#I know Hanukkah is already over but still happy holidays even though I’m late

[pkmn-smashorpass]

Merry day for everyone!

I know some people don't celebrate Christmas (or hanukkah or another holiday) but i hope your day goes great nonetheless!

Also happy birthday to you!

-🌵

Happy holiday season to everyone!!! Even if that just means the upcoming new year!!! And thank you ❤️

[dickwheelie]

this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

[livesincerely]

it’s beginning to look a lot like... ch. 4 (END)

Also on Ao3. Chapter three here.

00000

The Twelfth Christmas

“You’re shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” 

“Yes you are, you dirty cheater!”

“You’re just mad ‘cause I’m winning⁠—”

“You wouldn’t be winning if you weren’t shaking the table⁠—”

“Hey, chill the fuck out,” Jack interjects, wandering over to investigate before things can get out of hand. “We’re gonna get another noise complaint.”

“Charlie’s cheating!” Tony insists. “He’s shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” Charlie denies. “Tony’s just a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser!”

“Well, you’re definitely not a sore winner!”

“I said, chill out,” Jack says firmly. “Or I’m gonna be the one sweeping the pot.”

“Aw, Jack!” they whine in unison.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jack says. “Choo-Choo, stop shaking the table,” —Charlie ducks his head, pouting⁠— “and Racer, stop stealing from Charlie’s pile when he ain’t lookin’,” —Tony’s eyes go wide⁠— “yeah, Tones, I saw that.”

There’s a few grumbles, but no real arguments. 

Satisfied that he’s halted World War Dreidel, at least for now, Jack goes back to the living room and crawls into the Pillow Fort. 

“Everything okay?” Davey asks, lifting his arm so that Jack can snuggle back into his side. 

“Just another throw down,” Jack says, resting his head against Davey’s chest. “You know how they get.”

“There’s no mercy in dreidel,” Davey says, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Only annihilation and bragging rights.”

Jack laughs softly. “Yeah, I think they’ve really taken that rule to heart, querido. They’re planning total domination and they ain’t afraid to go through each other to get it.”

He takes another moment to get good and comfortable—arms tucked around Davey’s waist, one hand slipping up under Davey’s shirt to sit against the curve of his stomach. Davey throws his legs over Jack’s, his arm a warm weight across Jack’s shoulders, and he tugs a blanket up to cover them.

Davey asks, “Good?”

“Go for it,” Jack murmurs.

Davey unearths the remote from their nest of pillows and hits play; the dvd picks up right where they left it before Jack got up, with Hiccup finding Toothless in the quarry.

They’re watching the movie and not watching the movie. They’ve probably seen it about a hundred times, it’s not like they don’t know what’s gonna happen, so it’s sort of just on for background noise and because it wouldn’t be Christmas without it. Mostly they’re just sitting together, enjoying each others’ company as the last few hours of the day wind down. 

It’s been an impossibly hectic holiday season: Davey’s semester didn’t end until the 20th, leaving only a couple of days for frantic Hanukkah shopping and barely more than that for last-minute Christmas shopping. There’s still a handful of nights of Hanukkah left⁠—they’re spending the rest of the week at the Jacobs’ to finish out the holiday, then ringing in the New Year the night after, leaving tonight as the only lull in the madness. 

Well, considering the muffled arguing he can still hear coming from the kitchen table, there’s never really a lull in the madness. But lying here, settled in with Davey’s fingers combing through his hair and his heartbeat beneath his ear, the boys happy and whole just a few feet away… Jack can’t imagine anything better.

He shifts slightly, tipping his head up just enough to see⁠: Davey’s looking towards the TV, his expression soft with relaxation and a hint of sleepiness, the fairly lights casting a gentle glow across his features and leaving specks of color dancing in his eyes.

Jack’s heart does a little loop-de-loop around his chest. He never gets tired of looking at Davey. He’s pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life looking at Davey.

“What’re you thinking about so hard, Jackie, love?” Davey asks after a while.

Jack curls around him that much more, his hands sliding up to splay wide over Davey’s ribcage. 

“Nothin’,” he says, quietly content. “Still jus’ thinkin’ about tomorrow.”

Davey hums in acknowledgement, his nails scratching lightly at the nape of Jack’s neck. “Mama’s been hinting that she wants us down there as soon as physically possible⁠. She sounded pretty frazzled⁠—I think Les must be driving them all a bit crazy, waiting.”

“What, and she thinks adding us into the mix is gonna grant her some peace?” Jack asks with a snort. “Charlie, Tony, and Les might distract each other for a while, maybe, but there’s no way whatever Les is puttin’ her through now is worse than whatever the three of ‘em together will cook up and unleash. But either way, I’m not goin’ anywhere until we get at least two loads of laundry done because that sucked ass last year, coming home to a shit-ton of dirty sheets and blankets.”

“Yeah, I figured we wouldn’t be getting there until early afternoon-ish,” Davey says. “I told her maybe 2pm or 3? And, at this point I think she’d take the chaos if it meant she could get a few hours in the kitchen, uninterrupted, without Les trying to talk her into a round of dreidel. Apparently he’s taking the tournament very seriously this year.”

“There’s somethin more serious than whatever the fuck went down last year? I didn’t think that was possible,” Jack says. He pauses for a moment, considering. ”Oh, hell, what am I sayin’? This is Les, Charlie, and Tony we’re talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, Mama said the same thing,” Davey agrees. “She specifically mentioned that they’re setting aside a separate table just for dreidel⁠—somewhere safely away from any food or drinks or breakable glassware, presumably.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Jack says. “Though, I’m tellin’ ya now, if anyone ends up with sufganiyot in their hair again, I’m groundin’ both of ‘em ‘til Easter.”

“God, can you even imagine?” Davey says, laughing. “I thought Sarah was gonna murder all three of them.”

“I thought Racer was gonna shatter a window, with how loud he screamed when she started chasin’ him,'' Jack adds. “Then, remember? We found him hidin’ under your old bed?”

“Oh my god,” Davey says, his laughter bubbling up into a full on giggle. “I totally forgot about that!”

Maybe it’s the holiday getting to him. Maybe it’s the bit of eggnog he had earlier or the smell of pine and the hint of candle smoke in the air or maybe it’s just the way that Davey’s looking at him, expression bright and his eyes crinkled up at the corners, but suddenly Jack’s heart feels too big in his chest⁠—like his entire self might burst open.

“What?” Davey asks, still smiling, when he notices Jack staring at him. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when we were at your parents house?” Jack asks. “Not last Hanukkah, but the one before that? When you first started your grad program?”

“What about it?” 

“It was, like, a week before Christmas, a coupl’a days into Hanukkah'' Jack starts, thinking back. “I picked you up from campus right after your last test, already had the car packed and the boys bickering in the backseat, and between the snow and the holiday traffic, it took us, like, four hours just to get to your parents house, and I loved every fucking minute of it. ‘Cause you’d moved out, an’ you had classes an’ finals an’ a whole fucking graduate dorm an’ it felt like I hadn’t seen you in weeks, weeks, after four years of livin’ in each other’s back pockets an’ I missed you so fucking much. You weren’t even twenty minutes away but it felt like you were gone⁠, all’a the time—”

Jack’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling, and he’s not sure if he’s even making any sense. But Davey makes no move to interrupt him, listening with that quiet intensity of his, eyes wide and warm.

“⁠—and I’d spent all of fall looking forward to the end of your semester because then I’d have you for a whole month. A whole month, where things could be like they were, like they were s’pposed to be. I’d get to make ya coffee in the morning and hear ya singin’ in the shower and see ya reading on the couch when I got home from work. I was so excited, but I hadn’t realized yet, you know? I didn’t know.”

He pauses for a breath, heart fluttering a little in his chest, then continues.

“But then, that evening at your parents… you never sleep the night before you have a big test, always stay up too late studying and worrying, and sure enough, you were passed out before Jeopardy even came on, absolutely exhausted. I hadta carry ya upstairs later⁠; your Ma had made up your old room for us so I just tucked you in, then slipped into bed beside you. I didn’t think anythin’ of it ‘cause we always share and you didn’t even wake up, just kept on sleepin’. But then, the next morning…”

Jack raises a hand and drags his thumb gently over the ridge of Davey’s forehead.

“You always get a little wrinkle right here, when you ain’t been sleepin’ enough,” he murmurs, rubbing away an imaginary crease between Davey’s brows. “Tension, I guess. It’s how I can always tell that you ain’t been taking care of yourself. But that next morning, I woke up and you’d sort of curled around me in your sleep, half on top of me. My whole fucking arm was numb ‘cause of how you were lying on it but I didn’t dare move ‘cause you looked so comfortable. No wrinkle, no crease, no frown… and I just kept lookin’ atcha an’ lookin’ atcha…”

His hand slides down, cupping around the side of Davey’s face. Jack looks him right in the eyes and says, “And suddenly I thought to myself, ‘Holy shit, I am apocalyptically in love with this man.’”

There’s the tiniest sound of an inhaled breath, Davey’s throat working beneath his palm. 

“‘Cause I hadn’t known, ya know? But once I did—once I realized⁠—then I knew. I figured out right then and there that all I wanted was you, that all I’d ever wanted was you, and the boys, and all of us together for as long as I could keep ya. That I’d wanted you since ya brought me that hat and scarf ‘cause you wanted me to be warm, an’ the phone card ‘cause you wanted us to be able to talk, an’ the sketchbook ‘cause you wanted me to have something just for having, and it hurt so bad because it was too late, you’d already moved out, you were pullin’ away, an’ I had a whole month of fucking torture because I had you right where I wanted you but I didn’t actually have you⁠—”

Davey leans that barest bit closer and kisses him, long and slow. 

“You’ve always had me,” he promises. “Jackie, you’ve always⁠—”

“But I didn’t know,” Jack says. “And you didn’t know that you had me. But really, the whole time we could’ve been⁠—”

“We were idiots,” Davey agrees, pressing his forehead to Jack’s. “But what else is new?”

“I love you,” Jack says, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “I love you so much, Davey. You don’t even realize how much I love you.”

“Sure I do,” Davey says, his voice a little wet, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze. “It’s about as much as I love you. Now stop it before you make me cry.”

“Love of my life,” Jack says. “‘M so lucky to have you.”

“Jack.”

Jack smiles, lifting their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Davey’s knuckles.

“Happy Hanukkah, Dave.”

“Merry Christmas, Jackie.”

00000

Tags: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

[reyesstrand]

let your heart be light

tarlos & firefam dynamics / teen+ / 2.6k

To be fair, TK wasn’t sure what to expect for his first holiday season in Austin. But he has his dad, he has his team, he has Carlos—and it’s enough.

@911giftexchange for @teaamfreewill — i hope you enjoy this AJ, and have a happy holiday season!!! 💗

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3!!

“It just doesn’t feel right without snow.”

Paul looks at him with that ever-present, all-knowing look in his eyes, before letting out a sigh and nodding. “You’re telling me, New York.”

“Like,” TK starts, fully aware that he’s gravitating into rambling status at this point, but he can never stop himself. He rests a foot on the bottom rung of the shopping cart, leaning his weight against the handle as Paul analyzes the nutritional facts on two different brands of steel-cut oats. “It doesn’t feel like the holidays without at least one storm that makes you question your existence.”

Humming in agreement, Paul puts one package back on the shelf and tosses the other in the cart, before hesitating and grabbing a few more of the pale-blue bags before they're good to move on to produce. When there's a comfortable lull in conversation, both of them crossing items off the list his dad's very carefully crafted for the bi-weekly shopping trips, TK lets his mind drift to holidays past.

His parents wanted him to grow up with both the tradition of celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas, but as he grew older, Decembers tended to blur into every other month. He'd always call his mom if he was working late, smiling down at photos she'd send him of her attempts to perfect her grandmother's recipe for sufganiyot, always making his stomach rumble. And, even if she was out of the city at the time, she'd always send him a box of homemade pastries and a card with a lengthy message inscribed inside that'd make him feel warmed from the inside out. And his dad would always make him at least come for a dinner on the twenty-fifth, even if dinner was just takeout eaten straight out of the cartons while they watched the Christmas parade he always recorded.

They were simple traditions, but they were theirs.

In Austin, TK's slowly getting used to calling it home. The snow thing had been the first to strike him, because while he's seen his fair share of strange Texan weather, not waking up to white covering every surface and bitter cold nipping at his skin has been throwing him for a loop. 

"Earth to TK," Paul says, tossing him a bell pepper. TK catches it, rolling his eyes playfully at his friend. "We should start figuring out a place and time for the Not-Christmas dinner."

"Carlos offered his place," TK says, without thinking. Paul just grins at him. 

"That seems to be going well, huh?" Paul asks, hip-checking TK as they walk side-by-side to the checkout. TK feels his face go warm, though he busies himself with adjusting the rolled sleeves of his black t-shirt, printed with the 126 crest over his heart. Paul just musses up his hair before ducking out of grasp for retaliation, sidling up to the cashier and offering his big smile at her while she begins to ring them up. "I'm happy for you, kid. We all are." 

TK does smile at that, because it's the one shining light in all of this. He hadn't been sure what a holiday season with a new boyfriend would be like, especially when every single one of his friends were also friends with said boyfriend, but they've all been relatively tame. No shoving them under the mistletoe yet, which TK guesses is only a matter of time. 

"Anyway," Paul says, and TK sticks his hands into his pockets, suddenly glad Marjan isn't here to poke at his pink cheeks. 

"Anyway," TK agrees. "Carlos did offer to let us use his place, though. He suggested the twenty-second, so that way people could still go see their families." 

"The twenty-second it is," Paul smiles, already typing the date into their group chat, followed by five question marks. Because Carlos thought ahead for these things, TK knows they're all already going to be on one of their twenty-four-hour off periods; Carlos works that morning but will be home by noon, and as long as TK has detailed instructions, he won't have a problem starting the food early. 

A small knot forms deep in TK's chest, even though he knows there's still two weeks before the proposed group dinner. He just thanks the cashier after paying with the credit card his dad gave him before they left the station an hour ago, and they head back out into the sunny, barely-cool, snowless, December afternoon. 

***

TK's just hanging up with his mom, absently kicking at a rock in the lot just outside the bay doors, when he feels someone creep up behind him. 

He doesn't even blink, though, because he smells sandalwood and tangy citrus and is smiling before he feels familiar arms settle around him. He tells his mom I love you, too, and stuffs his phone in his pocket and leans back into Carlos' touch, for half a moment, before turning in his arms and pressing their foreheads together. 

"Did you know you're impossible to shop for?" 

TK grins, and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Carlos' mouth before pulling back enough to look him in the eye. "What a welcoming statement after not seeing each other for twenty-seven hours." 

Carlos rolls his eyes affectionately, and tightens his hold around TK's middle. "I missed you, Ty." 

"I missed you too," TK grins, cupping Carlos' face between his palms and finally closing the distance between them properly. "But I do take offence to that. I'm perfect in every way." 

Carlos huffs a laugh against his mouth and presses in for one more kiss, before scraping his blunt nails against the fine hairs at TK's nape. "Believe me, I know, sweetheart." 

He feels a pleasant ripple shoot through him, and TK's struck again by the fact that he gets to have this. He's close enough to see the flecks of gold in Carlos' warm brown eyes, and he wonders how it's only been three months because he feels like he's known him forever. He thinks of decorating with Marjan today and the sudden pang of homesickness that he couldn't quite explain. 

"You okay?" Carlos asks, because he can read even the most microscopic of his expressions like the back of his own hand. TK covers it up with a smile. 

"Yeah, of course," TK brushes his thumb along Carlos' jaw, before standing back, dragging his hand down the length of Carlos' arm so he could grab his hand and tangle their fingers together. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner." 

"My prince," Carlos plays along, hand over his heart, but there's still a look in his eyes. He runs his thumb over the backs of TK's knuckles, and when TK squeezes his hand tighter, he gets a small smile in return. 

***

They'd realized sometime between Thanksgiving and the first of December that they'd have to celebrate as a team, this year. 

The non-denominational, coined-by-Mateo "Not-Christmas Dinner" idea was agreed upon pretty quickly, and TK is beyond excited to start creating new traditions with his family. But he's struggling, is the thing. He wouldn't ever mention it to anyone because he hates stressing them out, and though he has no urge to do anything stupid because for the first time in a while he's happy—like, really fucking happy—he can't help but to feel like everything has to be perfect. 

It boils down to this: he misses his mom like crazy, even though she stayed with him and his dad for a couple weeks back in September when he was still healing. He's finally getting back on track with his dad, after long nights of hashing things out about his childhood. And he and Alex never did much for the holidays save for giving each other a couple gifts because they could never work out how to spend an equal amount of time with both of their families—which, in hindsight, is yet another element of the two and a half years TK lost to the man he thought was his soulmate—but now with Carlos he just wants things to be special. They already have plans to visit Carlos' mom and sisters on Christmas Eve, and Owen had lovingly coerced Carlos into a Strand family dinner on Christmas Day. 

It just feels like a lot. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Marjan asks, bumping his shoulder with hers as she strolls into Carlos' kitchen. The twenty-second kind of crept up on TK, and now he's here, attempting to hold down the fort while Carlos makes a last-minute trip to the store. His kitchen's a homey space, and, like the rest of his boyfriend's place, it's tastefully decorated with garland and candles and little angel statues that have been passed down through his family. There's a photo of the two of them on Carlos' fridge, pressed together at a pumpkin patch they'd spent a date night at back in October, and TK gets a little lost in the memory. Marjan has to nudge him a little harder to get him to snap back into it. "TK?" 

"Oh, hey," TK smiles at her, and goes back to making sure that the green beans don't stick to the bottom of the pan. She claims a burner of her own to keep her tagine warm, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded over her chest. 

"You're spacing out a bit," Marjan says, and when TK keeps his eyes trained on the vegetables he swore he could handle, she just makes a small noise and places a hand on his shoulder. "You've been a little quiet lately."

There's a pause, where neither of them say anything, before Marjan drops her voice a little and adds:

"Hey, you know you can talk to me, right?" 

"I'm just—" TK shakes his head and bites at the inside of his cheek, turning down the heat to try and kill more time.

He doesn't know how to tell her—and the rest of them—that he's both so thankful for this family he's found and so, so terrified of messing it all up. Thankfully, he doesn't have to; there's a knock at the door and Marjan offers to get it, leaving TK alone with a soft smile. He sighs, and closes his eyes for a long moment. 

***

After food has been served, and gifts have been exchanged, they all sit around Carlos' living room. The conversations overlap like they always do, and TK sits comfortably under the glow of the light from the tree and the warmth of Carlos' arm thrown over his shoulder. He's slowly picking at a piece of Grace's pecan pie, and he knows he should just let himself get lost in the moment, but he can't. He taps his foot at a staccato beat against the floor, and even when Carlos throws him a questioning look and settles his hand on TK's knee, he doesn't stop. 

He finally excuses himself ten minutes later. 

Carlos' place has a nice little backyard area, where they've all gathered for parties and after-work hangouts countless times. It's a little chilly as the sun's gone down, and TK sighs out loud and sees his breath puff out in front of him. He smiles just a little, and kicks his foot against the porch, dropping down onto the steps. 

He's expecting Carlos to come after him; or maybe Marjan, or his dad. Instead it's Grace who settles down next to him, a hand splayed over her four-month pregnant belly. 

"Honey," she starts, and TK ducks his head. His eyes burn, and he roughly sniffs. "TK. You don't have to hide whatever you're thinking from us." 

He takes a deep breath, and scrubs a hand down his face. And then he says: "I don't want to bring down your mood." 

Grace gives him one of her warm smiles. "TK, every day I'm reminded why you and my husband get along so well." 

TK rolls his eyes and gently nudges her arm with his shoulder. 

"Now tell me what's wrong," Grace says, and TK rubs the back of his neck before he starts talking. 

He tells her everything. About how the holidays usually meant bickering with Alex. How it meant celebrating with both of his parents, sure, but also dealing with awkward dinners with their new significant others. About how he hasn't felt this good since he was a kid and he doesn't want to fuck it up. 

"You could never fuck it up," Grace tells him, squeezing his hand that she's been holding between both of hers. TK meets her eyes and finds nothing but sincerity, nothing but the warmth and reassurance that always seems to be there. "Never. And know that all of us in there don't care about perfect as long as we have you, as long as we're all together. Now, I'm going to send that beautiful man of yours out here so you can talk to him, because he's been worried." 

At that exact moment, they hear the telltale creak of the door opening; both of them glance over their shoulders and spot Carlos. 

He moves to leave, lifting a hand in apology. "Sorry to interrupt—" 

"I was just leaving," Grace says, getting to her feet and squeezing TK's shoulder for a brief moment. When she disappears back into the house, Carlos takes her spot, and wordlessly presses a lingering kiss to TK's temple. 

"Ty," Carlos starts, and TK stops him in his tracks with a kiss. 

"I'm sorry for being distant, lately," TK murmurs half against his lips, because even though he knows that Carlos has seen him pretty close to his worst he hates the thought of pulling him down; of making him unhappy. "I'm just—it's been so long since I've had this. And I've never had someone like you. I was so worried about not messing things up that I got in my head." 

"Hey," Carlos whispers, getting TK to look him in the eye. "Please don't apologize, okay? We're all healthy, and here together—that's what matters, right? That I get to have you by my side through it all?"

Could you blame TK for surging forward to kiss him again? 

When they part, TK whispers: "Thank you." 

"What for?" Carlos asks, eyes glinting with confusion. 

"For being you," TK says, knowing how it sounds. 

Carlos shakes his head, moving to lace their fingers together. 

They move in unison to press their foreheads together, and TK whispers, "I love you so much. I just needed you to know that." 

"Of course I do," Carlos says, smiling into it when he kisses TK before speaking again. "I love you too. And I don't want you to feel like you have to—to hide what you're feeling." 

TK just lets himself have what he wants, what he needs in the moment, and it's this: Carlos' mouth against his, again and again. 

***

They re-enter the party ten minutes later, and all eyes are on them when they slip into the living room. 

TK opens his mouth to make some big declaration, but Marjan catches his eye, and then Paul. Then it's his dad who dramatically clears his throat and points above the two of them. 

Because, of course, there's mistletoe fastened to the doorway above them. 

"I hate you all," TK mutters, to which Judd yells lies! and Paul yells something about getting on with it. So, TK does; he presses his palms to either side of Carlos' face and grins at him before closing the distance between them. There's a whoop from someone for effect, and then when they pull apart Marjan pulls him down next to her on the loveseat so he can be thrown into a conversation about fighting mall elves they'd had to deal with during a call yesterday. 

Looking around the room, he realizes he had nothing to worry about at all. And, to be fair, TK wasn't sure what to expect for his first holiday season in Austin. But he has his dad, he has his team, he has Carlos—and it's enough. 

[ladyideal]

Ficmas~ Day 18

Pairing: Eomer x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 1042

Warnings: religious tone, mention of Canon violence.

Summary: You, Eomer, Eowyn, and Faramir come together to celebrate (C)hanuk(k)ah.

Requested By: @groovyfluxie

A/N: I hope I did this justice. But if anyone wants to correct me on anything, please throw me a message and I'll fix it.

"Say it slowly again, my love."

You giggled. Teaching Hebrew words to Eomer was becoming a challenge. Sometimes he'd get close, but most of the time his pronunciation was nowhere close. Yet it warmed your heart that the prince would try to learn your religion.

For that, you were grateful.

"Tznuit," You tried once more, fighting the grin off your face as you tried not to laugh out loud. The sun had set over the horizon, and Eomer headed inside after a day of training his men. 

He shook his head. "Elvish seems nothing compared to that beautiful language. Forgive me my love, but I'll keep on learning. I am nowhere near modest though."

"Will Eowyn join us?"

"Unfortunately not, Faramir and her have been joined at the hip ever since they've been wed," He shook his head. "She sent gifts in advance for tonight."

You brightened up at the thought. Eowyn always sent thoughtful gifts from jams to tunics. "I'll thank her on the next package over to Gondor."

Of course, it'd been a little more than a year since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields that made your husband King of Rohan. King Theoden passed on the fields, and without an heir, the crown changed to your then fiancé. Within a year, he was crowned King, you married him, and ruled by his side. 

Eowyn also married Faramir, the last of the family that stood as the Steward of Gondor. The dead were mourned, the injured were treated, and lives were slowly rebuilt back to its former glory. 

Suddenly, a Rohirrim rushed into the hall, breathless as he slid in front of Eomer and you, and bowed. "My Lord, Lady Eowyn and Captain of Gondor have arrived."

Sharing a giddy grin, you bounded out and met Eowyn with a bear hug. "Eowyn!"

"Y/N! Chag urim sameach!" (Happy Festival of Lights.)

You squealed in delight. "You actually learned how to say it! But I thought you weren't coming. Eomer said-."

"Eomer?" She laughed, letting you go and shaking her head. "No, no. Brother wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to let the gifts arrive early or I would forget to bring them along the trip. I thought it would be nice to learn a little Hebrew, even Faramir knows."

“Hanukkah sameach!” Your brother in law greeted. (Happy Hanukkah.)

Both Eomer and Faramir nodded at one another, hugging each other with a one armed hug. 

"We're not late are we?" She peered back at you with a frown. "I told Faramir here to leave earlier."

"No, no," You stepped back to Eomer's side. "Was just about to start actually, so you came just in time."

"Let us change out of our travel cloaks and we'll join you."

Placing the last candle onto the menorah, you took a deep breath. 

"Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah," You started.

(Praised are You,

Our God, Ruler of the universe, Who made us holy through Your commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah lights.)

"Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh."

(Praised are You,

Our God, Ruler of the universe, Who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors in those ancient days at this season.)

With the shammash in one hand, you lit the last remaining unlit candle. Watching as the candle lit up, you smiled as you replaced the ninth one and turned to your small, but happy family.

"I'm starving, anyone ready for dinner?" You grinned, thankful that everyone you loved was alive and well. King Theoden's death was a hard hit on Eomer and Eowyn, and you understood their grief. 

It took a moment for them to shake out of their own stupor. Faramir lost his older brother Boromir to the orcs, and his father on the eve of the battle. Much like your husband, your now sister in law had her own fair share of grief in pain. 

But still thankful for the men that died serving for King, country, and Middle Earth. 

"Before I forget, I brought your favorite jelly donuts too." Eowyn spoke, smirking as your eyes widened. 

"You made sufganiyot?! You're the best Eowyn."

"I know I am," She laughed.

Soon, plates upon plates of latkes, a large pot of brisket stew, and a few dishes of savory kugel were placed on the table. Already you had sneaked in a jelly donut and nearly moaned out loud on how good it tasted. If it wasn't for your husband to literally toll you away from the dessert, you wouldn't have enough room for dinner. 

The challah and pretzels were freshly baked. Even gelfite fish and tzimmes made a show this year, courtesy of Eowyn again. 

"Thank you for coming," You spoke gratefully. "Edoras can be painfully silent without you. When your brother gets busy during the day, I have learned to find a hobby of my own or go out for some gardening."

"Oh don't I know it, Y/N," She teased back, helping herself to another portion of the potato latkes. "Eomer won't ever admit it, but-."

"Eowyn," Your husband cut in, a warning tone present in his voice.

"Oh come on, tell me. If he's already trying to stop you from telling a secret, I would love to know." You grinned, scooching your chair closer to hers. 

"Only if I win the dreidel this year. I don't kiss and tell," She grinned wickedly. 

"You're lucky I managed to make some gelts this year, nearly burned down the kitchen when the cooks messed up the first batch," You paused. "You're on."

"I have a little dreidel. I made it out of clay.

And when it's dry and ready, then dreidel I shall play.

Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay.

Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, then dreidel I shall play."

As Eowyn sang the dreidel song, you leaned on Eomer's shoulder with a content smile. It had been a busy day filled with cooking and baking, but everything was all worth it to have the Great Hall filled with warmth and laughter. 

"Y/N?"

"Hm?" You answered. 

"An L’Dodi V’Dodi Li. Chag Sameach, Y/N.” (I Am My Beloved’s And My Beloved Is Mine. Happy holidays.)

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @bluesclues-1234 @mournthewicked @keijibum @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @also-fangirlinsweden @fandom-imagination-ss @mysoulshideaway @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations @lykxzandlove @supergeekfangirl​ @your-sparklywinnercollection​

Tolkien: @im-a-muggleborn @fxngsfogxarty

Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @yueci

[jemelle]

reflections {ncis}

rating: g

pairing: n/a, ziva david & abby sciuto

summary: 'Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they?' (or: Ziva & Abby celebrate Hanukkah)

a/n: set season 3 aka 2005. written for day 10 of the holiday special organized by @blakes-dictionxry, though i did stretch the prompt (when do i not?) i’m not Jewish, so if i’ve misrepresented something, please let me know! thank you for reading and chag chanukah sameach!

my masterlist

you can also read this story on ao3 here!

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." – Edith Wharton

Ziva is supposed to be on vacation. Right now, she should be at a nice hotel outside of Annapolis, taking a bubble bath and reading the kind of magazines that Tony would never let her live down. It’s the day after Christmas, after all. Judging from the way some people in this country act, if anyone should be able to convince people to hold off on committing crimes for a few days, it’s the Christian God. Yet somehow, she’s still at work.

The phone call had come at eight in the morning, jolting Ziva out of a rare lie-in. She had reached for the receiver in the darkness, cursing loudly in Hebrew as her hand banged into the lamp on the side table.

“What is it?” she had groused without bothering to check the caller ID, voice still heavy from sleep. There was only one person who would dare disturb her this early, and she already had a good idea of what Gibbs was going to say.

“We got a case,” was the response, much as she had expected. Ziva had sighed, hanging up and running a hand through her unkempt hair. She really did not get paid enough for this.

In the end, it had turned out to be a simple case. One hard look at the brother and he had confessed, a jealous rage taken too far. No red herrings, no international crime syndicates. A waste of their investigative skills, if she’s being honest. 

The case itself had finished around four in the afternoon, but then there was the paperwork, and it was entirely possible Ziva had been putting off last week’s work as well. By the time she’s finished all of that, it’s too late to drive to her (non-refundable, she feels the need to add) reservation if she wants to arrive at a reasonable hour.

She’s getting ready to leave, promising herself that she can still salvage what’s left of this day, when McGee tells her that she’s needed urgently in Abby’s lab. As far as Ziva can remember, she hasn’t asked Abby for anything recently, so she approaches the lab carefully, half-expecting to find a sobbing Abby on the floor. Why Tony and Tim expect her to be able to deal with emotions, she’ll never understand. She may be a woman, but Ziva thinks she’s proven time and time again that emotional connection is not her forte.

The lights are dimmed when Ziva rounds the corner into Abby’s lab, but Abby herself is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ziva sees a neatly set table with two place settings and, strangely, a hanukkiah. 

Tonight is the second night of Hanukkah. Ziva knows that– she had packed her own hanukkiah in her suitcase, intending to light it and pray when she reached her hotel room. But, to the best of Ziva’s knowledge, Abby isn’t Jewish.

Ziva raps lightly on the door to the lab, watching as Abby emerges from a shadowed back corner of the room. She sure can hide, Ziva will give her that. 

“What is this?” Ziva asks, gesturing at the spread in front of her.

“Happy Hanukkah!” Abby says, as if that answers the question. She steps further out of the shadows and Ziva can see that she’s holding a frying pan. 

“Thank you.” Ziva is confused, to put it mildly. While she appreciates the sentiment, she's still no closer to understanding the rationale behind Abby’s actions.

“Well, I thought… you don’t really have any family in D.C, so I researched what to do!” Abby approaches the table, depositing what Ziva can now see are latkes on the plates. Leaving the pan on the nearest lab surface, she flicks on the lights, displaying blue and white garlands hung around the room. “I even got you a present!”

“Oh, Abby.” She really is touched, especially given the rocky start their relationship had gotten off to. This is a gesture she might expect from Jenny (well, at least the dinner portion. She doesn’t think Jenny has ever been one for tinsel), but Abby doing this is a true testament to her giant heart.

“But?” Abby prompts, and Ziva forgot that while Abby is kind, she is first and foremost always willing to speak her mind. 

Ziva feigns innocence, the best she knows how to. “But what?”

Abby pouts. “There’s a but, I can tell.”

No one is immune to the Abby pout. Ziva relents, sitting down in one of the chairs and motioning for Abby to join her.

“It is just that Hanukkah is not very big in Israel.” 

If Ziva were home right now, she would probably be helping to light Rivka’s family menorah, saying her blessings, and (Ziva’s personal favorite) having latkes and sufganiyot. When she was eight, Ziva had eaten so many sufganiyot that she’d sworn off them forever. Naturally, her family had never let her live that down. They had been a family once, before Eli had left and Tali had died and Ari had become someone she no longer recognized.

“It’s not?” Abby’s voice pulls Ziva out of her memories.

“No. It is a big deal in America because Christmas is such a big deal. Children see all their friends getting presents and they want them too. In Israel, Hanukkah is about family.” Sure, there are parties and festivals, but none of this extravagant gift-giving she has seen in America. Ziva has nothing against adapting traditions, but the American celebrations hold nothing of value to her.

Abby’s face falls, and Ziva mentally kicks herself. “It is lovely, though,” she says, reaching past Abby to dim the lights again. There. Without the garlands in sight, it reminds her much more of the Hanukkahs she remembers.

“I know I wasn’t always… the nicest to you,” Abby says, and Ziva laughs, because that is the understatement of the century. “But… I really like you, Ziva David, and even if I didn’t, you’re part of our family now.”

Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they? Though they are her team by definition, the word team can’t possibly encompass all they meant to her. 

Gibbs is the only one who knows her secret and the only one she would have trusted with it. Tony and McGee are always by her side, ready to insult or defend her at a moment’s notice. Ducky is an ever-friendly ear and Jimmy a kind presence. Ziva includes Jenny in her count as well, though she isn’t sure Jenny would have included herself; she is always watching out for them, playing the games none of the rest of them want. And here is Abby, so different from Ziva in almost every regard, trying to make her feel at home.

If she were more sentimental, Ziva would call it a miracle. She had lost her first family a long time ago, even if Eli and Rivka are still alive. That a group of people are willing to accept her, to give her a second chance, makes her heart swell and her eyes water in an utterly un-Ziva fashion.

A tear must escape her eye, because before she knows it Abby is handing her a tissue. Ziva takes it, only slightly mortified, dabbing at her eyes until they’re dry. 

“I am okay,” she says in response to Abby’s unasked question. 

Wordlessly, Abby pulls a square box out of her pocket and slides it across the table. It’s wrapped in patterned paper, sparkling white stars against a midnight blue sky. Ziva slides a careful finger under the seam of the paper, trying not to rip it. 

Inside is a plain white mug. Ziva picks it up with two hands, spinning it around to reveal a simple Z printed on it.

“Thank you, Abby,” she says sincerely, before chuckling. “Now Tony will not be able to pretend he accidentally forgot which coffee mug is his.”

Abby’s smile drops, and she looks as though she might cry. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, but no sound escapes. Ziva waits patiently, because getting information out of Abby when she’s not ready to speak is like trying to get an internationally wanted criminal to talk.

When she finally speaks, Ziva has to strain to hear her. “I’m sorry… it’s just that the way you said that reminded me of Kate. I miss her.”

“Kate sounds like a wonderful person,” Ziva says. When she had first joined, that might have been a lie. She had quickly gotten sick of hearing how amazing Kate had been, of trying to measure up to a ghost. Now, Ziva knows that she can’t try to be anyone but who she is, and she only wishes she could have met the woman who apparently was more than a match for Tony.

“She was,” Abby responds, and now she’s the one who’s crying.

Ziva leans across the table, letting Abby hold her hands while she sobs. After a little while, Abby lets go, wiping her eyes with another tissue pulled from the depths of her lab coat. Absent-mindedly, Ziva picks up the matchbox lying by the hanukkiah, turning it over in her hands.

“Do you know the story of Hanukkah?” she asks. Abby shakes her head, eyes still watery. Ziva smiles, letting her head fill with memories of Hanukkahs past, she and Tali and Ari all clamoring to be the one to tell the story.

“Well,” Ziva says, striking a match against the box and using the match to light the shammash, the tallest candle in the hanukkiah. She removes the candle from its holder, using it to light the first and second candles, before returning it to its place, Abby watching her raptly the entire time. “Although I could begin in many, many places, our story really starts with a temple in the city of Jerusalem...”

tags: @robins-gf, @chmpgneprblms

[clumsyclifford]

hi my love i’m hope not too late but i would like you to tell me about my loves jewish cake, anything you want to but specifically baker calum 🥰 thank you i love you

of course you aren’t too late!!! ESPECIALLY to talk about jewish cake oh my goodness meg i shall die for you i love you. alright let’s see what i can dig up

ha’ahava hazot shelanu + it’s so simple

a cut, per usual

so let’s start WITH:

ha’ahava hazot shelanu

jewish cake was a labor of love for myself. little known fact about me is that i am in fact jewish! :) and around christmas time i always get a little prickly about the surplus of christmas spirit and in this case the amount of fic for it. and i’d sort of had this hesitant idea to write a jewish fic in the back of my mind for a long time, but it felt like a really big divergence from the Cast of Characters that was for some reason a lot more dramatic than any other circumstances into which i could place them, so i’d basically been hesitating for several months. in november we had a brief conversation about it in the club which looked like this

but the idea still made me a little nervous and so i kind of talked myself out of writing it, as always. and THEN, middle of december, iba sent me this 1d fic out of nowhere with this accompanying message:

and i kinda lowkey almost cried!! it was such a jewish fic. i read the word kvetch and i almost lost it. the fic was just so unabashedly jewish. and i was like...well. that’s what ive been wanting to do. so now i have no reason not to do it.

in the ao3 notes i talked a little bit about my internal debate over How Jewish To Go with the fic because on the one hand i really do understand that it can feel alienating going into a fic with zero understanding of the culture but on the other hand since it was MY fic i wanted to make it jewish the way i’m jewish. which is like...............very. i don’t think i ended up striking a balance so much as just deciding to say fuck it and write it the way i would want to read it, but i definitely think that was the right decision for me.

there was actually one more motivator for writing this fic, especially the WAY i wrote it, in eight chapters, and that motivator was that i wanted to break 400k on ao3 before the year ended. i just wanted to have an even number and 400k was a good goal. which i did achieve thanks to jewish cake fic being the 13.6k beast that she is! so that was also part of it

NOW! as for the PROCESS. i created the doc on december 22 and i originally kind of thought it was a little bitchy to write a hanukkah fic after hanukkah had already ended but was reminded that most christmas fic is neither written nor posted on actual christmas which reassured me well enough. i had already had the idea to divide it into eight chapters for the eight nights of hanukkah and i thought that would be a nice way to showcase different aspects of the holiday (seeing family, playing dreidel, opening presents etc) and also in certain cases (like the third chapter where they do some baking) some days that weren’t necessarily hanukkah-driven but just a nice natural consequence of being on break for hanukkah. i wanted it to feel like hanukkah feels to me!! normally i don’t like people seeing the way my outlines look but this one i don’t mind sharing so here’s what i had at the top of the doc for reference while i was writing. not everything in that first list got included but most of it did !!! 

i’m not really sure how this fic ended up being cake. i never used to default to cake but for some reason as i was diving into this one it just felt right. that’s all i can say about that. meg you have genuinely shifted my approach to fic i DO default to cake sometimes now and that’s on YOU. 

the very first thing i ever wrote down for this fic was this part that ended up going in the summary:

“Happy Hanukkah,” Calum says, smiling at Luke as their fingers intertwine.

Luke murmurs, “Chag sameach, ahovi,” and Calum’s face is aglow in the candlelight.

that was The Moment for me. i didn’t even write the rest of that scene until later but i had those two lines written down straight out the gate and i knew they were gonna close out the first scene because it just Felt Right. and i was right! very cool and fun for me

now the nice convenient thing about having this fic separated into eight discrete scenes/nights/chapters was that i didn’t have to write it in order, and i didn’t. i DID write the first night/chapter first, but then over the course of maybe a week, i wrote (deep breath get ready): the first half of chapter 2 (hemmings family) > the beginning of chapter 5 (the dreidel game) > most of the scene in chapter 7 > the beginning of chapter 3 (where they bake) > finished writing chapters 2 & 3 > started chapter 4 and finished chapter 5 > finished chapter 4 and wrote the rest of chapter 7 > all of chapter 6 > all of chapter 8 aka the proposal. i deliberately saved the proposal for last because i don’t think i could have written it exactly right without knowing the events that came before it but everything else was all over the place as you can see. 

a problem i ran into a lot, and i talked to my sounding board and fellow jew sam about this among many other things, was that i had a lot of trouble characterizing very obviously Not Jewish people in a way that made them Very Jewish. not even like, Jewish But You Can Ignore It. i wanted them to be front-and-center jewish like i am and that was hard for me to navigate because obviously my speech patterns and vocabulary as an american jew are extremely different from 5sos’s as australian goyim (non-jews) like i do use hebrew words in my day-to-day communication all the time and i somehow had to keep their mannerisms but also insert mine BUT not insert so many of mine that the fic became incomprehensible and it was just. a Challenge. here’s some insight into THAT crisis

and then again writing the other characters in other chapters

i sent sam the doc when i was mostly done writing it, mainly just to be reminded that at least one person was going to appreciate this fic, which worked out nicely because she very very much did. genuinely i cannot stress enough how insecure i was to write and share this fic. like i’m gonna be really straight up with you meg, i think part of the reason i had calum and luke baking sufganiyot was because to me that felt like a sort of bribe? i basically wrote what felt to me like the least appealing fic ever and then my mission from there was to add stuff in that would convince people to give it a shot anyway. i was trying to make it worth everyone’s while. the baking was my trade-off, i was like “well yeah it’s a jewish fic but maybe she’ll be happy enough that it’s cake and they’re baking that she’ll forgive it for being a jewish fic” yes i realize how kind of hilariously tragic this sounds but !!! you never get jewish fics!!! and you especially don’t get them in fanfiction for obviously non-jewish bands!!! anyway. we’re not gonna get into this whole thing but like. even though objectively i knew that i had been told again and again people would appreciate the fic i still had doubts and knowing something and feeling secure in it are very different things.

also, i didn’t remember this, but apparently i had a lot of problems with writing the proposal! here’s a sneak peek into that mental breakdown

don’t actually think the fic specifies (making life easier for myself) but they have already had dinner in that scene. so now you know. 

i could choose to not get this elbows-deep in the details of Crises I Had While Writing This Fic but instead i am choosing to go all out. here’s another thing i had trouble with:

(i did end up using transliteration obviously but i DO think actual hebrew would have been a cool flex)

and as for the title, ha’ahava hazot shelanu is the name of an ivri lider song that i love, and it translates to “this love of ours” and i realize titling the fic in hebrew was a Choice but i did talk to sam about this as well and that went roughly like this

by the way here is the song, i absolutely love it and i cannot recommend it enough. also i’m not sure how glaringly obvious this is but the chapter titles on ao3 are just hebrew numbers. like the first chapter is echad which literally means one. and so on. are they the correct genders? i don’t know ! fuck gendered language.

one more thing and then ill move on but an unfortunate natural consequence of writing a hanukkah fic (at least the way i wrote this one) is that it necessitates presents. so i had to come up with presents for these dumb boys to give each other. and to be completely honest with you i don’t remember how i did!!! the ones calum got for luke were trickier because they were actual things. for some reason this luke was always a version of luke that just kinda like, wore makeup, so that was just a question of figuring out an eyeshadow palette that would be Nice but not obscenely schmancy (i did ask the club for help since i know nothing about makeup but as usual i ignored their replies). but that by itself didn’t feel like enough of a gift, and so i tried to think of something that would be more than just the gift of an object. like, something that would maybe enable luke to spend more time on something he loves. piano music made sense to me because it wasn’t just a thing by itself it was a thing that encouraged luke to play piano and even to improve at it and to learn songs that he could be excited about. so! that was that

the trip to israel gift was a little bit of a retcon situation i really liked the idea that luke had been planning to give that “gift” to calum for a hot sec that he’d have had it ready, but i’d already written the scene where he and mali talk about israel, so i went back to it and edited it a little to hint at the idea (luke plays it off very casually because he is a clever boy) but i thought there was something very romantic in the idea of the israel trip, of luke planning a future with calum and a trip to a place that means so much to him (to me yes maybe luke and i are the same blah blah) and getting to drag calum around to falafel places and teach him words in hebrew and it just seemed like the appropriate trip for these two cute jewish boys to plan so i rolled with it.

okay moving on slightly!! to baker calum <3 baker calum was more of a cameo in the hanukkah fic, in the chapter i wrote with you in mind, but i can talk about it’s so simple here as well because i fucking adore that fic.

it’s so simple

so the inspiration behind the fic came from the “kitchens are for lovers” rhetoric and the realization that that would be the perfect...sort of thesis to build on for a fic for you in specific, because you are, in my mind, a very kitchen-based person, given your baking habit. it actually just worked out pretty nicely for me honestly because i’ve been wanting to write a big Kitchen Romance type fic for a while and you just gave me the perfect opportunity. here’s what i had at the top of the doc for the fic for you

and then once i sort of landed on the idea for the fic, it just made a lot of sense to make it jewish cake because, well, im gonna be real w you, because i identify very strongly with jewish cake and the kitchen-romance aspect felt like a very bella thing in the same way that jewish cake felt like a bella thing. and so i wanted to be able to romanticize these kitchens to share the way that i, bella, feel about them, and that was easy to do when the characters were so similar to me. not to mention this cake already existed in my head as a very settled, domestic duo, and they had their own home and had already had a kitchen-romance scene in the hanukkah fic and the whole thing just fell together perfectly. i had this sentence in my head and it was: “Shabbat in Luke and Calum’s kitchen looks something like this.” the kind of thing you would read in a fic summary right? and especially having it take place on shabbat felt like an extra layer of domestic easy romance to me so that was kind of my guide

here was my "outline” for this:

Romance :)))

obviously calum was going to be the one doing most of the cooking/baking because he had been established as the Kitchen Boy between the two of them and maybe i realized in the course of writing it that while i was luke, you were very much calum. so the goal was then basically to romanticize (1) the kitchen and (2) luke as much as humanly possible for you (see: message sent to helen and ainslee)

unfortunately i was unable to do baker calum justice as much as i would have liked because i could not have him baking anything complex because i can’t bake anything complex and if i had tried to describe him baking something complex and then described it wrong i would have died of shame so that is why he is only baking brownies BUT they have chocolate chips which hopefully makes up for it. also i just stumbled across this which i think pretty well represents the crisis i had regarding baker calum

:)))

re: the soundtrack (so to speak), i wanted to include some songs that i associate with you meg but you see the situation is that some of those songs are 5sos/mali/atl songs and so i couldn’t include those, for obvious reasons, which did narrow down my choices somewhat. fortunately i think the mcfly worked pretty nicely i mean yeah it’s a little obvious that i was forcing mcfly into the story but they deserved to be there. i think i’ve mentioned this but i genuinely have a memory of listening to star girl on a loop in my kitchen at home and in my head the hood-hemmings kitchen looks like my kitchen because i have zero imagination so it felt to me like these songs just belonged in kitchens. and that they’d be inherently romantic. woah i think my brain is short-circuiting i’m not sure i’m making sense anymore. point being i hoped that you would appreciate it nonetheless.

a note about the short introduction, because it’s very unlike anything i’ve put in any other fic to my knowledge. i kind of wanted it to feel like the prologue to a fairytale, almost. i wanted it to feel like the beginning of a movie, when the camera is slowly, slowly zooming in from a Big Picture down to one house on one street and then through the window into the kitchen while the voiceover is very serenely describing the scene. i wanted it to feel like we were in the kitchen before even calum was and that we were standing against the fourth wall watching the fic unfold. and also, i wanted to make the fic romantic as fuck, from the get-go. there was to be no confusion: this fic was going to romanticize the living daylights out of the hood-hemmings kitchen.

(also you may have noticed that despite having “london” in the list of Meg Things at the top of the doc, the fic never actually specifies that they’re in london. that’s because this fic was really an exercise in “how much can i hint that they’re in london without outright saying it so i don’t establish a canon that i may later regret” which went as far as me asking helen what her kitchen floors and counters are made of. like. if you want it to be in london then hell yeah it’s in london but i didn’t wanna lock myself into that decision just in case so i never actually said it but i hope it kinda felt london-y anyway lmao)

so...............i THINK that’s all i have to say. “all” as if i havent just written an entire dissertation but at least it’s done now. i sure did say a lot! that was a lot!!! but also a very very fun and interesting dive into the ~process~ of writing these jewish cake fics. also, for what it’s worth, the way hanukkah fic was received basically calmed all my fears about writing jewish fic, which was a relief for me. so thank you for loving it, i don’t think you know how much that means to me!!!! i love YOU so very much

[kariachi]

Some more future reboot au fic (again with Smaug because consider, I love her). Holiday fic, since Christmas is in literally two days.

The Tennyson cousins have planned their Christmas decorating with Kevin ‘really, in front of my salad?’ Levin in mind.

~~

Ben flopped lazily over the back of the couch, tapping Kevin’s shoulder to prompt him to take out an earbud. KISS immediately became audible under the carols from Gwen’s phone.

“You sure you don’t want to join in,” he asked, just in case.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” Kevin replied simply, replacing the earbud and turning back to his book. “You dweebs have your fun.”

It was Christmastime, which in Tennyson speak meant late November, and Ben and Gwen had been planning since June. This was their first year living together, first time trying to combine their individual skills and tastes into the perfect winter wonderland. It was also their first year living with Kevin, who not only didn’t celebrate but also just did not care for the holiday, to put it mildly. He had Hanukkah to enjoy and could’ve gone his entire life without seeing so much as a piece of holly and been more than happy.

So, the goal had been simple. Try to have their festive holiday cheer in a way that wouldn’t make Kevin uncomfortable or overshadow his Hanukkah decorations when he finally put them up.

The pair were fairly certain they were nailing it.

Mounds of fake snow that would go well with whatever decorations were up and were already being destroyed by Smaug (this was going to be a long December) were being put all around the livingroom and kitchen. White lights, again fit for anything, went around the baseboards of the rooms where they’d give a nice glow but not overpower anything. The trio had already discussed and agreed on throwing matching blue lights up by the ceiling when the Hanukkah stuff went up, to tie everything together. A snowman fruit bowl on the kitchen table, a kitschy ceramic Santa and reindeer that Gwen’s mother had given them on one of the bookshelves. Mistletoe in every doorway because damnit the cousins were sharing this apartment with their mutual boyfriend and would take every opportunity they could get for kisses. This was non-negotiable.

There was even only one Christmas tree in the public areas of the apartment, which was pretty much unheard of for Tennysons. Even Grandpa Max, who only had the Rustbucket, often ended up putting a second tree outside where it would fit. But here they had one, decorated with more white lights, silver and gold baubles (with a few set aside for Smaug to play with to hopefully spare those already on the damn thing, they did not want a repeat of the 2021 Christmas party), and a nice red bead garland. On top, shiny gold north star, a housewarming gift from Ben’s mom.

The front door had already been sneakily decorated with a wreath Ben had put together, taking a generic pine wreath, and using some crafting wire to overlay a big Star of David made of lights on it. They were fairly sure Kevin didn’t know about it yet and would be pleasantly surprised, though you could never be positive when you had to hide stuff from a man and his psychic pet dragon. If he did know, he certainly hadn’t said anything against the thing, which they were taking as a good sign.

It was, all told, very simple and lowkey for a Tennyson holiday. Growing up you’d be lucky to be able to maneuver around their houses for all the decorations, or to sleep in December for all the lights. But this was warm, cozy, and would hopefully mesh well with Kevin’s own decorations. A look where he could kick back and relax without the holiday being in his face and they could still bask in the glow of it. Old traditions were fun, and had their place, but this was a new home, a new life, a time for change. The scene didn’t feel complete, when the decorating was done and they chased Kevin, laughing and teasing back and forth, to his room so they could watch their Christmas specials in peace, but they hadn’t really expected it to. Had planned for it, in fact.

The holidays wouldn’t really be there until there was a Kevin between them, a Smaug stretched across their laps, and a menorah in the window.

[hermannsthumb]

Would you be able to do #45 about taking you home for the holidays but now family thinks we're dating?

45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now, and i don’t know how to tell them that we’re not

from winter writing prompts here

YES I WOULD B HAPPY TO

-------------------------------------

“I can’t promise it’ll be very fun,” Hermann says. “You’ve met my family.”

“Like, barely,” Newt says. He’s met Hermann’s dickish older brother, and Hermann’s terrifying dad, both at the same PPDC banquet ages ago, back before they lost funding, and he doesn’t think he made a very good impression on either. (The shouting he did probably didn’t help his favor much. Nor the threatening.) The rest of them--the other two siblings, and a mom who must have at least a little bit of a cold streak in her to reproduce with Dr. Gottlieb senior four fucking times--are nothing but dark-haired and pointy-cheeked enigmas to him. 

“Enough to know their sort,” Hermann says, a touch wryly. “It’ll be quite professional. Dinner. Cocktails. You’ll need to wear an, er, nicer tie. Perhaps a suit. Father will likely ask us about our work.”

“Sounds riveting,” Newt says.

Hermann sniffs. “You don’t have to come, you know. No one is forcing your hand.”

Which is true. What’s also true, though, is that when Newt phoned up his dad to excitedly inform him he’d be able to come home for the holidays for the first time in over five years, he was met with a short pause, and then an annoyingly knowing “But wouldn’t you rather spend it with your Hermann? Alone?”

“He’s not my anything,” Newt protested. “He’s just my--lab partner. And roommate.”

It fell on deaf ears, though: somehow Newt’s dad got it into his head that Newt had a thing for Hermann (which is totally ridiculous), and that Hermann had a thing for him too, and a holiday, alone, together, was all they needed to work out their feelings, and he was sure he’d have a brand new genius son-in-law and even grandkids in no time. This was when Newt choked on air and almost dropped the phone.

“Grandkids?”

“I just want to see my son happy,” his dad finished.

So, no Geiszler-style Chrismukkah for Newt this year. Not even something lowkey with Hermann, like they used to do back in the Shatterdome. Newt’s dad’s plan backfired spectacularly: when Newt informed Hermann he was fresh out of things to do this year, Hermann immediately invited him to Gottlieb-style mostly-secular Hanukkah back in Germany with him, and the guy looked so relieved to not have to face it alone that Newt couldn't help but say yes.

He’s starting to regret it now. “I don’t think I have any nice ties,” he admits. “Or, uh, any suits, either.”

Hermann hmphs. “I suppose we’ll have to make a stop at the shops, then, before we head to the airport. Do finish packing. I don’t want to be late.”

“Sounds great,” Newt sighs.

The plane ride over is long and boring, broken only by a short layover in London; Hermann is zonked out on Ambien for most of it (“You gave me a raging headache last time we flew together,” he explained, “I need some quiet.”), so Newt has no choice but to poke through the uninteresting movie selection until he finally settles on some old rom-com. Then his earbuds are busted on one side, so he has to buzz a flight attendant for another pair, and by the time they manage to get them back to him the movie has automatically shut itself off and Newt has to restart. Fucking annoying. Whatever. 

Hermann’s youngest brother (Bastien, he thinks) meets them at the airport with his car. He’s smooth-faced and good-looking, with--as Newt expected--those same high cheekbones, that same dark hair. His, though, is curly in the way Newt’s only ever seen the ends of Hermann’s get when it’s damp. “Dr. Geiszler,” he says, giving Newt a firm handshake, then, in Hermann’s funny dialect of German, “It’s good to meet you. We’ve heard much about you.”

Good things, Newt hopes. But probably not. Whatever horror stories Hermann relayed over the years--messy laboratories, chunks of rotting aliens everywhere, a tendency to play electric guitar at four in the morning--would only have fed the fire that Newt stoked to life when he tried to throw a mimosa in Lars Gottlieb’s face all those years ago. This was a bad idea. “Uh,” Newt says. “Howdy.”

Hermann receives a small clap on the shoulder. He’s shorter than Bastien, Newt notices. How...cute. “Hermann,” Bastien says.

“Hello,” Hermann says.

They drive over in silence, Hermann and his brother in the front, Newt crammed in with the luggage in the back. It’s very scenic. Like some old-timey sort of painting. Snow and rolling hills everywhere. “What’s your house like, Hermann?” he says, as they pass what looks like a old barn.

“Old,” Hermann says, disinterestedly. He’s playing some sort of puzzle game on his phone. “Large. Bloody drafty, too--I’ll need my heating pad, or I’ll wake up stiff every morning.”

Newt hides his snicker behind his hand.

“My leg,” Hermann says, and turns in his seat just to roll his eyes at Newt.

“Mother made sure to put extra blankets on your bed,” Bastien says, conversation apparently flying right over his head.

“Oh,” Hermann says. He blinks. “That’s...good of her. Will Newton be in the guest room, then?”

Bastien gives him a strange look. “The guest room?” he says. Then, with a sort of bewilderingly knowing tone of voice, “We’re not children anymore, Hermann.”

“...Right?” Hermann says.

They have a small moment to themselves as Bastien--kindly--carries their luggage inside, and Newt tucks Hermann’s arm under his to help him navigate the iced-over old walking path. Newt means to ask about whether or not Bastien is always that weird, or if Newt’s German is rusty and things were just getting lost in translation, but Hermann surprises him by squeezing his hand in that way that means he’s nervous. He’s gotten better at reading Hermann’s tics and body language since the drift. “You look nice,” Hermann murmurs. (Hermann Gottlieb, complimenting him?) “I’m glad you chose the blue suit. It--”

“Suits me?” Newt jokes.

Hermann doesn’t laugh. “I won’t bother telling you to be on your best behavior,” he says, “because, quite frankly, I don’t care, and I know you won’t be anyway.”

“That’s true.”

“Just--please do try to stay by my side,” Hermann says. “You’ll make it remarkably easier for me.” He squeezes Newt’s hand again. Newt gives him a small smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Easier said than done, really. The second they step inside, Hermann is whisked off to the kitchen by Bastien to--evidently--be presented to his mother, and Newt is left alone in a small sitting room with the oldest brother he also shouted at all those years ago and a woman who can only be the sole Gottlieb sister.

They both stare at him. The oldest one narrows his eyes.

“Hey, guys,” Newt says, in his piss-poor German. “Nice to...be here.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” Karla says. She’s holding a glass of something amber. Probably some sort of whiskey. She takes a long sip of it without looking away from Newt once. “You’re shorter than I expected. Though I suppose Hermann’s always liked them short.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He hasn’t been roasted in his mother tongue in some time, not since one time when Hermann was really mad at him and English just wouldn’t suffice. He can’t say he missed it. If that’s what this is, anyway. “Thanks?”

“Geiszler,” Hermann’s older brother--Newt thinks his name is Dietrich--echoes thoughtfully. Recognition flits across his face; he stands from his armchair. “Geiszler. You’re the little prick Hermann betrayed our--”

“Newton is the little prick who helped save the world while our father was busy funneling millions into a pile of bricks,” Hermann says, suddenly materializing at Newt’s side from nowhere with a hand at his shoulder. “He is also he is here as my guest, I might add, so I would appreciate it if you treated him with the respect he deserves.”

Hermann’s brother sits back down.

“He’s still short,” Karla says.

Bastien is enlisted to show them up to Hermann’s childhood bedroom, hidden in the back of a very long hallway, and Hermann settles his suitcase down on the tiny twin bed with a small, mournful sigh. “Cold as ever,” he says. Newt happens to agree. “It’s like the bloody Arctic. I can’t understand it.” He plucks at the stack of blankets resting at the foot. “I suppose these’ll have to do.”

Newt’s suitcase is hefted onto the bed, too. Bastien wouldn’t let Newt carry it himself. (Hermann refused assistance.) “You should be able to fit comfortably. Hermann is nothing but skin and bones--he won’t take up too much space.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Fit?”

“On the bed,” Bastien says.

Newt and Hermann stare at him. “Ah,” Hermann says. “No.” Then, as if he’s explaining something to a small child, “Newton is sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

“I told you,” Bastien says, “we’re not children. Nobody expects him to.”

Expects him to? “I mean, I kinda expected to,” Newt says. 

Bastien touches both of their shoulders and gives them something that might be a smile, if you tilted your head and squinted a little. Guess it runs in the family. “We already know,” he says

Then he leaves. 

“Huh,” Newt says. “Hey, Hermann, I’m like, eighty percent sure they think we’re bang--”

“I know,” Hermann snaps. He groans, collapses onto the bed, buries his face in his hands. Newt shoves his own hands in his pockets awkwardly; he’s a little hurt Hermann’s this upset over the concept, to be honest. “But why?”

“Well, what did you tell them about me?” Newt says. There were plenty of rumors flying around about them after the end of the war, plenty of weird Buzzfeed articles ranking Newt’s haircuts and speculating on how platonic their living situation was, so he wouldn’t be surprised if (like Newt’s dad) Hermann’s siblings saw some of those and put two and two together and made five. Because it is platonic. Obviously. 

“That you’re a brilliant scientist,” Hermann says. “An--er--friend. Partner. That we live together. That we--with the kaiju’s brain--I know it’s classified, but it seemed important.” He groans again. “Oh, they’ll never believe me.”

Knowing Hermann, he probably did refer to Newt as his partner and not see how that could be misconstrued in anyway. “Then just don’t say anything,” Newt says. “I don’t mind it if you don’t.”

Hermann looks up sharply. “You don’t?”

Newt shrugs, going a little pink. He doesn’t think Hermann will notice. “There are worse things to be than your date. Can we eat dinner now? All I had all day was some pretzels on the flight.”

He holds out his hand to Hermann. Hermann takes it, staring strangely at him. “Alright,” he says.

[finnofamerica]

Getting Stuck at the Mall - Oliver Wood x Reader

A/N: Okay so this is the first installment of 12DOC and oof, I smell a challenge. 

|| Masterlist || 

You were overloaded with bags, each with the perfect gift for each of your siblings. And your parents. And Old Mr. Harris who lived down the street. And Jake who you used to babysit. You just wandered, or rather hunted, for your next gift. Cousin Mandy was always the hardest person in the world to shop for; especially with her ever-changing hyper fixations. There was one thing she’d never turn down, however. Comfort. Items. Blankets, pillows, stuffed animals; you name it! 

It only made sense that you found yourself wandering into the Bed, Bath, & Beyond. Why this mall had one, you had no idea but considered yourself lucky all the same. 

Christmas was your favorite time of year, commercialized or not. There was something about the warmth that clung to the air despite the intricate flakes of ice that decorated eyelashes and cheeks. It seemed like wherever you went, the warmth was always there, but only at Christmas. 

In front of you, a little boy was struggling to reach a stuffed toy on the shelf. His mother, chattering away on the phone, didn’t seem to notice his plight. 

“Do you need help?” You crouched to be eye level with the boy, giving him a soft smile. 

“The dragon. I can’t reach.” He reached his arms out as if to prove his point. You held in a giggle, standing at full height to pluck the dragon off the shelf. 

“Here you go, be extra nice to your mom, okay?”

“Okay miss.” 

He smiled so big, showing the dragon to his mother. You walked away with a smile on your face. 

Yes, Christmas was your favorite holiday. Not for the gifts you received, but the goodness you could give to others. 

After hours of shopping, you felt the fatigue getting to you. Either that or you were finally crashing after three cups of coffee. Those display beds were looking real enticing after about 20 minutes of looking at pillows. 

“What the hell,” You muttered to yourself with a shrug, telling yourself that a five-minute test wouldn’t hurt anything.

Big. 

Mistake. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You groaned, rolling over, the sound of paper rustling around you. You probably fell asleep wrapping gifts again. 

“Oh wake up already!” A voice huffed will annoyance, giving you a rough shove on the shoulder. You rose up so fast that you knocked heads with the man in front of you, causing you both to wince at the sting. 

“What’d you do that for?” You rubbed your forehead. 

“Well maybe if you weren’t sleeping on the display beds like a homeless person!” He accused. 

Right. 

Ooops? 

Your eyes finally adjusted so you could see him in the dim lights. He was handsome - in almost a boyish way if not for the scruff decorating his chin. Your throat felt thick and dry as you quickly diverted your eyes, focusing on the dark shadows of the shelves around you. To say you were embarrassed would be a gross understatement. You were mortified. You not only fell asleep in public, but you slept long enough for a guard to find you after hours.

“I’m sorry.” You scratched your neck awkwardly, collecting your bags. “I’ll, uh, I’ll find my way out.” 

You furrowed your brows as you glanced around in the dark, wishing that the shadows hadn’t turned the aisles into mazes. Still, you stood as tall and proudly as you could manage - only barely tripping over the weight of your bags.

The guard left out a heavy sigh. 

“Wait,” He pulled off his cap running his hands through a mess of hair, you couldn’t quite make out the color in the dark. “Look, I’ll walk ya out. We wouldn’t want ya setting off any alarms.” 

You gave him a smile, though still uneasy. 

“Thank you but I-” 

“Can’t refuse otherwise you’ll set off the alarms. What side did you park on? I don’t want you walking around outside this late, less some shady stuff goes on in the parking lots.” He finally gave you a smile, trying to ease your worries, the lilt of his voice catching your attention. 

“Thank you.” 

It was silent between the two of you as he guided you through the mall, nothing but a few scattered Christmas decorations and his flashlight to light your way. 

“Why were you sleeping on the display beds anyway?” He finally broke the silence. 

“I was just giving them a test at first!” You defended, adding sheepishly, “I guess I’ve been working myself harder than I thought.” 

He let out a little chuckle, deep in the back of his throat. “Workaholic. I know how that it.” 

“Do they... Do they make you work through the Holidays?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. I don’t have much to spend it with anyways.” 

“I’m Y/n.” You introduced yourself, “I would try to handshake you but..” 

You gestured vaguely to the bags you were carrying. 

“Oliver.” He held the entrance to the mall open for you. A cold breeze welcomed itself into the warmth of the building, bringing a faction of flurries along with it. The sudden change in temperature stung your nose, making it itch and itch until you let out a sneeze that echoed through the empty mall. 

“Bless me,” You softly stated. God, this night was not going as planned and even worse you kept embarrassing yourself in front of the cute security guard. 

“C’mon then, let’s get you to your car.” He grabbed your arm gently, guiding you out into the snow.  

It was almost romantic if not for the context of the situation. 

“Thank you,” You interrupted the silence. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” 

“Made my night.” Oliver shrugged. 

“Look, you said you didn’t have anyone to spend the holidays with, so um, let me give you my number and you can think about having dinner with my family on Christmas?” 

“Yeah, I’ll, um, I’ll think about it.” He gave you a soft smile, taking the card you handed him. 

“Nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas right?” 

“What if I’m Jewish?” 

“Then happy Hanukkah, tell me what you can’t eat.”

[antisociallilbrat]

Kiss Me Slowly Chp. 8

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Mild cussing, vague NSFW mentions, and drug use

A/N: So this chapter is cursed because I wrote it twice and my laptop DIDN'T SAVE IT EITHER TIME. That's why this chapter is kinda of summery and not super great, I'm sorry. Also I'm sorry that I'm super vague with Hanukkah celebration, I didn't want to say any misinformation on the tradition. But it's up! Only two chapters left to go! Summary for the last chapter is also below the line in case you chose to skip it.

Chp 7 Plot summary:  Stan really likes dating Bill. He doesn't like though when they're at a party and all of Bill's ex flings (mainly Audra) give him dirty looks. Stan knows that a lot of people are just waiting for them to break up and for Bill to go back his fuck boy ways. Bill constantly reassures that that's not true. Thanksgiving break happened and everyone left except for Stan. Over the break Stan and Bill talked on the phone every night, one of the nights Stan decides he wants to lose his virginity to Bill. Bill comes back to college and they do that. After for the first time they've started dating, Stan thinks that he loves Bill.

Actual Chp 8 Starts now.

Stanley Uris was in love with Bill Denbrough, and he was okay with it. The idea of being in love use to bother him, the idea of feeling completely vulnerable around someone. He never felt like he was in love with Patty, he obviously cared for her deeply, but it was never quite love. Bill on the other hand, he was someone who was so easy to fall in love with. His good nature wit and boyish charm he had even if he was a major clutz. Stan couldn’t believe he had fallen in love with someone who he once witnessed slipping on the ice on the sidewalk because he was too focused looking at his doughnut and then immediately jumping up acting like nothing happened.

Yes, Stan was in love, and he was happy. He’d even become more confident in the bedroom, telling Bill about things he wanted to try. Ever since their first time, Stan knew that Bill would take care of him sexually. Bill may have a been a fuck boy, but he knew how to take care of someone in the bedroom. Every time they had sex; Bill acted like getting Stan off was his greatest accomplishment. Bill was dominating but he was just as attentive to Stan’s needs as much as his own, if not more. What could he say? Stan loved being taken care of.

There was only one problem with Stan being in love with Bill though. Stan has to tell his parents about their relationship. Stan has to tell them because Bill is important to him and that’s the next logical step. He’s going home for winter break to catch the tail end of Hanukkah with his parents. Bill and he has already decided that after Stan would hop on a plane and arrive in Derry on Christmas Eve to join Bill and celebrate Christmas with him and his family. When Bill first suggested it, Stan declined, not wanting to be an intruder on a family holiday. It took Georgie face-timing Stan, insisting him to come, that Stan eventually agreed.

Stan wants to ask Bill to come home with him to Atlanta for the first half of winter break, feeling that if his parents could just see how great him and Bill were together, they’d understand. On a Sunday afternoon while they’re relaxing at the park, Stan watching birds, Bill reading, Stan asks. Bill almost seems flustered, but happily agrees, obviously pleased by Stan’s decision to tell his parents.

That’s how Stan finds himself sitting in the passenger seat in their rental car that they got after the airport, trying to find the motivation to go knock on his parent’s door, to bring Bill to the door. Bill must sense his hesitance as he reaches out to grab Stan’s hand. Stan takes a moment to marvel again at how big Bill’s hand is compared to his, how perfectly their fingers interlock like a puzzle.

“Are you still sure about this Stan? It’s not too late for me to go back to the airport, I just want you to be comfortable with this. I really- “

“It’s okay Bill, I want to do this,” Stan cuts Bill’s rambling off, squeezing their interlocked hands, “I just don’t know how to approach the subject. Like do I immediately introduce you as my boyfriend? Or do I wait till we’re sitting down for dinner?” Stan had told his mom over the phone that he was bringing a friend home with him. She was confused but said it was okay, he didn’t think she suspected any homosexual behavior. Stan was at a loss for what to do and he hated feeling out of control.

“Let’s just get inside and figure it out from there yeah?” Bill brought their interwoven hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of Stan’s knuckles. He can tell that Bill is nervous himself. Bill had toned down his usual college frat boy appearance, taking out his earrings and opting to wear a nice forest green flannel.

“Yeah okay,” with that they started to make their exit from the car. Stan told Bill to leave their luggage in the car, just case this went south. He reaches up to fidget nervously with his kippah for the umpteenth time, a habit he picked up in his childhood, and sets off towards the front door.

Walking up the steps, he can feel his anxiety rising in his throat. He’s about to freak out and just turn around, tell Bill this was a mistake, when the front door opens. His mother stands with her arms crossed in the doorway, apron on showing she must be in the middle of cooking.

“Stanley you’re late. You missed helping with dinner. It’s the last day of Hanukkah, you were really late to helping cook this dinner?”

Ah there it is. No ‘I missed you Stanley,’ no hug, no ‘I’m happy you’re here,’ typical. Swallowing down the anxiety lump in his throat, “I’m sorry mother. I didn’t mean too,” standing aside, he makes room for Bill to stand next to him, “Mother this is Bill, the friend I told you about, who would be joining us.” Bill’s hand fidgets next to his, obviously itching to take Stan’s hand in his. Stan’s thankful Bill fights it for now.

“Hello Mrs. Uris, it’s nice to meet you,” Bill extends his hand out to Stan’s mother.

His mother just looks down at his hand, a look of suspicion etched on her face, “Nice to meet you Bill, now come inside. Both of you.” She turns on her heel back into the house, ignoring Bill’s hand.

Bill’s face falters as he lowers his hand, and Stan risks reaching over and squeezing his forearm as a means of comfort. He told Bill how his parents could be, and it seems like Bill is just now realizing how true those words were.

Stan shoots Bill what he hopes is a reassuring smile, “Come on Blue-jay.” With that Stan leads Bill into the house.

Stan’s mother has made her way back to kitchen to finish up dinner. Making their way into the living room, they see Stan’s father reading a book in his lounge chair. He looks up seeing Stan and Bill’s arrival, setting the book down. “Stanley your mother is almost done cooking dinner, why weren’t you here earlier to help?”

Before Stan can answer, Bill pipes up, “That would be my fault sir, I got us lost driving from the airport.”

The reason they’re late is not in fact Bill’s fault. It’s Stan’s, because he had a panic attack in the airport bathroom, which took an hour for Bill to help him calm down over. Stan’s father makes a noise of indifference, looking at Bill for the first time, “You must be Bill, the friend Stanley told us about. We’re pleased for you to join us,” That’s a complete lie and Stan and his father both know it. Stan's father typically doesn't like outsiders. Bill seems to buy it, as the tension slightly leaves his stance.

“Thank you for allowing Bill to spend the last day of Hanukkah with us father,” every exchange he has between him and his parents is a formal exchange, businesses like.

“Yes, how long do plan on staying with us, your mother mentioned something about only staying for a few nights?”

“We’re staying only two nights; we plan to head to Bill’s home to spend Christmas with his family.”

Stan’s father makes a face of knowing, and Stan knows he suspects something. He’s opens his mouth to probably accuse Stan of something, when his mother calls from the kitchen letting them know dinner is done. So instead Stan’s father says, “Let’s not keep your mother waiting."

Dinner could’ve been honestly a lot worst than what it was. Bill and Stan’s father actually got along rather well, spending most of it talking about baseball. Stan only hopes that good will stays when he tell them the truth. The only hiccup during dinner was when Stan’s mother brought up Patty. He could sense the tension return to Bill’s shoulders as he tapped Bill’s foot with his own. He explained to his mother, well both his parents, that his and Patty’s relationship had just run its course.

Stan sensed that maybe then was time to tell them about Bill, but his father had already started a conversation back up with Bill. He figured it could wait till after dinner and their small Hanukkah celebration.

After dinner they made their way back into the living room, celebrating Hanukkah, where Stan’s parents gifted him a new pair of binoculars and a new prayer rug. Stan and Bill where sitting on the love seat, a good distance apart, looking at his new binoculars, when his mother spoke, “Stanley when were you going to tell us you were dating a man?”

Stanley almost fell off the couch. He looked over at Bill, trying to make sure he did hear in fact what he think he just heard. Bill’s surprised face and deep blush confirmed it.

Stan splutters, “I have no idea what your talking about.” ‘Why am I saying this? Didn’t I want them to know?’

“Stanley don’t lie to us, do you not think that parents don’t know their own son,” his father deadpans.

Stan looks over at Bill, Bill staring intently at the floor. He reaches over and grabs his hand, drawing Bill’s attention to him. Bill smiles weakly at him, seeming scared of what’s about to happen. Stan braces himself for the backlash, for his parents to yell at him and disown him. Call him a slur and kick him out, angry that Stan would dare bring his boyfriend home.

Instead his mother says, “I better still get grandchildren.” For the second time tonight, his mother surprises him. He looks at his parents, both of their expressions calm and collected, Stan has no way of telling what they’re actually thinking.

‘This can’t be happening.’

“Is it okay?” It’s a stupid question but it’s the only thing he can get his mouth to utter.

His parents share a look before his father speaks, “Well it’s not ideal Stanley, but our God says to love everyone. We trust you to make smart choices, and as long as you’re still attending Shabbat, then we can make do with your new tendencies. The most important thing to your mother and I is that you keep your relationship with our lord. That goes for you too now Bill.”

Bill looks shocked to spoken too, obviously just as surprise by their reaction as Stan is as he quickly stutters out a “Yes s-sir!”

Stan’s parents are okay with his relationship with Bill and he feels almost giddy. He never once imagined them having this reaction. Bill seems still on edge, but Stan’s knows his parents, and this is the equivalent of them throwing a coming out party for Stan. He wants to hug them but reins in the urge, knowing they’d be disgruntled. Instead he says, “Thank you.”

His mom actually gives him a small smile, and his father gives a quick nod his head, signaling the end of discussion.

The rest of the night moves on without any other new surprises, and eventually it’s time for bed. Stan’s mother has their guest room made up for Bill. Stan almost wants to complain about it but figures its best not push his parents acceptance.

Bill sneaks into Stan’s room before retreating back to the guest room. Behind the closed door of Stan’s bedroom, he’s quick to pull Stan into an all-enveloping hug. “That could’ve been a lot worst. I think your dad may even like me a little.”

“That’s only because you know baseball, he always wanted an athletic son,” Stan murmurs into Bill’s chest.

Bill pulls out of their hug and for the first time Stan notices Bill is holding a piece of laminated paper. “I’m not quite sure how Hanukkah works, yet, but I did make you a present. I hope that’s okay.” Bill holds out the paper to Stan, looking sort of bashful.

Stan takes the paper from Bill, and he can tell it’s one Bill’s sketches that he must’ve had laminated. On the paper is a beautiful boy, golden curls and delicate features, surrounded by various pretty birds. Birds that Stan had pointed out to Bill, ones that Bill must’ve paid attention to Stan when he gushed about them. The boy sits on a bench, the birds flying around him, seeming to sing to him. The picture overall is beautiful, and Stan realizes this is how Bill must see him.

‘I love you so much,’ Stan wants to say, instead he reaches up kiss him.

Bill returns the kiss before pulling back, “I take it you like it?”

“I love it Bill. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Bill does just that, them falling down onto Stan’s bed. Surely what his parents don’t know won’t hurt them.

=====

Stan and Bill spend the next two days with Stan’s parents and it’s actually pretty nice. They got in on Friday so the next day Bill attends Shabbat with Stan. Much to his surprise Bill tries to pay attention throughout the service, and even interacts with the church members that approach them. At his parents request they introduce Bill just as Stan’s friend, not wanting the negative gossip.

Sunday morning Stan and Bill leave to catch a plane to Derry. Heading out the door, Stan’s father sends them off with a “take care of each other”, and his mother hugs them. She hugs Stan first and then moves to hug Bill. It’s rigid and over in a moment but it speaks volumes and Stan leaves happy. His parents may be strict and distant, but their heart is in the right place.

Even leaving at five in the morning, it takes all day to finally get to Bill’s home. The first thing he notices about Maine is that it is abhorrently cold. New York was cold and Stan hated that, but this? For someone born and raised in the Atlanta heat, it’s the fucking tundra. Stan has on three jackets and he feels like a rollie pollie. Bill thinks its adorable and kisses Stan on his forehead, laughing to himself.

When they get to Bill’s home on Christmas Eve, it’s nearing almost ten o’clock. Stan feels a little thankful to discover that Bill’s parents must have gone to bed as Georgie opens the door.

“Billiam!” Georgie practically tackles him in the entryway.

Bill takes Georgie’s weight easy and ushers inside knowing Stan is cold. Georgie is still latched on to him as they get into the living room. The living room seems contrarily different than Stan's, decorated with Christmas decorations and pictures of Bill’s family decorate the walls.

Georgie finally let’s go of Bill to greet Stan, “So you’re the guy that my brother is constantly gushing about?”

Stan’s blushing and Bill exclaims a “Georgie!” Bill is red in the face also.

“Yeah I guess I am.”

“Well it’s nice to officially meet you in person!” With that Georgie surprises Stan with a hug also. Bill gives him a sympathetic look.

The three of them settle on the couch while Georgie and Bill catch up, Stan perfectly content to sit back and listen. He loves the way Bill almost reverts back to a high schooler talking with his little brother, it’s amusing.

Eventually it comes close to midnight and when Bill sees Stan yawn, he tells Georgie goodnight. Stan is happy when Bill leads him up his old childhood bedroom to sleep. Bill’s old bedroom is practically the same as the one he has at the Frat house, which doesn’t really surprise Stan. On his nightstand table though is a picture of Bill and two other people. Stan picks up the picture to get a better look. The other two people must be his friends that he’s heard so much about, Mike and Jane. Mike looks astoundingly a lot like Richie which kinda throws him off. Jane is really pretty, brown tousled hair and toothy grin.

“You’ll meet them tomorrow night, they’re excited to meet you Birdy.” Bill comes up behind Stan to rest his chin on his shoulder, his arms going around Stan’s waist.

Stan just hums as leans back into Bill’s embrace.

“I’m sorry if Georgie was a little much, he just gets too excited sometimes.”

“No need to apologize, he’s sweet.”

Bill kisses the side of Stan’s forehead, “Come on let’s get ready for bed, knowing Georgie he’ll be waking us up at the crack of dawn.”

“Mhm.”

=====

Just as Bill predicted, Georgie was banging on the door right at daybreak. Bill groaned not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed, still snuggled up around Stan. It took Stan putting his perpetually cold feet on him to get him moving out of bed.

Walking down the stairs, Bill’s mom was quick to take Stan up in a hug, Stan quickly seeing where Georgie gets his energy from. “I’m so happy you’re here! William has told us so much about you!”

Stan shoots Bill a look over his mom’s shoulder to say ‘William? Really?’ Bill just shrugs.

“I’m happy to be here Mrs. Denbrough.”

“Oh, please call me Sharon!” Mrs. Denbr – Sharon, escorts the two of them to the living room where Bill’s dad and Georgie are already sitting around the Christmas tree. Bill’s dad greets them, but seems much more relaxed than Georgie and Sharon, more Bill’s speed.

Stan sits back and watches as the family opens their presents, after Sharon whisks off to the kitchen to get breakfast started. Stan disappears back up the bedroom to retrieve the present he got for Bill. Returning to living room Bill opens it to see a classic edition of Phantom of the Opera. Bill seems to like the gift as he gives Stan a small kiss. Stan pulls back quickly to see the reaction of Georgie and Bill’s father whose still in the living room. Bill’s father seems completely unfazed and Georgie giggles at Stan’s knee jerk reaction.

Before long, Sharon is calling everyone in for breakfast. The rest of the day flurries by pretty quickly after that. After breakfast most of Bill’s extended family arrives and Stan finds himself quite enjoying spending the day with them. Staying next to Bill for most of the day, he introduces Stan to everyone proudly as his boyfriend. They spend their time talking, eating, and playing some bean bag game in the living room.

The evening comes and Bill rushing Stan out the door, talking about how they have to go meet Mike and Jane at their old clubhouse. If Stan didn’t trust Bill so much, he’d think he was crazy for him dragging Stan out to the middle of the woods. As they approached a clearing there seemed to be a hole in the ground with light shining up.

“Looks like they’re already here,” It was adorable how almost giddy Bill was to see his friends. He practically ran the rest of the way to the opening. “Hey losers guess who’s here!” He shouted down into the hole. Stan could hear muffled a “Bill!” coming up. Bill waved Stan over as he started to descend down underground.

Stan follows Bill down a ladder. Getting to the bottom he sees that their ‘club house’ is a cleared-out cave with wood side paneling and wood beams. In the middle is fire going in a ring of stones. The fire is actually keeping the place pretty warm. Around the fire is lawn chairs and bean bags that seems to still be in good condition. Bill is embracing the two people who must be Jane and Mike. Stan also notes the massive bong sitting next to Jane’s feet.

Pulling back from the group hug, “This is Stan guys! Stan these are the losers!” He pulls Stan under his arm. Stan gives a little “Hello.”

Jane politely smiles at him and Stan remembers that Bill has said before that she doesn’t talk much. Mike on the other hand speaks immediately, “Wow Bill, I know you said he was cute, but you didn’t mention he was out of your league cute.”

“Ha ha, shut up Mike,” Bill sits down in a bean bag chair, pulling Stan down with him. Jane and Mike also sit into two lawn chairs, Jane reaching down for the bong, lighting it and taking a hit.

“Looks like you guys got started on the party favors without me.”

“Well we couldn’t wait on you forever Billy,” Mike reaches over and takes the bong from Jane, taking a hit himself.

“Sorry, I tried leaving multiple times but Georgie kept finding excuses for us to stay.”

“I miss Georgie,” for the first time Jane speaks.

“Yeah you should’ve brought him with you,” Mike reaches over to pass the bong to Bill. He takes it and just momentarily holds in his one hand.

“Yeah I bet my parents would’ve been thrilled for me to bring Georgie around a bunch of stoners,” Bill slightly dislodges himself from Stan so that he take a proper hit.

“Hey, these bunch of stoners are your two best friends since forever!” Mike indignantly replies.

Ignoring Mike, Bill turns to offer the bong to Stan, to which he just shakes his head. He’s not much of a smoker but he’s perfectly content to sit by and watch Bill get high. Bill just shrugs and takes another hit before passing it back to Jane. “No Syd this time Jane?”

Jane seems to light up at the mention of her girlfriend, “No she had to go back home this time.”

“I’ve yet to meet this Syd, I feel like this was on purpose to prevent me from meeting her,” Mike says as he reaches for the bong.

Jane pulls the bong back out of his reach, “Not everything is about you Michael,” she allows him to grab it after.

Bill’s laughing, “Yeah MICHAEL. Besides Syd is amazing, Jane has made a major upgrade from that time she ‘dated’ you when we were twelve.”

Mike’s face is red, “Shut up WILLIAM. Of course, it’s an upgrade! How was I supposed to know she was gay; she didn’t even know then!”

Jane and Bill are both laughing now. Stan doesn’t feel the need to include himself much, quite enjoying watching Bill catch up with his childhood friends. He feels like he’s seeing a new side of Bill, and it’s one that just makes him love him more. Bill acts differently around Mike and Jane then he does around his frat buddies. There’s no fuck boy aura that surrounds him or any crude boyish jokes. Just Bill. Stan feels so thankful that he’s gotten to see this side of him, a side he would never imagine existing the first time he met Bill.

After a while and the bong has been passed back and forth quite a few times, he can tell that Bill is pleasantly stoned as he practically pulls Stan into his lap, snuggling into him. Bill starts placing soft kisses on Stan’s neck, Stan trying to repress the shivers that run down his spine. Bill’s kisses turn into open mouthed ones against his skin and Stan can feel arousal pulling at his gut. He almost forgets that they’re in the presence of other people until Mike makes an annoyed sound.

“Come on Bill knock it off. Can you please keep it in your pants.”

Bill places one more soft kiss on Stan’s neck before resting his chin on Stan’s shoulder, “Cuh-can’t help it. He’s m-my birdy.”

Stan would feel embarrassed by Bill calling Stan their secret pet name in front of people, but Jane seems to think it’s sweet so that puts him at ease. Mike still looks annoyed.

She speaks, “Turn it down a notch Romeo or Mike is gonna have an aneurysm.”

Bill just sighs and leans up to whisper in Stan’s ear, “We’ll finish later, don’t worry.”

Yeah, Stan was in love with Bill, if only he could tell Bill that.

[mamawaffle]

Overwatch Fic Exchange

So I participated in @clareguilty‘s Overwatch fic exchange and this is the first time in probably 10 years I’ve posted anything online. I got @unseaworthy, hope you like it love! 

Mostly fluff, Pre Explosion, Gabriel Reyes, Gender Neutral/Female reader, ~2000 words

You stretch, happy to finally be done with mission assignments for the week. You had pulled overtime for the last month to get ahead of schedule, and if everything during the missions went well, you would enjoy a quiet Friday Saturday and Sunday. You had packed your laptop and cellphone into your bag and had nearly signed off when a ping alerted you to a manual override for a mission. In years past this had been rare, the commander trusting the handlers- and the computers- to make sound decisions. But recently there’d be a lot more override requests, not from the agents but the commander himself.

Well, you decide sitting back down at your desk, no use in putting off what can be done now. It was a simple escort mission, one that you’d assigned Agent Thomas and Agent Elias to; two  compatible, quiet agents with compatible skills. Instead, Elias had been replaced with Nunez, a weapons specialist with a predisposition for explosives. What was the commander thinking?

Movement catches your attention and you flick your attention up; speak of the devil and he shall appear. “Sir are you sure about this?” 

“Sure about what?” Commander Reyes came around your desk to see the screen better. You noticed he was dressed more casually than usual, he still wore his dark pants and boots, but he was wearing a regular t-shirt instead of his hoodie or armor. You can see the hint of a tattoo on one of his ridiculously toned muscles-

With a heaving effort you pull your attention from his arms to rove over the holoscreen again, pretending you’d been invested in the information the whole time. As he came around the desk your attention drifted to the side-by-side statistical profiles of the two agents again. The commander placed one hand on the back of your seat, and the other reached past you to rest on your desk, giving you a good dosage of the cologne he wore in the office. It was a long standing debate among the other Blackwatch handlers what exactly he wore- Lieutenant Stroud insisted it was an old school Christain Dior- “a refined scent for a refined and mysterious man”-, but Agent Jones insisted that it was something more modern like-.

“Y/N,” you hear the commander call your name, pulling you from your thoughts on the old office gossip back to reality.

“Yes sir, um, I mean, Gabriel.” Saying his name was enough to make your heart stop he was so intimidating, but he insisted on it when it was just the two of you. Taking a breath, you switch back into work mode with the confidence of a woman who doesn’t have a school girl crush on their boss. “Thomas and Nunez don’t have any complementary stats at all. I mean lately they’ve had at least some overlap,” you point a finger at the mission requirements and trace it along the screen to show, “but this one really takes the cake. Thomas was already a long shot for the mission being an espionage specialist but Nunez?” You shake your head and drop the pointing hand to lean your chin on it, “he’s a pyromaniac who can be seen with explosives strapped to his back on an escort mission with a man he hates on his way to the near Antarctic tundra.”

“It’s fine,” he moves the hand on the desk to your mouse and clicks the confirm button, and a window pops up asking for your password. “Call it commander intuition, but I’ve got them paired for a reason. Sometimes a scientist escort requires cunning wit, quiet observation, and explosives.” The disbelief must have been plain on your face because the commander laughs and stands up straight. “Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.” 

And so for the next two days you contemplated what exactly Reyes thought he was doing. You thought about it as you saw Nunez and Thomas off, you thought about it when Stroud and Jones bid you a Merry Christmas and a Happy Hanukkah respectively and headed to the states for the rest of the week. You thought about it when you overheard agents talking about how contact with Agent Nunez and Agent Thomas had been lost in the middle of an unseasonable storm. The scientists had been fine and were maintaining shortwave radio communication with the agents, instructing them on the locations of various survival items, including a single blanket that they had to share. You even thought about it as you mechanically went through the checkup portion of your yearly physical with Doctor O’Deorain, another agent with the maddening request of only using first names for those they’d become fond of. 

You supposed that the commander actually could be onto something, humans made mistakes and computer programs were as fallible as the programmers who designed them. As commander he had to be observant of not just what the system told you, but  collect other information and be able to pair or group agents accordingly. 

“You seem fit as a fiddle Y/N, it is a shame you don’t go out into the field more often. You would be perfect for the work.”

“Hm.” You answer non committedly.

“Speaking of field work, congratulations are in order for George and June, they’ve just arrived safely from their chilling ordeal.”

Your mind belatedly connects the names to Thomas and Nunez and you look up at her. The doctor had her perpetual grin aimed at a tablet, either at your charts or at the list of agents landing on base you couldn’t tell. “Gabriel mentioned something about a celebration but I don’t think I’ll be attending.” She pulls her face into pinched disapproval. 

“I uh, think I’ll pass too. I really just want to take a break.”

You move to stand but she puts a hand to your shoulder, “I do have just one more question for you though, if you don’t mind my asking.”

You shrug, “sure.”

“What exactly is our commander up to?” She doesn’t allow you a response past your confused expression. “He’s spent an awful lot of time with you in the office, and there haven’t been any truly dangerous missions for the entire month. I understand that you have been handling the bulk of agent assignment as well, and you have been awfully quiet this afternoon. Dirty conscious got your tongue?”

“I..” So you weren’t the only one to notice how weird the commander had been. You shrug again, “I have no idea, sorry Moira.”

“You don’t think that it’s odd, that previously openly hostile coworkers have become incredibly..” She lets the word trail off, searching for the right word. “Chummy.”

You hadn’t thought about it, but now that she’d pointed it out it was weird. Every pairing or group that you’d sent out for the last month had come back not only in higher spirits, but as great friends. Maybe it was a piece of the puzzle, but you shook your head no at her.

Moira pulled her hand away slowly, the serious expression relaxed into her perpetual smile again. “I only thought he’d have filled you in, my apologies for holding you.”

Understanding the words as a dismissal you flash her a nervous smile of your own and beat a hasty exit from the infermary toward the mess hall The doctor made a good point though, things were much quieter in the halls and common areas. You would have to think hard about how all of that fit into Reyes’s master plan, but after you got a bit of dinner in you.

You could maybe get in a bit of observation time if you-.

Your thoughts stop short as your round the corner into the Blackwatch mess. “Oh my god.” 

The words fall slowly from your lips. It looked like Christmas had thrown up, garland lined the walls in a tasteful Blackwatch symbol with colorful lights brightening the greenery. The room lights had been dimmed so that the multitude of blinking snowflakes hanging from the ceiling could be seen well. Upon closer inspection you can see that whoever had done the puking had made sure to include other holidays too. Tiny plastic menorahs and kinara were in the middle of tables surrounded by red LED candles, and the tablecloths had various holiday characters. And at the culmination of it all, in the center of the room, a huge tree was being decorated by agents who hadn’t gone home for the holidays to the tune of Mirah Carrey

“So,” McCree said on your left, “what’d ya think?”

“I think Reyes is gonna have a heart attack.”

“Naw, it was his idea after all.” He claps you on your back as he walks past you and calls over his shoulder, “you comin or what?”

In all your fuss of maintaining a black operations organization over the years, you’d barely acknowledged the holiday other than making a few calls home and mumbled greetings in the office. Overwatch, of course, threw a company wide party every year that was about as bland as they came, and nearly every Blackwatch agent turned down the invitation every year. But this was the first time they’d thought to throw their own. 

You sigh and follow after McCree. “I guess I’ll see what you’ve done to the tree.”

For the first time in years you actually enjoyed yourself on Christmas eve. You put up a few decorations with some agents and even saw Thomas and Nunez hanging off of each other. The two seemed to laugh at the whole situation when you congratulated them on a job well done.

“Make lemon cakes out of lemons,” Nunez shrugs and pecks Thomas’s cheek with a kiss. And then suddenly it clicks. Your gaze slides over all of the new couples floating around the room, there hadn’t been any fights all week and now you had confirmation.

The missions, the overrides, it was all to set them up!

You turn away to go look for Commander Reyes and bump into a solid wall of ugly blue and red sweater.

“Oh, sorry Y/N I was just-.”

You put a finger to his chest hard, “Gabriel Reyes I cannot believe,” you glance around you but every seemed reasonably invested in the festivities to not notice you, but you still drop your voice, “you were using assignments to play matchmaker.” 

The commander grins at you and gently pushes a small box that matched his sweater at your chest. “Merry Christmas.”

You hiss under you breath, “Reyes I’m serious.” You push the box back into his hands, but a few of the other agents were starting to notice your confrontation. “Commere.” Taking his arm you pull him to a table that lined the wall. You sat down pulling him down with you and he pushes the box into your hands again.

“I feel like you’re not feeling the Christmas spirit.”

“Reyes-.”

“Gabriel.” He insists.

You breathe out a heavy sigh, “Gabriel what the hell?”

“Well we couldn’t really throw a party with everyone trying to kill each other,” he shrugs as if that was enough explanation in of itself. 

“This is so against all kinds of protocols.”

He makes a flippant motion with his hand, “I’ve never been one for following rules. I’m sorry for the secrecy but you’ve got to admit the quiet’s been nice.”

You glance behind you, at the agents, a lot of who you would consider friends, dancing drunkenly to Christmas In Holis and at the twinkling lights and absolute treasure trove of food being brought out. You guessed this was okay, and he was right, the lack of reports being filed had made your work much easier.

“Promise to include me in your nefarious schemes next time Gabriel?” His grin was infectious and you found yourself already looking back on this as a funny situation.

“So your gift?”

“Oh yeah.” You quickly work to slip the ribbon securing the lid off of the box. 

You stare down bemusedly at the mistletoe. “Isn’t this stuff supposed to be above us for a kiss Gabriel?”

He smirks, “we make our own rules here Y/N.” And he leans in for a kiss.

[shslflamingarrow]

HELLO & SORRY

@youngmoviemaker I was your Ava’s Demon Secret Santa! And I’m late!! I have no excuse other than. I’m a chronic procrastinator. But I wanted to try not to rush this so it didn’t end up too horrible. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year!! Here’s a fic about Christmas, even though it’s not Christmas anymore. @theavasdemonsecretsanta

[[MORE]]

It had finally happened somehow. It took years of scraping together pennies from minimum wage jobs and living at home with their parents for longer than was socially acceptable, but now Odin was finally putting down the last box in their new apartment. They’d saved for years just to have enough for the deposit on a one bedroom apartment in California. When they first started dating Ava detailed her dreams of living close to the beach. So Bakersfield wasn’t quite the beachside property of their dreams, but it was closer than it had been before they moved.

He patted a box, labeled in Ava’s blocky handwriting KITCHEN. “W-wanna see if we can f-f-find some dinner?”

“That box is all pots and pans, good luck eating cast iron.” She laughed as he dug through the box to confirm. He supposed they hadn’t had much food to pack for themselves moving out of their family homes.

“W-well...” He scratched his chin. “We co-could order in-n?” Odin knew he had a good thirty bucks kicking around somewhere. No answer came to his question and when he looked up from the boxes to investigate why he saw his girlfriend gazing out the window. It wasn’t much of a view, just the city streets and air pollution.

“I can’t believe it’s already December and there’s no snow,” she said after a few moments.

“It d-d-doesn’t sn-n-now much h-here.” If at all. ‘The snow’ was a destination for Californians. That’s what came with wanting to live near the beach. Or at least, two hours from it.

“I don’t know how it’ll feel like Christmas with no snow.” Christmas had honestly been the last thing on Odin’s mind. They were far too broke now to pull out all the stops on gifts and dinner.

“N-next year we can g-g-go b-back home.” It would always be snowing there in December, and their families would expect to see them for the holidays.

“Where are we going to put the tree?” She asked looking around the living room with boxes stacked in every corner. It looked like more than it really was due to the low ceilings and general cramped space. Odin looked around with her.

“I g-guess...” He pointed to the deepest corner furthest from the door. “Th-there.” It’s away from the kitchen, which isn’t actually a separate room and is instead divided by a metal strip in the ground that separates yellowing carpet from yellowing tile. She stood in the corner as if sizing it up.

“B-but... We p-r-r-robably can’t afford a t-tree this year.” He hated letting her down, and the look on her face dampened significantly to let him know he had done just that.

“You’re right...” She sighed, still standing in the corner to size it up.

“N-next year,” Odin assured her, walking over to pat the top of her head. “Christmas will be p-perfect next year.” A pretty big promise to make considering they wouldn’t have much more money then either if things continue like they had. She nodded though, giving a sniff almost like she’d been crying. The two fell into each other’s embrace, Ava burying her face into his chest like she intended to nest there.

“L-let’s find some c-ca-sh. There’s a s-s-sushi joint w-we passed.” They probably couldn’t afford delivery and sushi but he’d go get it for them.

Digging around in a clothes box, Odin tracked down a twenty dollar bill in the back pocket of his discarded work jeans.

“F-found it.” He held up the crumpled bill triumphantly and at the sound of his voice Ava ceased her own rooting around for spare change.

“I got a dollar twenty-five.” She announces proudly, holding up a crumpled bill that had been through the wash and a dingy quarter. Odin held his hand out for that too.

"You c-can c-c-call and order while I'm w-wa-walking," he told her standing at the door and wrapping himself up in his coat and scarf they'd left on the floor where a coat rack should go. She nodded understanding before hunting down her cell phone. Talking to people gave her anxiety, but she knew Odin had a rougher go of it, especially on the phone he could be hard to make out. So he would go get it and face human interaction face to face while she dealt with the phone call. It seemed to be a pretty fair trade. When he got out the door and down the several flights of stairs (elevator was busted) he realized his coat and scarf were a bit much. The people around him were all bundled and shivering the same, but the weather felt like a crisp spring day back home more than the middle of December. He let the grey hand knit scarf sit open around his neck. It had been his Christmas present from Ava last year. She spent all her free time while he was working the graveyard shift. It was supposed to be a blanket but she decided to stop at scarf and he loved it just the same.

By the time he got to the sushi joint, he was sure Ava had enough time to order. He looked at the cheesy lanterns and fish tank, which felt like any other sushi place he’d been to. Not that there were very many back east. When he saw the plates though he could already tell this was nothing like the sushi at home. Probably having something to do with the fact that this fish was a lot fresher.

“H-h-hello.” Odin coughed, as if that would shake off his stutter. It was always worse in public, when people were new or staring at him. “O-order for A-Ava. Or-or Odin.” The woman behind the counter looked very bewildered by his stammering but checked the tags at her side. She picked one up and looked it over?

“Odin?” She said it more like udon, but he nods. The white receipt paper is slammed down onto a spike with several other receipts before she turns to walk away. He’s left looking at the bowl of mints and toothpick dispenser for a few moments before something catches his eye. Just behind where the woman’s head had been there’s a tiny tree sprouting up on a shelf. It’s growing severely to the left in order to avoid hitting the shelf above it, tilted and awkward. Maybe in need of water but he’s not quite sure.

When the woman comes back with a takeout bag she tells him it’s 15.50. Odin points to the tree behind her.

“H-how much?” Her face looks at him in that same bewildered way as before looking back to where he’s pointing.

“Not for sale.” She shook her head to emphasize the point.

“How much?” He repeats digging in his pockets for the money and handing her all of it. She looks over the money, and he knows it’s probably worth more than six dollars but it’s worth a shot. “P-please?” His intense gaze pierced into her own. She looked around uneasily and Odin couldn’t help but think about how he was about to be banned from the nearest restaurant on their first day in the new apartment.

“Ten more dollars. Come back later.” Her words are short and precise, so unlike his. He claps his hands together once, making to bow like an idiot.

“T-thank you! Th-th-thanks so much!” He ripped the food from her hands so ecstatically she flinched.

"We close at eight o clock!" The bell inside rang as he threw the door open, back into the pseudo cold air.

He didn't return that night, mostly because he couldn't get ten dollars, but it also wouldn't be much of a surprise to Ava if he brought it home with him that minute. Instead, the next day Ava was going to report to her first day on the job. She'd mooned over the idea for months, she'd be working in a stocking warehouse which didn't sound like something young girls mooned over. The part she loved? Not one of her coworkers could speak English, and she couldn't speak Russian. It was the perfect job, with the lowest amount of human interaction possible. Odin wished they were hiring two new staffers, but he was focused on his art. Which meant staying home and drawing commissions for table scraps.

But it was a table scrap that got him back to the sushi place for the tree (and maybe a California roll, which he and Ava had eaten in abundance to celebrate their move.) The same woman stood behind the counter, and Odin wondered if perhaps she was the owner. Or the owner's wife. He'd figure it out in time. He didn't hesitate a second in slamming his card down on the counter, narrowly missing her receipt spike.

"T-tree." He didn't want to waste time mincing words. She gave the same look, and he now knew he would recieve it every time they came. Likely with Ava looking on questioningly at his side. But it was no surprise to her that Odin could be... Abrasive. It was to this woman though. Nonetheless, she turned and grabbed the tiny tree before ringing him up for a large container of rice. He had never punched in his PIN so quickly in his life, usually there was some sort of hesitation in spending. Not for Ava though.

He practically ran home, the tree swaddled in his arms and sheltered by his body. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something shining on a wrought iron rail. Christmas lights. They had wrapped fake tree like garland around the rail and hooked small red Christmas bulbs in it. He looked around for several seconds, determining that no one was really looking at him, before nicking one and sticking it in his jacket pocket. Then he really did run home, tree still safely tucked against him.

They hadn’t unpacked much of anything, and both of them had pretty much no furniture to their name. They’d left two twin beds back home in the room in their parents houses knowing from experience that cramming the both of them on one didn’t work out comfortably. But one thing they had lifted out of Ava’s room was the bookshelves that had belonged to her great grandmother before her. They were real wood and handmade, clearly something better than they could put together from ikea. It stood pressed against a wall near the kitchens entrance. He set the tree there, from one shelf to another so it would continue growing in the way it had. Odin kept the bauble in his pocket, waiting with bated breath where a couch should be for Ava to come home.

It had only been a four hour shift, to get her training done and acquainted with. He didn’t know how much training was possible if there was a language barrier but she actually came home with a smile on her face, ready to gush about her day. He wanted to let her, and he tried to listen, but over her shoulder his brown eyes kept flicking back to the tree with anticipation.

“...So they showed me-, what do you keep looking at?” She turned her head to follow his gaze and stopped dead when she saw the only thing sitting on their shelves. Knowing this was the moment, Odin took her by the waist, pulling her over to the book shelf.

“Y-you were upset we didn’t have a t-tree so I...” he trailed off not sure how to explain his adventure succinctly to her. The noise the comes out of her mouth is so high pitched he wonders if it made the neighbors dog ache.

“It’s so cute and tiny!” She tells him, like he might have missed that part.

“Uh-huh.” Odin reaches into his pocket and offers the ornament to her by the hook. “Wanna p-put the first d-decoration up?” He offered as her small voice gasped.

“Hang on.” His brow furrowed, confused at her not instantly saying yes. He watched her pick the tree up from the spot he’d picked and shuffle across the room to the corner she had stood in the other day.

“Perfect,” she said holding out her hand for the ornament. “We can put our presents under here.” Small tree, small presents, it worked out. He knelt down at her side, handing her the bauble again watching as Ava inspected their warped reflection in the shining red plastic with a smile. She reached forward, hooking it on the lowest branch and sitting back to admire her work.

“It’s like Charlie Brown.” She put her head on Odin’s shoulder, relaxing into him. He hadn’t seen the movie in years, but the image of a sad small tree was an iconic one. He laughed, nodding his head as he reached into the other pocket for his phone.

“We can w-watch it,” he suggested going to find somewhere to watch the movie free and illegally. Ava nodded, hunkering down on her spot with him leaning to see the small screen. He found it for them, and shortly after a blanket that was intended to be a throw. It wrapped tightly around them both, making them look like a lump on the floor in front of their tiny Christmas tree, single bauble, with a thin blanket and a small screen to watch on. It wasn’t much, but already Odin had lived up to the promise of a perfect Christmas.

[cravingcrazewriting]

Older And Wiser (but not really)

Trigger Warning- VERY small mention of desire to end one's own life. Plus transgender Evan because I love him

Thanksgiving was always a roll of the dice for Evan.

Some Thanksgivings he got to spend with his mom. Others he spent with Jared and his family. When they were both gone, Heidi would celebrate the next day when she was off.

Ironically though, both of these situations were going underway, leaving Evan alone for Thanksgiving. Although it hurt to be alone, he knew it wasn't really anyone's fault. Thanksgiving was a time for family and friends, so naturally people had to leave to go see other relatives out of state (Alana was going with her dad's to visit her grandparents, if he wasn't mistaken).

The only person that was still around was Connor, who's family hosted hosted a big Thanksgiving meal. Evan thought it was sweet since it was usually just him and his mom. It wasn't that they didn't have any family, but rather working as a nurse and the unforeseeable weather that almost always brought about a snow storm, so it was nearly impossible to see relatives until Hanukkah.

Evan pulled out an box that had differently colored leafs scattered across the wrapping he had dressed around it. He decided against putting a bow on it and went to set it out on the table. It was a gift for Connor, for a Thanksgiving gift exchange. It was something he and Heidi always did, so Evan decided to let Connor join in on the fun.

He'd saved some money from doing work with the neighbors, part of it for his top surgery, and the other half for holiday shopping. The tasks they asked were simple, such as vacuuming, dusting, or cleaning (in the fall, he mowed lawns).

He'd already had made a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, since pretty much everything was closed for the holiday, he couldn't order out. Currently his binder was off and in his room, as he'd already worn it for eight hours, and needed to remove it. It was god awful, but wearing it for too long could fracture his ribs, and he did not want to be responsible for a hospital bill. Still, an oversized shirt he stole from Connor helped out a little bit with how unsettled he felt.

He gently set the box down on the dining table, and went to make a box of Mac and Cheese, as he was okay with spoiling himself just a little bit for the holiday. While he was filling up a pot with water, his phone vibrated. Evan pulled out his phone to read it.

Connor <3: Dinner just finished up. Can I go to your place? Don't think I can stay another minute at home

Evan: Sure! We can share Mac and Cheese!

Although he was trying to hold back enthusiasm, he was really happy that Connor was coming. He'd spent a lot of lonely days with Connor either cuddling, talking, making jokes, watching random shit on Netflix, or a mix of all of that (with a fair share of kisses, as well).

Evan made sure to keep an eye on the time as the water boiled, practically checking his phone almost every thirty seconds, not wanting to keep Connor waiting outside very long.

Ultimately the doorbell rang later, which made Evan practically run to the door and swung it open from being in a rush. It could've been worse. At least he didn't accidentally dent the wall.

Outside, Connor was holding an envelope and a box wrapped in plain orange wrapping paper. Underneath was some food in long, plastic and portable boxes, with a bottle that looked like alcohol. He was wearing his jacket and trench coat, ripped jeans, and black thin looking gloves. He was smiling at how fast Evan answered the door.

"Please tell me you— you didn't bring alcohol," Evan held the door open, watching Connor step inside and set his things down on the coffee table.

"You have no faith in me?" He asked innocently, picking up what revealed to be sparkling grape juice.

Evan snorted, "Okay, faith restored. Er, did you want me to... t-take your coat?"

Connor shrugged off the trench coat with ease. "Nah, you're just gonna steal it later," he teased him, before looking at the kitchen. "Besides, I know where to put it. It looks like you've got something cooking."

"I need to stir my Mac and Cheese!" Evan fretted, running into the kitchen, leaving behind a laughing Connor.

He gave the pot a quirk stir, watching a few remains of butter slip around inside. He set the wooden spoon down, and felt a pair of arms wrap around his upper chest and a chin rest itself on his head.

"Um. Can you m-move your arms?" Evan grabbed his forearms gently, and pulled them down.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, sorry," Connor realized his binder was off in that moment, so he slid his arms down to his waist to hold him there loosely and gently. He dropped his head to Evan's shoulder. "That looks good."

"It's just cheese and noodles," Evan giggled, rolling his eyes.

"They're good cheesy noodles," he muttered begrudgingly, nestling his face into the crook of Evan's neck.

The two stayed like that, happily finishing up the Mac and Cheese, before putting them into bowls, and piled onto the couch to eat. Evan had to resist the urge to climb onto Connor's lap, tackle him on the couch, or anything because they were just starting to eat, and he had to have a little self control. So, he settled Connor's legs on his lap as they began to talk about everything and nothing.

"My big shot cousin was there, making a big deal about his business, and how much money he was making, which lead to the 'You see Connor, you can be like your cousin Jack over there' talk with Larry. He isn't thrilled about the fact I'm getting a tattoo," Connor explained in between bites.

Evan was eating a little slow, as he didn't want to eat too fast. "Um— what tattoo did you w-wanna get?"

"A semi colon on my wrist," Connor gestured to his right wrist. "It means that at one point I wanted to end my life, but I kept going."

Evan couldn't help but smile. "You're so strong."

"You are too," Connor punched his arm lightly, in a playful manner. "You've been on testosterone for like— a year now, you're binding, hell, it must've been hard coming out to your mom."

He laughed lightly. "Well, I'd ask to go to the men's clothing in the mall, and if she'd ask why, I'd just say 'oh, their jeans actually have pockets'. Then she'd laugh and let me go, but I think she saw through that."

Connor snorted, "I think I love you even more just from that. Anyways, you want some turkey sandwiches? I brought like, four."

"Um, yes, because it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a turkey," he grinned, opening up the container and pulled one out.

Connor opened the sparkling grape juice, and poured it into the cups Evan had grabbed. "And pretending we can drink by using special cups and bottles."

Evan took his cup once he was done. "It makes me feel fancy," he said with a laugh, before taking a sip.

"When's your mom getting home?" Connor opened another container that contained biscuits and a few pieces of apple pie.

"Late tonight. We're celebrating tomorrow, didn't I tell you that?" Evan grabbed a biscuit.

"Well you did, and today I realized you were all by yourself. Didn't want to deal with my uptight relatives, and didn't want you being all lonely. It's a win-win," the latter shrugged. "Anyways, when'd you wanna open your present?"

"After we're done eating," Evan swallowed. "This stuff you brought is too good."

The two young boys continued to eat and chat away happy, and at one point, Evan had grabbed Connor's trench coat, and had it draped around his shoulders happy. Connor snuck a few photos of him with the oversized coat on as payback.

"Okay, open it," Evan set Connor's gift in his lap, excited for the other,

"I get to go first?" Connor began taking off the wrapping. "Isn't this your tradition? And your house?"

"Well you're the guest, so you go first," Evan responded, smiling.

With the wrapping off, Connor carefully undid the box lid and looked inside. Within the box was a purple beanie, a sketchbook, and some colored pencils.

"Ev... this is so sweet," Connor gushed, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. "Thank you..." He was blushing slightly.

Evan was red from the small sign of affection. "Oh um, it wasn't a problem." He replied, watching as Connor set a box on his lap next.

Being very delicate, he removed the wrapping paper, and looked at what was inside. There was a dark green sweater, a scented candle that smelt like candy canes, and a rather adorable looking T-Rex plushie.

Evan set the box beside him, and was about to thank him, when Connor held his hand out, and handed him the envelope.

"Read it first," he'd said ever so softly.

Evan couldn't help but oblige, curious as to what it was Connor obviously wanted him to see. He peeled open the lid as neatly as he could (which wasn't that neat) and pulled out a card.

Connor had drawn a cartoon turkey on the front, with the words "Happy Turkey Day to not just my boyfriend, but to my best friend". When he opened to the inside, there was a small stack of money and a large margin on the left side. "Evan, I know you've been working really hard on getting money for your top surgery, but with Hanukkah coming up, I thought you'd need a little boost. I love you, and I hope it helps.- Connor". The stack had fifty dollars, which was held in place with a rubber band.

"I know you wanted to do this by yourself, but you've... you've done a lot for me, and you deserve this," Connor twisted his ring, and smiled.

"It's just enough! Thank you!" Evan enthusiastically threw his arms around him, holding him close.

Connor chuckled, hugging him back. "You're welcome, Ev.."

And when Heidi saw Evan the next time, well, it was the happiest he'd ever been.

[unfolded73]

Just a Day (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

Christmas-related fluff, that’s all this is. David and Rachel run into each other and have a talk. Rated G, ~2500 words

David was focused on cookie ingredients with single-minded determination.

Clutching the hand-written list from Marcy, he squinted at the shelf in Patrick’s home-town grocery store (the store where a tiny Patrick had once thrown a screaming tantrum over being denied Froot Loops, if Clint was to be believed), looking for his prey. Spotting the brown sugar, David threw two bags into his cart and moved on to the confectioner’s sugar.

He didn’t have a pen on him, so he tried to mentally check off each item as he put it in the cart. He didn’t want to forget anything for today’s Christmas cookie-baking extravaganza, a Brewer family tradition that David would be participating in for the first time. Rose Apothecary safely in the hands of their two employees for the week, David and Patrick were taking their first Christmas off since they opened the store. Thus, here David was on a quest from his mother-in-law, shopping in an unfamiliar store for cookie ingredients.

David zeroed in on the holiday-themed sprinkles next. (“Just get more red, I have plenty of green,” Marcy had said and then immediately widened her eyes at him in a slightly panicked expression, “unless we should get some Hanukkah colors, David?”) He was so engrossed in the sprinkle options that he didn’t notice the woman staring at him from further down the aisle at first. It wasn’t until he turned to head back to the dairy case that he came face-to-face with the familiar redhead.

Without saying anything, they took each other in. He’d never spoken a word to Rachel, but he recognized her immediately from that one awful afternoon his family tried to have a barbeque to celebrate his relationship with Patrick, and later, pictures of Patrick and Rachel together that peppered the Brewers’ family photo albums. She seemed to recognize him as well, despite the brief time they’d had to take each other in.

“Marcy’s making cookies?” Rachel asked with a smirk and a gesture to his cart, as if they weren’t total strangers who only shared in common that one moment, when David learned Patrick was once engaged and Rachel learned that Patrick was gay. As if they’d already gotten the uncomfortable acknowledgements of who they were to each other out of the way.

David nodded. “Yes, she has a very ambitious list of cookie recipes.”

“Don’t underestimate her; she plans her baking like she’s planning a major military operation.” Because of course Rachel had shared some of these holiday traditions with the Brewers, how could she not have? All of these things that David was attempting to navigate on his absolute best behavior, trying to be the perfect husband and son-in-law, Rachel had already done. For just a second, he hated her for that.

“I have no doubt,” he said.

“Congrats on the…” Rachel gestured vaguely. “I heard you guys got married. And I saw some pictures on Facebook.”

David wrinkled his nose at that — not that she had seen pictures, but that there were apparently pictures from his wedding on Facebook. Probably posted by Marcy herself, if he had to guess, or maybe by one of the cousins. David had carefully edited the pictures he’d chosen to post on his own Instagram and had policed what Alexis posted as well; he hated to think what he might look like in these rogue Facebook pictures he hadn’t been aware of.

“We did, thank you,” he said. He tried to think of what else to say, but everything that occurred to him sounded patronizing.

“You don’t have to look so constipated, David. I’m over him. I moved to Toronto and I’m seeing someone else now.”

“I don’t look…” David sputtered before reining himself in. “I mean, I’m glad. That sounds… nice.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it’s nice. How’s Patrick?”

Perfect. He’s a perfect husband and I can’t believe how lucky I am that we found each other. “He’s good.”

“He’s probably been grumpy over hockey lately, huh?”

He had been, because the Maple Leafs had a very bad start to the season (and the fact that David knew even that much was miraculous), but he hated that Rachel was right. “Is that the sport with the sticks?” he said, falling back on his I-don’t-follow-sports persona. Rachel rolled her eyes at him.

There was a part of David that wanted to sit Rachel down and split a bottle of wine (or two) with her and learn everything about Patrick that she knew and he didn’t. All the things that came out of that shared history they had together that David could only know from stories. But there was another part of David that rejected the very premise. The Patrick that Rachel had known wasn’t the real Patrick.

He started to wheel his cart forward again, slowly and with a tilt of his head to indicate she should walk with him. “So you’re in town visiting your family, I presume?” he asked her.

“Yeah. First time bringing the boyfriend home to meet my family, so that’s a whole thing. But we’re just doing the normal Christmas thing, you know. ”

He didn’t know, as neither his experiences with Christmas when the Roses were still rich nor his experiences in Schitt’s Creek fit into the rubric of ‘normal Christmas,’ but he assumed whatever Rachel was talking about fit into the same basic mold as his last couple of days with the Brewers. David nodded.

“This is the first Christmas we’ve been able to get away,” David volunteered. “We finally have enough staff to cover the store.” Then it occurred to him that Rachel might not know anything about the store if she hadn’t talked to Patrick since her one tragic visit to Schitt’s Creek. “We run the general store in town? We sell—”

“I know,” she said, and then averted her eyes to the rows of egg cartons they were passing, which made David stop and look at his list. He needed eggs.

“I follow you guys on Instagram. The store, I mean. I follow the store. I was just… curious what Patrick was doing for a living. And the pictures you post are pretty and sort of… soothing? So I still follow the account.”

David beamed at that as he picked up a carton of eggs and put them in his basket — he worked hard on the Instagram aesthetic for the store, an activity that Patrick occasionally roasted him for. He couldn’t wait to tell him that Rachel followed the Rose Apothecary account because she found it soothing.

Rachel reached over and picked up David’s eggs and opened the carton, scanning the contents. “You have to check and see if any are broken,” she explained. “Also, are twelve eggs enough?”

He threw up his hands. “The list doesn’t say — what do you think, should i get another dozen?”

“Yeah, get another dozen.”

He grabbed a carton, opening it and scanning the eggs for breaks the way Rachel had. “We’ve started carrying local eggs at the store,” he told her. “I didn’t want to at first, but we have a farmer who delivers them to us, and the markup on eggs is better than I thought it would be.”

“I’m glad Patrick’s happy,” Rachel said. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but—”

“In the years I’ve known him, Patrick’s never said a bad word about you, so I have no reason not to believe that you wish him the best.” He checked his list again. “I need to get butter. Marcy did put an amount here,” he said, showing Rachel the list, “but it seems patently ridiculous.”

Rachel laughed. “Four pounds? No, that’s probably right.”

“I’m going to gain so much weight on this trip,” David groaned, moving his cart again.

“Thank you for saying that, about Patrick not speaking ill of me. I worried for a while after that terrible visit to Schitt’s Creek that I’d fucked up his relationship. Especially when a long time went by and his parents didn’t seem to know anything about you guys being a couple.”

David made a weird half-laughing, half-groaning noise. “That’s a whole other long story. But no, you didn’t fuck anything up.” He began loading butter into his cart. “I almost fucked everything up by being an insecure ass about it.”

“He probably should have told you about his past, though,” Rachel said, grabbing a pound of butter for her own cart.

“Yes, well, it’s all ancient history now.” He headed toward the milk and grabbed a gallon.

“Did he ever tell you what he told me about you that day?” Rachel asked, and despite it all being in the past, David’s heart sped up, his palms getting sweaty on the grocery cart handle.

“I don’t remember. I never asked,” David said, rooted there in the dairy section, next to the half and half and the whipping cream.

“This was after he told me you guys were dating, and he gave me his official coming-out speech, I guess. And I shouted at him for not telling me before, and he said he hadn’t realized, and…” She waved her hand to dismiss that memory. “It was very hard to hear, that he’d never felt for me what I felt for him in all those years.”

“I’m sorry,” David said.

“That’s not the part I wanted to tell you. The part I wanted to tell you was that he said he’d fallen in love with you, that already he was imagining spending the rest of his life with you, even though he knew it was too soon to tell you any of that yet.” She smiled. “Since you’re married now I guess the cat is out of the bag, but still, I wanted to tell you how all-in Patrick was, even back then.”

David felt himself tearing up, and he did not want to cry in the dairy case of this grocery store, but it was a lot, hearing that. That Patrick had said he was in love with him, even back then, months before ‘I love you’ became a regular part of their vocabulary. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispered.

“I was horribly jealous of you and I hated you for a while,” Rachel said. “Sorry.”

David scoffed at that. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve been hated by a lot of people in my life.”

“And for the record, you seem to be taking good care of him. I stopped hating you.”

David smirked, turning his cart back toward the baking aisle to get the chocolate chips he’d forgotten. “He takes care of me most of the time.”

“Okay, well, I’m going that way,” Rachel said, pointing over to another part of the store. “It was good to see you, David.”

“You too, Rachel. Merry Christmas.”

~*~

“Hey, do you need mfph—” David interrupted Patrick’s greeting with a kiss, a tote bag in each hand not stopping him from wrapping his arms around his husband and fusing their mouths together. As he pulled away, he saw Marcy glancing at them and smiling before she turned back to the dishes she was washing.

“Yes, I need some help bringing in the groceries,” David said.

‘Okay,” Patrick said mildly, but his eyes said he knew something was up with his husband. David set the totes he was carrying down on the kitchen table and then followed Patrick out to the car.

“Everything okay, David?” Patrick asked as soon as they were out of earshot from his mother.

“Yeah.” But then he stopped and faced Patrick as they stood at the trunk of the car. “Have I ever told you when I realized I might be in love with you?”

Patrick grinned. “I think you told me it was when I sang to you at our first open mic night.”

David put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, his fingers working gently at the muscles underneath his sweater. “Okay, that was probably when I fell totally and completely in love with you. But there was another moment, before that.”

Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s waist. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm.”

Patrick kissed him gently, just a soft peck of lips on lips. “When was that?”

“It was just a normal day at the store. You’d been helping Alexis study for a test and we had to stay late to do inventory, but I just remember looking over at you and thinking that I was falling in love with you. And then being really freaked out by that thought.”

“I wish I could remember the day you’re talking about,” Patrick said wistfully.

“It was just a day.” David gave him another kiss before disengaging from Patrick and grabbing two more bags to carry into the house. “You should call Rachel,” he blurted.

Patrick shot him a confused look. “I should what?”

“You’ve known each other your whole lives. It just seems a shame to throw that friendship away because—”

“Because I broke her heart?” Patrick said, holding the door open for David.

“She’s over it,” David said, setting the rest of his bags down. On Patrick’s raised eyebrow, he explained. “I saw her at the grocery store. She’s got a boyfriend from Toronto in town with her, apparently. Anyway, I think it would be good for you two to be friends again. ”

Patrick seemed to consider this. “Okay, I’ll call her. Maybe the four of us could go for drinks or something.”

“David, thank you so much for doing the shopping,” Marcy was saying as she unpacked and organized his haul. “Are you ready to learn to bake cookies?”

“Marcy, are you ready for the havoc I’m likely to wreak in your kitchen?”

She gave him a gentle slap on the arm. “I think I can keep you in line, David. Now let me show you how to use the electric mixer.”

David spent the next couple of hours laboring away with Marcy while Patrick went to play hockey with some of his cousins and Clint read a book by the fire. And there was a moment, later, when it struck him. He was chewing on a ginger cookie that he had made with his own hands in the warm embrace of his mother-in-law’s kitchen when his husband came in the front door, scarf secured around his neck and ruddy-cheeked from the cold, and David thought, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. It wasn’t a scary thought. It didn’t portend doom they way he used to think that his rare optimistic thoughts did. Today was just a day in a long line of days with the love of his life, stretched out into the future. David brought Patrick a cookie and kissed him on the cheek and smiled.

[goldenworldsabound]

Eight Nights With You II

Sequel to PART 1 . Philly figures out a gift, though he’s real uncertain about it.

Philly had spent the better part of the week (read: every day) since the first night of Hanukkah panicking over what to get Wendy. He would go to her place, and relax a bit except for that damn pit in his stomach. She seemed happier each night that he was still there celebrating with her. It made him melt a little inside.

But now it was the last day and he still didn't have anything. Shit.

He'd gone to more stores and gift shops and holiday markets than he could count, with every spare minute of his time. He was distracted at work trying to figure out what to do. Every suggestion anyone made pissed him off, because it wasn't good enough. She deserved the perfect gift, and he was determined to bring it to her. She meant everything to him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to prove it to her.

However, he was swiftly running out of time.

As he was finishing up at work, he had an idea. Maybe the reason nothing had seemed right was because the gift had to come from him. Would he have time to make it before he had to go over to her place? Well, he'd make it work.

It was for her, after all.

---------------------------------------

Wendy opened the door to find Philly, looking out of breath.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I just, some stuff, you know-" He stepped inside, carelessly kicking his shoes off, holding a small box close to his chest. He saw Wendy look curiously at it, and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

"It's alright, Philly." She smiled. "I mean, I was a little worried that I didn't hear from you..." She clasped her hands together a bit nervously.

"Aw fuck, I meant to text you, I- oh, look, here's the unsent text saying I was on my way. Great. Good job me." He held up his phone to show her, putting his other hand on his face with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay! Stop apologizing. We can still do candles and everything." She laughed a little, taking his jacket from him and putting it on a hanger.

"Alright..." He still looked sheepish, waiting until she started to walk away before grabbing the box from his jacket and shoving it into his back pocket.

Wendy lit the shamash, said the prayers, and they lit the candles together, hand on hand. Feeling soft in the candle light, Wendy wrapped her arms around Philly's waist, burying her head in his shoulder. He looked at her with a smile, even as his nerves started up again. This was it. The moment to present his gift. He was suddenly filled with doubts that she would like it. But it was too late, and he'd thought a lot about this. And it would be worse not to give her a gift, right?

"Um, I've got something for you." Philly put his hand on the back of his neck anxiously, smiling weakly. Wendy looked up at him, eyes practically sparkling. This only made him more nervous. "Don't look at me like that, you don't even know what it is yet! Come on..." He grabbed her hand, pulling her to the couch to sit next to him. He pulled the box out, putting it on his lap.

He cringed at his own presentation. It was a tiny cardboard box, held shut with packing tape. It was, frankly, a mess. He was finding himself embarrassed about it now.

"Do I need scissors to open this?" Wendy joked, snatching it off his lap, holding it up, feeling it's weight, pressing it against her face and sticking her tongue out him-

He laughed. "Yeah, sorry, give it here, I'll get it with my keys."

She handed it back, watching as he ripped open the taped up edges with his car keys. He handed it back, and she bit her lip, holding it in her hands for a moment. She looked at him, noticing how stiff he'd gone.

"Are you...nervous?" She asked, tilting her head, looking surprised.

"..." There was no point in denying it. "Well, yeah, I...your gift was so perfect I'm just not sure if...mine is...you know. I made it though, so..."

"You know I'll love it no matter what, right?" She replied, putting a hand on his cheek.

"I...I suppose." His eyes darted away.

She turned her attention to the present, figuring there was no need to delay it further. She opened the box, pulling out the colored tissue paper and putting it on her head. Philly watched intently, unable to stop himself from smiling at her silliness.

When she saw the gift itself, she put a hand over her mouth. "Philly...you made these?!" She asked in awe, pulling the earrings out of the box with great care. Each earring had a thin gold triangle and a thin silver triangle. "These are...amazing."

He nodded, blushing a bit. "I'm glad you like them."

"I adore them." She held them to her chest, leaning towards him suddenly, grinning. He was taken aback for a moment. "It's even more special to me that you made them..." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "I'll be right back!" She dashed upstairs, leaving him looking startled.

With her out of the room, he felt his stomach twist in knots despite the happy reception of the gift. He needed to correct his lie. He had promised himself he'd do that, and more importantly, he owed it to her. He had to stop with the casual lying. Lying to her was unbearable.

She came back into the room, almost tripping over her feet.

"Ta-da!" She gestured to her ears, where the earrings were already dangling.

Philly stared at her. "You put them on already?" He asked, despite the obvious answer. He stood up, walking up to her, tucking her hair behind her ears, leaving his hands cupping her cheeks. "You look radiant." A thumb grazed her lips before he pressed his lips to hers. When he pulled away, he couldn't help but snicker at her red face and dazed look. "Cat got your tongue?"

"N-no, you did though." She stammered out, breaking into a wide grin. He blinked, before cracking up.

"Shit, you're right. That was fucking perfect." He grabbed her hands, holding them up between the two of them. He darted his gaze away from her's. "Hey, uh, can I tell you something?" His heart was pounding in his chest.

"Of course you can. What's up?" She squeezed his hands reassuringly.

"Well, I...I maybe...didn't know what I was gonna get you until today." His shoulders sagged and he pouted, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I shouldn't have lied about it."

"Aw, Philly." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "It's okay. You ended up getting me a really great gift and I'm really happy! And even if you hadn't, it'd be okay."

"...dammit." He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed. "You're too nice to me."

"Absolutely not. I'm going to show you all the kindness in the world." She paused, thinking. "And anyway, I, um...I kinda knew."

"Y-you what?!" Philly pulled back, jerking his hands out of hers in surprise.

"Well, yeah, you get kinda...nervous? I could just tell."

"And you didn't say anything?!" He looked aghast.

She giggled. "I didn't need to. I knew you'd follow through on it."

He turned his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's a lot of confidence, you know...even I wasn't that sure."

She gently put a hand on his face, pushing him to look at her. "But I was."

He looked confused, before softening. "Guess you were right, too." He laughed a little, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head.

She smiled up at him. "You're the one who made it happen, though. Don't forget that." She got on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms over his shoulders, pulling him into a long kiss.