#a cabling will go beanie

[dutchjan]

January 20, 2024

[souperbloom]

hey! i love your ash and luke one shots so i was wondering if maybe we can get a soft dom cal? something like he comes home late from a studio session and you get mad because you had plans for that night, so he begs for forgiveness by eating you out lol

i love your brain anon. this one was fun as hell.

enjoy some soft!dom cal <3 xoxo

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apologies. [C.H.]

🎸boyfriend!cal

the ask pretty much told y’all everything you need to know. kissy.

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut!, angst if u squint, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk/praise, squirting.

WORDCOUNT: 3.4k

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"Are you guys fuckin’ coming, or what?"

"Yeah, just— gimme’ another hour. We’ll be there…"

"Swear?"

"Fuckin’ swear, Ang."

You were lying.

You knew damn well you were lying. And so did your best friend, Angie.

Also known as; the one on the phone, that had been pestering you about your plans to go out for the last three hours.

You’d been stalling for a third of that time, which you weren’t proud of. These plans had been made weeks in advance and the only thing stopping you from just getting up and leaving right now was your rather untimely boyfriend.

Calum was the type to let time slip right through his fingers. He was terrible at managing how he spent that time, let alone keeping an eye on the clock. Especially when he was at the studio with the boys.

So you weren’t surprised when he had told you he’d be home to get changed at 10:30— yet now, it was well past midnight.

Letting out a frustrated huff, you toss your phone on the side of the couch. Your long sleeve ‘going out’ top was riding up your back and furthering the anger that was boiling right through you.

"Fuckin’ hell, Cal…" You mumble to yourself, talking into open air with nobody to reprimand, nobody to yell at and let off steam.

You were alone.

The clock on the cable box blinked 12:32. An hour and a half later than the original time of your plans. You were about ready to storm out of your apartment and leave a long, shitty note for Cal to read about just how angry he had made you; but you knew deep down that you’d have a better time with him at your side. You loved him, for fuck’s sake.

Too damn much, sometimes.

Just when you thought a little too hard about putting your shoes on, you hear the familiar sound of keys rattling against the door. It was more frantic than usual; most likely due to the sweaty hands that were manning them.

You snap your head around to watch the door bust open, revealing your panting boyfriend who had probably just run up the five flights of stairs it took to get to your apartment.

He was never a fan of waiting for the elevator.

"Hi, hi, baby— hi— I’m— I’m here, I’m here." An exasperated chuckle laces through your boyfriend’s words as he tried with all of his might to kick the door closed and take his coat off at the same time.

But you just sat there. Your legs crossed, your arms folded— the most scornful, disapproving gaze in your eye.

"You’re late, Cal," you say, disdain rattling off your tongue like a viper.

"I— I know, baby. Fuck, I’m sorry. Lost track of time… fuckin’ around when I shouldn’t have been. But— I’m here now. I’m here."

His words were coming out jumbled and frantic, while still running around like a chicken with its’ head cut off. He had ventured towards the kitchen island, dropping his keys and taking off his beanie that shielded him from the crisp fall winds.

His cheeks were glowing red, still laminated with the sweat it took to get him up five flights of stairs. Yet he hadn’t even made eye contact with you.

"We made these plans weeks ago." You try your best at remaining stern with him, sitting still.

"I know, I know, I know, I know…" Calum was now migrating towards your bedroom, his voice growing faint and trailing off as he exited. You watched the empty hallway; the sounds of rummaging through drawers, opening and slamming them shut was already pissing you off more than you’d like to admit. Your leg was bobbing impatiently now, trying to think of any kind of way to cool yourself off before you burst into flames.

Or, tears.

"Cal—." Your voice cracks slightly, to no response.

"Calum." You try again, a bit louder this time.

His head finally pops around the corner of the door frame. "What?"

"Just—" Your sentence breaks with a sigh, dropping your head into your hand as you pinch the bridge of your nose, "—forget it."

"What?" He steps out into the hallway completely, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Forget it, Cal… I-I don’t even wanna’ go anymore."

The clothes that were once in his hands drop to the hardwood floor as he rushes over to you on the couch.

"Hey,” he tries to console, "don’t say that."

"What’s the point? We’re already two hours late! Angie’s one phone call away from ripping my goddamn head off!" You can’t help but huff, dropping your head into your hands.

"Y/N, I’m really sorry." Calum voice rings soft, and sweet— but there was nothing more that you wanted to do than wring out his fucking neck.

"Just— drop it, Calum. I’m already in a shitty mood."

You hated being so mean.

Each time you yelled at him was like the snapping of one of your heart strings. But despite that tightness in your chest, he needed to know how much this affected you. Whether you liked it or not.

Calum stays quiet for a moment, seemingly nervous to say the wrong thing or misstep. He was always so cautious with you, never picking a fight. Even though you’ve picked many.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" He asks, squatting down to be level with your sunken face.

"No."

"I could… run you a bath?"

You shake your head. "Nuh uh."

"I could make you dinner?"

"I already ate."

When you peek out from between your fingers, you notice Calum’s lips pushed to the side. He braces his hands on your knees, still crouching and trying to get some sort of read on your face.

He could tell you weren’t happy.

And he fucking hated that.

"Can I see that pretty face?"

That almost got a smile out of you, but you opted just to shake your head.

"I’m not sure how else to say I’m sorry, my girl." His thumb starts a cadence of soothing circles around the outside of your knees.

"Try saying it in French," you mumble, rubbing your tired eyes.

Calum sucks his teeth, "Ouch."

Growing impatient and just about ready for bed, you sit upright. Faced with Calum for the first time since he bust through the door.

His heather green flannel was slouching on his shoulders, looking beat up from the 10 hour day he’d spend working in the studio. His curls hung lowly over his big brown eyes, in desperate need of a trim.

It was taking everything inside of you not to grab his face and tell him how much you loved him, because in spite of all this, you still did.

He was an expert at pissing you off, and it only made you love him more.

"There’s my beautiful girl," he says upon seeing you, smiling meekly, still trying to get your spirits up.

"’Don’t feel it."

"Why not?"

"’Cause you piss me off."

Cal chuckles, squeezing your kneecaps and adjusting his squatted position.

"Can’t really argue with that."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment; the decorative string lights from behind your couch were twinkling in his chocolatey irises, and painting him out to be some sort of angel. His pretty cherub cheeks were still rosy from rushing around and quite frankly, it suited him.

You’ve fallen too damn hard.

"Y’know, I thought of another way to make it up to you."

"Yeah?" You quip, leaning back on the couch cushions.

"Mhm."

His hands were still lingering, moving up to massage your exposed thighs that were now catching a draft from your lack of movement. You had planned to wear this outfit on the day you told Angie you’d be there tonight. So the fact that you were still in it, yet not where you said you’d be, was making your blood boil.

"Gonna buy me back all the time I wasted getting ready for tonight?" You seethe lowly, trying not to sound too bitchy yet coming across as the bitchiest bitch in the world.

Calum frowns, his Doc Martens squeaking against the hardwood floor as he adjusts his posture, "You’re really good at that."

"Good at what?" You muse, chuckling through your nose.

"Firing the shit I pull right back at me. It’s sexy."

"Don’t try to butter me up, Cal. I know I’m sexy. Hence why it took me an hour and a half to get ready."

For some odd reason, your whiny complaints and moody comments towards Calum didn’t seem to be effecting him. They were bouncing off his puffed up chest like he was made of rubber. He was used to your incessant need to be on time, and how he was quite literally your antithesis.

But those witty remarks you kept throwing at him were one of the things he loved most about you. Which is why he kept egging you on.

"I’m really sorry, baby. I’m really sorry I wasted your time."

You try your hardest to bite back a smile, but it doesn’t go over well. "You should be."

Without another word, Calum is dropping down to his knees and suddenly, your heart is racing.

"Can I make it up to you," his hand creeps towards the hemline of your skirt, "like this?"

"I’ll consider it," you nod, trying to seem unbothered by your boyfriend’s large, weathered hands, "But what’s in it for me?"

"Trust me, baby. It’ll be all about you. You won’t have to move a muscle and I swear, on everything I love…"

His fingers stretch across the width of your thighs, prying open your legs with a wicked grin.

"… I’ll have your fuckin’ legs shaking like crazy within the next ten minutes."

Your face flushes, hands subconsciously gripping onto the couch cushions down at your sides at your boyfriend’s promise. He’s still gleaming up at you, waiting for your approval; he’s never the type to handle you without your permission.

"The journey to forgiveness is a long, winding road… But this is definitely a good start, Calum. Well done."

Despite your cool, agile reply, your heart continues to thump out of your ribcage when you see how your unnerving boyfriend reacts to the sound of his own name. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply with that smile still painted onto his cheeks.

"Keep fuckin’ talking like that. See where you end up."

You scoff playfully, "Is that a threat, Mr. Hood?"

"Not a threat, my girl… It’s a promise."

His hands are dancing dangerously close to your underwear now, having crept up your skirt without you even noticing. But you hadn’t a care in the world. You were merely turned on by the sight of him, so eager to please you. So ready for your forgiveness.

"Fuck, you’re good," you groan, letting a whimper slip past as well, "Show me how sorry you really are, then."

In no time, Calum is leaving a sultry trail of kisses up your thigh. You hiss at the feeling of his cool lips against you; having not felt them since the last time the two of you fucked. Which was about four days ago.

He had been quite busy in the studio with the band’s upcoming album, so times like these were a novelty. Not like you minded much, any quality time spent with Calum was worth a million years.

And besides, he’s damn good at it. Why tamper with an already perfect system?

"I know what I said, but can you do somethin’ for me?" Your boyfriend’s head pops up from beneath your skirt with sparkly eyes.

"Mh, depends." You reply lazily.

"Wanna hear you, baby. Wanna hear that pretty voice."

"That won’t be an issue," you smile, lifting your upper half from the couch, "You may have to earn it though…"

Calum’s eyebrow quirks, looking like he’s just about ready to wipe that catty smile right off of your face.

"Since when are you the one to give orders around here?"

You sit up even further to spit back, "Since you decided to fuck around with your boyfriends and make us miss our fucking plans."

There isn’t even an opportunity for you to say any more, since Calum had decided to grip the backs of your thighs and yank you to the edge of the couch. He lifts your legs, ripping your panties off swiftly and tossing your knees over his shoulders before you can even blink.

You gasp at the sudden dynamic change, shallow breaths barely escaping your throat as your boyfriend is now heaving as well. His once angelic brown eyes had shifted to something darker.

Somebody needed to pinch you. You must be dreaming.

"Watch that mouth," he growls lowly, that soft demeanor of his slightly peeking through his cold exterior, "Not gonna tell you again."

Your face drops, now nodding like a desperate mess.

"I don’t care how sorry I am. Good girls get their way, bad girls don’t. And we both know that, don’t we my baby?"

"Yes— yes sir."

"Gonna be good for me?"

You nod again, fingernails digging into the couch cushions as his apology has not only become something you really really wanted—

It was now something you needed.

"Please, Cal. Promise… Promise I’ll be good for you."

He smiles, and a familiar warmth settles back into the pit of your stomach as he kisses both of your knees.

"That’s my fuckin’ girl."

Sweat begins to pool across your forehead when the first kiss is planted on your inner thigh. You writhe above him, patiently waiting for his mouth to travel down to where you needed it to be.

But patience runs thin in moments like these, especially since Calum was such a fucking tease.

"Cal, baby— please…"

Another couple of kisses later and you’re still feeling unfulfilled. At this point, his head was so far deep into your skirt that you could only see the frosty tips of his unruly curls. He hears your plea, nodding slowly.

"Getting there, pretty. Getting there…"

A shock wave zaps your spine the moment he makes contact with your clit. Your body jolts, feeling the slow rhythm of his tongue toying with your sensitive bud.

"Jesus fuck—" You sigh, trying to fulfill the promise of letting him hear you while simultaneously trying to lasso your head back onto your shoulders.

Calum hums happily, which sends another wave of flutters down your body. You were so damn sensitive, and your boyfriend knew it too. But when his head was between your legs, he never seemed to think, or care about anything else.

He flattens his tongue against your dripping slit, making sure to move slowly and pay attention how long it took him to drag his tongue from one part, to the next. You’re still wriggling around, but Cal’s got his arms locked around your thighs.

You couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

"Just— just like that, baby… Keep— keep doing that."

The blood rushes to your head when he finds that particularly sweet spot with the tip of his tongue; he’s moaning, you’re moaning, it was like a symphony of desperate pleas. Your hands fly to meet his head, fingers getting tangled in his chocolatey curls as he starts to use his nose in cohesion with his tongue.

"Fuck me, you’re magic, Cal…"

He hums again. Of course, he agrees. He knows he’s the only one who could ever make you feel this way, and he was damn proud of it.

Apology: accepted.

But you wouldn’t tell him that.

That familiar crash of adrenaline was beginning to wash over you, your stomach began twisting in knots as each tug of Calum’s hair produced more and more pressure onto your pussy. He was chipping away at you, collecting your juices onto his tongue and savoring each and every flavor of you. By the sounds he was making, you could only assume that he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Cal, baby… I’m close. Gonna’ cum… gonna’ cum really soon."

You say the magic words. Your lower half was already preforming backflips at only the flick of his tongue, but that euphoria heightened when he took it upon himself to pop his head up and start using his fingers instead.

He dips one finger inside of your dripping heat, his face slicked with your wetness as he finds your eyes for the first time since he started. Your mouth hangs open, trying your hardest to keep the eye contact as he begins to speak.

"Forgive me, baby? I’m really, really, really sorry."

You nod wearily through a breathy moan, attempting to stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head.

"Y—yes… Yes Cal, I—"

Your sentence is cut short by the feeling of a second finger entering you, curling up to brush against that sweet spot with each new stroke.

"Yes what? You forgive me? Say it like you mean it, my girl… I know you can do it."

His taunting words pull another moan from your throat. He’s still looking at you with hooded eyes, enjoying every second of watching you fall apart. You weren’t sure what had gotten into your sweet boy tonight, but you definitely didn’t mind it.

"Yes. Yes, baby— I— I forgive you," you breathe, that swirling feeling in the pit of your stomach ready to burst, "I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you…"

Calum nods, his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip as he watches the obscene ways of your impending orgasm. If he was more honest with himself, your face alone could’ve had him coming on the spot. But he would never admit that. You always came first.

"Yeah? You mean it?" He asks another question. You swore this was some sort of game.

"Yes baby, I— I mean it—!"

Your breathing picks up, Calum’s fingers now moving a bit sloppily, yet keeping that steady rhythm that was driving you up the walls. The pressure building in your lower half was unfamiliar, drawing quick confusion out of you mere seconds before your orgasm.

"Cal, wait— I—"

Alarm bells were blaring in your head, now that Calum had taken his other, freer hand to press his palm flat onto your stomach. He knew what was coming, but you didn’t have a clue.

"Let it go for me, my girl. Let me hear it. Fuckin’ give it t’ me."

Not only does your orgasm rip through your body like a whip cracking down onto pavement, a new sensation was felt the moment Cal told you to let go. A spurt of wetness coats his fingers and the lower half of his face, bringing you to immediately go stark white.

Your chest is heaving, coming down from the high that your boyfriend had just whipped you through. He beat the clock and kept his promise, that’s for damn sure.

"What just— what the fuck. What the fuck, Cal?" You giggle through the comedown, watching Calum triumphantly admire his digits that were now soaked with you. The feeling of you. The taste of you.

"Think you just accepted my apology in more ways than one, baby," your beau chuckles, wiping his face with the back of his fist.

"I can’t believe I just did that," you mumble meekly, now slightly self-conscious as you realized what had just occurred.

Calum scoffs with a shrug, "I can, are you kidding? I knew you had it in you. And all it took was me fucking up to get it out."

"Don’t put it like that," you cringe, scrunching your nose, "Makes it weird."

Calum then begins a slow rhythm of massaging your thighs, something he always does whenever you’re coming down from one of your highs.

"Okay. Won’t make it weird. But let me ask you this— are you still mad?"

You raise your eyebrows, still flustered, watching him lean upward to rest his elbows on your legs. His flannel was in a disarray, as were his curls; you were so wrapped up in admiring him that the thought of anger never even crossed your mind.

"Mad about what?" you ask innocently.

"Mhm," he hums, before leaning in to peck you gently on the lips, "Exactly."

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[vampire-connoisseur]

Since 2025 is apparently the year of the no-buy and the stash down, I have a very controversial opinion.

I think "using up your stash" is barely an improvement to just continually buying new yarn. The idea comes from a good place, but when the goal becomes reducing the size of your yarn stash, it just becomes a challenge to use what you have any way possible so you can buy more.

If you don't particularly want a granny square blanket, you probably shouldn't use pristine skeins to make one. Same thing with cabled beanies or what have you. When you start trying to use up your stash, instead of just limiting yourself to knitting with mostly yarn you already own, the goal can become to burn through it as fast as possible chasing the feeling of progress, instead of ending up with useful things that you or people in your life will love. If you knit a hat and then never wear it, it isn't actually any better than not knitting the hat at all, in terms of waste.

I honestly think yarn should not be such a defining feature of the hobby. I think it holds inherent excitement because a new skein could become anything, we automatically feel interest and desire for new skeins, and it has the same dopamine fountain properties as other forms of shopping, but it probably isn't good for most of us. When the most exciting part is buying the skein, and then using it becomes an obligation, the joy of knitting and crochet is reduced to consumerism.

Yarn is beautiful and exciting to me, but I'm really trying to change the way I see it. Instead of an exciting blank slate, I'm trying to teach myself to view yarn as a companion. I don't want yarn to be what excites me, because then the hunger for more of it never goes away. I'm glad when I run out of a beautiful yarn because it means I can buy more. Buying is the reward. New yarn is a treat. I don't want that to be part of my life, though. I'm trying to see yarn as enabling the project, and if anything the pattern as the exciting component. When I knit, I try to focus on the work itself, the properties of the finished object and what it will be for, and the techniques I'm learning or practicing, instead of my progress through the yarn.

It's difficult because often inspiration comes from the yarn, and yarn is something that all knitters and crocheters can share an enjoyment of regardless of experience level, style, or time investment, but I still think it's doing more harm than good.

When I buy yarn, I want to be thinking about all the time I'm going to be spending with it. I'm going to be touching it, carrying it with me, frogging it, measuring it, finding patterns for it, and examining it as I knit it up. I will probably use it for multiple projects, at the very least in scrap form, and it will probably lead me to consider buying more yarn of a similar weight and fiber content to use in conjunction with it. That's what I mean when I say it should be a companion instead of a commodity. It goes with you and you pull projects out of it; you don't transform it into projects and move on.

I don't want to use yarn I thought I would love in patterns that don't make me happy and that no one in my life particularly wants. I want yarn to be a resource, rather than a burden. If there are no projects I want to make with my existing yarn, I should save it for later or find another owner for it. I don't want to choose projects out of obligation to yarn I have so that I can make the space to buy more.

Part of me wonders if the emphasis on yarn has amplified the boom in very plain knitting patterns. I can't speak to crochet, but I know that the most popular patterns on ravelry and among knitting youtubers are very simple stockinette pullovers or plain ribbed beanies or something else that is very quick and easy to make and doesn't challenge your knitting capabilities. It could just be because these are what become wardrobe staples, but I also know that a lot of non-knitters wear complex cabled and lacy sweaters and cardigans on a daily basis, including very fashionable people. These simple patterns emphasize yarn choice and let you process stashed yarn faster, but how many people knitting them would rather have a more complex piece, and just don't feel inclined to dedicate the time to one sweater when it could be used to make three?

Anything that slows down your purchasing will be beneficial to your finances and environmental impact, but I think an even greater change in perspective than what you get from a buy ban is in order. You may learn what yarns you actually enjoy or become more creative or experiment with new techniques, but that doesn't actually address the supposed materialism or consumerism issues regarding how we engage with our hobby.

I honestly don't know if building a stash should be a goal or common practice at all. I know all the defenses; I think it makes sense to want to save yarn if your finances are unpredictable, but I think this is a separate issue not really related to the topic of stashing generally. That is either a sensible behavior in a situation that a lot of people with massive craft hoards are not in, or a maladaptive response to traumatic experiences. Either way, saving yarn when you get your hands on it is different from building a "mindful stash" or knitting to use up what you have as fast as possible.

I know a lot of people reason that if you have what you need to create on hand, you can make things more easily, but there are so many limitations of material, quantity, weight, and color that knitting from stash for many people is just an additional challenge (I know for amigurumi artists this is not really the case) and when you have a large stash, it becomes a question of whether you can use it before your tastes change. I know I have a lot of aran weight yarn I don't really know what to do with.

I don't think we should use shopping for joy or comfort. I suspect we would be happier if we almost exclusively bought yarn we planned on using immediately. I saw a youtuber turn an entire advent calendar into a granny square blanket in the name of "stash busting," and maybe she really treasures that blanket now, but if not, I don't see why it had to be "busted" in the first place.

Maybe our engagement with yarn should take the form of reading up on our material options, building lists of specific things we want to try, or following whatever source of yarn is within our budget-- not to seek out deals or new releases, but to get a sense of what our options will be when we do decide to replenish our supply. Instead of looking at skeins of yarn and indulging or fighting a drive to snap them up before they're taken away from you, we could try to translate the skein from a visual and textural experience in the moment into the entire course of working with the yarn. We should imagine the experience of working with it and the finished objects we can pull from it.

I think making fewer finished objects would be okay, as long as each one was worth more to us. Using less yarn on the same budget would also let us try fancier yarns. And when shopping for deals, it's worth remembering that the qualities of the yarn are not what you are bargaining for, but the enjoyment and utility you get per dollar. Even very expensive yarn that you get for cheap and then rush through using is only worth the fun you got from using it and the pleasure the finished object brings you or others (unless you sell the FO).

Joy from shopping is very temporary and sometimes comes as a loan when the purchase becomes a burden and we miss our money and time. I think shopping for fun, especially online, is an inefficient way to get value for our money at best and a maladaptive behavior at worst. I'm curious how often we buy yarn for the act of searching and buying instead of because we want a new yarn in our lives, and I'm curious how doing so impacts how we engage with our hobby.

TL;DR: I think a lot of people have a shopping problem, not a hoarding problem. I think no-buy time and working from stash will not resolve the underlying issues, and I think different behaviors would make us happier.

My mind could be changed, but these are my thoughts right now.

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String: Part 2

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Many thanks to @saradika-graphics for her wonderful dividers. @bitchwitch1981 for helping me get started, @missredherring @march-flowerr @hypnotisedfireflies @ameerawrites for their invaluable help unmixing my metaphors. Huge shoutout to @goodwithcheese for her fic Staystitch, the fic that lodged itself in my brain and started this all. Go read it, it's amazing.

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?”

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader. Reader has no distinguishing characteristics, other than being actively sober and an avid yarn crafter. It's you, love.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter note: it’s coming into autumn now in my part of the world, my favourite time of year for cosy evenings on the couch with my love, wrapped in warm woolly goodness to keep the chill off of us. Please enjoy Dieter and his love, being crafty and cosy and woolly together.

It’s a cool evening and the home you share with Dieter is chilly. You’ve only just lit the fireplace for the night, and it hasn’t had time to fully warm the room yet. Dieter sets the vintage record player to start playing while you get the hot chocolates ready. Soon the soft croons of Billie Holiday’s voice fill the room as you carefully carry your mugs over to the couch and divide them between his end table and yours. Extra marshmallows for Dieter’s, like always, and extra cocoa powder for yours.

Dieter is already settled on his end of the couch, digging around in his basket of wips for something to work on tonight. You let a deep sigh escape your lungs as you sink into your end of the couch. It’s been a long week and you’re ready to relax and lose yourself in the quiet of your evening with Dieter.

Dieter emerges triumphantly from his cavernous project basket with something in hand – a beanie, you guess, from the look of it. His hair is more disheveled than usual and his oversized cardigan (your favourite) is askew as a result of him hanging practically upside down in the basket to find what he was looking for. You giggle at his rumpled appearance. “Come on,” he juts his chin up at you, “what have you got tonight? Whatcha gonna work on?”

You think for a moment. You have a few items in progress stuffed into your basket: a crocheted blanket, a few pairs of fingerless mitts that you knit on here and there for the local winter donation drive. A cabled beanie, a ribbed scarf. “I don’t know. My brain is tired tonight. Maybe the blanket? It’s nice and mindless.”

“That could work. You only have a few more rows of that stripe before the next one starts, right?”

“Yeah, I’m nearly to the end of the blue so I might just finish that off and then put it away again for a little bit.”

You pull out the blanket that’s been slowly growing over the last year and a half and sit with your back to the arm of the couch. You scooch to get the blanket situated over your lap and legs until you’re comfortable with it. Dieter stretches out so his feet are touching your crossed legs, and you’re both covered by the blanket. You feel his toes stretching and flexing as he idly fidgets them against your knees.

The room quietens as you and Dieter settle into your projects. The sound of his needles clacking and the log on the fire popping are the only sounds for a time, apart from the quiet music and the occasional hiss of liquid and a swallow as one of you slurps your drink.

The quiet is broken every now and then with a sound effect. Periodically you hear a puzzled grunt from Dee, then an “ah” of realisation as he figures out the issue.

A thought idly rolls around in your mind, and you give it voice. “Your five years is coming up this year. Did you have anything special you want to do for it?”

Dieter is coming up to 5 years sober this year. Over that time, you have worked through your addiction recovery together, both through the support system of Narcotics Anonymous and your respective sponsors. Your connection has grown from platonic friendship to a true relationship. Dieter is a romantic at heart. You adore the way he has thrown himself into building your life together, the same way he throws himself into every other project: wholeheartedly and with nothing held back. For your part, you were smitten that first day when he finally gathered the courage to ask you about your crocheting.

You’ve developed a tradition of gifting each other something handmade for your respective milestones every year. His five years is a big deal for him, as you well know.

Dieter hums as he ponders the question, his hands pausing briefly as he considers. “Can you knit me a sweater? You haven’t done that yet.”

This is the first time you’ve ever hesitated to answer, and he clocks you straight away.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“No, it – it’s nothing, really, I just -” You try to laugh it off. But he knows you better than that. He pushes, gently.

You take a breath. This isn’t a conversation you had really expected to have tonight, but of course you should have. Sweaters feel like the natural progression of his crafting journey, of course he would be interested in that next.

“Dee, this is going to sound crazy-”

“Sweetheart, have you met me? Just spit it out, I won’t laugh.”

“Have you ever heard of the sweater curse?”

A brief silence. His eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward across the couch, elbows resting on his thighs as he takes your hands in his. “Okay, now that you’ve said it, you HAVE to tell me more. What is the sweater curse?”

You huff a breath, blow a lock of your hair out of your face, shuffle your knees a little. “Okay, it sounds stupid. But. There’s a superstition for knitters and crocheters that says if you make a sweater for the person you’re dating, the relationship is doomed to break up. Sometimes before you even finish making the sweater. I know we’ve been together for a while, Dee, I don’t- I can’t- I don’t want-”

He surprises you by swooping you up into an embrace, stopping your words with his mouth on yours. You melt into his broad body and let him kiss your fear into submission.

When he lets you down to breathe, he twinkles his eyes at you and grins so widely his dimple pops.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere, honey.” His coffee-smooth baritone is a soothing rumble in your ears.

His expression turns serious then. “Look, I know we’ve talked about it a little bit, neither of us want to be married or anything, and we’re both fine with that. I want to be with you for my entire life anyway. I want us to be for a lifetime, not just this moment. So. How do we get around this curse? Can we break it? Is there an anti-curse we can do? Anti-hex thing? Double-block-fuck-the-sweater jinx?”

You give a shaky laugh and settle yourself in closer to him. You lean into his shoulder and he obliges by putting an arm around you and pulling you in tight. (You might also use his lapel to surreptitiously wipe a couple of tears away, but he doesn't need to know that.)

“Um, okay, okay. I mean, um, yes. I want that too. I love you too. I want to be with you for my lifetime too. I haven’t thought much but I’m sure there’s witchy stuff online about breaking curses. Why don’t we look it up somewhere?”

Dee carefully sets his knitting aside and pulls his laptop out from its spot under his end table. After a minute to let it wake up, he types “how to break the sweater curse” into the search bar. You lean in to look at the screen with him. You peruse the titles and URLs of the search results together, skipping over the ones that just show images of sweaters and magic wands, until you see one that looks suitable. “Hey, click on that one.”

HOW TO BREAK A MAGIC CURSE

Breaking a curse requires the intention and focus of the curse-breaker. Sometimes a ritual is also required. There are multiple ways to lift a curse, but it depends on the nature of the curse and the person who cast it. Whether you’re dealing with a long-term hex or a recently cast spell, the following rituals can help cleanse away the unwanted energy and restore your peace of mind.

Dieter reads down the Buzzfeed-like-list. “Blah blah blah...mirror reversal...cleansing bath...protective crystal grid…ooh,” He bookmarks the whole page so he can come back to this later. He likes his crystals.

“Oh, here we go, knot magic! That looks relevant. Here, read it -”

You read together:

Knot magic is a form of folk magic that uses the symbolic binding and unbinding of knots to control energy. This method involves tying and then untying knots to release the curse and its hold on you.+

“Knots sound like yarn, this could work, maybe that’s it?”

You shrug, you know as much as he does in this area. “Let’s keep looking – keep this tab open and see what else came up in the search.”

You find an unlikely help in the comments of an old Reddit thread:

Knot magic is about setting an intention and then using a knot to 'seal it' or put it out in the world. …But knot magic doesn't have to be knots. It could be something as simple as a braid. ….Also, knot magic can be knitting and crocheting. I have knitted a divination mat for myself. While I was knitting it, I thought about the new forms of divination I wanted to try and how I wanted them to impact my practice.^

Dee sits back and gestures at the laptop screen with a gesture of well, see?

“Well, there you go, we can do that. It’s all about the intention. I intend to stay with you. I intend to stay in love with you. This curse isn’t gonna be the thing that pulls us apart.”

“I feel the same way, Dee...I only want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.” You have an idea. “Hey, Dee, why don’t we both do it? Why don’t we knit each other a sweater and seal our intentions into them?”

His face lights up and you could swear his dimple has never been deeper, with the way he’s smiling at you. “Amazing! Let’s do it. Right now.”

And so you do. You and Dieter spend the rest of the evening looking up sweater patterns online to figure out what each of you likes, as well as what the other will enjoy knitting. You both agree that cables are a must, based on the information you’ve learned online. After some rummaging, you find your old copy of Barbara Walker’s Treasury of Knitting Patterns in Dieter’s side of the bookshelf – he all but stole it last year when he was on a lace kick – and look up her cable patterns for ideas.

Dieter thinks that the braid cables will work best because the Reddit commenter wrote that they put a braid in their hair to set a protection spell.

You like the idea of multiple braids interwoven because they remind you of actual knots. Always intertwining and crossing together, never separated or broken.

The next day you hit your local indie yarn store to find yarn that feels right. Because these are going to be special sweaters, none of the every-day workhorse yarn you normally use will do.

Dieter’s yarn finds him in the form of a gorgeous deep emerald green wool, and you spot a mohair-silk laceweight yarn that complements the green perfectly. He is enthralled at the fuzzy, goat-y nature of the mohair and he insists on getting an extra hank or three, “just in case”.

Your yarn calls to you from a basket of limited edition super soft wool in your favourite colour. You also insist on getting an extra hank or two...“just in case”.

With your purchases in hand, you start back for home. Well...first there’s a quick detour to the grocery store for a chocolate run...but THEN you head back home.

Dieter has never worked with yarn this nice before, so you teach him how to wash the hanks and let it dry in front of the fireplace, before winding it into usable balls. That evening, he happily sits at your feet with a dry hank of yarn around his outstretched hands while you wind it into a tidy ball. He can’t resist wiggling his fingers and grabbing at you. He flashes a cheeky grin as you yelp and reflexively kick at his belly before scrambling your legs back out of his reach. Now that he’s gotten that out of his system, this slow-and-steady method of yarn winding together becomes your favourite evening activity for the next week.

At last the night comes when the last hank is wound. You and Dieter find yourselves sitting amongst a dozen balls of yarn all spread out along your coffee table and couch. It’s time to knit. You look around yourselves, and look back at each other. There’s an odd tension in the air, a thrum of anticipation that you didn’t expect.

Dieter speaks first. “You ready?”

You take a breath and release it slowly. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

He gathers his yarn to his basket on his side of the couch while you gather yours to your own side. You both shift and wiggle until you’re comfortably settled into your “yarning poses”, as Dieter calls it. You both pick up your needles. Consult your patterns. Give each other a decisive nod. And start casting on your sweaters.

The room is quiet now as you both lose yourselves in your knitting. You work to keep your mind focused on your intention, as the website said. It’s surprisingly not that hard; your brain soothes into the rhythm of knit, purl, Dee, knit, purl, Dee… as you work across the rows.

Dieter sits across from you, with his eyes down on his work. Every so often, he looks up to gaze at you thoughtfully. You feel his eyes on you and glance up, and he winks and looks back down again.

Autumn deepens into winter as you knit your sweaters side by side. You pass your evenings together on the couch in comfortable silence, sometimes with music, sometimes with just the crackling of the fireplace. Every so often you each hold up your progress for the other’s inspection, and you admire your work. Dieter makes you take periodic breaks for hot chocolate, and you make him take breaks for hand stretches.

After a couple of months of knitting together, your sweater for Dieter is making good progress. You think you might have it finished for him to wear by the time his 5 year date comes up. Dieter, on the other hand, is not as fast a knitter as you are. His sweater for you probably won’t be ready until next autumn, and that’s fine with you.

The sweater itself isn’t the goal. The goal is to work through the process together and purposefully knit your commitments into the sweaters. You’re confident now that your relationship with Dieter can stand the test of time after going on this whole curse-breaking journey with him.

Over the last five years, the sticks and string of your lives have knitted your relationship into an elegant, enduring fabric. You know that no matter what mistakes you and Dieter make, it won’t be the end of the world. You can pick up those dropped stitches together and knit them back into your fabric. The string that binds you together is strong enough to withstand being frogged, re-wound, and re-knit. You’re looking forward to creating with Dieter together for the rest of your lives.

+https://witcheslore.com/bookofshadows/rituals-spell-casting/how-to-break-a-magic-curse/

^https://www.reddit.com/r/witchcraft/comments/soum44/can_anyone_explain_witch_ladders/ this is a real thread, sincere thanks to user u/poetic_faery for their informative comments. And to @bitchwitch1981 for her help in getting started.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added, or removed. no pressure.)

@almostfoxglove @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork @grogusmum

@jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @copperhalfcent @peaches1958 @ghotifishreads

@toomanytookas @covetyou

[happysaddca]

Me, needing to write something for myself: wait but what if it's not right @wyervan is this right?

Proceeded to rewrite it twice before it got looked at and then another time after because we realized it is in fact publishable for the public viewing and I'm a perfectionist (not seen in my daily writing don't judge me please)

anyway tw needed for animal cruelty. Not torture just. Eos is fine, I promise. So is Moon's hand.

Ellis’s newest purchase is a luxury: a TV with a built in VHS player and especially long cord. They’re delighted by the purchase, immediately renting a “shit ton” (Sun’s “Language!” netted an eye roll in his direction) of movies they wanted to catch up on. They are talking excitedly about what they want to watch first at Star when Moon steps inside for a break from the kids. 

When he expresses interest in the movies they rented, Ellis invites Moon to join them, “without breaking in for once,” they joke. It’d be Monday after the arcade’s closed for the night. Ellis usually does skoolie maintenance on Mondays, getting gas and changing water and pulling close to the building so they can charge the auxiliary generator. 

Monday nights are also the start of Sun and Moon’s other work days. 

Moon… agrees, much to Sun’s dismay. 

“And just how am I supposed to go out with my jester-in-crime?” They’re alone currently, and Sun’s draped himself dramatically over one of the lower locker’s open door, angling himself to watch Moon’s face even as he tap tap taps impatiently on the metal.

“You’ll survive one week without me.” Moon fixes his beanie by feel, letting most of his hair hang loose. 

“But I need it today Moony.” 

Moon understands. He’s fiddling with his belongings in his locker to have something to do, tugging on the little nightcap of his mini-Moon currently pinned under a magnet. He’s meant to give it back to Ellis so they can sew it back on the doll’s head. His fingers ache for something different, to tear and slice and—no. The magnet snaps back in place and he shoves the door shut harder than intended. 

“Distract yourself. Star mentioned wanting to bowl. We’ll just go out later.” He shoves a hand in his pocket, clenching it until his fingers ache. “Watching movies late. Might stay out.” He doesn’t quite meet Sun’s eye as he turns for the door. 

Sun follows after him like an overgrown puppy. “You’ve been getting awfully close to Nova the past few months. Anything going on I should know about?” Sun wheels around Moon, faking a gasp of concern. “Moony, is your virtue still intact? Are they taking advantage of you?” 

Sun’s teasing, but Moon feels heat work down his spine like hot wax. When Sun gets close enough, he pushes him away, not trusting his voice. Sun leans against Moon’s arms, and Moon covers Sun’s grin with a hand. 

“You would tell me if something’s changed, right?” The cheerful facade’s still there, but Moon can feel the tension held under the surface. He moves his hand up and pushes down, tangling it briefly in wild red curls.

“Would tell you. Now go. Find Star. Have fun.” When Moon releases Sun, he gives a slow smile, one that’s quickly returned. He endures the overly excited if far too brief hug before he’s finally alone in the arcade, waiting for Ellis’s return from the gas station. 

The side door opens an indeterminate amount of time later, Ellis walking backwards as they drag a bright orange extension cable to plug in the back. They’re humming to himself, and Moon watches as they move, utterly oblivious to his presence. Sun’s faux to genuine concern makes him shiver and run a hand over the back of his neck to make sure his hair isn’t actually on end. 

Ellis is coiling the excess cable out of the way when he approaches, opting to touch their shoulder when he notices a lack of hearing aids. Ellis jumps, their body going tense even as they twist in place and nearly fall. Moon catches them, squeezing their shoulders. An act of reassurance. Not him needing to repress his natural response to Ellis trying to run away. 

It would be far too easy to catch them. They can’t even hear his bells without their aids; he and Sun have tested this. Trusting. They’re far too trusting of them. 

Ellis says something as they manage to pull away, dragging Moon out of his thoughts and back to reality. They look flustered. Moon can only stuff his hands as deep into his pockets as he can manage, clenching them until his nails leave deep impressions in his palms. Ellis has their back to him again, pushing the cable out of the walkway as they lead the way back to the door. Moon follows in silence. It’s only because of the time he’s let the thoughts linger at all. His hands hurt, and he squeezes them tighter. 

The bed in the bus is somewhere between a full and queen. Comfortable enough for Moon when he sneaks in for his midday nap, absolutely decadent for Ellis on their own. Less so when they’re sandwiched in together, the television perched on the edge like the most awkward box shaped bird. Ellis has pressed against his side, a hot line of contact made all the worse when they rest their head against his shoulder. They’ve exchanged their glasses for their ears, but they hadn’t brought up the scare earlier. And they’re currently so engrossed in the movie Moon wonders if he registers as a person at all and not a slightly awkward upright cushion. 

They’ve already powered through Home Alone and a bowl of popcorn. Why they’d picked Halloween of all things to watch after a Christmas movie (and why a Christmas movie when it’s past the new year) is beyond him. Ellis seems unaffected by most of it, save for some commentary about Myers stealing the headstone and questioning his choice in fashion accessories. “Honestly, the masks you and Sun have for your acts would be so much scarier than whatever he’s got going on.” Moon tries not to let his mind wander too far with that compliment. 

It’s not until Myers kills a dog—an offscreen squeal of pain—that Ellis flinches and and pushes further into Moon’s side, pulling his arm over their shoulder. Seeking comfort. Moon lets them. He isn’t sure how to stop it, isn’t sure he wants to, and that isn’t a line of questioning he wants to entertain. Ellis remains in place even as the scene changes and Myers is on the prowl again, and Moon lets his mind follow the slasher. The pickings in town were getting awfully slim. It might be time to travel. Madiline had been pulling sections of the county newspaper. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t know exactly what they do, but the gifts can be helpful. So long as she’s not too nosy about it. 

He’d like to use the hammer again. The knife is fun, a tool for finesse and detail, and the axe gets the job done quickly, but the hammer isn’t for killing. It’d have to be swung to just the right spot to kill. No, its use is pain. Breaking fingers and kneecaps. A large enough cudgel could take out a man’s legs with ease. Knock them down, make them hurt and when he’s ready, he can sit on their chest and wrap his hands around their throat, feel them struggle. Choking doesn’t usually kill them, especially if Sun’s the one doing it. He doesn’t have the patience for it. But Moon likes the way their faces change, from defiant to pleading to hopeless to… nothing. And then after, the clean up, that’s when they make sure they’re dead. Don’t need anyone to come back and snitch. 

But it’s the pain, the choking, the feeling of life quite literally at his fingertips that’s the focus now. His fingers itch to hold something, and he squeezes them instinctively.

“Moon?”

Ellis’s voice is distant, choked up, and their warmth is missing from his side. All that heat has narrowed down against the palm of the hand that’d been draped over his shoulders. He can feel a pulse beating rabbit fast under his fingers, and he knows if he looks, he’ll have Ellis by the neck. They try for his name again, and their hands pull at his. He’s pressing right against their carotid artery, can just make out the line of his arm against the black of their shirt despite the dim light. If Moon looked up, he knows they’d be staring at him. What would he see? Fear? Betrayal? He squeezes tighter and listen to them wheeze, to the blood rushing in his own head. 

Moon doesn’t expect the claws in his lap, dangerously close to his groin, or the sudden hissing maelstrom that is Eos. He tries to push her away and she bites his hand hard, clinging on when he tries to shake her free. He has to let go to scruff the cat and prise himself free, tossing her into the television, to just get her away. There’s a yowl of anger and surprise and sudden weight as Ellis reacts, tackling him off the bed. He can just make out their face, terrified and pale over the bright red of their throat. Moon shoves at them, but his hands hit wood. He must’ve blacked out, just for a second, when he hit the ground cause they’ve got that damned bat out from under the table and are using it to keep him pinned.

There’s no words, just a silent push and pull as Moon tries to free himself. He’s strong from his clownery and taking care of the arcade in addition to his and Sun’s auxiliary interests, but Ellis has the advantage and they’re strong too. It’s a waning strength, however, and Moon is able to shove off the floor with his shoulders and force Ellis back. They fall against his legs, but he focuses on wrenching the bat free, shoving it aside as he pins them by the shoulder instead. He leans forward, free hand tucking just under their chin. 

“Now what was all that about duckie?” he asks, and the fear in their bloodshot eyes is delicious. He can just slip his hand down an inch and start it over again, and his hand does move but—

There’s warmth on his mouth and he can taste menthol and tobacco and iron. Moon freezes, unable to move, unable to process as chapped dry lips mash clumsily into his. Even when Ellis pulls back, he can’t tighten his grip to keep them in place. 

There’s still fear, but it’s no longer arousing. He can’t hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and there’s this buzzing numbness spreading alongside the familiar, embarrassing heat down the back of his neck. 

There’s a solid thwack against the side of his head, a burst of bright pain that shatters any coherent thought. He reels back and away, grabbing at his beanie where Ellis had struck him with, yes, the bat. He’d not shoved it far enough away in the tight space. “Ow,” he finally manages, still tasting blood. He’s bitten through the inside of his cheek. 

The new silence is broken only by Ellis’s broken breathing and the sound of static from the TV. Moon tries to spot Eos on the bed or under the table, but he can’t look away from the bruising beginning to show even in the dark. 

“Are you okay?”

“Get out.” Ellis moves first, bat clenched tight in both hands. When Moons stands, their heels hit the bed, and they point the bat at him. 

“Nova…” 

“Oh, so I’m Nova again?” Their voice is hoarse, laugh painful. They gesture towards the door with the bat. It’s shaking, backlit by the now broken TV. “Just go.” 

Moon steps back, shoving his hand deep into his pockets. He moves slowly, trying again to find Eos. The rattle in Ellis’s breathing pushes him towards the stairwell, but he never totally turns around, so he can see when they move to follow him. He struggles with the door, pausing before he steps out into the dark. 

“Why did you kiss me?” 

“Moon.” Their voice cracks. “Please.” 

“Okay.” He continues to hesitate, finding himself staring, knowing. His hands ache. “Ice on your neck.” He waits.

“Yeah.” They’re waiting too. “Get home safe.” 

Moon nods and steps off. The bus door slams shut behind him with a puff of air, and he’s unsurprised when the lock immediately clicks over. He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t move away, staring off at the brickwork of the arcade.  No music starts up behind him, and when he finally does turn, he can make out a shadow in the window nearest the door. As he watches, it disappears, and he tracks Ellis towards the back of the bus. 

They’ll be okay. His head hurts. He needs to call Sun. He reenters the arcade with shaking hands.

[witchwrestler]

Hey there, Sailor.

pairing: fisherman!eddie + gn reader

wc: 1.8k

warnings: talk of the upside down, brief mention of scars

summary: he's a fisherman now, 20 something and trying to figure things out. The bakery he passes on his trek home finally lures him in one day, and a new friend (or maybe more) is made

a/n: greatly inspired by this fic by @/dr-aculaa | i had so much fun writing this, and i really hope you enjoy <3

It was 1995. ten years had come and gone since then. Things had calmed down. He had calmed down.

He found himself in the dreary west coast town of seattle, working on a boat catching fish for a somewhat sketchy payment. The grimey parts of which even grossed him out sometimes. He'd seen slimy creatures with rows of teeth from other dimensions and yet still some sea creatures made his skin crawl.

He was out of hawkins---he had lived through everything. He fought hard. And he made it. The monitors still rhythmically beeped in the back of his mind when he slept sometimes. The dull scars still riddled his abdomen, a not so subtle reminder of his close encounter with death. After everything he'd been through, eddie resorted to a quiet existence. Gone were the days of the loud, long haired boy with silver clad hands. The ripped jeans and homeade battle vest, covered in patches and pins were left behind. Soon replaced with cable knit sweaters and dickies, his beanie covering his shaved head.

He decided the quiet was easier, Though socialization was hard to come by when his work day ended when everyone else's began.

Making the early trek back home from the docks, he finds himself passing the little bakery on the corner. Usually he passes it and finds a 'we are closed' sign hanging on the door, but sometimes he catches glimpses of you setting up your quaint little shop for the day. Today, as he approaches the shop, the sign reads,

'we are open'

He peers in the window for a moment, advertisements for local bands, theater productions and bar crawls plastered over the glass. Soon his feet carry him inside, contrary to his brain, which was still deciding. As he enters the shop, the clash blares quietly from the back as he moves to the front, a second voice accompanying the song quietly.

"...Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine, I'll be here till the end of time"

Once upon a time the clash was his fourth favorite band, but after everything that he'd been through he found himself with music like elliott smith, and the smashing pumpkins. He cursed himself sometimes for listening to shit he used to call 'sad bastard crap', but he wasn't who he was in high school anymore, and it fit who he was now. Though now, he thought he might start listening to that stuff again. He was happier when he did anyway.

Standing awkwardly behind the cash register, he pulls his beanie off his head and brings a cold hand up to scratch his buzzed hair. His eyes wander the case, the freshly baked donuts and pastries sat carefully placed behind the glass, and when he looks back up, there you were.

In a metallica tour shirt. A warm smile on your face. "Hi." You coo, voice floating through the air. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, I opened early---I wasn't sure anyone would come in though" You add lightly, grateful he was your first customer of the day.

"that's alright" He says timidly. Soaking up your voice like morning sun.

He quietly requests a jelly filled donut. Just one he says. You happily get a peice of parchment paper and pick up the donut, carefully placing it in a bag.

"anything else?" You ask sweetly. His dark chocolate brown eyes meet yours as you set his donut on the counter in front of him, his still cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his carhartt jacket.

"that's ok." He says, slightly shaking his head no. He didnt want to be a bother and he was trying to not get caught up in your kind, warm smile that had his heart fluttering.

"you sure?" You questioned, "no coffee?"

"just the donut is ok. thank you, though" He says, politely declining and pulling out a couple of crumpled dollar bills to pay for the donut. You turn around and pour him a cup of coffee anyway. He looked tired. And it was cold outside.

You softly set the cup down next to his donut "on the house." You push the cup and bag toward him as he stares at it for a moment. His eyes sort-of wide. "really?" He questions, seemingly quite baffled by the gesture.

"you are my first customer of the day, after all" You say, shrugging.

He gives you a polite nod and makes his way toward the door, but not before turning around again to catch another glimpse. He pulled his beanie back on and sipped the coffee as he walked, holding the donut in his other hand. He found a park bench near his apartment and sat down, deciding he would eat the donut now.

he pulled the sweet treat out of the white paper bag, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a bite.

the sweet bread and jam melt in his mouth, causing him to fight a smile.

He makes the walk back to his apartment, and shuffles into the slightly grimey room, his boots squeaking on the floor. The smell of fish and salty air clung to his jacket as he hung it on the hook. He tried his best to make his dirt cheap apartment feel like a home. He decorated the walls with old band posters from his room in his uncles trailer, glimpses of what now seemed like a past life. He hung mugs just like his uncle did, to make it feel like home. Sometimes he missed the sense of home his uncles trailer gave him, but he did everything he could to remind himself of it. Although he didn't want to be back in hawkins, he didn't want to forget it either. He stripped off his work clothes to get ready for bed, finding himself daydreaming of the bakery owner he'd met today, who gave him the best donut he'd had in years.

When he left work the next morning, the donut shop was once again, open early. As he approaches the flyer covered windows, he finds himself, dare he say, nervous. He wondered if you made any new pastries today that he could try. His stomach twisted a little at the unfamiliar feeling, he hadn't felt like this about a person in a while, or ever, really. He carefully opened the door, eyes traveling the case of pastries as he walked in.

"Hey there, sailor" You greet as you walk out of the back kitchen, this time a metallica song plays faintly from your radio.

He smiles shyly at your greeting and gives you a small wave.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, turning around and putting on a pair of plastic gloves.

"What would you recommend?" He asks after a beat of silence.

Your face lights up with a warm smile, pleased that he asked your opinion. "I made beignets this morning" You say softly. "they're fresh"

He perks up a little at your words and nods slightly. "that sounds good" He says, a tight lipped but sincere smile on his face.

You nod politely and start to walk into the back and prepare him a little paper boat of them but then stop yourself.

"---do you want to come into the back?" You say, before you even realized what had come out of your mouth.

"--but I reek of sea animals?" He says, intrigued but slightly confused why you're inviting this smelly fisherman into your workspace.

"that's ok. come if you want." You shrug and leave the little swinging counter door open for him to enter if he chooses.

You walk into the kitchen, trays of donuts lining the metal counter tops, making your way toward a small plate of beignets. You pick up the confectioners sugar placed next to the plate and lightly dust a helping of it on top of the fried delicacies. Turning around you pick up a small paper tray and carefully place some of them inside.

"I like the music" You hear his voice say from across the table. "You can turn it up if you'd like. the radios right there" You say, a sweet smile on your face as you point over to the radio on your counter.

"Now some men like a fishin'

And some men like the fowlin'

And some men like to hear

To hear the cannonball roarin'

Me, I like sleepin'

'Specially in my Molly's chamber"

He doesn't turn the radio up. He likes that it's faintly playing, just enough to hear it if you really listen. "You a metallica fan?" You ask, looking up for a moment before lightly dusting the serving you'd prepared him.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching his head. "---In a past life" flashes of his james hetfeild esque haircut running through his mind.

You hand him the serving of beignets, giving him a small nod and then leaning against the counter behind you.

"not so much anymore?"

"I've decided I like the quiet more" He speaks quietly.

The conversation comes to a halt as he bites into one of the beignets you gave him. A sigh of, relief? pleasure? You couldn't quite place it escapes his chapped lips.

"I hope they're good. I've been workshopping the recipe for weeks" You speak, hopeful.

"They're more than good" He says, in the same deep and quiet voice.

"good" You nod, the ghost of a smile on your face.

"Uhm- do you mind me asking what brought you here? ---to seattle, i mean. it's quite a gloomy place for a 20--something--kid to move to---but I guess I'm one to talk" You talk quietly, worried you were talking too much to someone who didn't like that---he was very quiet--you couldn't tell.

Big brown eyes look up from the breakfast treat and at you, he swallows and thinks for a second.

"my hometown is---strange. I love it---but I had to get out of there. and here seemed like a good fresh start, I guess" He says, his voice gruff but kind.

"how long have you lived here?" You inquire, trying not to impose too much

"eight years"

"seven" you say, trying to find common ground "you should start coming in more often, I could use a familiar face" You had regulars at the bakery, but they were all simple hellos and goodbyes and small talk. This one seemed like it could be a friendship. Maybe you wanted more than that with this gruff and quiet fisherman who stumbled into your bakery, but you'll cross that bridge when you get there.

He stares for a moment, seemingly considering and running all the possible outcomes. "Yeah---Yeah."

You smile warmly at him from across the counter. He smiles sheepishly back.

He walks home in the cold and light rain that morning, thinking of ways he could talk to you. He didn't know alot, but he knew that you seemed like someone he'd like to keep around.

[bjyx-spelunkers]

First post Previous post (7)

So...you remember when I mentioned how a sane person would plan this trip itinerary given all the places XZ went to?

Here's a recap (I made a screenshot, Tumblr formatting was driving me crazy)

Given the new info provided by The Moon, i.e., XZ only arriving at Lake Lucerne on the evening of 18 June, here's what the trip is starting to look like:

What about the subsequent activities? (which to me all screamed outdoorsy, adventurous, WYB-friendly, probably DaBo-reluctant)

Well, the other line of inquiry that we were following in parallel was— XZ's clothes. Based on the rock solid logic that you tend to wear the same clothes on the same day.

He wore the same black jacket + black shorts + black beanie + black shoulder bag in Parts 1 & 2 for Paris:

Assortment of beige jackets + white top+ black shorts + black beanie for Bern (there are actually more cunning details to unpack here re: wyb's goose laugh but I'm gonna class that under a side-quest, link here)

Lake Lucerne:

Now, this combo is interesting. Still white top + black shorts, possibly the same khaki jacket as that tied around his waist above (hard to tell without seeing the collar). BUT a black cap instead of a beanie.

In other words, even though Lake Lucerne was a completely different day vs. citywalk in Bern (18 vs. 16 June), XZ still wore very similar clothes, albeit with a slight variation. I don't know if this was intentional, but it sure led to confusion on our part!!

Here comes the main point:

These are the clothes he wore for all of the wyb-friendly activities:

All the same khaki top + black shorts + black walking shoes combo, occasionally a black puffy vest. And he seems to be taking turns carrying this big black backpack with someone.

In other words, these activities appear to have ALL taken place within one day.

In fact, I'm gonna throw in the leisurely stroll in Part 5:

It's the same khaki top + black puffy vest. But with long trousers + white shoes. However, it appears to be very early in the morning (maybe even a pre-breakfast stroll) and was very near the hotel, so I'm guessing there was time to change his bottoms and shoes before setting off again (it's chilly in the morning!!).

For the sake of completeness, here're the outfits for Mt. Rigi, Zurich and Gordes (though these are less important)

He was wrapped up warm for Mt. Rigi, and it was extremely foggy, so our best guess was that they went there in the morning. Given that wyb would have to fly home on that same day, and XZ had a photoshoot in Marseilles the next day, we think Zurich happened on the same day as Mt. Rigi. Grey top + black shorts in Gordes, France.

With the info above, the itinerary now looks like this:

XZ was in Bern for a full 2.5 days. However, he only shows us a fraction of what he did there (Part 3, but half was about the cola incident and half of Part 4). This was followed by a crafty timeskip (GAR!! that sly bunny!! sent us on a wild goose chase)

He then squashes four activities that could have taken a leisurely 2-3 days into one day.

This point deserves a bit more elaboration.

Think about the hike up Mt. Pilatus: instead of planning a satisfying full-day/half-day hike up to the top, he takes the cable car to almost the summit and then does a short climb up.

Also, the bike trip: instead of doing a full-day/half-day bike trip around the area, he takes the ferry to the spot, does a quick lap around the area (plus a Mads Mikkelsen dance in the woods), then hurries off to catch the ferry back.

Why was he in such a rush? Why rush around like he's going through a to-do list all in one day? He could easily have spent one fewer day in Bern, and then had much more time to enjoy the other stuff.

But no, something, SOMETHING happnened in Bern on 17-18 June. Something very important, more important than the vacation itself. Something so important that his parents had to be there, his best friend had to be there, and WYB had to be there. And it happened on a non-Sunday*.

XZ made a ten-part vlog to mark this occasion. It is clearly sth immensely meaningful to him. Something he wants to share but cannot do so openly. (Please, any older turtles, if you know of any other vlog projects of similar scale, then let me know, I'd really appreciate it.)

There was also a Feb 2025 Portrait interview in which he described this trip. In it, he recalls the moment he hugged his mother and father at the end of the trip: "The movie-like scene was deeply imprinted in his mind. When talking about this scene, Xiao Zhan showed the most emotional expression that day. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was back at the beach, holding his hands in the air as if he was hugging his mother again. This was almost one of his moment of the year. This complete relaxation gave him some lasting strength."

This trip was clearly extremely emotionally significant to him and his parents (he even hugged his dad!). And we can certainly believe that it was because they had not travelled together in a long time, and so it was very emotional anyway.

But, what if it meant even more than that?

So much, so much more that he would close his eyes to recall the trip, and became emotional just thinking about it.

So, I'll just say it out loud here. Y13 and I both truly think that he and WYB got married in Bern on 18 June, and 19 June was their honeymoon on Mt. Pilatus.

A whirlwind but packed-to-the-brim honeymoon, with everything they enjoy doing together.

In the next (and hopefully last) post, I'll try to further reinforce this claim with the emotional tinting of the vlogs. It is far more subjective than the more concrete evidence we've dug up so far, but I think it can still serve as valid support, given what we know.

And I leave you with one last thought. This sketch.

The prevailing theory is that it's a snowy mountain, i.e. BJYXSZD (并肩于雪山之巅 which means “side by side atop the snowy summit”). Nods nods.

Our response to that was naturally: Which mountain?

And our answer: Mt. Pilatus

The mountain is, of course, gonna look different from different angles. However, after looking around the area at different mountains, we're pretty sure only Pilatus had sort of the right shape.

and also I spotted this

and that is Pilatus in the background based on his view (see the farmhouse on the left and the hotel on the right)

So, we can believe that this sketch is simply a random snowy mountain he found to be especially pretty.

Or, is this a specific place with a special meaning?

The place where he spent his honeymoon, on Mt. Pilatus. No matter how short or how nominal, it is still special. And he drew a sketch of it after wyb left to capture the memory on paper.

[am0ralexis]

Quickie Before Stream (flirty)💖

The clock on Alex’s desk blinked 7:45 PM, the red numbers glaring at him like a warning. He was supposed to go live in fifteen minutes, and his setup was still a mess. Cables tangled, mic slightly crooked, and the lighting—he frowned—the lighting was way too dim. He adjusted the lamp quickly, his fingers fumbling with the switch, when he felt your arms snake around his waist from behind.

“Alex,” you murmured, your lips brushing the nape of his neck. He froze, his breath hitching slightly. “You’re not going to stream right now, are you?”

He turned in your grip, his brown eyes widening as he tried to keep his composure. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I kind of have to. People are waiting.”

You pouted, stepping closer until your body was pressed against his. “But you’ve been working all day. Don’t you think you deserve a little…break?” Your fingers traced the hem of his shirt, teasing, and he swallowed hard. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land.

“I—I can’t. I’m already running late,” he stammered, but his voice wavered. You could hear the hesitation, the way his breath hitched when your hand slid up his chest. “Chat’s gonna be mad if I don’t start on time.”

“Chat can wait,” you whispered, leaning in so your lips grazed his ear. “I can’t.”

His resolve crumbled almost instantly. You knew exactly which buttons to press, which words to use to unravel him. His hands finally settled on your hips, pulling you closer. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he muttered, but the way his lips crashed into yours told a different story.

The kiss was messy, hungry, and filled with a desperation that made his head spin. His hands fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, fingers trembling as he tried to focus. You laughed softly against his mouth, helping him with the last stubborn button before his hands were on your skin, exploring, claiming.

“Fuck, Alex,” you gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. He was always so careful, so hesitant, but tonight he seemed determined to prove something. His hands roamed, leaving fire in their wake, and you could feel the tension building between you both.

He pulled away just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His hair, usually neatly tucked under his beanie, fell into his face, messy and disheveled. You reached up to push it back, but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head as he kissed you again.

“You’re gonna ruin my hair,” he mumbled against your lips, but there was no real complaint in his voice. Only teasing.

“Good,” you shot back, grinning as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “I like it messy.”

He groaned, his free hand sliding down your thigh, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, but he didn’t stop. His lips found yours again, and when you pulled him closer, he didn’t resist.

The rest was a blur of tangled limbs and desperate kisses, the world outside his room fading into nothing. The clock on his desk continued to blink, the minutes ticking by unnoticed. When it was over, he collapsed beside you, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was even messier now, sticking up in every direction. “I’m so late.”

You laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Worth it?”

He glanced at you, his brown eyes soft and warm. “Always.”

He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his beanie from the floor and shoving it onto his head. It didn’t do much to tame his hair, but he didn’t seem to care. He adjusted his mic, checked the lighting, and took a deep breath before hitting the “Go Live” button.

The chat exploded instantly.

“QUACKITY YOU’RE LATE.”

“WHERE WERE YOU?”

“Why’s your hair so messed up, LMAO?”

He laughed nervously, running a hand over his beanie. “Sorry, sorry! I uh…got caught up in something.” His eyes flicked to you across the room, and you shot him a sly smile.

“Caught up in what?” someone typed, and he froze for a second before shrugging.

“Just…stuff. You know how it is.” He leaned closer to the mic, trying to distract chat with a story about his day, but you could hear the slight breathlessness in his voice, the way he kept glancing at his beanie to make sure it was still in place.

You curled up on the bed, watching him with a satisfied smile. The chat had no idea, of course. They never did. But you knew, and that was enough.

[chaosbarelycontained]

Do You Ever Question Your Life

North Country Boy Chapter 6

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: Swearing

Words: 1.2k

Synopsis: A trip to the boozer with her new colleagues sparks some more memories for Simon and Jules.

Jules groaned blissfully as the warm water of the shower cascaded over her body. She rubbed jasmine-scented conditioner through her hair, working out the kinks from the braids she’d tamed it with whilst they’d been on exercise. After they’d arrived back at the barracks, cold and grimy, there’d been a thankfully short debrief before they’d been dismissed for the evening.

Any shower would have felt like luxury after a night in the chill, damp, Herefordshire spring air, and Jules made the most of it, buffing the life back into her skin with a salt scrub before rinsing and wrapping herself in one of the giant, soft, towels she’d ordered from Next online. She’d just finished drenching herself with moisturiser when a knock sounded at her door.

“Hey, Tiger, fancy going down the boozer?” Gaz called, not sounding even half as tired as Jules felt.

She gazed longingly at the pyjamas laid out on her bed and sighed.

“Yeah sure, what time?”

“We’re setting off in a few. Want me to wait?” he asked.

“No it’s OK, I’ll meet you there. Which pub?” she replied, already beginning to squeeze the water from her hair with the towel it was wrapped in.

“The Bell Inn. It’s not far,” he confirmed. “You sure you don’t want me to wait for you? I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine, honestly. Get us a pint in and I’ll be there soon as.”

“No worries. I owe you one for the brownie anyway. See y’in a bit.” Gaz gave her door a thump of confirmation before Jules heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor.

She dried her hair roughly with the hairdryer leaving it, she hoped, artfully tousled. Dressing quickly in jeans she also chose a slouched, cable knit sweater; she liked the soft cream wool and the deep V made sure her neck wouldn’t itch the whole night. Jules pulled on a pair of black motorcycle boots and then headed back over to the mirror in her small bathroom, which was now thankfully unfogged. Concealer covered the worst of her sleep-deprived dark circles, brows were tamed, and mascara applied. She added a touch of tinted lip balm and a spritz of perfume before fixing small gold hoops in her ears and the necklace she always wore when she was off duty.

It was only a short taxi ride to what she hoped was the right place, an off-white painted building decorated with hanging baskets that were just beginning to come into bloom. A stereotypical English countryside boozer, it even had a chalk-painted a-frame at the entrance advertising “Good Home-Cooked Food.”

Jules walked in, heading for the Tap Room rather than the Lounge and immediately spotted her squad, not that it would have been difficult, a group of five hulking soldiers stood out a mile no matter where they were. Gaz caught her eye and waved her over, the conversation around the table faltering as she sat and picked up her pint of lager, downing a third of it in two big swallows. With a sigh of satisfaction she raised her glass.

“Cheers,” she said before realising that she was the focus of all their attention.

“What’s up, lads? Never seen tits before or something?” she laughed awkwardly.

“Not a pair that drinks like that,” Roach coughed with a grin.

“Tits that can drink? Where?” Jules pretended to scan the room. “It’s a medical marvel, Shanghai ‘em, we’d make millions.”

Her words garnered amusement from the rest of the squad, even the stoic Captain, but one remained silent. Her eyes tracked across the table to where Ghost sat, his usual skull balaclava exchanged for a black surgical mask and a beanie that was pulled down low over his forehead with the hood of his jumper over the top of it all. His eyebrow twitched slightly as he glanced down at her chest then back up to her face and Jules would have sworn he smirked beneath his mask.

Her fingers tightened on her pint glass and she took another swig to stop herself from launching it at his head. It took another minute before she managed to lose herself in the banter around the table. Whilst she’d have loved nothing more than to put on her pyjamas and crawl into her bed, Jules had to admit that she was enjoying herself. As glasses began to empty she rose from her seat.

“Same again?” she asked, making a mental note of everyone’s orders.

“Aye,” Soap replied with a grateful grin.

“Rack ‘em up, Newbie,” Gaz responded.

“On it,” Jules confirmed, making her way over to the bar and leaning against it whilst she waited for the barman to finish serving in the other room.

“Four pints of Stella, a pint of John Smith’s, and a Guinness,” she asked when he returned and he nodded with a smile before starting on her order.

A figure leaned against the bar next to her and she stiffened, immediately recognising the presence as the one she least wanted to interact with.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Ghost rumbled, nodding a familiar greeting to the barman.

“No thanks,” Jules replied, turning away.

“Saves you two trips,” he pressed.

“I can carry a tray of drinks, I worked at The Plough long enough.”

“Yeah, I know. Do us a quick whisky, Bill?” he directed to the barman who paused in pouring pints for Jules to hand Ghost his request.

She couldn’t help turning her attention back to him as he raised his mask just enough to down the amber liquid, making a noise of satisfaction. He covered his face once more but not before Jules caught sight of his scruff-covered jaw, and the red scar that bisected his upper lip. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Nice necklace,” he nodded before picking up three pints in his large hands and taking them back to the table.

“Fuck you,” she muttered, unheard, as she paid for the drinks, picked up the other three glasses, and followed him back to their squad.

Of course he had to fucking notice, she thought as she caught herself pulling at her chain for the hundredth time that night, her fingers messing with the charms that hung from it. There was her Mum’s engagement ring, from an absentee father that never made good on his promise, a golden R for Rob and then…

“Oh my God, Si, it’s gorgeous.”

“Not as gorgeous as you, love,” he said, as he fastened the opal pendant around her neck.

With half a mind to rip the offending jewel from her neck, Jules shoved her stool back from the table and retreated to the sanctuary of the ladies’ room. A few splashes of water on her face and some deep breaths had her calm and back in the present once more, or at least as much as she could be. Leaving the bathroom she brushed past someone with a little more force than was necessary and she stopped in her tracks.

“God, sorry,” Jules said, turning to the person.

“No, my fault,” they replied, their voice a friendly rumble.

Jules looked up, and took in the face that accompanied the voice. The guy was hot, that was for sure, and still wore his work gear. A tradesman then, she assumed.

“Not seen you in here before, you visiting?” he asked goodnaturedly.

“Something like that,” Jules hummed as they reached the door to the tap room and the guy opened it for her.

“Ah, I get it, you’re from the base,” he nodded sagely before extending his hand. “Danny,” he offered.

“Jules,” she replied, shaking his hand in return.

“Now, I would offer to buy you a drink but I’m a little worried I might get lynched,” he chuckled, tipping his head to indicate over her shoulder.

Jules turned and let out a huff of exasperation at the sight of the five lads, even the Captain, leaning back in their seats with their arms folded across their chests, glaring daggers at her new friend.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Sorry about them. They obviously still have their watches set to the 18 hundreds.”

“No bother,” Danny replied, seemingly unperturbed. “I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jules flushed a little, smiling back at him.

They parted ways and Jules headed back to her seat with an exasperated expression.

“Subtle boys, very subtle. You gonna insist on chaperoning me everywhere now? I don’t think it’s necessary, I mean, I managed to get a taxi here all by myself like a big girl…”

“We look after our own,” Price rumbled, taking a swig of his Guinness, but Jules caught the sly smile and wink he threw in her direction.

“God, I’m going to end up an old spinster aren’t I? Training recruits until I’m too old and crooked to do it any more, lamenting my lost chance of true love.”

She’d meant the words as a joke, and in any other company it would have been, but the laser-guided stare of the phantom across the table from her made her falter just slightly. Mentally shaking herself, she tried to cover it up with more sarcasm.

“Cavemen bodyguards weren’t mentioned in the transfer papers, Captain,” she joked.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention it,” Price replied. “I’ll speak to HR in the morning.”

“Bunch o’ twats,” Jules snickered into her pint, but her chest bloomed with a welcome feeling of camaraderie.

It felt like no time at all before the barman was calling last orders and Bravo Company began to work out the logistics of getting all six of them back to the base. Jules left them to it, paying another visit to the bathroom before heading outside into the crisp night air. The pub was falling into darkness now as the inside lights were turned off one by one and the last patrons wandered off to their relative destinations. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and hunched her shoulders against the chill. There was only one other person outside now, leaning against the wall and taking a final drag of his cigarette before grinding it out on the floor.

“The others started walking,” Ghost rumbled, pushing off from the wall. “Said I’d wait for you.”

“Of course you fuckin’ did,” Jules muttered under her breath before turning to face him. “You don’t need to wait, I’ll just get a cab.”

“Already rang one,” he said, nodding towards the pair of headlights that were pulling up in front of the pub.

“Mint,” she replied, sarcasm bleeding through in her tone.

Wordlessly the pair of them climbed into the taxi and Jules told the driver their destination. Without even trying, Ghost took up most of the back seat and Jules scooted as far over as she could, pressing herself against the door for the short journey back to base, her eyes staring out of the window at the night-drenched countryside, her jaw set in a determinedly stubborn line.

* * * * *

Jules pushed​​ through the press of bodies to reach Rachel, leaning her chin on her friend’s shoulder as she grabbed them two drinks from the crowded bar. Turning, Rachel handed Jules the bottle of lemon Hooch and she took a grateful swing.

“Oh fuck,” Rachel hissed in surprise, gripping Jules’ arm. “Your brother’s here.”

“Shit!” Jules cursed, hunkering down a little to avoid being spotted, unsteady in her heels and tipsy state.

Through the dim light and haze of cigarette smoke she looked in the direction Rachel had indicated and saw Rob, his arm ‘round his latest bird, bobbing in time to the beat that blasted from the club’s speakers. Just behind him, in a pale blue shirt, was Simon bloody Riley.

“Your gob’s open,” Rachel grinned, nudging Jules with her elbow and nearly sending her flying.

“Piss off,” Jules grumbled, surreptitiously smoothing her hair.

“Thought he was seeing that Debbie from Athol Street?”

“Nah, she got caught with Skinny Mike round the back of the chippy. He sacked her off,” Jules sniffed, looking offended on Simon’s behalf.

“Oooooh, could be in with a chance now Jules!” Rachel teased drunkenly.

“Shurrupppppp!” Jules wailed, flushing red and hiding her face in her hands.

By the time they’d finished their drinks, and another three, the two girls were out on the dance floor, the threat of discovery all but forgotten. Rachel had managed to find herself a lad to grind against but Jules was content to just keep dancing, that is until the potential couple began to examine each other’s tonsils. She tapped Rachel on the back and headed to the bathroom, the quieter space a respite from the thud of the bass.

Tottering slightly, Jules washed her hands and smoothed her damp palms sloppily over her hair in a drunken attempt to tame any flyaways and then pushed her way back into the main body of the club. The wall of music and heat hit her and she swayed on her feet but someone caught her arm and kept her upright.

“Y’alright there Jules?” Simon asked, concern etched across his face.

“Simon!” she squealed happily, wrapping her arms around his neck, the alcohol finally making her forget how shy she usually was around him.

“What the ‘ell are you doin’ in ‘ere? How d’you even get in?” he asked, his hands at her waist.

“Flashed my tits at the bouncers,” she teased, her face falling when he pushed her back a little. “Jeez, I’m kidding, chill y’beans. Besides, what else would I be doin’ on a Saturday night? Sittin’ on the park drinkin’ shit cider wi’ all the high school kids?”

“Don’t let Rob see y’in this state,” he warned, knowing just how overprotective her brother could be.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s probably off in the corner shaggin’ Stef, or Sammy, or whatever her fuckin’ name is.”

Simon huffed out a laugh. “Where’s your mate?”

“Probably doin’ the same as Rob!” Jules threw her head back and cackled and Simon found himself grinning along with her.

The music transitioned into the soft intro of another dance track and Jules’ eyes widened in delight.

“Oh my God I love this one!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back and singing tunelessly along. “Do you ever question your life…do you ever wonder why…?”

Turning away from him she headed towards the dance floor but her fingers brushed a trail down his arm and hooked around his own and she tugged, looking over her shoulder at him with a devilish smile.

“Come on,” she mouthed.

Rolling his eyes, as if it were the last thing he wanted to do, he followed her out into the melee, just to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed out of trouble.

By the time the DJ played the last track Rachel had found them again, her makeup smeared and her chin red from stubble rash. Jules’ feet were throbbing in her heels but she didn’t want the night to end. The only time Simon had left her side was to get them more drinks and she didn’t think she’d had as much fun in her life.

“You got a coat?” Simon asked when the music finally ended.

“Yeah!” Jules replied, shoving her hand down into her bra and fishing around for a moment before triumphantly presenting him with a crumpled, and slightly damp, ticket.

He disappeared just for a minute, returning with the cardigan she’d spent forever deciding on that afternoon, making sure it matched her royal blue velvet mini dress. Instead of putting it on she tied the sleeves around her waist and they joined the crush of people making their way outside, Simon kept a hold of her hand in an effort not to get separated and neither of them questioned the moment their fingers laced together.

“My feet are killin’ me,” Jules whined, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

Simon gave a long-suffering sigh but smiled cheekily as he hunkered down a little and patted over his shoulder.

“Come on then, Princess, if it’ll stop y’whinging,” he deadpanned.

Jules gave a squeal of delight and jumped on to his back, wrapping her arms around his neck as he hooked his arms under her thighs and hoisted her up.

“Lifesaver,” she thanked him, hugging him tighter.

When they reached the end of the queue for the taxis Simon released Jules and began to step towards the front of the cab but Rachel screeched “shotgun” and darted under his arm, grinning devilishly as she buckled herself into the front seat. He opened the back door for Jules, shutting it behind her before walking around the other side and climbing in.

“Gorton please, mate,” he said to the driver, giving him first Rachel’s address and then the street where he and Jules both lived.

Jules was strapped into the seat in the middle and, by the time they made it to Rachel's, her head was leaning against his chest, her eyes heavy with tiredness and alcohol. His arm had somehow found its way around her shoulders and Simon had convinced himself it was so she didn’t slump too far forwards and hurt her neck.

Helping her out of the cab wasn’t as much of a struggle as he thought it would be. She was steadier on her feet now and he walked her through the ginnel to the back door of her house just to make sure she got inside OK.

“Thanks for bringing me home, Simon,” she said, her words not even slurred now, despite the late hour.

“Anytime,” he replied, surprised when Jules popped up onto her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

She did wobble then, falling into him a little more and his arms went around her waist to steady her. She giggled softly, looking up at him with a smile, their noses so close they almost touched. Neither of them moved and even their breath seemed to stop. Simon had half a thought that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to…but then her lips were on his and he couldn’t for the life of him think of a reason not to pull her closer.

Taglist: @aykxz98

[reckless-drivers-pack]

OC Deep Dive - Tosk

what common/uncommon fear do they have?

Oh the fear of being imprisoned/constrained is a biiiig one for her, definitely. Whether being physically pinned in place against her will, being trapped in a cage, or being forced into a path she didn't pick for herself.

do they have any pet peeves?

People touching her stuff! Don't do it hoe! (definition of her stuff includes the obvious physical objects, but also going in her room w/o permission, or messing with her ghouls/drawing attention to them).

what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

If she has anything to say about it; a big enough bed for her to properly stretch out on, a phone charge cable, and clean carpet. (Also regularly at least one ghoul.) At this point in her unlife, she's not picky as long as it's somewhere reasonably dry, comfy, and safe from the sun.

what do they notice first in a person?

Historically, height. More recently; how they smell. Natural scents of life and unlife, as well as less natural signs of what clans they might be linked to, or what they've been carrying/interacting with.

on a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Tosk's pain tolerance is not super great, despite her sire doing his best to inure her to basic discomforts before she left. She doesn't tend to notice a 1 or a 2 much, but at 3-4 she'll start getting pissy, and any higher she'll be considerably more vicious or more weepy. She can struggle on through quite a lot if it's a question of survival (ty Fortitude and high Willpower) but if her life is not on the line she's curling up somewhere dark and hoping it goes away soon.

when under pressure, do they go into fight, flight, freeze, or fawn mode?

Depends on the circumstance. From someone who she sees as an ally and superior; fawn. In any other case, fight. Take down the aggressor, fast and violent. She rarely flees a combat unless it's super clear it's gonna be Final Death if she stays - knows too well other vampires love fleeing targets.

how would a stranger likely describe them?

Tall and ominous. Weird proportions, even with the hoodie, beanie, and face mask. Something uncanny about the way she moves, more like an animal than a person. For a human unaware of the supernatural; often "am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

do they have any hobbies?

She had a few before the Embrace - going out dancing/clubbing, driving a little recklessly, bio research, flirting. The desire to be out driving has lasted (and often manifests in a thoroughly reckless and speed-demon way), the others have currently fallen to the wayside. I was tagged by @vamp-orwave , tyvm!!! Tagging @opalkire @uzarall and @hunter-slime-660 - if you have the time and inclination, here's a fun little OC question game for ya!

[thighmight]

Vice - Part 4

The next chapter in my story about a trans girl and a hedonistic symbiote. Read the previous chapters here (part 1, part 2, part 3)

I'm working on getting an AO3 account so that I can just link to that instead of having to link every individual post.

Update: you can now tread part 5 here!

cw: alcohol, cigarettes, sensory deprivation? I guess?

Above the city, Flora ponders as she looks down across the various stores that would have booze and cigarettes, “how in the hell am I gonna get more stuff for you?”

“Why do we not simply take it, as we did before?”

“We can’t just do that, societal rules of commerce an’ shit”

“I do not understand several of these words. We should just take what we desire, with force if need be.”

“No! I don’t wanna just hurt random people like that! God, I should’ve taken some money from the apartment before I left…”

“Do we have any way to get this ‘money’ quickly?”

“Save from robbing a place? Not that I can think of…”

“Then we should go and claim our bounty! Upend your doubts and get what we need!”

“I guess… we don’t have much of an option right now… I just don’t want to draw attention and like, what shitty thief goes into a store in broad daylight just to rob a place’s drugs?”

“That would be us, so it would seem.”

Flora crouches down, groaning into her legs. “Can we at least try and do it quietly? Do we have anything we can do to like, disable the cameras or something?”

“There may be one way, if you get me access to their power supply.”

She thinks for a moment, looking down the various pathways by the emptiest convenience store she can see. A power box! And only a couple of people in the building! Having found her target, she makes her way down.

Checking her surroundings to make sure no one is looking, she approaches the box and puts her hand near it, allowing the slimy creature inhabiting her to enter through the tiny openings and cracks. Vice crawls through the walls of the building biting through the wiring and cables before returning to its host. “It is done.”

Flora removes her coat and beanie and enters the store, turning her face away from everyone there and ducking behind some shelves. Covering her face and hands with Vice, she runs out from her hiding spot, covering the mouths and eyes of everyone inside with purple tentacles; trapping them against the walls with the sticky substance. Dashing towards the checkout, she forces open the door and quickly does the same to the person behind it.

Grabbing several plastic bags, she begins to shovel lighters and cigarette cartons into one and then running through the store, she grabs a bunch of sandwiches until she reaches alcohol section; grabbing everything she can fit into the remaining bags before she sprints back to her discarded clothing, grabbing it with a tentacle and rushing up the wall and jumping across the city.

Hiding on the backside of a billboard, Flora collapses with her back to the sign to catch her breath, the mask and claws receding back to normal. Feeling the cold creeping onto her arms, she dons her coat and hat again.

“Ho- holy shit… We did it.” Unable to wait any longer, Vice forms a toothy mouth extending off from Flora’s side and bites the tops off of a bottle of wine and chugs it down. “Aah, finally. Truly this is a wonderful beverage, every chemical within rushing through our being. This is a delight!”

“Yeah, fuckin’ haa… you’re welcome or whatever… just don’t devour it all at once… hoh Jesus… I would like if we did that as little as possible…”

“You lie to yourself. I feel it in you, the thrill of adrenaline flowing through you. This has left you more alive than you have felt in years.”

“Dude, yeah, but like… I still feel shitty about hurting someone’s livelihood like that… there’s gonna be a better way to do this.”

Vice bites into a carton of cigarettes, trying to swallow them all down. Flora slaps them out of his mouth, “not all at once, man! We gotta make these last. Look, like this.” She takes out one of the smokes and a lighter to light it. “Here, put the brown part in your, uh, mouth thing and do whatever you can that’s like breathing it in.”

Vice bites the end of it and takes in the fumes. “Ahh, I understand. So this is how you maximize the intake of pleasure. We will take this into account going forward.”

“Yeah, yeah, just… keep it slow, the longer these last, the better.”

Taking a rest and having something more to eat, Flora contemplates where she’s even going to hide all of this stuff. Unbeknownst to them both, a familiar journalist discovers the scene left by them, now surrounded by police investigators.

[dutchjan]

January 04, 2024

[overelegantstranger]

Craft schedule 2024: oops I missed one edition

November: I got the test knit finished just in time. I really liked the experience and I liked the project. I did drop shoulder construction for the first time, I did cables in an actual project for the first time, and I was the first person to pick up on a fairly major pattern issue, so I feel very good about it. The yarn was lovely but it is beginning to bobble a tiny bit. It's the Belmullet by Andrea Gaughan, in Onion Knit No.6, Bottle Green. Modelled below:

December: I finished the Sonder with days to spare. It's beautiful, it's gorgeous, my dad loves it. This was my first stranded colourwork project and my first time doing Japanese short rows. My only issue was with the jog in the colourwork. It's Drops Karisma (MC) and Drops Alpaca held with Drops Alpaca Silk, in Beige-Brown, Light Grey, and 35 respectively. The pattern is Sonder by thepetiteknitter. I did find her yardage estimates short; I had to cut the penultimate colourwork row.

I'm currently working on a basic beanie with some yarn I got in a secret santa, and still going on the socks. The small circs are definitely causing hand cramp but I don't know what I want to try next, magic loop again, dps again, or flexible dpns.

I'll be making another post in the next few days about what I made this year, and my plans for the new year.

[flawlessassholes]

so daniel stopped taking selfies literally as I got inside and then left out the back while I was checking out so I ran to try and get a selfie but no lol so then I spent over $200 to get a chance at the stupid fucking claw game to get a badger or helmet and fucked both of my tries and started crying and the girl who was helping ppl at the claw game (Celine) was sooo kind to me and even gave me another go which I fucked again and then I went up to the ppl running the popup and told them how nice and helpful Celine was and then gave me ANOTHER token and I fucking didnt get it again so i left the enchante popup freezing cold, never seeing daniel’s face, and like $250 poorer. and then i did almost get hit by the enchante bus

i got an nyc popup beanie, tote, and the enchante gray cable sweater, I think embroidery was last night only.

so like a mixed experience!

[jessthebaker]

WIP Wednesday...again!

thanks to @thebeldroramscal for the tag. It just so happens to be Wednesday evening and I'm in writing mode at the moment, so here you go!

---

With Sticks and String, part 2 (it's fluff, it's all so very fluff)

“Come on,” he juts his chin up at you, “what have you got tonight? Whatcha gonna work on?”

You think for a moment. You have a few items in progress stuffed into your basket: a crocheted blanket, a few pairs of fingerless mitts that you knit on here and there for the local winter donation drive. A cabled beanie, a ribbed scarf. “I don’t know. My brain is tired tonight. Maybe the blanket? It’s nice and mindless. ”

“That could work. You only have a few more rows of that stripe before the next one starts, right?”

“Yeah, I think I’m nearly to the end of the blue so I might be able to finish that off and then put it away again for a little bit.”

You pull out the blanket that’s been slowly growing over the last year and a half, and sit with your back to the arm of the couch, get the blanket situated over your lap and legs until you’re comfortable with it. Dieter stretches his legs out so his feet are touching your crossed legs, and you’re both covered by the blanket. You feel his toes stretching and flexing as he idly fidgets them against your knees.

The room quietens as you and Dieter settle into your projects. The sound of his needles clacking and the log on the fire popping are the only sounds for a time, apart from the quiet music and the occasional hiss of liquid and a swallow as one of you slurps your drink.

----

And for the #magicnumberchallenge, my prompt is "snowed in" with Dieter, Joel, and another character. It's naught but dribble at this point, but slowly taking shape...

...j and e meet dieter on their road, and they stumble across dieter’s lone place during a snowstorm and they have to take shelter together.

sometime post-Silver Lake and before SLC. J and E find dieter, each traumatised and still injured, not immediate aftermath but maybe a month out. We don’t know how they’ve survived this far but they literally stumble onto dieter’s place. They’re suspicious of each other, slowly begin to trust as the snow gets worse outside and they have to work together to keep the fire going and food happening. D is sus of Joel travelling with a young girl at first, quickly sees their care for each other in the routine they have and the sass they give back and forth. Joel is sus of this wild looking man on his own in the wilds of ...utah? Colorado? Notices d’s forearm tattoos and realises he is the movie star from all those shitty movies back in the day...and the one good one. The one he got the Oscar for. And the #6 one, one of the many shitty movies that Sarah liked. this stirs up Big Feelings for joel....

*hides*

---

np tags for the Dieter girlies and the Joel girlies gn:

@sp00kymulderr @covetyou @beefrobeefcal @rulexofxnines @missredherring

@bumblepony @lauronk @sixhours @hypnotisedfireflies @ayeleye @ameerawrites

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 24

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings: mentions of racism, family drama

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 2743

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 24

Melody woke the next day to an empty bed and the sun coming through the window.  She groaned and pulled her pillows over her face.  If the bed was empty, Steve was up.  If Steve was up then Steve had met her parents without him, and god knew how that was going.  He was probably cornered in the kitchen, being force-fed while they asked a million questions.  She’d have to get up and rescue him, but she needed a moment to collect herself.  It was early and there were so many stressors working on her right now.  The lingering stress of the hacking.  Potentially needing to get a new job.  The late-night travel.  Now she was here in her family home, a place she hadn’t stepped foot in over two years, to spend time with her parents who she hadn’t seen in person since then.

It was a lot, and she really wished that her boyfriend was still in bed with her so that she could talk it out with him.

She groaned again, rolling over and picking up her phone.  She opened it up and immediately was greeted with a tirade of racism about who Steve was dating. She sighed.  Today was going to be a nightmare.

She let her phone fall on the mattress and lay there willing herself to get up, or at least fall back asleep.  After a while, the second didn’t happen, and she relented and did the first, rolling over and heaving herself up.

It was cold out of the covers.  Colder than New York was right now.  It wasn’t unheard of for it to snow here during November and she wondered if they might see some during their stay.  She pulled on a robe and slippers and went to use the bathroom.

By the time she was heading down to the kitchen, she was feeling a little fresher and slightly more prepared for this. 

The scene she’d been imagining ended up being fairly accurate.  Her mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table with Steve and a woman she’d recognized from Facebook as her brother’s girlfriend, Kieu.  Her father was still in his pajamas, a flannel set with blue and white stripes that looked like it came from a catalogue for old men’s pajamas, paired with a mismatched red robe, green slippers, and a black beanie covering his bald spot.  Her mother on the other hand was fully dressed, in a brightly colored wool dress, her braids spilling out over the top of a bright headscarf.  Kieu was bundled up more than anyone else in jeans, a long blue cable knit sweater, a black scarf, and a black wool hat.  Her long black hair was braided down her back and she held a cup of steaming liquid to her face.  Steve was still in his pajamas but he’d pulled on a gray sweater over them.  Everyone had plates piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, and pancakes.

The fire was lit, but going on the temperature, it was a recent occurrence and the two dogs were now lying as close to it as they could get.

Steve saw she was up first and stood.  “Mel.  You’re up,” he said.

Her parents both jumped to their feet.  Everyone stood frozen for a split second and then her parents rushed forward.  Her mother reached her first, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing over the side of her face.  “Oh, my goodness.  I am so happy you are home.  Don’t go putting so much time between your visits again.”

Melody stood stiff, patting her a little awkwardly but not pulling away.  “Well - we’ll see,” she said, skirting the statement.

Her dad put his arms around them both and kissed Melody’s cheek.  “You’re looking well, Mel.  We’ve been talking to your boyfriend.”  He pulled back and looked at her.  “Let me get you some breakfast.  It was my turn to cook.”

Melody looked at her mother.  “Really, mom?  You’re gonna subject Steve to the Englishman’s cooking first?”

She laughed and patted Melody’s arm.  “We researched before you all came.  I know his parents were Irish.  We didn’t want to kill him with spice for his first meal here.”

“And I appreciate it,” Steve said, watching from the table.

“Come.  Come.  Sit.  It’s been too long,” her mother said, pulling Melody toward the table.

Steve kissed her when she reached the table and Kieu stood and held out her hand.  She was shorter than Melody and much shorter than Steve, but still had a few inches on her mother.  “Hi.  It’s so good to finally meet you,” she said.  “I’m Kieu.”

Melody took her hand.  It was a surprisingly firm handshake that made Melody instantly smile.  “I know.  River talks about you all the time.  And I’ve seen the pictures.  It’s good to meet you too.”

She took her seat next to Steve and looked at him. “So, were you getting pumped for information.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “No. Well - there’s been questions.  But it’s been fine.”

“Mom!” Melody yelped.  “Give him a chance to breathe.”

“Oh he did fine,” she replied.  “We just want to get to know him.”

Her dad brought a cup of coffee over to her.  “How have you been?” he asked as he set it down.

This felt so strange.  She wasn’t even sure why she’d done this except that she wanted Steve to be part of her family and this was a step to get there. The thing was; aside from her brother, she’d barely even spoken to any of her family in years.  In the two years since she’d been in New York, it was barely more than a brief Facebook message.  Before that, she didn’t speak to her parents at all for a full year, and then only on holidays or special occasions.

They had really hurt her.  Their rejection of Bobbi had hurt.  They were the reason the two women had needed to spend time living out of their car or in shelters while they waited for college to start.  Now here they were playing nice and acting like there wasn’t all that pain looming over them.

Melody wasn’t sure that she had a full-blown confrontation in her.  Not yet at least.  But she could name-drop Bobbi constantly and see what happened.

“Generally pretty good.  Bobbi and I moved into a bigger place.  Her boyfriend is going to move in too,” she said.

Her parents looked at each other and her father dipped his chin forward.  Her mother nodded in return.  “How is Bobbi?” she asked.

Melody’s blood boiled, and her eyebrows knitted together.  Steve’s hand moved, taking hers and linking their fingers together.  “Well, you know Bobbi,” Melody said, her jaw twitching as she tried to reign in her anger.  “She’s very resilient.  Bounces right back from adversity.  She’s got a job in a dinner theater.  And some on-camera work.  A very nice boyfriend.”  No thanks to you.

“That’s so good to hear, Mel,” her father said. “I’m glad she’s got things together.”

That was the final straw.  She pushed herself back from the table and stood.  “I can’t do this. I can’t.  I have to go.  Steve.”

Steve stood beside her, moving like lightning as he got to his feet.  She was shaking, and the edges of her vision were wavering thanks to the pure white hot rage she felt.  “I’ve got you,” he said.

“Mel, please,” her father said.

“Wait,” her mother added, getting to her feet.

She wheeled back to them.  Poor Kieu was sitting there like a deer in headlights, her gaze flicking from the people in front of her to the hall, as she tried to decide if she could flee.

“No.  I can’t just sit here pretending everything is okay.  Talking about how good Bobbi has it.  Acting like everything is good.  We were living in homeless shelters because of you!” she shouted.

Kieu jumped to her feet. “I’m just…” she pointed to the hall and then quickly scurried off down the hall.

“Honey,” her father said.

“No!  No!  Don’t honey me.  You had one job as my parents, and you couldn’t even do it.  All you needed to do was to open your home to your niece when she’d been kicked out.  You know her parents were wrong.  I know you know that.  But instead, you would rather we both be homeless!”  She was shouting and visibly shaking.  Steve put his hand on her back.  It was the one thing keeping her in any way together right now.  If River had been sleeping he wouldn’t be now.

Her mother took a few steps closer.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Melody, you have every right to be angry.  I’ve gone through so many stages trying to figure out what happened and why I made the choices I did.  And the truth was, I was scared to lose one of the only friends I’d made in this town.  I tried to blame you and Bobbi for it.  But it wasn’t your fault.  You should expect your parents to accept you.  And I was a coward.  I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Do you know what it was like for us?  For Bobbi?  She couldn’t even go to a women’s shelter with me,” Melody said.  “We were sleeping in cars some nights because she was terrified.”

“I can’t even imagine.  Karla was so wrong and so cruel for what she did to Bobbi.  I’ve always raised you to believe in family and helping out people in need and acceptance, and you did everything I raised you to do, and I failed you,” she said.  “I’m sorry, Melody.”

Melody didn’t know what to do or how to feel.  She’d been carrying this around with her for so long.  Having your child be homeless because you didn’t want to make waves was such a failure.  She had this anger in her that she didn’t want to let go.  But here they were telling her all the things she’d been wanting to hear.  They were the ones that were wrong.  They were sorry.  This was what she wanted.  She’d dreamed about it and played it out in her head over and over.

So why couldn’t she just accept it?

“I just - I - I need some air,” she said.

She didn’t move for a moment and both her parents just stared at her, holding themselves like they were trying to approach an injured animal.  When she did break, it was at a run, dashing for the back door and shoving it open.

A gust of icy air hit her as soon as she stepped through the door, but it didn’t stop her.  Thick frost coated the deck, and she nearly slipped as she moved to the railing.  She was breathing heavily as she tried to stop herself from completely breaking down into tears, and every breath she pulled felt like she was breathing glass.

Steve had followed her out and he slowly approached her.  As soon as his hand touched her shoulder she turned into him, burying her face in his chest as she burst into tears.  He held her, rubbing her back in slow soothing circles.  His body was like a furnace compared to the air around them and she pushed as close to him as she could as she cried.

“You’ve been holding that in for a long, long time, huh?” he said as he held her.

She nodded.  Maybe that was all this was.  She had erected a dam to hold back her emotions just to survive.  And now here she was, with the apology she’d been waiting for and she didn’t need to hold on to it, but she didn’t know how to let it go.

“I don’t know what to do.  I’ve been waiting for them to say sorry for so long, and now here it is, and it doesn’t even feel like enough.  But I came here.  I came here wanting validation.  I wanted to have that relationship.  It’s on the table.  Why can’t I just accept it?”  She looked into his eyes, searching for the magic answer that would fix all of this.  “They didn’t even reach out to us to say they were sorry.  They waited until I was here confronting them.”

Steve cradled her cheek, his palm warm against her chilled skin.  “Honey, it’s okay if you need time to process.  It’s okay if you decide that you can’t forgive them.  But I think you want to.  And I think in the long run, for your sake, you’ll feel better if you do.  Even if you do and still don’t talk to them again.  You want to let this go.  You want it off your shoulders.  What they did was terrible.  They know that.  It’s cost them and they have to live with the consequences of their actions.  But you survived it.  You got through and you thrived. Look at what you’ve done.  And Bobbi too.  All despite your parents.  I know that’s beside the point, but here we are, you’re in the position of power.  What you do now, needs to be for you, because they weren’t thinking of you when it mattered most.”

She nodded and hid her face in his chest again.  He held her and slowly ran his hands up and down her back.  “Whatever you want to do, I’m here to support you, Mel. But do you think we can do it back inside?”

She started laughing and pulled back.  “If I go back inside, I’ll have to talk to them.”

Steve shook his head.  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She loved him for believing that.  She leaned up and kissed him before moving her hand to his and leading him back inside.

Both her parents stood as she came in.  Her mom took a tentative step forward.  “Your breakfast is here,” her dad said.  “Come in and get warm.”

She walked in and took a seat and both her parents sat down and stared at her nervously.  She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was going to have to say something.

“That whole thing really fucked me up, you know?” she said.  “Not just being homeless, but knowing that being in our family had conditions.  You raised me making jokes about me marrying Bobbi.  She was over all the time when you all thought she was a boy.  Even as a teenager, you let us sleep in the same room.  Then she comes out and suddenly she’s not welcome?  Not even when I said I’d be staying with her?”

“You’re completely right, honey,” her dad said.  “I should have stood up for you both.  I should have put my foot down.”

“I need time to let this go fully.  I’ve been carrying it for so long.  You didn’t even call me, you could have reached out to have this conversation so many times between then and now.  If I hadn’t come today would you have said sorry?”

Both of them dropped their eyes.  That was as clear a no as if they had said the word.

“Mel,” her mom said.

She shook her head.  “I’m allowed to be pissed!” she snapped.  “I’m allowed to, mom!  I lived in a car because they wouldn’t let Bobbi in the women’s shelter!  It’s been years since then and I got nothing from either of you!  I want to forgive you.  I believe you’re sorry and I want to accept that, but I’ve had to carry this for years.  It’s going to take time.”

“It’s okay, Melody,” her father said.  “We deserve that.”

She sighed and looked up at them. “I came here because I miss you all.  I want things to be okay.  I wanted to introduce you to Steve because I’m serious about him and you’re my parents, and even if you still hadn’t realized you were in the wrong, you could see I’d found someone who loved me and I plan to spend my life with.  I want to spend Thanksgiving with you all.  I want to forgive both of you.  But I have a lot of hurt, and currently a lot of stress in my life too.  So I might lash out while I’m here.”

Her parents looked at each other and nodded.  “As long as you’re here, we can live with that,” her dad said.

// NEXT