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kbs-knives-store · 8 months ago

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Damascus Knife Set: The Ultimate Guide to Choosing Quality Kitchen Knives

A Damascus knife set is more than just a culinary tool—it’s a piece of artistry that elevates the kitchen experience for both home cooks and professional chefs. Known for their stunning aesthetics and sharpness, these knives have a unique patterned blade created by folding layers of steel together, which enhances durability and precision. In this guide, we’ll explore why a Damascus knife set is a valuable investment, what to look for, and how to care for these exceptional knives.

To buy a Damascus knife set, check out the incredible collection at KBS Knives Store.

Why Choose a Damascus Knife Set?

Damascus knives are recognized for their unique wavy patterns on the blade, a result of layered steel crafting that provides both beauty and performance. Here’s why they’re worth considering:

Exceptional Sharpness and Edge Retention: Damascus knives maintain their sharpness longer than many standard kitchen knives due to the layered construction of high-carbon steel and stainless steel.

Durability: With a structure that resists chips and cracks, these knives stand up to intense use in the kitchen.

Aesthetic Appeal: The mesmerizing patterns make each Damascus knife unique, adding a touch of elegance to any kitchen.

Versatility: A quality Damascus knife set often includes essential blades for various kitchen tasks, making it a versatile choice for both beginner and expert chefs.

Whether you’re a professional chef or an enthusiastic home cook, a Handmade Damascus Kitchen Knife Set could transform your cooking experience.

Key Features to Look for in a Damascus Knife Set

Choosing the right Damascus knife set involves understanding the key elements that define quality and functionality. Here are the main factors to consider when selecting a Damascus knife set for your kitchen.

1. Blade Quality and Material

The beauty of a Damascus knife lies in the steel. Genuine Damascus knives are crafted by folding layers of high-carbon and stainless steel together, giving them that iconic wave pattern. This layered structure offers several advantages:

Enhanced Durability: The layering process results in a stronger, more resilient blade.

Superior Edge Retention: Damascus knives hold their edge longer, reducing the frequency of sharpening.

For a truly authentic experience, consider a Handmade Damascus Kitchen Knife Set that highlights this intricate craftsmanship.

2. Handle Design and Comfort

A knife’s handle affects how comfortable it feels in hand, which is crucial for prolonged use. Look for these qualities in a Damascus knife set handle:

Ergonomic Design: An ergonomic handle reduces strain on your hand and wrist during long prep sessions.

Grip Material: Quality Damascus knives often feature wood, resin, or micarta handles that provide a secure, comfortable grip.

Choosing a Custom Kitchen Knife Set with personalized handle materials can ensure your knives are as comfortable as they are functional.

3. Range of Knives in the Set

Damascus knife sets come in various configurations, with each blade serving a specific purpose. A well-rounded set might include:

Chef Knife: The versatile workhorse, ideal for chopping, dicing, and slicing.

Paring Knife: A smaller knife for precision tasks like peeling and trimming.

Santoku or Utility Knife: Great for slicing, dicing, and mincing smaller ingredients.

Bread Knife: Essential for slicing bread and other soft foods without crushing.

A Custom Damascus Chef Knife might be the highlight of your set, designed to your specifications for an unparalleled cooking experience.

4. Handmade Quality vs. Mass-Produced

One of the defining features of a top-notch Damascus knife set is whether it's handmade. A Handmade Chef Knife or set often boasts higher quality, attention to detail, and craftsmanship compared to mass-produced counterparts. Handmade Damascus knives are meticulously crafted, ensuring that each piece is unique and of exceptional quality.

How to Care for Your Damascus Knife Set

Proper care is essential to maintaining the beauty and functionality of a Damascus knife set. Here are a few tips to help keep your knives in pristine condition:

Hand Wash Only: Avoid putting Damascus knives in the dishwasher, as it can damage both the blade and handle. Instead, wash them gently by hand with mild soap and water.

Regular Sharpening: Damascus knives retain their edge well but still benefit from occasional honing or sharpening.

Dry Immediately: After washing, dry your knives promptly to prevent moisture from affecting the steel or causing rust spots.

Use a Cutting Board: To avoid dulling the blade, use a wooden or plastic cutting board rather than hard surfaces like glass or stone.

Store Safely: Store your knives in a knife block, on a magnetic strip, or in a protective sheath to prevent damage to the blades and to ensure safety.

Where to Buy a Quality Damascus Knife Set

Investing in a quality Damascus knife set is a decision you won’t regret, and finding the right store is essential. For those interested in exploring a curated collection, KBS Knives Store offers a range of high-quality Damascus knives that cater to every kitchen need. Whether you’re looking for a Custom Damascus Chef Knife or a complete Handmade Damascus Kitchen Knife Set, KBS Knives Store provides options with exceptional craftsmanship and beautiful designs.

Final Thoughts

A Damascus knife set not only enhances your kitchen's aesthetic but also brings unparalleled sharpness, durability, and versatility to your cooking experience. From the intricate patterns on the blade to the comfort of the handle, these knives are designed for those who appreciate quality and craftsmanship. By investing in a Damascus knife set, you’re choosing a tool that will serve you well for years to come.

For those ready to elevate their culinary toolkit, check out KBS Knives Store and explore their impressive collection of Damascus knives. Each piece is designed with care, ensuring you’ll find a set that meets both your culinary and aesthetic preferences.

#Damascus Knife Set #Custom Damascus Chef Knife #kitchen knife #chef knife #Handmade Damascus Kitchen Knife Set #Custom Kitchen Knife Set #Handmade Chef Knife

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hawkeenknife · 1 year ago

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Top Quality Damascus Chef Knives with unique marbling

Handmade Carbon Steel Chef Knife Set, 5-Piece Kitchen Knife Set with Hexagon Pattern, Hand Forged Kitchen Knife Set

Order Now:

https://hawkeenknife.com/product/handmade-carbon-steel-chef-knife-set-5-piece-kitchen-knife-set-with-hexagon-pattern-hand-forged-kitchen-knife-set/

#Handmade Carbon Steel Chef Knife Set #5-Piece Kitchen Knife Set with Hexagon Pattern #Hand Forged Kitchen Knife Set #UniquePatterns

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pabloknives · 2 years ago

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#Chef Set #Japanese Chef Set #Kitchen Knife #Butter knife #Clever Knife #Handmade #Damascus Steel #christmas time #christmas gift #Gifts for dad #Gifts for mom #Gifts

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prettygirl-gabi · 1 month ago

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Mornings Like This

Pairing: Mom!Paige Bueckers x Mom!Reader

Fandom: WNBA- Dallas Wings

Summary: Kids surprise you and Paige with breakfast-in-bed on Mother’s Day.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

There’s a soft rustle at the edge of the bed, the kind that usually jolts me awake when one of the kids is up past bedtime—or when Hunter has to pee and refuses to go unless someone “guards the hallway.”

But this time, I’m floating in that syrupy space between sleep and wake, warm under the comforter with Paige tucked behind me, one arm draped loosely across my waist, her breathing steady and slow against the back of my neck.

It smells like syrup.

Wait.

Syrup?

“Shhh!” a tiny voice stage-whispers. “You’re gonna spill the juice, Hunt!”

“I’m not!” Hunter whispers back with all the volume of a mini bulldozer.

I peek one eye open just in time to catch two little heads ducking behind the edge of our bed—one with curly brown hair bouncing with every move, the other with a floppy pajama hood that’s half falling off his head.

Everlynn and Hunter.

Of course.

“Mama’s moving!” Hunter hisses.

I close my eyes quickly and fight the smile creeping up my face. A few seconds later, the mattress dips slightly at the end. Someone climbs up.

“I’ll put the tray on the blanket, okay? You give Mama the card, and I’ll do Mommy’s.” That’s Everlynn. She’s got the bossy, big-sister energy on lock.

I feel a small hand press something against my arm.

The smell of pancakes is stronger now.

“Okay,” Hunter whispers proudly, “one… two… three…”

“MOMMY! MAMA!” both of them shout at once, and Paige practically jolts up behind me, nearly smacking foreheads with me in the process.

“What the—?” she mumbles, eyes squinting open. Then her whole face softens as she takes in the sight at the foot of the bed.

Two kids beaming.

A very wobbly tray holding two pancakes shaped—sort of—like hearts.

A mug that says Best Moms Ever, clearly a DIY job with paint smudges. And two handmade cards written in glitter glue and magic marker.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they yell again, louder this time.

Paige lets out a sleepy laugh, hand going to her heart. “No way you guys did all this on your own.”

“We had help,” Everlynn says proudly, puffing her chest a little. “Titi Azzi and Titi Caroline came super early and snuck in the back door. We made breakfast and cleaned and—”

“I cut the bananas!” Hunter interrupts, clearly his proudest contribution.

“You did,” Azzi’s voice floats in from the hallway, and a second later, she’s peeking into the room with a big smile and an iPhone in hand, clearly ready to document the whole thing.

“Titi’s babies made a whole breakfast operation this morning.”

Caroline follows her in, holding a juice box and sipping it like a mimosa. “I was the sous chef-slash-chaos manager. But it was all their idea.”

I sit up slowly, still half-swaddled in Paige’s arms, my voice thick with emotion. “You guys… really did this for us?”

Everlynn nods solemnly. “Because you’re the best mommies in the world.”

Hunter climbs into Paige’s lap like it’s his designated throne, snuggling into her chest.

“And because we love you. And we made you pancakes shaped like love.”

Paige laughs into his hair. “Shaped like love, huh?”

“They’re a little… creative,” Caroline says delicately, eyeing the tray.

“Hey, at least the kitchen is still standing,” Azzi teases, slipping around to the far side of the bed.

She sets down her phone and tucks her legs under her. “Can we stay while you open your cards? The kids are really proud.”

“Of course,” I say, reaching for the glittery construction paper.

Mine has my name written across it in huge bubble letters: MAMA Y/N. The inside is filled with little hearts, a stick-figure drawing of me holding hands with both kids, and a poem that makes my throat close up.

Roses are red, pancakes are sweet,

You’re the best mama and can’t be beat!

You read me stories and braid my hair,

And snuggle with me in the rocking chair.

Love, Everlynn & Hunter (but mostly me, I wrote it)

I laugh, wiping my eyes as I look at them. “This is… this is beautiful.”

“You didn’t even get to the glitter stickers,” Everlynn says, pointing. “Look at the unicorn! That’s you.”

“Unicorn?” I tilt my head.

“Because you’re magical!” she says, like it’s obvious.

Paige opens hers next.

Her card is covered in basketballs and smiley faces, with a big HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY MOMMY scrawled across the top. Inside is a drawing of her dunking a ball—with a superhero cape on.

“I made you Super Mommy,” Hunter explains. “Because you play basketball and save people.”

Azzi nudges him. “Like a real-life hero, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods proudly, curling deeper into Paige’s arms.

Paige’s voice cracks a little when she says, “Best card I’ve ever gotten, buddy.”

“Can we eat the pancakes now?” Everlyee asks, practically bouncing.

“Only if you sit up here and eat with us,” I say, holding out an arm.

She scrambles in beside me and rests her head on my shoulder.

Azzi and Caroline start divvying up the plates, handing us all pieces of the slightly lumpy but delicious-smelling pancakes.

Caroline slips me a bottle of whipped cream like we’re passing secret contraband. I shoot her a grateful grin.

“Okay but wait,” Azzi says, snapping another photo, “this lighting is too cute. Everlyee, smile. Hunter, say syrup.”

“Syrup!” he yells with a mouth full of pancake, and we all laugh.

An hour later, the tray’s been cleared, there’s syrup in the sheets, and both kids are now sprawled across our laps like satisfied cats.

Azzi and Caroline have made themselves at home on the armchair and floor, respectively, both sipping coffee from mugs Paige got made for them last Christmas that say World’s Coolest Titi.

“This,” Paige says quietly, stroking Everlynn’s hair, “might be the best Mother’s Day yet.”

I glance at her. The morning sun is hitting her just right—golden and soft. Her hair’s a little messy from sleep, her eyes tired but warm, and her smile…

“Definitely the best,” I whisper.

She catches my hand and laces our fingers together over the blanket.

“Can’t believe they’re this big already. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Hunter was learning to walk and Ever was scared of bees?”

“Still scared of bees,” Everlynn mumbles, half-asleep.

“And Hunter still walks like a baby giraffe sometimes,” Caroline adds.

“Hey!” he says from Paige’s lap, pouting.

Paige smirks and kisses the top of his head. “You walk like a superhero now, baby. You’re our little Flash.”

Azzi’s already tearing up. “You two are raising the sweetest kids. Like, it’s insane. You need to write a parenting book or something.”

“Chapter One: Let Your Best Friends Help Sneak In Before Sunrise,” I say, smirking.

“Chapter Two: Bribery via pancakes,” Caroline adds.

Hunter suddenly perks up. “Can we do this again next year?”

Paige looks down at him. “You mean surprise us with breakfast and glittery cards?”

“And bring Titi Azzi and Titi Caroline?”

“We’ll make it a tradition,” I say. “Deal?”

“Deal,” both kids say at once.

Later that afternoon, once Azzi and Caroline have gone and the kids are running around in the backyard with water balloons, I find Paige in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher with that little content smile she wears when everything feels right in the world.

I wrap my arms around her from behind and rest my chin on her shoulder.

“You know,” I murmur, “there are a million things I love about being a mom. But getting to do it all with you? That’s the best part.”

She leans into me, turning her head slightly so our cheeks touch. “Right back at you, babe.”

We stay like that for a long moment, just soaking in the quiet.

Until a water balloon hits the window with a splat, followed by two giggling voices shouting, “Mommies! Come play!”

Paige grins. “They’re gonna soak us.”

I kiss her cheek. “Yeah, but they made us pancakes shaped like love. We kind of owe them.”

She grabs two towels from the counter and hands me one. “Let’s go get drenched.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

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sknyuz · 2 months ago

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threaded to you | h.j.s. (joshua)

synopsis — the one where joshua plans a week-long getaway leading up to your birthday—and a little more. pairing — joshua hong x gn!reader tags — fluff, established relationship, proposal!, joshua is a sweetheart, domestic callbacks to ur relationship, comfort cw — usual skinship, aside from that, just hold onto ur hearts ❤️‍🩹

wc — ~2k a/n — another tooth-rotting fluff to add to the collection, requested by @teddy08-09 (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

masterlist

for the next five days, you would wake up to the sound of waves crashing softly outside your window and the scent of warm pastries already drifting in from the kitchen.

it’s your birthday week, and joshua insisted on whisking you away—somewhere private, cozy, sun-drenched. the kind of place where time slows down and mornings start with sleepy kisses and shared coffee on the balcony. each day has its own little adventure. joshua doesn’t overload the schedule, he knows you ‎too well for that. instead, he’s curated moments—quiet, intentional ones.

day one is exploring a hidden beach he found months ago, the two of you building little towers from driftwood and shell fragments. that night, he gives you the first bracelet. it’s made of woven cord and tiny beads, and on it is a date—the day you met.

“i remember everything you said that day,” he tells you quietly, brushing sand from your knee. “i knew you were the one.”

day two is filled with laughter at a local artisan market. he buys you snacks from every stall you glance at for more than five seconds, and you both get henna tattoos for no real reason other than why not? later, when you’re back in the villa, he brings out another bracelet. this one has a string of characters: 2 0 2 1.

“that was the year that i asked you to be mine,” he says, threading it gently around your wrist. “still the best decision i ever made.”

day three, he drags you to a pottery class. it’s a mess. joshua’s clay bowl collapses into itself with a dramatic flop and you laugh so hard you almost fall off your stool. he pouts, dramatic as ever, but when you finally get your wobbly creations back to the villa, he asks you to check inside the pot you made, and there it was, the third bracelet:

this one simply reads: lovey. your favorite nickname for him.

“because you say it with that tone that makes me feel like the softest version of myself,” he says, resting his forehead against yours.

day four is calmer. a boat ride at golden hour, your hand resting over his on the railing as the wind tangles through your hair. there’s no rush, no noise. just the two of you, floating along the water while the sky shifts into warm hues of orange and pink. as the boat drifts, he pulls out his guitar, strumming softly.

the sound of the strings, delicate and intimate, fills the quiet air, and you find yourself leaning closer, your head resting against his shoulder. joshua plays a few songs for you, some soft melodies you’ve never heard before, others familiar tunes he’s played just for you on nights when you both stayed up too late. each note feels like a thread weaving your hearts tighter together as the sun slowly sinks behind the horizon.

that night, after dinner, he gives you a bracelet with your initials. simple. classic. still enough to make your heart flutter.

and finally—the night before your birthday.

you think the surprise is the private chef joshua hired for the night, who’s currently serving you perfectly grilled steak and pouring deep red wine into your glass. the lights are dim, the candles flickering, and joshua’s wearing your favorite cologne. the setting is straight out of a movie.

but he pauses before dessert. “wait,” he says, slipping away for a second. when he returns, he’s holding a small, velvet-lined tray with a single bracelet resting in the middle. it’s similar to the others, handmade by him, soft threads twisted together with care. but this one says:

marry ♡ me?

the question is spaced by a tiny heart charm, delicate and golden.

your eyes lift to his—wide and glimmering, the candlelight catching in them like tiny stars. your breath catches. the rest of the room fades.

it’s not just the bracelet. it’s what it means. what he means. every little moment leading up to this—every inside joke, every early morning coffee, every soft look across a crowded room—they all rush back in like a wave crashing at once. and suddenly, it all makes sense. you’re still holding the bracelet in your hand like it’s fragile, sacred. like it holds your whole history woven between the threads.

as you take the bracelet from him, your fingers brushing against his, joshua looks at you—eyes full of something deep, something tender. there’s a quiet longing in the way his gaze lingers, like he’s been waiting for this moment all along, holding onto something bigger than just a question. it’s not the kind of look that just says “i love you”—it’s the kind of look that speaks to a lifetime. you feel your chest tighten at the weight of it, the tenderness of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

he watches you carefully as you fasten the bracelet around your wrist, his fingers lingering just a little too long when they touch yours. his smile is soft, almost wistful, and there’s a faint glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes, like he’s holding back, like he’s been waiting to ask you this for longer than either of you realize.

“it’s not a ring just yet,” he says softly, voice a little shaky, “not until you say yes.”

his gaze doesn’t waver from you, filled with the quiet ache of someone who’s ready to give everything, just waiting for you to take that step with him. your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. your heart—god, your heart is racing in the best possible way.

he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the actual ring box—simple, elegant, shining just like his smile when he kneels in front of you.

your hands fly to your mouth before you even realize it, lips trembling as your tears fall freely, but there’s no panic behind them. no hesitation. only something so sure it feels like gravity itself.

he’s kneeling, waiting. but not with fear in his eyes—just love. the soft, steady kind that’s always made you feel like you could finally breathe. you lower your hands, heart thudding like a drumbeat under your ribs, and blink away just enough tears to really look at him. and you say it—like it’s the only answer that’s ever made sense.

“yes,” you breathe, voice cracking from the tears. then again, louder. firmer. lighter. “yes, joshua. of course i’m saying yes.” you’re already nodding before you can stop yourself, laughing through your sobs, reaching for him because you just need to feel him. need to hold him. need him to know you mean it with everything in you.

his watery grin breaks into something helpless and radiant, and he stands up to wrap you in his arms, holding you like the world could fall apart and he’d still be okay as long as you’re here. you bury your face into his shoulder, clutching his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you from floating off into the stars.

you feel him slip the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, and it fits perfectly. and you whisper one more time, right against his ear, like a secret you’ve been carrying for years: “i’ve always known it was you.”

later that night, after the excitement, after the tears, after the thousand kisses and the way he tucked your hand in his like it was meant to be there forever—you sit out on the deck, gazing fondly at the stars and the shoreline below.

joshua steps out onto the deck, “ooh, careful, my love. hot, hot. hot!” a bowl of steaming hot ramen he carefully brought over to you.

his secret recipe. the one he made you on your third date, when it rained and every restaurant was closed. it’s not what someone would call fancy, not even close to the meal you just had—but it tastes like home. like all your shared laughter and late nights and whispered dreams rolled into one warm, savory bowl. a tradition at this point.

“still your favorite, right?” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder. you nod, tasting the broth, bringing the bowl down onto your lap, and nudging his side. “always.”

you’re curled up beside him on the wooden deck, barefoot and wrapped in the cardigan he swore you stole from him years ago (well, you never denied it). your legs are tucked under you, the bowl of ramen resting between the two of you. and even after everything—the private chef, the wine, the whole trip—this is the part of the night joshua loves most.

you, with sleepy eyes and ramen broth on your lip. you, still giggling every few seconds like you’re not sure this is real.

you’re his fiancée.

his heart thumps all over again.

he watches you sip from the bowl, humming quietly in approval. and that’s when it really hits him—not in the grand gestures or the spotlighted proposal—but here, in this tiny, tender moment. when you’re completely at ease, barefoot and glowing under the soft moonlight, still wearing every bracelet he made you like you just came out of a taylor swift concert.

oh, how he loves you. his deepest affections braided into every thread.

not in the fleeting, dizzying way he used to think love had to be. not like the songs that burn out by the third chorus. this is something else. something rooted and warm. love, to him, is you in this exact moment—humming with ramen in your mouth and one sock missing.

he can see it all in his head now, clearer than ever: mornings with your bedhead and grumpy pout, years from now. road trips where you fight over playlists and still end up singing together at the top of your lungs. anniversaries where you both forget the date and end up laughing on the couch with takeout. matching mugs. matching rings. the soft click of your shared key turning in the door

he thinks about how you always reach for his hand in your sleep, how you trace little hearts on his palm when you’re nervous, how your nose scrunches every time you tell a lie (you’re a terrible liar, by the way), how you say his name like it means something softer than just syllables.

he leans over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “you’re really gonna marry me?” he asks, half-whisper, almost like he’s checking.

you glance at him, wide-eyed, soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “mm... i think i already did. haven’t we been married this whole time? maybe only i knew, though.” you huff proudly, flashing him a cheeky grin.

he laughs, breathless. the kind of laugh that comes from deep in his chest, where he’s been holding everything in since he met you.

she’s gonna be mine forever, he thinks. i get to love her for the rest of my life.

and he swears, in that moment, he’ll never take it for granted. not one second. not one sleepy morning or late night argument or grocery store trip or forehead kiss. he’ll love you through all of it—your quiet, your chaos, your every version. he’ll love you even when you leave your mug in every room of the house, even when you steal all the blankets, and even when you forget to charge your phone and panic about it three times a week. he’ll love you through the ordinary, and make it feel like magic.

because you’re it. his home. his heart.

and tonight, under the stars and surrounded by the bracelets you now wear like a timeline, joshua knows—there’s no version of forever he wants without you in it.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu @dhaliaa1211 @seokminfilm

#sknyuz #⋆˚࿔ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢’𝐬 🍮 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#seventeen x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong x you #hong jisoo x reader #joshua x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfiction #seventeen fluff #joshua fluff #joshua hong x y/n #joshua hong fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen #svt #joshua hong fanfiction #Spotify

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tacobacoyeet · 9 days ago

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father's day with... dad bod!patrick

warnings: SMUT 18+, one use of daddy in a semi-sexual way but not really, he's just a cutie i love him so much, i want to have his babies

-----

The kids start begging the night before.

They’ve already made the card— a folded piece of printer paper covered in gluey macaroni and aggressive glitter, signed in various attempts at spelling "Love you Daddy." You’ve already picked up the gifts: a new grill spatula with a cheeky "Kiss the Chef" engraving, a framed photo of him passed out on the couch with both kids napping on top of him, and the socks. God, the socks— bright blue with "#1 DILF" stitched in obnoxious lettering. A joke, of course, but also not.

You were going to keep things simple. Give him the gifts over coffee, maybe let him sleep in. But then the kids start tugging at your hoodie, pleading like they’re about to be banished from the kingdom.

"Can we pleeeeease make him breakfast in bed?"

You raise a brow. "You mean you��re going to let me make breakfast while you lick batter and argue about who gets to carry the tray?"

"No! We're gonna make it."

That's a disaster waiting to happen. But your kids have Patrick's face and you can never resist. So you sigh, smile, and say, "Fine. But you’re waking up early, and we’re not telling him."

They squeal. They pinky promise. One of them tries to hide the card in the oven.

---

The next morning is a beautiful mess.

Pancake mix in hair. Syrup on pajamas. Someone spills orange juice and declares it a "kitchen emergency." They manage to burn only one piece of bacon. The kids decorate the tray with wildflowers from the yard and tuck the card underneath a napkin like it’s a secret treasure.

When you all tiptoe into the bedroom— tray wobbling, giggles barely contained— Patrick is already half-awake, blinking against the sunlight, hair matted to one side and shirtless beneath the covers.

"Happy Father’s Day!" they shout, and he flinches like he’s been tackled. Which, to be fair, he has been. They scramble onto the bed, and one plops a pancake directly on his chest.

"We made it all by ourselves!" they beam.

Patrick looks at you over their heads. Your face says, Don’t lie to them. His says, I’d eat raw eggs if it meant they stayed this happy.

He eats every bite. Kisses sticky cheeks. Reads the card out loud with his voice thick and fond. Later, he pulls you into the hallway and murmurs, "I don’t need anything else. This? This is everything."

And even though you’re covered in flour and your coffee’s cold, you believe him.

You always do.

---

The rest of the day is exactly what it should be: slow, easy, wrapped in love.

Patrick wears the handmade pasta necklace one of the kids gave him like it’s a medal of honor. They insist he keep it on all day— even when he’s manning the grill, even when he’s wrestling them into sunscreen, even when he falls asleep in the hammock with one kid draped across his chest and the other tracing hearts on his arm with a juice box straw.

You keep it simple, like he likes it. No fancy plans, no crowd. Just the four of you and a backyard that smells like smoke and honeysuckle.

The gifts come out after lunch. He gets a laugh out of the spatula. Nearly tears up at the framed photo. Gives you that soft, reverent look— the one that says he still can’t believe this is his life. That he gets to have this. That he gets to have you.

And as the sun starts to set and the kids wind down, sticky-fingered and sleep-drunk from too much watermelon and laughter, you both tuck them in. Kisses on cheeks. "Thank you for today, Daddy," whispered like a secret.

You find him later in the kitchen, backlit by the refrigerator light, eating the last pancake cold and shirtless.

"There’s one more gift," you say.

He turns, grinning. "Is it another photo of me drooling on the couch?"

"No," you murmur, and hand him a tiny wrapped box. "But it’s just for you. Now that the kids are asleep."

He opens it, curious— and then bursts out laughing.

Bright blue socks. Bold white letters: #1 DILF.

He lifts them like they’re sacred. "Oh my God."

"I had to," you say, biting your lip.

"These are incredible." He pauses. "You know I’m never taking these off now, right?"

"That’s fine," you say, stepping closer. Your fingers tug at the waistband of his sleep shorts, low and lazy. "But you might want to take everything else off."

He smirks. "You wanna fuck me in my new dad socks?"

You hum. "Not quite."

He raises a brow.

"I want to take care of you tonight," you say, voice soft. "You give so much to all of us— today, every day. Let me give something back. Let me make you feel how loved you are."

His smile falters just slightly. Goes softer. Deeper. His hands come to your waist like a question.

"Okay," he breathes. "Yeah. Please."

He kisses you like he’s grateful. Like he needs this— not just the sex, but the surrender. The quiet devotion of it. And when you pull him to the bedroom, when he lays back and lets you strip him down to nothing but those ridiculous socks, he doesn’t joke. Doesn’t deflect. Just watches you with wide, wet eyes.

You start slow. Kisses down his chest. Hands smoothing over his stomach like you love it (because you do). You praise every part of him— the arms that carry your babies, the hands that fix broken toys and rub your back at night, the belly that softens against yours when he holds you in the kitchen.

He looks like he might cry.

"You deserve this," you whisper, sinking down to kiss the crease where thigh meets hip. "Every second."

He moans when you take him in your mouth, already so sensitive he’s shaking. You work him slowly, lovingly, watching his stomach tense and relax beneath your touch. And when he finally can’t take anymore, when his fingers curl into the sheets and his voice cracks on your name, you pull back just long enough to climb on top and guide him inside.

He gasps. Chokes on it. His hands flutter up to your hips, barely holding on.

"I got you," you whisper, moving slow. Deliberate. Every roll of your hips meant to say I love you, I love you, I love you.

He breaks apart like he’s never been touched like this before. Like no one’s ever given him anything just to say thank you.

And when he comes— overwhelmed and whispering, tears clinging to his lashes— you kiss his forehead and stay close. Stay connected. Stay his.

And later, when you’re tangled up and breathless, his hand rests over your stomach without thinking. His voice is hoarse.

"This was the best Father’s Day."

"I know," you whisper, kissing the corner of his smile. "You earned it, Daddy."

And just like that, round two starts— socks still on.

-----

tagging:

@kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow @soulxinxthexsky @voidsuites @elsieblogs @deeninadream @nozhdyved @asheepinfrance @love-ella333 @jesuistrestriste @cha11engers

want to be tagged in the next one? join here!

#ava's asks #a writes #patrick zweig #dilf!patrick #dilf!patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig fluff #patrick zweig smut #dilf!patrick zweig

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holyblonded · 1 month ago

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any Mother’s Day hc’s for estrella, Val, azulita and their moms?

— alexia tries to act like she doesn’t care about mother’s day. insists she doesn’t need anything. but everyone knows better, especially estrella, azulita, and val. they’ve been planning for weeks.

— val is the self-declared “head of operations.” she makes everyone wear flower crowns (even the pets), and hands out color-coded task lists at 6am like a tiny, adorable dictator.

— azulita and estrella team up in the kitchen, which goes exactly as chaotically as you’d expect. estrella doesn’t measure anything, azulita refuses to not measure, and they’re bickering while val supervises from her step stool like a stern little sous-chef.

— “i said lightly toasted!”

— “you’re five, why are you yelling like you pay rent?”

— “just make the waffles, estrella.”

— “tell her to stop putting cinnamon in everything!”

— somehow, breakfast gets made. there’s a slightly burnt waffle shaped like a heart, a suspiciously pink smoothie, and a tray with a handmade card val made during nursery time that says i love my mamas even when they make me go to bed.

— azulita surprises olga with a collage of polaroids she’s taken over the years. quiet, intimate shots of her with val, of her hugging estrella after a game, one of her asleep on the couch with azulita tucked under her arm. olga cries. azulita pretends not to tear up too.

— estrella’s gift for ale is pure chaos, as expected. a custom playlist, a matching set of purple and white tracksuits for them and val, and a framed photo of the three of them flipping off the camera during a beach trip, captioned: your problem children forever.

— “i’m hanging it in the hallway,” ale says, deadpan, and she does.

— they all pile into bed after breakfast, val squished between alexia and olga, azulita on the end with estrella’s legs tossed over her.

— olga keeps kissing val’s forehead. estrella pokes ale every time she tries to get up and do anything. azulita forces everyone to drink water and put on sunscreen before they go outside for the picnic val planned (in the backyard, with exactly 42 stuffies).

— at one point, estrella pulls azulita aside and quietly thanks her for going all out. says she knows it’s weird sometimes, complicated, but that olga and ale are the first people who ever really showed her what it means to be loved.

— azulita doesn’t say anything at first, just punches her lightly in the arm and says, “same.”

— later, when the sun is setting and they’re all wrapped up in blankets, val falls asleep on estrella’s chest, and ale’s arm is slung around olga, and azulita’s curled up next to her, and it’s just — soft. simple. everything they’ve built, right here.

— “we should do this every day,” estrella says.

— “you say that until i make you do the dishes,” ale mutters.

— “worth it,” azulita replies, and they all smile.

#answered asks 💌#woso community #⋆˚ ༘ blue stars: asks

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goldfades · 6 months ago

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okay idk if you’re still writing for the manager series but if you are i think it would be really cute to write one about a team christmas party or christmas diner!! tysm ily bye bye

(there's a fic coming soon dont worry)

oh my god, a team christmas party would be absolutely chaotic and adorable at the same time. let me set the scene:

manager’s office has turned into the north pole in the week leading up to the party because she’s in charge of organizing everything. she’s got lists on lists—decorations, secret santa assignments, food orders—and every five minutes someone’s popping in like, “hey, can we add gingerbread houses to the itinerary?” (it’s kk, always kk).

on the day of the party, the locker room is decked out in twinkling lights, fake snow, and stockings with each player’s name on them (manager’s handiwork, obviously). caroline and azzi are her right-hand women, helping set everything up while paige “supervises” with a santa hat tilted sideways on her head.

the secret santa exchange is pure chaos. paige gifts manager a hoodie with “world’s best coach manager” on it, and she’s smirking like, “it’s true, isn’t it?” manager rolls her eyes but is secretly touched. kk’s gift to azzi is a handmade ornament that says “sniper,” and jana somehow ends up with a stuffed animal that sarah insists looks just like her.

dinner is chef’s kiss. manager made a bunch of the food herself because she doesn’t trust the team not to set the kitchen on fire. everyone’s whining like, “manager, can you just cook for us forever?” paige is already scheming to take leftovers back to her dorm.

after dinner, it’s game time—charades, pictionary, and the most competitive ugly sweater contest of all time. kk shows up in a sweater that literally lights up, and paige’s sweater has a picture of her face photoshopped onto santa’s body. manager tries to stay impartial as a judge but ultimately gives the win to azzi, whose sweater is simple yet iconic. (she bribed manager with a cup of hot cocoa beforehand, obviously).

the night ends with everyone gathered around the tv watching Home Alone while sipping hot chocolate. paige keeps trying to steal marshmallows from manager’s cup, and manager’s like, “i swear to god, paige, if you don’t stop—” but she’s too cozy and happy to actually care.

the girls are sprawled out on couches, blankets piled everywhere, and manager can’t help but smile because even though this job drives her insane sometimes, these moments make it all worth it 💕

#uconn wbb manager thoughts 💭#uconn wbb #wcbb #ncaa wbb #uconn huskies #uconnwbb #uconn wcbb #paige bueckers

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marshmallowprotection · 9 months ago

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Mystictober Day 5

Mystictober 2024 | Day 5: Jumin's Birthday/Date Night

"Elizabeth the 3rd," You gently scolded the feline as she tried to hop up on the kitchen counter. You scooped her up and set her back on the tile floor for her safety. "I told you I'll make you a special cake for your Daddy's birthday, too. But, you have to let me finish making it first. I'm certain he'll want to see you enjoy it before he gets a slice of his."

She made a noise that sounded similar to a defiant meow. You could never blame her when she pouted like that. Jumin spoiled her rotten to the core, but she was still an excellent kitty... as long as she didn't have to wait to receive the treat she wanted. She wanted the layered cake you were making for her to enjoy.

It was small, perfect for a little cat of her make and build, but you were trying to make sure it had all the layers you'd made the night before stacked one by one. It took a while to do what the chefs did for Elizabeth yourself, given that you wanted to make everything for her from scratch. It was a lot more work than you realized, and you hoped they were compensated well beyond your assumption for the work that went into it!

Breaking down two fishes not only made your dinner with Jumin, but it also made plenty of leftovers for Elizabeth to munch on!

"Meeeeeeow."

Translation: But, I want it now!

"Little Lady, I will tell your Daddy about this behavior."

"Rrrrrrrrow."

Translation: We both know he's never going to scold me for being naughty.

"I won't put the fish on top if jump on top of the counter. I'll let you have your cake and eat it, too. But, you won't get the best part of it, Elizabeth!"

Silence.

Triumphant with your victory, you continued to decorate her cake to your heart's content. Jumin wasn't hugely into sweets, but he loved receiving a handmade cake from you all the same, and he'd eat every bite you served him until his stomach hurt. He indulged in something you made for him on a night meant to be about him and only him. He was always determined to take care of you before he took care of his needs, but on his birthday, you got the chance to remind him of just how important it was that he be spoiled, too.

What made you happiest was seeing Jumin happy.

But, seeing you happy was what made him happy. It was easy to fall for his trap, to let him take care of you until you fell asleep cozied up to his shoulder every night, but his birthday was special and that was the only night during the year that wouldn't have him nudge or prod you for a chance to take care of you, instead.

Ah, to share a love language was hard, but you made it work because you loved him just as much as he loved you.

While Elizabeth stuffed her cheeks with a fishcake, you would have just enough time to spoon airy cake past Jumin's lips and listen to his loving sigh. The sound of your husband's footsteps alerted you to the evening yet to begin, and you called out, "Happy Birthday, dear! We're waiting for you in the kitchen!"

"Oh?" His amused chuckle stole your heart every time. "What's my favorite spouse up to with my favorite feline?"

"I'm sure your assumption will be proven once you get here!"

"Meeeeeeeow!"

Your little family was exactly what you wanted it to be, and better yet, it was the family Jumin always dreamed of. He told you that with the sweetest smile on his face not long ago, and it made you crave more time together to show him he would never have a lonely home again. He would always come home to people who loved him, and no longer would he feel tangled in threads of fate holding him at bay from what his heart desired.

As he stood in the door way to the kitchen, he smiled at you with that dazzling glow, "A happy birthday indeed."

#MM_mystictober2024 #mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #mysticmessenger #mm #jumin han #han jumin #jumin mm #jumin mysme #jumin mystic messenger

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pabloknives · 2 years ago

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#Chef Set #christmas time #handmade knife #avatar: the last airbender #dagger #etsy #handcrafted #crafts #handmade earrings #handmade jewelry #christmas #Kitchen chef set #Viking Style #Damascus Steel #Carbon Steel #Christmas Gift

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mortarmagic · 6 months ago

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redbirdandbluebird23 · 1 year ago

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Valentine's Day

Written for the DCU Valentine's Day event by @wait-whos-batman

Masterlist

Dick didn’t know what he was doing, well no, he did know what he was doing, he was breaking into Jason’s apartment (his actual apartment, not a safehouse) with the intention of leaving a box of handmade chocolates he’d picked up with Alfred when they’d visited the out of town farmers market. He thought they’d been subtle about their blossoming relationship, but Alfred had taken one look at the chocolates and not so subtly suggested that they’d make a very nice Valentine’s day gift for a certain foodie in the family.

Jason hadn't outright said anything about Valentine’s day, but he’d gone all tense and quiet the only time Dick mentioned it, so Dick decided he wouldn’t press, just drop the chocolates off on the downlow. That way Jason would know Dick was thinking about him and Dick wasn’t crossing any boundaries.

Dick disabled the security on the window using the access code Jason had begrudgingly given him ‘in case of emergencies’ and stepped into Jason’s living room before closing the window behind him to stop the cold February air getting in. Jason’s apartment was a decent sized two bed, with a living room full of bookshelves and a kitchen that looked like it would be more fitting belonging to a professional chef. Dick couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, looking at the little home Jason had managed to carve out for himself.

He set the chocolates on the coffee table and turned to leave when something brushed against his ankle. He would deny it to his dying breath, but he couldn’t quite hold back the scream as he flipped himself backwards onto the couch. His heart was in his throat as he peered over the edge of the sofa.

Read on Ao3

#DCUValentinesDay2024 #jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #dick grayson/jason todd #dickjay

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eldritchaccident · 1 year ago

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Timing: Mid December Location: The Jones house Feat: @ohwynne & @eldritchaccident Warnings: N/A (though there is very very brief description of gore in the first paragraph) Summary: Teddy shows Wynne their latest project.

It was strange to be back at this house where Wynne had once made a deal with a demon. Said demon was no longer present, having slipped from this world onto what they only assumed was another plane of existence, and yet here they were. Staring at that large house, their bike awkwardly parked on the still-green lawn. Something in their body seemed to be stirring, memories scratching at their brain. Levi shaking their hand in this house, sitting across from them as they ate dinner. Levi ripping apart at the seams and becoming the Leviathan. A claw undoing Padrig’s skin, organs spilling. The black blood. The swish of its tail as it left.

There would be no demon in that house any more and it was hard not to feel like it was their fault, somehow. That Teddy was alone now, or at least without their adopted father. Wynne fiddled a little with their jacket, pulling it tighter along their body as they walked up the lawn. There was no reason to be nervous, but they were. The howling wind sounded like gythraul when it had been fighting.

Eventually they rang the doorbell and eventually Teddy opened in all their bleach blonde glory. Wynne smiled at them, knowing there was no reason to be nervous around them and still feeling their stomach twist. It was strange to see the former-demon in the house, as the boat had fit them better. At the same time, Teddy Jones probably had the ability to fit into any and all places with that energy they brought. They were glad to see their face, in spite of all their twisting guts.

“Hi!,” they said. Wynne looked at their empty hands for a moment. They hadn’t brought any food, for once. “I’m here.” Obviously. They shivered. “Can we go in? It’s kind of cold.”

—

“Wynne!” Teddy practically squealed with delight, a force of nature they always seemed to carry with them in excess. The ex-demon rushed forward, throwing warm arms around their shivering guest. “C’mon in, I have somethiiiiing to show you. But first let's warm you up. I made hot cocoa.” There was a sing-songy quality to their voice. One part joy of holding a pleasant secret, the other of finishing a job worth doing. Both were for Wynne, and they deserved even more.

“How’re you doing, hope the drive over wasn’t too bad.” With one arm around them, Teddy made for the kitchen where wafting scents of warmth and sweetness drifted from. The mugs were already set out. Teddy’s, looking quite a bit like a cartoony angler fish, and Wynne’s was peppered with sunflowers. The chef rounded the counter to start pouring right away. But not before continuing their pestering questions.

“Are you warm enough? Do you have enough clothes for the winter? Maine is rough, and we could go get you stuff if you need it.”

—

Teddy seemed so glad to see them and Wynne felt a little less heavy immediately, not quite understanding that someone could be so excited by their simple appearance. They leaned into their touch though, and returned it in kind. “Something to show me?” They looked up at them, intrigued and eager, but mostly excited by the promise of something warm. The wind had felt like icy knives against their bare cheeks.

As they moved into the house, they worked on pulling their handmade hat from their head, shrugging. “It was cold, but it’s not so bad when you have the prospect of a warm house ahead.” They fiddled a little with their hat. “I should get a license, but there’s a … a fae at the BMV who kind of made it hard for me last time I tried.” They frowned and shrugged. “And I’m … okay. I’ve just been really tired. Maybe dazed is the right word. What about you?”

They looked at the mugs being poured full of hot chocolate and then at Teddy, slowly pulling off their scarf and jacket as well. “I have some warm things. I took a lot of wool and fleece things when I ran, because it was around this time of year too … and I –” They flushed slightly. “Stole some things after running away. But I might want some new things.” Wynne folded their jacket and placed it on a stool. All their old clothes had been made by the hands of those they’d betrayed. Of those who had betrayed them first, perhaps. “I’m setting aside some money for it. But I’m warm enough now, don’t worry!”

—

Teddy was good at listening, they liked to believe they were pretty good at picking up non-verbal things too. If only because they’d studied the craft immensely, always being a little too obsessed with humans and how they interacted with each other and the world at large. Unfortunately, the more personal it got, the harder it was for them to discern. Wasn’t so much a problem with Wynne, though.

There was an easiness to the conversations they held together, a peace. Something about being the survivor of a familial attempt on their lives. Maybe that thread alone was enough for their energies to exist on some sort of similar wavelength. Pretty much as soon as they had heard their story, Teddy felt so protective over Wynne. They wondered if the other knew. Even if there wasn’t much they could do now except jump in the way of danger, take whatever came at them just to dish it out to whoever deserved it. Maybe that's why they were pushing for this surprise. If the other member of the survivor’s club would take it.

“You need a license?” Their head tilted to the side, as they took a careful sip of the hot drink. Not too hot, just right. “I could just get you a fake, y’know. I got a guy who’s an expert. One of my aliases actually got summoned for jury duty once. I went on a lark, it was actually kind of fun, strangely enough.” A satisfied hum sat on their lips. “I can probably teach you how to drive better than any school anyway.” It did not take much at all to amuse Teddy Jones. They were a self-contained universe of entertainment. Throw them in a pit of beige, and they’d explode it into a waterfall of technicolor. But they always preferred having someone along for the ride.

Wynne went on about having some things stored up, and Ted made a mental note to keep the ex-greenhouse stocked with yarns and wools for crafting with. Of course, there would be a few holiday gifts too, maybe even a tree. Religion wasn’t really something that Teddy ever interacted with, for pretty obvious reasons, but they loved the traditions around the winter holidays. Bright lights, big dinners, a chance to show everyone you care about how well you’ve been paying attention. Wynne deserved a whole lot of nice things. Cozy things. Deserved a chance to carve out new traditions that came with their freedom. With their new life. Teddy couldn’t wait to be a part of that.

“I’m gonna worry, sunflower. It’s like my job.” Teddy grinned, then gestured slightly towards the back door. “So. Wanna see it?”

—

It was a rare thing to have someone who could understand the situation Wynne had once been in. The people in Moosehead had the context that others lacked, had mostly endured the same upbringing but couldn’t understand what pre-mortem sanctification was like. The people here were filled with kindness and perhaps righteous anger, but most of them didn’t fully get it — and that was okay. But Teddy understood what no one else they’d met so far understood: what it was like when your parents were willing to give away their child for a demonic entity.

There had been a level with comfort with the other from even before this revelation, but ever since they had found out that (un)fortunate link between them it had grown steadier. Teddy was someone to rely on. Someone who was capable of lifting them up. Who made them feel hope.

“Oh. Really? I mean! I think the government is not to be trusted anyway. And I am afraid maybe they’ll ask many questions or something,” they said, frowning a little. “And Ariadne has been teaching me to drive and I know some things already but I could definitely use some more lessons. You’d be a good teacher.” Wynne was certain of that. “I saw your car, I think? It’s very cool.”

They took a long sip from the hot chocolate, letting it warm them up. They were beaming up at Teddy, “Okay. But I’m alright. No hypothermia from me!” The houses here were a lot warmer than the ones at home had been, anyway. Those weren’t the things they were worried about, that they thought were worth worrying about for Teddy. They nodded their head, ready to follow the other wherever they would take them. “I very much do. What is it?”

—

Maybe it was the sudden loss of their adoptive father, bringing back a cache of old haunts that had eaten away at Teddy's mind from the moment they were old enough to comprehend their birth parents' betrayal. Maybe it was the colder weather and early nights that made an empty house feel even more so. Maybe, both, or neither, but Teddy was clinging so tightly to anything that resembled connection.

Wynne, Emilio, Nora. Teddy wasn't blind to the reasons behind their attempts to keep the trio close. It was a selfish need to not be alone. The ichor that washed over the whole of Wormrow provided a wonderful excuse to collect all of their favorite people nearby. "Atta-kid. That's why you're the best." Teddy hummed fondly, always pleased to anti the establishment. “Having a few teachers isn't a bad idea anyway, different types of driving, that way you can find your own style. Though you shouldn't say the thing about my car being cool, too loud, Emilio will pop out of nowhere just to tell you you're wrong.” The wide grin on their face really betrayed the serious tone they sarcastically spoke with.

The next part was a lot easier to show than to explain. “Follow me.” One part ominous, one part joyful. Teddy turned and started off towards the door, expecting Wynne to join them. Back outside just for a moment, down a short path and over to what used to be another storage and greenhouse, but had been completely redone. Pretty much gutted and refitted entirely to be a cozy little house, made perfect for their little sunflower. A bit of a bigger project than Emilio's office, but well worth it.

The outside was a warm yellow, painted with red, orange, and green flowers and swirls. A stark contrast to the cold gray that painted the last few days of autumn. In spring, they'd plant flowers together, well, if Wynne liked it that is. Teddy really hoped they'd like it.

“Ready to go inside?”

—

They knew that Teddy said kind things easily and to a lot of people, because that was the kind of person they were. Uplifting and positive, spreading a boisterous kindness around in a way that Wynne found inspiring. But even so, when they said that they were the best they were beaming up at them. “I learned to drive on a tractor. I know a bit about how to use it, but all the rules …” They sighed. “There are very many of them. And I do want to know them. So I don’t get arrested or something.” They frowned. “I will tell Emilio that he is wrong if he does!”

They followed Teddy, curious what it was that they had to show them. They couldn’t begin to guess what it might be, with the other being unpredictable in a way they had grown to appreciate. Their intentions were always good, after all, and that was something they were growing more steadily used to as they realized that the intentions of those at home had not been.

Their eyes fell on a small home, which they hadn’t seen the last time they had been here. There had been something, though, but they had barely noticed. Their mind had been more occupied with meeting an actual demon who wore aprons. Wynne’s eyes were wide, heart skipping a hopeful beat as they glanced at Teddy to try and gauge what this was about. What this meant. If it — no. Surely not.

“What’s inside? Is this … for Gabagool?” They hadn’t seen the demon yet and for that, they were kind of glad. He’d been rude and revealing last time. Wynne blinked at the paint. “Did you paint that?”

—

“Oh bud, we’re in Maine. No one knows the rules on how to drive here.” There was a pause, a comforting smile, and Teddy closed the distance between them to put a hand on their shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Driving is ninety percent just not speeding too much, and the other ten is paying attention to road signs. If you can drive a tractor I’m confident we can get you on the actual roads in no time.” The warm smirk burst into a small fit of laughter as they walked, “I do, in fact, love telling Emilio he’s wrong.” They pointed out. As if it wasn’t obvious. “But it’ll be better when you do it. He might even listen for once.”

The brisk air was enough to make Teddy want to usher the kid inside the new place faster, but there was something to savor out here too. Wynne deflected, in a way that they thought the other might. However, Teds didn’t quite expect– “For Gaba– No, Wynne, sweetie. Gabagool has the whole house. He’s a free range goblin. This is–” A pause, searching for the phrasing. “It’s actually for you. If you want it. I did, I painted that cause it reminded me of you, y’know. Wanted it to feel all homey. Wait until you see inside.”

—

“Oh. Yes, people are a little careless sometimes.” Wynne smiled a little. “I mean, I already drove! Once, by myself.” They didn’t really feel like bringing up the context of having to go save Ariadne from Rhett, though. “And on a parking lot. But the signs are the ones I’m trying to learn. And then if I know them I can use a fake license.” They were glad Teddy and Emilio were such good friends. It was good, that the people they cared about cared about each other — it felt a little like what had been good at home. Like community. “He sometimes listens to me. But he’s very much like a mule sometimes.”

They were quiet. For a long stretch of time they were quiet. They had thought their hopes and instincts silly just moments before, but here Teddy was revealing that this was to be theirs. If they wanted it. There was something about both those statements that had them feel a little lost for a moment, but in a way that was welcomed. It was their choice. And it was a kindness, no strings attached. “Are you — are you serious?” They finally blinked up, eyes a little teary. Of course Teddy was serious. They made many jokes, but not about these kind of things. “I want – yes, I want to see the inside and — are you?” They pressed their lips together, looking up at the small building. “Are you serious?”

—

A little careless was an understatement. The last time Teddy saw someone use a turn signal was… probably before they moved to Maine. Ah well. There were a lot of other things that made up for scary driving skills (or lack thereof) that made the ex-demon want to stay in this weird little fucked up town, in a weird little fucked up state. They could go on, wax poetic about the way the cliffs met the ocean, about the charming little neighborhoods, about the lively downtown area. But it was never about the place was it? Teddy had been all over the world, and never once even thought about settling down until now. Until here. With people who somehow managed to poke through the evasiveness, the selfishness, and the fear of commitment that came with any new place.

Until now, it was all temporary. Strange, to think about considering until now, they had forever. Maybe it was the eventual end that gave meaning to the things it ended. Maybe living on, expecting yourself to be apart from anything that wasn’t themself or their father was removing them from the life they wanted to live. Even if they hadn’t known it yet.

There was an undeniable pride in Teddy’s chest as they looked at Wynne. The kid had gone through so much, and here they were, standing on their own two feet. Stronger than ever. Like the flowers etched in paint along the walls of the building before them, Wynne was something that grew bold and kind in the face of adversity. Such a rare blossom deserved a place to thrive. To see what it could do in favorable conditions, with the support they needed.

“Serious.” Teddy beamed, crossed a finger over their heart and mimicked locking it with a key. “All yours champ.” Just like with Emilio, they handed over the key, figuring the first step should be theirs.

—

Losing their apartment had been a sad affair. It felt silly to complain about it, as they had been able to spend more time with Ariadne and there were way worse things in the world — but the apartment building had been the first place that had felt like home since they had ran away. There was something special about it, even if the faucets were leaky and the wind howled through the cracks and one of their neighbors sometimes threatened them with a knife. Wynne hadn’t been looking for a new place, hoping foolishly that it might one day be restored and all would be good. Avoiding the problem.

Maybe it was good that they had been, because here was the solution. Teddy had come to the rescue, once again, their spontaneity matching perfectly with their hesitance. They were looking at them and then the house and then back at them, hardly able to believe that this was happening. That someone could love them, like this. That it could feel this secure. This giving.

They curled their hands around the keys and were quick to dive in for a hug, pressing their teary face against Teddy’s chest. Wynne swallowed thickly, trying to pull their tears down with them, and then pulled back. There was a small sniffle. “Thank you. Thank you. I can’t – I can’t believe it.” They let out a laugh, which was nervous and excited, and they tried not to tremble as they pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

—

A gift well received was one of the most gratifying things to experience. Teddy knew it was a bit selfish, or at least they saw it that way. Doing nice things with the ulterior motive of… well, this, they supposed. Of seeing the look on someone’s face when it all worked out just right. The feeling was something they had chased for… pretty much ever. Whether it was acting as demonic as possible to make their father proud, or being a little over the top with gifts and such.

The hug was returned, long gangly limbs curled around the shorter of the pair and squeezed tightly, protectively. For a moment Teddy pressed their cheek into the top of Wynne’s head before stepping back. Smoothing out the other’s hair from their face, and wiping away one of the big tears that had begun to spill.

“Alrighty sprout, let's get in before we do get hypothermia.”

The inside of the tiny house was as meticulously crafted as the exterior. Maybe even more so with all the room for expression. Teddy giddily urged Wynne on, asking them to explore the space with gestures alone. Too excited to properly verbalize it at all.

The doorway opened to a small foyer, a little bench to the left to sit and take off boots, along with pegs to hang up coats, scarves, keys, or whatever just above. Further in, a small sitting area with a comfy couch, a little coffee table, and a small entertainment system filled in the corner that split off to the stairs and a small hallway that led towards the kitchen. The appliances were old, but well taken care of. (As luck would have it, a year or so ago Ted had done a shift at an old antiques place and their temporary boss had a knack for restoring old stoves and fridges. They cashed in that favor as well as quite a few more for this little adventure.)

Greenery was strewn about the whole place, in cute pots both on the ground and hanging in macrame holders. Though the ex-demon did look a little sheepish when Wynne went in for closer examination. “Plants are fakes for now, couldn’t get a whole greenhouse worth in here in the middle of winter, but we’ll fill it out in time, y’know?” The rest of the decoration was sourced from local artists, and some Teddy knew from way back when. Lots of cute things with folksy charm that reminded them of Wynne.

The stairs in the center led to a small loft style bedroom, complete with dressers full of thrifted sweaters, socks, and other cozy things. And a big old bed with a heavy knitted quilt sitting right in the center of it all. Teddy was pretty proud on how well they had done in such a short time, but that was the benefit of being the person who always “knows a guy.” As well as having a stupid amount of money they really didn’t need left to them by their father. Excited as they were, there was really only one opinion that actually mattered about the house. So Teddy grinned, turned back to Wynne and asked;

“Whaddaya think?”

—

It was overwhelming. That was a statement that often rang true for the likes of Wynne, who had been raised sheltered and without the constant input that came with mobile phones, computers and televisions. The world was large and filled with terrifying and glorious things and it was sometimes too much for their brain to comprehend. But in some situations it was a welcome thing.

Like now. Teddy called them sprout and the doors opened to a house that was theirs. Was decorated with them in mind, by someone who not only had a good eye for interior design but who knew them. They thought of their bedroom in Worm Row, which had been decorated with a poster that had been gifted by Ariadne and a few random plants and candles. It had been bare besides those few things, lacking in personality. They hadn’t thought they’d had one of those. They had thought that whatever identity they’d had had been left at the estate, when they had abandoned their title of dewisedig.

But this was theirs. This was made for them. This fitted whatever personality they had apparently been showing to Teddy. The cozy couch, the kitchen that looked well-used but more than functional. A little outdated, but still working. The plants were especially fitting, even if they were fake. The art pieces were ones they liked, even they couldn’t quite put into words why. It was all proof, though, that they were seen.

They were quiet as they moved through the house, aside from a few sounds of surprise. They liked that it wasn’t too big. That the bed was covered in a quilt. They ran their fingers over the handiwork, looking up at Teddy. “It’s …”

Wynne didn’t want to start crying again. They looked outside, at the far away ocean view. They exhaled deeply. “It’s too much.” How did one accept such a gift? How could they, when they had done nothing in return? Wasn’t everything a give and take? A balance? They were blinking at Teddy. “Right? It’s — it’s perfect. It’s so perfect. It’s too much.” They had to give something in return but they had nothing but their empty hands and the things they could make. Nothing of this scale. “It’s beautiful. I love — it. But …” Their lip trembled. They didn’t know why they were getting so upset. “Teddy …”

—

“No, hey–” Teddy saw the wobble, the break in resolve. They knew this all might have been a little overwhelming but they never wanted Wynne to cry, or anything even remotely close. Teddy pulled the shorter one into a hug. One hand cupping the back of their head while Ted’s chin rested neatly on the top of their head. “None of that, okay? You earned it, sprout. Don’t gotta give me anything back. This isn’t transactional okay? It’s your turn to grow, I’m just here to make sure you got the sunshine.”

In their mind, this was all the logical progression of the story. Levi had taken in a kid, bound to sacrifice and raised them. Wynne might have been a bit older than young Teds, but they were still just a kid. Needed a home. Needed someone there to support them when shit got rough. Someone who could give advice and comfort. Not that Teddy was the best at either, but they had a lot of love to give, and Wynne was as deserving, if not more, than anyone.

—

They felt themself tremble and when Teddy pulled them close, their face resting against their chest. Tears still spilled, even if they were told there was no need for it. Wynne let out a shaky exhale and returned the embrace, nodding their head against Teddy’s hand and chest. “Okay.” Not transactional. A space to exist, a space to simply be and be safe. What else could they ask for? A place to come home to, created with care and meant to be somewhat permanent. “Okay. Okay, if you’re sure.”

They eventually let go from the embrace, looking around the place again. Their chest felt heavy, but less so than it had felt before. It would take a while to get used to this, but maybe that was alright. “It’s really beautiful,” they said, a little breathless. They weren’t sure what to do next, but when their gaze rested on the entertainment system they looked at Teddy. “Will you … show me what all that is, how it works?” That would be good. To listen, to watch and to busy both their hands. Wynne smiled. “I’m a … noob, is what they call it, I think.” And Teddy was good at those things, not just at explaining things but all of this — at giving.

#wickedswriting #ohwynne #eldritchaccident

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