyes were met by her boyfriend's handwriting, and they didn't hesitate to begin reading.

'Freya,

I am missing you. I know it has just been a couple of days, but I cannot wait to see you again. It is hard to be away from you for this war against France. I know that what I am doing is for the good of people, but nothing truly feels good without you. I am hoping to see you again soon. But, until then, know that I love you dearly and that I left my heart with you, my darling.

I love you,

-Alfie

Tears ran down her cheeks as she realized that only a week had passed. How long would it be until they saw each other again? Would he make it back? Would this war turn him into someone she wouldn't recognize when…if…he returned? Looking at Cyril, who was closely watching her, Freya continued to softly cry. The dog became concerned, so he moved his head to be in her lap. As soon as she felt Cyril's weight, she hugged him, crying into his fur as he lowly whined. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Freya. Freya, can you hear me love?” Alfie called out walking through the big green forest both his shoulders and hair drenched in rain.

He has been calling out for his wife for an hour or so hoping that she didn’t go far from where they lived. Beneath his shoes the pathway was muddy in some spots trying his best to not slip. Some paces later Alfie saw a black smokey cloud in the distance. At first he thought it would be Freya’s family that were set at camp but as he made his way towards the cloud. It turned out to be the old stone bridge where he and Freya would mostly spend time together and where they first met all those years ago. It’s like he could remember it like it was yesterday.

How time flies so fast…

Seeing the smoke coming from underneath he carefully made his way down a steep path. Once making it down Alfie embraced the site of the old bridge placing a hand against its few stones. Remembering the old days of both him and Freya’s life when they would meet each other secretly. Until Freya’s father found out about their meetups one day and it caused both of them to not see or speak to each other for weeks. But eventually Freya told her father that Alfie was nothing but a gentleman and a marvelous boy towards her. Knowing that Alfie wasn’t never the type of man to lay a hand on her for any reason. Her father at first didn’t believe in her daughter for a while but eventually when one day Alfie without feeling afraid. Went to visit her home and talked with her family hoping that they will see a different perspective and let Freya be his friend.

“If you ever do anything that will harm my lovely daughter you stay away from us and never come back. Is that understood boy?” Said Harald Freya’s father pointing a sharp finger at the young boy which in reply a nod in agreement.

And after that discussion Freya was free to see and speak with Alfie which she was relieved that her father finally let her see her friend. It was as if that event just happened yesterday how he wished to relive that moment one more time.

Alfie then made his way towards the large opening of the bridge where he found Freya sitting on the wet cold ground. Hugging her legs together while she stared at the small campfire she made not too long ago. Her long dark brown hair was wet from the rain as well as her clothes. It didn’t bother her since she is after all a gypsy who has traveled to many places. And the rain was one of her favorite weathers feeling like she is at peace for the most part. Freya didn’t notice his presence until Alfie sat next to her. She scooted a bit to the side still feeling upset towards him not forgetting what he told her earlier. Alfie noticed this not wanting to push her buttons anymore knowing he has caused so much tonight. The crackling sound of the wood against the fire continued and Freya and Alfie didn't say much for a moment. While the sound of faint thunder was heard far towards the distance as the drops of water continued to gently pour down. Alfie wanted to say something at first but he didn’t feel brave to say anything yet. Freya tightens her long black scarf around her shoulders, feeling the cool wind feeling shivers running through her body. Noticing this Alfie without exchanging any words removed his long black coat from himself. He gently placed the warm material over Freya making her flinch but yet welcomed it. She looked him in the eyes giving off a small faint smile nodding her head in “thank you.” Alfie returned the gesture they both didn’t say much again. As some time has passed for too long Alfie finally surprising himself at the words he said next.

“I’m sorry,” is all that he could say looking forward to the fireplace.

When Freya heard him say those two words she looked at him with a confused look. Not believing in what he just heard him say.

“What did you say?” She then said wanting to make sure she heard him correctly.

Before he said anything he sat straight while clearing his throat. He turned to see his wife having to repeat himself again. Inhaling a small breath he heard himself again saying those two words he mostly never says until now.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you back at home my love. My frustration and stubbornness got the best of me and I never meant to say those things to you either. Work has been a pain in the ass these past couple of days and today was the worst of them all,” he says, lowering his eyes looking at his hands biting his lips together as he went on, “once those words came out of me mouth I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. Looking at your eyes I saw how hurt you felt and I wanted to just kill myself then and there for what I have said to the love of my life. I just…just.”

Freya could see the tears forming against his blue eyes knowing that he meant every word that he was saying to her. Seeing and hearing the guilt in his eyes and voice wishing he could take back what he didn’t mean to say. She also felt her eyes filling with tears as one teardrop stream down the corner of her right eye gently wiping it away with the back of her right hand. No words were exchanged Freya tightly hugged Alfie around his neck almost making him tilt to the side. But they both steadied themselves; she then felt his arms wrapping around her embracing in each other's arms.

“I know you didn’t mean those words my love, but that doesn’t make me stop loving you no matter what. I love you so much my Alfie, like you don’t imagine,” she said leaning back to look him in the eyes, placing her right hand against his left cheek as their foreheads touch each other.

“I promise you at this very moment that I’ll not let my emotions get to me very easily. Because I never want to see my flower look sad and hurt ever again. And I love you too my Freya like you don’t know either,” he said back, placing a small light kiss on top of her forehead.

“I hope you know I’m not one of your workers who will tolerate your screaming and shouting, Alfie. I'm your wife." Freya reminds her husband placing both her hands on each side of his cheeks.

Alfie nods immediately. "I know, sweetheart.”

"Don't you ever do this to me again, yes?” Freya says, sounding not too angry anymore with a more relaxed smile.

He gives her a small smile while nodding again. "I wouldn't dream of it." He says as he gets closer to her.

She can't stay mad at him forever, so she also gets closer to him. He leans down to kiss her, and when their lips touch, it all comes flooding back to him. The very first moment they shared their love for each other.

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She could only imagine the beautiful bodies of other young women he had seen before she had ever met him. How could she compare? Surely they were much more beautiful than she. Every scar she had ever earned, from quick evacuations with her family when they encountered danger throughout their travels, were on display. They were like directions to every imperfection she had. Yet there she stood in front of the edge of his bed, bare. He stood before her, wearing only boxers. His bright blue-green eyes drank in every centimeter of her skin before they looked deep into her eyes.

"Freya,"

The way her name gently left his mouth made her heavily blush. All she could hear in his words was love. The emotion was very clear, and it gave her some relief, but not enough to wash her nerves away entirely.

“You’re absolutely stunning; a vision, a work of art.” He spoke, genuinely meaning every word.

He slowly closed the space between them, his eyes staying on her face the whole time as he walked a few steps towards her. She suddenly held her breath. She didn’t want to tell him that this was her first time having sex.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

He could see there was some concern written on her face, and it only grew the more he looked at her.

“Alife, I…”

He patiently waited for her to say what she needed,

“I’ve never had sex.”

His face grew pink at her confession.

“We don’t have to do anythin’, love. I would hate to make you uncomfortable.”

“I want to.” She quickly assured him.

Silence took over between them as they stared at each other.

“Neither have I.” He confessed.

“What?” She asked softly.

“I’ve also never had sex.” He clarifies.

“Do you still want to…with me?” She asked with hesitance.

“It would be an honor to have you be my first, my darling.” He answered.

She smiled up at him as her body relaxed a bit more. Slowly, she reached towards him, lightly placing her hands on his bare chest. It showed scars, all of them proof of his time away from home and fighting against enemies. A small smile crossed his lips as he placed his right hand at the back of her neck. His left hand made itself at home at her lower back. Before she knew it, he gently laid her down on his bed, helping her get more comfortable before he was hovering over her. His body was flush against hers but he made sure to keep his weight off her.

“I’ll look after you, my love.” The promise was said in a gentle voice, and it caused the rest of her nervousness to fade away.

Slowly, he dipped his head down and his lips began to pay special attention to the crook of her neck, leaving gentle kisses along one side. A sharp inhale had him straightening up. His eyes met hers, only to receive a nod.

“I’m alright.” She whispered as a blush appeared.

“I will not hurt you.” He spoke once he realized that she had been enjoying herself.

Her focus on the soft pressure of his lips against the skin of her neck was broken when an entirely new sensation caught her by surprise. His right hand had begun to slowly trail up the inside of her leg. It traveled up slowly, leaving goosebumps behind as it rested on her hip. Lifting his head once again, his eyes were glued to her. He needed to make sure she was okay with what he was doing. The look of sheer lust in his girlfriend’s eyes was enough to send a blush erupting through his cheeks. He never removed his gaze from her face as his hands met at her underbust.

“May I?” He asks, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“Please.” She answered, arching her back off of the bed.

He wasn’t sure if it had been the way she sweetly exhaled his name or if the sight of her so eager to be felt by him caused confidence to surge through him, but he was grateful that she trusted him so much. Slowly, his hands made their way up her sides, stopping on either side of her breasts. Very gently, he cupped them at the same time, earning a satisfied hum from her.

“You’re warm.” She spoke, causing a chuckle to leave his mouth.

“That’s one of the reasons you’re with me, innit?” He asked, watching a smile form on her lips.

“One of many.” She answered, closing her eyes as his large, calloused hands began to completely cover her breasts.

It was a nice contrast of rough against smooth. She enjoyed the way his hands held her so perfectly as his lips began kissing down her chest. They moved to kiss her left breast, then her right, and each kiss felt better than the last. He loved the way her back arched into him; it told him that he was doing a good job so far, and he wanted to keep that up. His index and thumb fingers found her nipples, and he gently began rolling them between his fingers at the same time.

“Oh!” She moaned out.

Her hands reached out to grab his arms, but by no means was she trying to get him to stop. Instead, she pulled him closer, and her fingers threaded his hair. She could feel immense heat between her legs, knowing that as much as she wanted to take it slow, she wasn’t going to last much longer. Her eagerness aroused him so much that his erect cock was throbbing in his boxers. Yet, he didn’t want to rush anything, for her sake. The last thing he wanted was to wind up hurting her unintentionally. His lips continued their kisses along her chest, leaving light love bites here and there, before they trailed kisses up to her neck. One of his hands left one of her breasts to gently glide down her stomach and stopped just above the place she needed his touch the most. She moaned into his mouth, hoping to convey her feeling of arousal to him enough for him to be bold enough to touch her.

“Alfie, please.” She whimpered after they pulled away.

“You’re sure?” He hesitantly asked.

“Very sure. I need you.”

“Say less, my darling.” He hummed out.

He never removed his gaze from her face, his eyes boring into hers as his hands continued to move down her body while his mouth kissed every inch of her skin that was available. Finally, his fingers rested at her core, and the heat radiating from it was enough to make him groan in approval. Very slowly, his fingers circled her clit, and the look of pure relief flooded her face just as her head tilted back. Her back arched off of the bed and her hands found his hair to grab hold of.

“Alfie…”

The way she moaned his name had him circling her clit a little faster, wanting to see if the same blissful look would cross her face again. It did, and it made him so happy to see her enjoying his touch. His hands had done unspeakable things during the war, but none of that was important in that moment. Very slowly, he slid his finger inside of her, the accumulation of her arousal having made it an easy entrance. He slowly groaned as he felt her walls take his finger deeper, tightening around it while he gently moved it around inside of her.

“You alright, love?” He asked, earning a moan in response.

“More.” She breathlessly answered.

“You’re sure?” He asked, slowing his movements.

He stood up with his finger still inside of her, but he froze in place when she gave him a look of pure need.

“I want you to make me yours.” She answered with such a seriousness that had his heart fluttering in his chest.

“You're…sure?” He asked again as he hovered over her.

“Yes.” She answered.

His free hand made its way behind her head, lifting it enough so their mouth could meet for a loving kiss. He removed his finger from her aching walls and that hand swiftly slid down his boxers. No longer was there a barrier between them, and while it made her nervous, she found herself excited to finally be one with her boyfriend. He adjusted himself between her legs, gently parting them even more. When she caught a glimpse of his erection, heat flooded her face. It looked much too big to fit inside of her.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, having seen the way her eyes went a bit wide.

“No.” She quickly answered.

“Make me yours.”

Slowly, he brushed his cock along her soaking wet lips, causing them to slightly part. Then, very gently, he began pushing himself inside of her. Their groans harmonized for a few seconds as he stayed put for a few moments, allowing her to adjust to him. Everything felt so warm and so right when their lips connected once again.

“You feel amazing.” He heavily sighed, the sound sending pleasant shivers up her spine.

Her walls clenched around him each time he moved, the motion carefully done before he drove himself deeper. He held her body close against his, hoping to ease any pain that she felt. They lasted several minutes in that same position before her legs were wrapping around his waist. Their eyes met, and he could tell that she wanted more. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. The speed of his thrusting increased, and it wasn’t long until both of them were moaning messes. She didn’t even have time to process the entirety of what was happening to her before she felt an all too strong sensation flood her body that caused her senses to be at a standstill. He stopped moving, wanting to make sure she was alright as her high ended a moment later. He peppered her face with gentle kisses before his lips were covering hers.

“Freya, I…I’m close.” He warned her when he felt her walls fluttering around him.

She tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, preparing herself for what was to happen. He was about to move away from her to pull out, but she was quick to stop him by his shoulders.

“Fill me.”

A look of shock covered his facial features when he realized she was being serious.

“Please.” She begged, and the whine alone was enough for him to give in.

Hugging her to himself once again, he thrusted into her a few more times before he was groaning into one side of her neck. She softly moaned at feeling his hot cum filling her. He stayed inside of her for another minute before very carefully pulling out. He was quick to lay beside her, wrapping her up in his arms as she curled into his body. He reached for his discarded shirt, draping it over her as they both caught their breath.

“Are you okay?” He asked, being the first to break the comfortable silence that filled his bedroom.

“Yes. Are you?” She softly asked in return.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at her and gave her a small smile.

“Love, I should be the one thankin’ you for trustin’ me so much.”

She smiled at his words as he kissed her head.

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Epilogue: 5 years Later

“Where are those two rascals off too again?” Freya said to herself looking around from one room to another.

It has been a while since they moved out from Camden Town where Alfie was lucky enough to inherit a house near the beach. Margate was the name and it has been treating them fairly well where there was nothing else but a wonderful view of the sea and most of all quietness. But that wasn’t the only thing that brought the couple closer together.

The sound of a small giggle was heard somewhere beyond the hallways which Freya knew exactly who it belonged to.

“Alright now come out, come out wherever you all are,” called our Freya quietly tiptoeing her way towards where the chuckles were coming from.

After Alfie and Freya got married some 3 years ago they afterwards welcomed their first child. It was such a blessing for the married couple that Alfie thought it was all a dream. Ellie was the baby girl's name, brown eyes like her mothers with a mix of stubbornness just like her father. It was a day to remember when they heard their baby’s first breath. Ever since that day Alfie was determined to be by his wife’s side, not caring if the distillery could continue without him. What mattered to him the most was his wife and daughter helping Freya out whenever she needed some time away from the baby. One late night however when Ellie was crying for hours Alfie took the baby in his arms while rocking against a wooden chair. He started to sing a lullaby to her in his mothers tongue which surprisingly made the little creature feel at ease. He also didn’t notice that her tiny hand was tightly holding onto his right index finger. He then smiled as he placed a gentle kiss against Ellie’s soft hair.

“I love you my little Ellie always and forever.”

Freya continued to quietly make her way to the small giggles that she could still hear. Knowing that she is already near them wanting to scare them in surprise.

“Shhh… be quiet mama is going to hear us,” said little Ellie to someone else.

A couple of months later after the birth of Ellie, Alfie and Freya then welcomed their second child. It was Alfie that encouraged Freya to have another baby which she didn’t hesitate to say no to him. Nehemiah was the boy's name that was given to him. Just like his father he wasn’t afraid of anything, always liking to get into some sort of trouble taking no for an answer but always obeyed his father whenever he would go one step far. But he would also have his moments whenever he felt like he needed to talk with his mother. Trying to also find his calmer side of himself and getting as much advice from his mother.

“Whenever you feel angry or lost, always remember that I am here for you my love. And so is your father but just know that you're never alone my little one.”

“Oh you also be quiet Ellie I’m sure by now mama will hear us,” Nehemiah said playfully, nudging onto his sisters right arm not noticing their mothers presence.

“FOUND YOU BOTH!” Surprised Freya, making the two children scream from fright.

Both children got on their feet quickly running away from their mother which she wasn’t too far behind. She scooped Nehemiah off from the wooden floor yelping and laughing while Freya hugged him tightly around her arms. She then placed a couple of kisses on the little boy's cheeks while feeling Ellie hug her mothers legs.

“Haha mama let Nehemiah go, how did you know we were here?” The little girl questioned, still holding onto her mothers leg.

“You both were giggling and that led me to finding your hiding place. But enough of playing around you two how about we get the table ready for dinner before papa comes home. How does that sound, my darlings?” She said kneeling in front of her two beautiful children while they nodded their head in “yes.”

Some time later it was already dark outside as the cool breeze blew ever so gently while Freya and her two children waited patiently for Alfie’s return in the living room. The crackling sound of the fireplace was heard in the background while Cyril lay down beside Ellie and Nehemiah while the children played with their toys. Freya was sitting on top of one of the couches while looking at the clock, seeing that it had passed the time Alfie should be home by now. Quietly tapping her right foot against the carpet floor the trio then heard the front door open. Indicating that they had finally returned home as Nehemiah and Ellie then ran their way out of the living room to greet their father.

“Papa papa,” said both children in unison as Alfie opened his arms wide out to them while kneeling down.

They all huddled down to the floor making both children giggle at their action.

“How are my two lovely children doin’ eh? I miss you all very, very much,” Alfie said as he gently stood up off the floor while Cyril nuzzled his wet nose against his owner's face.

“I also miss you as well you big mutt.”

“Ummm excuse me where is my welcoming kiss? I hope you don’t forget about me Mr. Solomon’s,” Freya said, placing her hands on top of her hips but gave a cheeky smile.

“Hehe why would I not forget my lovely beautiful wife that always brightens my heart whenever I see her hmm?” He said getting up on his feet while Freya smiled and giggled as they both exchanged a kiss on the lips.

“Ewwww, gross,” said Ellie, making a disgusted face which Freya found funny.

Once the happy family settled down for dinner the night went on perfectly. As everyone feasted, Alfie and Freya held hands together as they memorized their beautiful little family. Not believing that they have come this far not expecting to have children this quickly. Alfie always thought he would only focus on himself growing his empire until his passing. But when he found Freya all those years ago as a child and saw how they both fell in love with each other. Suddenly all those ideas faded away seeing the perfect future already blooming in front of him. As dinner was ending both Ellie and Nehemiah started to grow sleepy while they all sat in the living room together. Alfie took Ellie in his arms gently taking her up stairs to her bedroom. Freya following close behind held Nehemiah in her arms while the child tried his best to stay awake.

“Mama I’m not tired yet really,” protested the little boy but Freya wasn’t having it.

“Now my dear don’t be that way, it is late and you need your rest. And we’re going to the beach and if you don’t get your sleep you’ll be tired the next day. Now be a good boy and rest your eyes now, yes?” She said as she opened the door to the boys room as he placed him down on the soft bed.

“Really mama, do you mean it? Oh I can’t wait to go now alright I’ll head to bed now,” cheerfully says Nehemiah as he gets himself under the bed sheets making Freya chuckle at this.

“Very well my little Nehemiah i will see you in the morning my love. Goodnight my sweet boy,” she said, placing a gentle kiss on top of the boy's head caressing his left cheek in between.

Once Freya quietly closed the door behind her Alfie was already out of Ellie’s room. They both smiled at each other Alfie held out his hand towards his lovely wife. Freya walked up to him placing her hand on top of his making their way towards their bedroom. Once inside Alfie gently shut the door behind him and without losing another moment he embraced Freya around his arms. They both looked deep into their eyes as their foreheads touched against each other.

“How is my lovely Queen Solomon’s feeling hm?” He asked, feeling her arms hugging around his neck while she let out a small giggle.

“Wonderful as always you know I always still question to this day. How did I get very lucky to have you in my life Alfie? Why me and nobody else?” She questioned him wanting to hear those same words over and over again.

“Hehe do you really want me to repeat the same thing over and over again? How many times do I have to tell you my love? Because if I never met you in my life I wouldn’t have known such a wonderful spirit free and goddess like you. And that I am grateful and blessed to say that you're my one and only woman. I wouldn’t want no one else but you my dear,” he said while gently placing Freya down against the bed hovering above her, taking in her thin lips between his.

Embracing each other in their arms they both laid there nakedly while Freya could hear her husband's heartbeat against her right ear. A small smile was spread throughout her face wanting to be like this forever. And all the while without Alfie not knowing Freya is expecting another blessing that was growing inside her womb.

I love you always and forever Alfie Solomons… until the ends of the earth…

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slocumjoe · 1 year

Text

How the Companions would decorate their homes

...and how I would lose my goddamn mind wrestling with Tumblr's formatting nightmare hellworld.

sorry to anon who requested this, I deleted your ask while fighting for my life :[

Cait; The punkest of punk design; whatever the hell makes her happy. Would take interest in things she previously never cared much for, like music, or tinkering, or model making. So, you'll have posters and vinyls of her favorite bands and artists everywhere, tools and materials strewn about flat surfaces. Lots of reds and plaid/flannel. Likes big couches you can sprawl out on and thickly-knit, chunky blankets. Think of pop art with darker colors, chaotic patterns. Loves warm, bright lighting, dim areas remind her of the Combat Zone. Her spaces are messy, but freeing and charismatic. Her style is best described as rocker college dorm room. Reminiscent of Chloe Price's room, but more mature and with less teen melodrama. Would have lots of candles. Has a statement shelf with feature lighting for unique alcohol bottles.

Codsworth; Post-modern. Modern is medium-toned, neutral colored, and somewhat minimalist. Post-modern likes colors, soft shapes, having art as part of the house itself. Bright wood paneling, one-line artwork wallpaper, multiple colors in one room. It's very birds of paradise in color pallet. Brown suede couches are a classic. Lots of plants. It's inspired by 1950s, but with bouncier aesthetics, where 1950s can feel stiff. Codsworth wouldn't want anything too out there, though. Dani Dazey is kinda close to what he'd enjoy, but tone down the amount of color, go less crazy with the decals. But otherwise, bright colors, patterns, textures—that's the vibe. Just a less plastic 1950s, and it doesn't have the Great Depression's fingerprints all over it. I would have said something Colonial, or classic British, but I didn't want to think exclusively about his accent. Codsworth is chipper, he's friendly, he invites people over. Something fun, welcoming, and optimistic is up his alley.

Danse; However he got the house/apartment, it would stay that way. Danse does not provide for himself like that. It wouldn't be until he made friends that his residence would have personality. Nick gets him an orange-patterned bedspread that's a lot more neon than it looked in the store. Cait gets him a retro CD player and wall-mounted CD case displays. Preston and Deacon team up to repaint everything minty green and install walnut wood paneling. The furniture is gone the next day, replaced with lodge-style log-and-leather. Everyone pitches in something different, something from their own tastes. As a result, Danse's space would be a constant visual reminder that he's loved, and gaudy as fuck. Nothing matches. The colors are everywhere. Textures? A nightmare. You could kill Ty Pennington with this house. There's a giant mural of cats having mimosas and he isn't sure how or when it got there. Loves it, but...who...why...

Curie; I really struggled with Curie. I first went with French Provincial, then French Farmhouse, French Country, Rustic Glam, Scandinavian, Flemish, bauhaus, pastel bauhaus...I felt like I was trying to convince myself of everything. Nothing fit her. Eventually I settled on girly vintage. The thing with vintage is that technically, 'vintage' has like 70 years of vastly different styles. So...you get a little bit of Victorian-esque, a little bit of art deco, Hollywood Regency...imagine a really nice Barbie dollhouse. That's the vibe, just make everything blues, greens, and purples instead of pink. Curie has a bit of an older grandma vibe. Floral quilts, Wedgwood china dishware and cabinets, antique paintings. I imagine she'd repaint or reupholster her furniture, if not get it new. Definitely has white or blue painted furniture, rather than open wood. Ornate vanity, seashell wallscone lighting, embroidered curtains, kidney desks, corner cupboards...Curie's style is elegant, a little outdated, cherubic, and somewhat saccharine. Would have naturalistic wallpaper with flora and fauna.

Deacon; Like Danse's, but intentional. He's extremely fond of furniture made to look like other things. Mushroom ottomans. Fried egg light switches. Wall-mounted shelving/hangers that are open, grabbing hands. Toucan table lamps. Surrealist thrifter in style. Goes to yard sales, estate sales, those sales put by storage unit owners when a tenant doesn't pay. Grabs the weirdest shit he finds. A McDonalds sign from Thailand. A taxidermied rabbit. A Bigfoot track mold. His walls are never the same color or wallpaper. The kitchen is mint green, the living room is pink and orange, his bedroom is black and blue. Maximalist. There's a story behind every item in his space and good luck figuring out which are true. The least chaotic room is the bedroom, decorated simply with space/star aesthetics. Most chaotic? The empty hallway filled with wall-phones. Only one of them is real. The others go off only when the real one does. He won't tell you this before housesitting.

Gage; You'd think it'd be a Male Living Space. No. Gage is a mean, old, materialistic [sexuality redacted] man. He has tastes. He has standards. Will act like it's a Male Living Space keep up appearances, but his place is probably one of the more expensive. It's fine, money isn't an issue for him. Favors greens, yellows, browns, lots of swampy colors. Steals streetsigns and hangs them up. Weaved and leather furniture, linens, animal pelts, mounts. Worn teak wood, cream walls, travertine floors. If this sounds luxurious, consider that Gage lives here. Unclean. Has no bed frame, only a mass of sheets and pillows. The most pristine places in his house are the coffee maker's counter, and the spaces for his pet lizard, who roams freely like a small dog. The lizard is the only thing keeping him from smoking indoors. So many fucking books everywhere, all dog-eared to death. Has stolen something from every party he's ever been to. Keeps them on display. Has a worrying amount of wedding cake toppers.

Hancock; Psychedelic culture-nerd hippie meets a grizzled ex-starlet who moonlights as a show girl. Think Whimsigoth, without the victorian influence and a lot more drippy shapes. All light sources are lava lamps. Conversation pit that you could meet God in. Many colors, most of them moody and 'sleepy'. Stereo system through the entire space. Paints on his walls whenever he's feeling creative/high, they're constantly changing. Has to scrape off the paint every so often. Collects movie memorabilia, particularly horror movies. Has masks, outfits, props. His kitchen/dining room is unintentionally Japanese-eqsue in style, in that the table is low, and you sit on beanbags. Really not into dealing with chairs in the morning. Hancock's ideal furniture is made of moldable jelly, him being a cat in spirit. His office is a complete divorce from the other rooms. It's entirely 1700s luxury Colonial in style. Dark mahogany woodwork, deep reds and blues, a (electric) chandelier. Big library.

MacCready; Eclectic. This style is defined by maximilism, mismatched everything, lots of tchotchkes. The core tenent of it is that it takes whatever looks good from other styles. It's magpie core. It's how the gremlin thief in your DnD campaign would style a home. So, lots of different kinds of fabrics, many shelves for trinkets, posters of all kinds on the wall. You ever make a wall with just the posters, signs, etc in your settlements? That's what he does. In canon, MacCready likes midnight blue and leopard print, but I can see olive greens as well. Very messy and busy. Raw wood furniture seems like it would be a good fit for him. Would have a big entertainment center, very nerdy space. I think Rodrick Heffley's and Eddie Munson's bedrooms are a good way of getting an idea. Kind of basementy, kind of glamrock. He's 22, what do you want from him? Very much "baby's first place." Duncan's room would be more child-friendly, lighter colors and softer furniture. His drawings always get hung up wherever there's space.

Nick; Also struggled with this one...I didn't want to just make him Victorian/Gothic, that felt too obvious. But...it's obvious because it's correct. It just is. His name is Valentine. He has a neon pink sign with hearts on it. This man is modern Victorian meets dingy alleyway in a Hollywood noir film. So, we're looking at victorian settees and woodwork (which is when the walls are carved all fancy, by the by), lots of dark colors, leathers, a fireplace to stare into broodily with a glass of whiskey. We'll also need a bit of industrial to blend the Modern Victorian and Urban Night vibes, so some dark brick/stone, perhaps? Or industrial light fixtures. In terms of materials, the aforementioned leather, but also velvet and dasask fabrics, marble, and rosewood, possibly treated to bring out the red, or be made darker. This space is mostly dark and black, with pops of pink, purple, and blues. Would definitely need an LED indirect lighting for mood setting. It's not as dark like X6-88's home, though, it's more intimate and warm. Heavier emphasis on coziness and inviting auras. Nick's home is an older queer man's home, so obviously it's a little extra, a little theatrical. Has a sweet cocktail bar setup, will make you a martini while you unveil your tragic backstory.

Piper; Also eclectic, but brighter and with some intellectualism. So, more vintage, but bolder and more assertive than Curie's vintage. The best thing I can do it point you towards Arianna Danielson's blog, and ask that you imagine most of those pinks to be darker, or just red. Similarly, Dani Klaric and Tay Beep Boop's viral design. That vibe of confidence, a little bit of feminine rebelliousness, and generally just spunky. A crucial item would be book paper lighting shades. It clashes but Piper would be into it. I imagine she'd want the place to be fun for Nat, satisfy that little girl urge for Maximum Colors. Piper would have a messy as hell writing room, papers everywhere, red-string corkboards, coffee cups. Collection of vintage newspapers, lots of plushy rugs and pillows, probably has weird little knickknacks hidden about. The type to have rubber ducks in her fridge and refuse to elaborate. Don't question the writing process.

Preston; Walnut, shiplap, rattan, navy blue. Reeves Connally put me on this combination and now I'm spreading the propaganda. People have feelings on rattan but it deserves more respect, just like Preston. His style is best described as hygge with a beachy edge. Hygge is all about neutrals, extremely soft and squishy fabrics and furniture, warm ambient lighting, and worn wood. Fairy lights everywhere. Cozycore, really. Blue and shiplap walls, walnut flooring, rattan furniture. Blues + white + sandy + rich brown. Best combo. Fucking fight me. Chunky wool blankets, velvet for more decorative cloths, like drapery or the fabric of the seat cushions. For decor, you're looking at handdrawn maps, paper light fixtures/shades, plants kept in colored glass vases, nature photography, a reading nook filled with historical fiction and textbooks. I can also see hanging greenery. Preston's space is refreshing, energizing, but not bombastic. I imagine he has a kitchen island with stools, but no dining table.

X6-88; Dark modernist, hands down. Crucial item is the Zaha Hadid moon sofa, in black. Steel, concrete, and sparingly, brass/brassy wood. Blacks, greys, and with the brass, an inoffensive pop of color. It's a minimalist style that, when darkened, takes inspiration from Gothic and industrial styles, but doesn't lean into them. Also has some futurism elements. X6-88's home is clean, elegant, sharp. It's designed to not be overstimulating, like the Institute's stark white plastic and fluorescent lighting is. LED indirect lighting + metal-caged hanging lights, velvet and taffeta fabrics, glass tables. There is no better kitchen for him then the Modern Kitchen 2020 from Burak LACFI on Behance. For the bathroom, Anna Kolos' work, also on Behance. His bedspread, the Ithaca Sateen set from Sleep by Sānti. I spent three years designing this man's home for a 40k word fanfic and I will hear no opposition.

#fo4 #fallout 4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #piper wright #nick valentine #companions react #x6-88 #robert joseph maccready #porter gage #codsworth

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broomsick · 1 year

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What daily things do you find your gods in? For example, finding Freyr in the sound of a bird's song or Loki in the flames of a fire. It'd be cool to see a list of your associations for them. c:

Personal day-to-day associations with the Gods

Óðinn: the traditional Scandinavian music I listen to, reading books, hearing or telling stories, darkness in general (like after having closed all the lights in the house), red wine and strong alcohols such as spirits, local woodland berries such as currants, gooseberries, blackcurrant (etc).

Yngvi-Freyr: cooking/baking (especially traditional food), windy days, hikes in the woods, fall colors, sunsets, road trips, picking flowers, light rain, gardening, the countryside, cold tea, the moment when spring becomes summer.

Thórr: doing manual work, beer, dusk, taking well deserved breaks from work, cloudy days, evergreen trees, disconnecting from technology and reconnecting with the open air, eating or cooking red meats, weather events ranging from light snow to strong rains, singing at the top of my lungs, joking around with friends, going to the bar after a hard week’s work, celebrations in general.

Freyja: showering and taking baths, perfumes and anything fragrant, eating fruit, doing a skincare routine or buying a new skincare product, collecting fallen tree leaves, visiting a pagan shop, practicing magic, warm colors and especially red, petting cats, having funny exchanges with friends and sharing current concerns with them.

Frigg: learning traditional crafts, attending local events, speaking with elders, enjoying a moment of harmony with family, feeling at home, cooking or baking, browsing through farmers’ markets, telling a loved one I love them, doing nostalgic stuff to reconnect with my childhood (such as watching children’s movies!) and doing divination, especially tarot.

Baldr: the color blue, cloudless skies, very cold days, whenever I see springs or waterfalls (which doesn’t happen that often but still!), seeing children play, birds’ song, listening to soft music such as flute, harp or lyre, whenever I willfully build up self confidence (I always feel like He’s the one encouraging me).

Loki: listening to classic rock or power metal, starting bonfires or woodstoves, fire in general like playing around with a lighter or matches, playing pranks, making spontaneous decisions, puzzles and riddles, masks though I’m not certain why.

Týr: seeing fur garments such as fur coats or winter clothing, traveling by boat, camping in thick and isolated woods, browsing through medieval shops, wolf imagery, cuddling up by a fire after a cold day spent outside, whenever a battle scene comes up in a movie or show, celtic music but I’m not sure why I make that association honestly!

Hel: gothic-style clothes, incense, skull imagery, practicing magic and divination, spirit work, ancestor work, visiting loved one’s graves and leaving flowers, graveyards in general (especially those in small villages), learning about different spiritualities and the way they each envision the afterlife.

Heimdallr: caring for animals, spending alone time outside, climbing trees or rocks, high places in general, reading through the Völuspá, making the effort to listen instead of speak, making a kind gesture randomly, helping people in general.

Skaði: hiking in the mountains, stays at cabins, exploring woods, staying at very unpopulated areas, evergreen trees and especially spruce, watching snowstorms, meditation, hearing/reading mythological stories, winter comfort foods such as soups and meats, stargazing.

Eir: herbalism, learning about local plants and trees, brewing potions, caring for a sick loved one, kitchen witchcraft, and something we call “grandma recipes” over here, that consist of dubiously scientific medicine (lying on your left side to heal an upset stomach quicker, using potato peels against warts, etc). I’d have to make a whole post to list those out. These types of medicine tricks that seem mysteriously effective ahaha!

These are only a few of my deities, but they’re the ones I feel closest to these days.

#ask #asks #norse paganism #norse gods #deities #deity work #heathenry #spirituality #polytheism #norse polytheism #witchcraft #upg #personal #paganism

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maverick-werewolf · 5 months

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Folklore Fact - Christmas Trees!

It's Christmastime! The most wonderful time of the year! And after holding a festive poll on my Patreon, Christmas trees are the very clear winner for this month's folklore fact. Let's dive right in...

(Couldn't resist)

There are a lot of different theories about Christmas trees. All kinds of concepts about how they might've originated, who had them first - so let's start at the "beginning," per se.

First off, various sources - including most prominently the Encyclopedia Britannica - mention that many cultures saw evergreens as representing eternal life. Makes sense, given they're always green. The ancient Egyptians, Chinese, and Hebrews used evergreen garlands, trees, and - yes - wreaths to symbolize eternal life, and they were used in worship.

Likewise, worship of trees was common among Scandinavian cultures and many other European cultures besides; for instance, the great tree at the Temple at Uppsala was said to be evergreen and was where sacrifices were hanged (including men, horses, dogs, and others)...

(sacrifices hanging in the trees at the temple at Uppsala)

Continuing the sacredness of trees in Scandinavian cultures, decorating the house with evergreens at the end of the year warded away the devil, and sometimes trees were set up for birds to nest in during Christmas time. There was also the very important Yule log during the time of Yule, although that was a log to burn, not a tree. The Yule log is still a tradition today.

However, none of this is the same as bringing a tree into your home and decorating it with candles, gold, and whatever else - and certainly not hanging sacrifices on it. So what really started the Christmas tree we have today?

The evergreen was kind of always specifically related to sanctity and everlasting life in Christianity. After Donar's Oak (a sacred pagan tree) was felled by the Christian Saint Boniface and his retinue, some later versions of the tale include an evergreen growing in its place, its triangular shape representing the Holy Trinity. Likewise, we have Roman sources mentioning Christians decorating their homes in evergreens.

Decorated trees and evergreen elements appear throughout Christian lore over many time periods. For instance, Christmas trees have often been equated to the "tree of paradise" found in the mystery plays of the Middle Ages, which were held on what is now Christmas Eve (December 24). A tree decorated with apples - the forbidden fruit of original sin, which Christ took away - and white wafers (redemption and the Eucharist) was used in plays about Adam and Eve on their name day. Later, this tree was placed in homes, and the red apples became shiny red balls - the same ones we know and love today. It's entirely possible these were our first Christmas trees.

It is often thought the first reference to real "Christmas trees" appears toward the end of the medieval period in the 15th century in the writings of the Regiment of the Cistercian Alcobaça Monastery in Portugal...

"Note on how to put the Christmas branch, scilicet: On the Christmas eve, you will look for a large Branch of green laurel, and you shall reap many red oranges, and place them on the branches that come of the laurel, specifically as you have seen, and in every orange you shall put a candle, and hang the Branch by a rope in the pole, which shall be by the candle of the high altar."

Many of these traditions still live on today.

Generally, Christmas trees are considered to be largely in the Baltic regions and Central Europe. Some people also ascribe the Christmas tree to Martin Luther, who may have been the first to add candles to decorating trees. There is also a representation of a Christmas tree in a keystone sculpture of a home in Turckheim, Alsace (part of France today, formerly in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation). This dates to 1576.

So, are there pre-Christian origins to the Christmas tree? Maybe, as depending upon whom you ask, it did depend on region and denomination in the past - but it's also possible that it was a separate Christian concept and originated from the tale of Adam and Eve and the redemption brought by Jesus Christ, originating even before what some scholars consider to be the first real representations of Christmas trees.

We can't "prove," necessarily, that the evergreens of Christianity came from any one particular previous source. Although all cultures that became Christian were certainly influenced by their previous customs, it could've also been something that originated independently in Christian culture or came about influenced by not one but multiple concepts and cultures. No other culture quite approached it the exact same way as did Christians, same as they never fully approached it the same way among one another. There are many cases of similar traditions developing independently, as is already evident in the idea of evergreen representing eternal life (which of course makes sense) across many cultures that had little or no communication with each other during these time periods.

So... who knows! It was and is a subject of debate among scholars. Either way, the Christmas tree is now undeniably an important part of Christmas and the Christmas season. It just isn't Christmas without the trees.

And that's this year's Christmas folklore fact! If that really counts as folklore. Religious fact? Anyway!

Until next time, and I truly wish everyone a very merry Christmas and a wonderful new year! It's the best time of the year, and I hope it's fantastic for us all.

P.S.: Please don't use this post as a jumping off point to attack any particular set of beliefs/religion. Be nice. It's Christmas. Thanks in advance.

( If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, as well as free fiction and nonfiction book previews. You'll be the first to hear about everything, without having to check social media!

Free Newsletter — maverickwerewolf.com (personal site + book shop) — Patreon — Wulfgard — Werewolf Fact Masterlist — Twitter — Vampire Fact Masterlist — Amazon Author page )

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autumncottageattic · 9 months

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annafurbacken

#scandinavian red house #scandinavian #scandinavian style #scandinavian cottage #summer countryside #country living #country aesthetic #summer atmosphere #summer aesthetic #summer season

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sixminutestoriesblog · 4 months

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St. Lucia

I'm a little behind on this one. St. Lucia's Day is December 13 but since I didn't realize that until too late, we're going to do this a little bit belated.

St. Lucia's (or Lucy's) celebration is, for the purpose of this post, going to be about the Scandinavian side of things. On December 13th, the shortest day of the year according to the old Julian calendar, young girls dress in white robes with red sashes, set a wreath of holly on their head, crowned with - if they're old enough and trusted enough - lit candles and hand out coffee and sweets, often saffron buns or ginger cookies, to members of their family or nearby neighbors. Cranking it down a few years, small children dressed in white robes carrying, again if they're old enough, candles, also form a parade and sing as they too hand out treats or follow an elected Lucia who does that herself. Lucia means 'light' and this tradition is supposed to help you shore up enough of it for the coming winter months as well as to mark the Winter Solstice.

How did this all come about though? St. Lucia is from the Mediterranean.

Let's start at the beginning.

St. Lucia was a Christian martyr who was born in Sicily and died in 304 at the age of 25. During her life, she brought food to either the poor or the Christian martyrs hiding in the catacombs depending on the story you read. She wore a candle on her head so that both of her hands would be free to carry more food. Her mother arranged a marriage for her, since Lucia's father had died when she was young and the mother, dying herself of bleeding issues, feared for her daughter's future. Lucia however was a Christian woman that had dedicated her virginity to God, something many early female saints seemed to do, and after her prayers brought about her mother's healing, she convinced the woman to call off the engagement. Instead, she dedicated her dowry to Christ and distributed it among the poor. This did not go over well with her ex-fiance who snitched like a little bitch to the governor. Since Christianity was illegal at the time, Lucia's arrest was ordered, with her punishment being service in a brothel for daring to break up with a man. When the soldiers rolled up to take her away however, they found they couldn't move her, even after they'd hitched ox to her to try. Strangely dedicated to their work in the face of the miraculous, they then heaped wood around her and set her on fire.

This, also, did not work.

Finally, some go-getter in the group got creative and ran her through with a sword (or spear).

This worked.

Or it didn't, depending on the story because at least one of them says that she didn't actually die until she'd been given Last Rites. Honestly, whoever gave her Last Rites should have just kept their mouth shut and she'd probably still be around today.

During the period between the 8th and 12th centuries, Scandinavian countries gradually adopted Christianity and St. Lucia came with it. The St. Lucia that became known in Scandinavia however wasn't entirely the woman she'd been in Sicily.

You see - before St. Lucia came to Scandinavia, there was Lussi Lagnatti, Lucy Long-night, and she also claimed December 13th, except she claimed its long, dark hours instead.

If St. Lucia brought hope and healing with her, Lussi brought terror, punishment and the dead with her in the dark of the longest night of the year. On Winter Solstice, everyone stayed locked safely inside their houses where they hung axes, scissors and knives over their doorway and marked crosses on their houses to keep her at bay. During the Winter Solstice the veil between worlds grew thin and things leaked through. Lussi was accompanied on her travels by walking dead, evil spirits, trolls and other shuddery creatures. It was a Wild Hunt of its own, with Lussi as its leader and woe to anyone they found outside. If the victim was lucky, they would be found miles from where they'd started, confused and beaten.

If they were unlucky, they were never found at all.

Lussi, like many winter creatures, had a penchant for naughty children and workers, especially women, that hadn't finished their winter chores by the time of the Solstice. She and her hoard would damage their houses, their barns and sometimes even snatch them up to carry them away forever.

Little wonder that light-giving, hope giving, generous Lucia took her place in the hearts of Scandinavia. Or perhaps Lussi simply reformed into the light side of her dark coin. The young girls that wake up early to dress and feed their family do so before the sun, moving in the darkness of the house after all.

There's one more piece to our puzzle however. Germany also had a white clad woman that wore candles in her crowning wreath and gave out gifts. Her name was Christkind. She was supposed to represent the baby Jesus and was accompanied by Hans Trapp, a stand in for the devil.

So there you have it. Sweden is said to be the start of St. Lucia's Feast in the North, a famine there in medieval times saw a boat miraculously appearing on Lake Varern, headed by a woman of glowing light who handed out food and then vanished with the boat directly after, but it quickly spread to the neighboring countries, even more so in the 1900s. These days Lussi and the Christkind are almost entirely forgotten but St. Lucia still walks the early morning hours, bringing the light with her and giving out her food with both hands, reminding everyone that the winter is long yet but there is also warmth and hope even in these darkest of days.

youtube

#st. lucia #december 13 #winter solstice #sweden #norway #denmark #finland #lussi #christmas #merry christmas #folklore #cottagecore #Youtube

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meilas · 9 months

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Phantom of the Opera Wine List

Your wine sommeliers:

@meilas: Concept, Graphics, Layout, Project Manager, Hadley, Barbara the Mannequin

@gwalchmedi: Franc D’Ambrosio, Norm Lewis, Drew Sarich, Peter Joback, Bronson Norris Murphy, Hugh Panaro, Michael Crawford, Jonathan Roxmouth, Jeremy Stolle, Barbara the Mannequin, Ethan Freeman, Peter Karrie, Dmitry Ermak, Earl Carpenter

inspired by @mxbuster: Uwe Kroger

inspired by @petittneko: Saulo Vasconcelos, Thiago Arancam

@devilswalkingstick: Cooper and triptychs

@when-it-rains-it-snows: Ben Lewis

DocTy: Alexander Goebel

Tina: Gina Beck

@from-aldebaran: Derrick Davis and proof-reader

@therosenpants: proof-reader and taste-tester

@box5intern: Christopher Carl

This wine list could not have turned out so well without the loving dedication of everyone involved. Thank you everyone for putting up with this silly project for so long!

D’Ambrosio Vintage Vintage 1962, best run 1998 Other nicknames: Cabernet Franc; Franc D’Amn that’s good!

Slither yourself down somewhere comfortable and loosen a few buttons while you steal a taste, slowly swirling your tongue around a luscious mouthful of this full-bodied, ambrosial red. Every note stays with you while you are distracted by its elegant looks, get reeled in by a silvery touch, and feel it gliding along your throat. As you swallow, a slow leisurely piquancy reveals a muscular body and delivers a prominent, long, full finish. A total god of a wine. Keeps giving satisfaction long after you have embraced your last glassful.

Bottling notes: The reddest of red wines in the bluest of containers, and the perfect precursor to pants-less pastimes. Comes in our most prominent bottle.

Saulo Vasconcelos, vintage 1999

An epic year for Brazilian wines, this timeless choice has performed in many a fine vintage bottle. A few tastings will assure you that this wine leaves you anything but Miserable, being a bit of a beast in disguise. Delightfully playful, sensuously hands-on with its flavour, and encasing you in its warm, chocolate tones, you’ll find yourself helplessly succumbing to its embrace. A proper, stern Daddy of a wine, this is one for those who like their types mature and commanding. De Nada!

Crémant NormLew Château Tallahassee

A first for a Crémant from this region of Florida, you’ll be getting a plethora of orchard fruits here with delightful baritone notes! Up there with the finest of champagnes, just enjoy how this Crémant gives such a unique expression of its appellation.

Peter Jöback

This fiery Scandinavian grape is a notoriously difficult one to grow well, but prolific once it takes hold, which makes this lovely drop of sleek Swedish red even more impressive! The acidity has a true, tenor register, a light note that is just right for pairings with other Swedish delicacies, I'd say. Very quaffable indeed.

Drew Sarich

With a very young feel to this Veltliner grape, it actually delivers a surprise that is a decade ahead of itself. This wine has a long taste on the tongue, sitting there like a kitten purring in your lap. Delightfully complex, this is a New York socialite of a vintage with a phantasm of aromatic perfume on it which is absolutely phenomenal. It’s fascinating how the acidity is so high that it somewhat devilishly disguises the wine’s natural sweetness.

Dreamclimber from the House of Derrick Davis Two pressings, 2016-2017 and 2019-2020

An astonishingly underappreciated vintage, Dreamclimber will make you abandon your defenses from the very first sip. A potent mix of smooth deep notes of dark oak ranging upward to a soaring sunshiney sweetness, the positive energy in every bottle offers sweet intoxication and will fundamentally alter your outlook on life. The dynamic and passionate essence of Dreamclimber elevates everything around it, so if you need to restage a meal, add this bold and muscular yet soft and sensual wine to your table. Want to stay one step ahead of the crowd? Catch a Broadway-bound dream of a wine and you can say you were among the first to realize its genuine and soul-stirring star power. Dreamclimber has the uplifting soulfulness to take you and your guests to where you long to be!

Bronson Norris Murphy Variety: Babygrapes

The very youngest of our vintages, this wine has brought out excitingly different comments from our patrons. Respected Voices talk knowledgeably either about its Wheel of Flavours, or enjoy a genuine Laugh about how this rush of taste almost knocks them over; still others amongst the cognoscenti talk about its delightfully Icie youthfulness and endearing features, or how a glassful taken at bedtime would counter a Snowy cold evening. One Purist anonymously chuckled that a grape as vigorous as this could be put in more than one setting and still retain its delightful, child-like boyish charms. Two stunningly dressed patrons, in Rose and Cora(l), admitted they’d been given a taste of this wine secretly, a sort of cameo appearance before its launch, and had felt the vibes of the overt rosehip and petal flavours long before it had become popular. The pair’s general consensus was that this vintage was young enough to Make It on the scene, although the coquettish undertones about vinicultural size and handspan were elusively enticing. The Vast Glassy Orangery was agog with gossip about some Baguette-wielding youth (and their noteworthy tailoring) having hugely overdosed on the tasting previously, almost knocking their socks off with its pale beauty and fragrant scents. Their partner in crime, a clear Persephone of a beauty, was wearing delicious couture from the House of ChristineGrrl, and the effect of this duo almost matched the effect of the wine’s heady aroma on the delightfully younger crowd. Suffice to say the vintage was a resounding success and its aura of vinicultural adolescence bursting into manhood held everyone in its attractive grasp. One worth keeping.

Panaro Prosecco

The elevation that every note in this charismatic, versatile Prosecco provides ensures that the bubbles in this Panaro Prosecco are so much lighter than in the flatter and usually insipid Chagny Champagnes to which they are unfairly compared. For me, there is no contest; crystal clear delivery, in a bottle with movie star good looks, this vintage delivers a deliciously singing bouquet, with beautifully crisp notes of apple to finish.

Michael Crawford, vintage 1986

Oh yes, this most venerable of English sparkling wines has a well-rounded palate with a hint of the most delicate, sweetest of orchard fruits giving way to deeper notes of Parisian brioche, with a hint of French kisses. French, I hear you ask - but did you know that English winemakers use the same traditional method that the French use to produce Champagne?

Jonathan Roxmouth, vintage b.1987, run 2011-2012, 2019

Not an easy Chenin Blanc grape variety to like on first encounter, this South African powerhouse has a drawn-out tingle which stays on your tongue, and wanders high into your head. The yearning feel to break out in full fruit mode is hidden beneath the complex mix of earthy, graveyard depths. You may feel the emotional and smoky hint of stalk, but a flash of strength beneath its velvet glove packs a punch like no other. Rox your Sox.

The St(r)olle

The smoothest of our wines, this will simultaneously quench your thirst and leave you begging for more. In parts of America, this vintage used to be obscure, yet when you taste it, you’ll wonder why. This wine takes a confident, sassy stroll across your palate, its taste coiling a lasso around you as rock solid as Henry Cavill’s abs. Achingly rich and smooth, sporting lush, sweet toned, deep throated berry notes tinged with vanilla, it has suave yet elemental flavors pushing out from a deep, muscular centre. One not to be trifled with.

Barbara the Mannequin, vintage 1988

Wooden and oaky, this wine is perfect for poorly-thought-out proposals. We’ve all known at least one weird, dorky guy who somehow engineered a vision of a hot chick. This wine is that chick. Barbara is also known for its thin, acid nature, bolstered with a dressing that feels domineering, but sadly is only a foreshadowing of a disappointingly textured mouthfeel, with little middle, and an abrupt finish.

Hadley Fraser, vintage: 2 weeks old

A light dessert wine that sometimes forgets how it is supposed to taste. It’s not its fault. Really. We just didn’t give it enough time before bottling it.

Alexander Goebel Der Goebel Veltliner - Vintage 1988

Often overlooked and replaced by the Freeman, its direct descendant, the Goebel is the true original flavour of Vienna's best vineyards, planted and cultivated by the same London vintners that originated the Crawford. Since 1988 the deep rich tones of Dunkelheit in this wine have melted the heart and palate of real connoisseurs around the globe, who also appreciate the high Skan-da-lös and Maskenball notes that follow the first taste. Best served in the Original Cast environment (especially accompanied with a side dish of Nistler and Pfeifer) to highlight its most recognizable qualities, it is also recommended in its "boot" version where its taste is sublimated by visual experience to heighten each sensation.

Peter Karrie

Vintage with a distinctive voice. A commanding flavour, this is a wine both dangerous and elegant, one a chivalrous soul would offer to another, with a heart-rending tone, and an unparalleled physicality and wealth of detail. This grape makes the wine totally in a class of its own, with a wandering taste yet, by some rare and strange alchemy, with a touch of the rock band too. A bit of The Wolf in this bottle.

Ermak Syrah

Our only Slavic wine to date. Once phans sneak a taste of Ermak, they become avid for this imposing Russian grape. Its notes are powerful and bright, dominated by scents of ripe rich raspberry, and a touch of smoke that either comes from barrels toasted over a hickory flame or all that sexy heat. The Eastern European earthy touch, common in ‘Old World’ Syrah, is always present on the back of the palate, but bright succulent flavours mingle with those of hazelnut and chocolate. The tannins swirl like Rusalki across your taste buds, as smooth and alluring as Ermak himself.

G. Beck, vintage 2010

A silken, dry, red English wine with a strong note of blackcurrant. There’s a hint of youthfulness in its complexities. A wine so lovely it will bring tears to your eyes, as the taste conjures up the image of wistfully walking through a graveyard while crying about your father. Perfect after a day of tired feet from wearing heels and heavy gala dresses for too long, and with dark chocolate… or perhaps even Marmite on toast, if you’re feeling adventurous? It has also been blessed by a certain soprano’s tuxedo cat, because why not.

Tested and reviewed by: Tina, who was definitely in a country where the legal age of drinking is 17 at the time. She immediately bought nearly the entire stock and gave it a 6 out of 5 stars rating.

Thiago Arancam, vintage 1982

A total Batata Bonita, this wine from a little-known grape has been successfully transplanted from 13,000 feet up at Insosso Opera’s vineyard to the less stratospheric Sem Sal Palco Musical’s estate. You might call it a vinho on a budget mais fácil. With an early unmasking of a distinct brasiliaro flavour, this is one wine which ought to know how to show its range of notes, but sometimes just pales into insignificance.

Earl Carpenter

A strong bold grape should produce an overbearing wine. Instead, what we have here is viniculture’s version of a smooth Movie Star. Nuanced, sensual and gentle on the palate, it has a buttery feel, although on occasion this vintage’s notes are somewhat uncertain. Building up towards a taste explosion, too much enthusiastic sampling will find you too far gone to stop at the final reveal.

BEN BEN BEN Shiraz 2011

BEN BEN BEN is most curious; the 2011 is one of just two Phantom varietals that are easily acquired, yet rarely is it recommended. Best suited to the mad friends of Dionysus, this Australian Shiraz is a magic show as run by the white tigers: absolutely beautiful, but whose idea was this? It cannot possibly end well… No amount of familiarity with the Brilliant Original will prepare the palate for this Absolute Beast. Expect to be dragged from delicately smoky baritone lows to peppery near-tenor highs; you may feel a little wide-eyed as you study the legs and ponder what that cheekbone is doing to the mouthfeel. Swooning is fine, this glass will pick you up from the floor, it is broad shouldered and surprisingly sweet.

A word to the wise: don't finish the bottle. Pour out that last twenty minutes in memory of the rare 2018 vintage, BEN! KELLY! BEN! KELLY!, of which no complete bottles exist.

Uwe Kroger, vintage 1964, 2006

Ye little gods, here was a tone with an unsettling quirky tongue to it, cutting right through the sweet fruit; an acidity, quite at odds with its vinicultural opulence. This lick of minerality which is just a fingertip’s distance away, is a bit old hat. Been done to death. Somewhat late to the party and overdressed too. It is easier to define what it is not – that is, it is not richness, nor fleshiness, nor texture, it is just there, this odd mineral flavour bringing neither a sense of purpose nor a sense of depth, fashionably unpopular, kookier and saltier than a bag of KP nuts, changeable without letting you know where it is going. And in any case, minerals, rocks and stones have no flavour at all. In Kresowy Slavic folklore, the “flavour” of stones is caused by an invisible substance called petrichor, which, according to my Russian-Greek-English thesaurus (what? It’s the only one I’ve got! Give me a break!) is “constructed from petra (πέτρα), meaning ‘stone’, and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods of Russian mythology.”

Gary Mauer

Are you married to your job? Just the wine for you! With a hint of sexy Dionysian wildness in its overtones, this sexy, vastly diverting and deliciously deep flavoured wine hits up hard on the brain. A sparkling good character with a touch of flair on its first taste, under all that joie de vivre, subsequent contact may make you come unhinged in the final analysis. Touted by wine snobs as 100% clean and wholesome in taste, those of us in the know greedily drink up the wicked taste and flavour, both of which provide a powerhouse duo, giving an amazing almost Elizabethan scent to the final mouthful. Having dashing good looks, this wine has a lovely tenor to its middle notes. While fairly standard from a non-specialist standpoint, it is sprinkled with touches of genius throughout; the distant whispered scent of a bridal bouquet of roses: so romantic. All in all, a great wine with a hugely masculine edge.

Ethan Freeman

A Viennese delight, this unexpected Rosé has distinct European notes, yet a brash American aroma. Moreover, it has a singing finish on the palate. A demanding Jekyll and Hyde of a wine, the duality of the fresh flavour of Oberhaüsen strawberries combined with the descending chill of the faint ghost of basement scents have resulted in a complex type of legerdemain that can be almost felt, not just tasted. Best experienced on hot summer nights.

Cooper, vintage 2014

Far too many notes for our taste, and most of them about this wine. Just read this review left by a customer! (We would like to remind everyone that we card any customers who appear to be younger than 21.) “A delightful wine, positively wonderful, just the perfect stubbly lad. Anytime is Coopertime. Also sweet.”

Christopher Carl

Looks like a meme but also 100% legit like a stock image of STOIC MAN (TM) sold by Hasbro. (Wine bottle and fine horses sold separately.)

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